An Amish Holiday Courtship

  “What are you doing out here?”

  Eli stuck his head inside. “I came to check on you. You all right?”

  She studied him by the light of a kerosene lantern someone had hung on a pole outside the barn door. “I’m fine.” She looked down at her hands in her lap and sniffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He glanced up into the sky, the broad brim of his wool hat casting a shadow across his face. “Starting to rain.” He hesitated. “Would it be all right if I came inside with you?”

  Though Ginger’s head was down, she could feel his gaze on her. “Sure,” she said. She didn’t know that she wanted any company right now, but if she was going to choose someone to be there, it would be Eli.

  She moved over to the driver’s side. This buggy had a split front seat, which allowed one to easily get to the rear benches that faced each other.

  Eli got inside and closed the door. And suddenly the buggy seemed smaller.

  And more intimate.

  Emma Miller lives quietly in her old farmhouse in rural Delaware. Fortunate enough to have been born into a family of strong faith, she grew up on a dairy farm, surrounded by loving parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Emma was educated in local schools and once taught in an Amish schoolhouse. When she’s not caring for her large family, reading and writing are her favorite pastimes.

  Books by Emma Miller

  Love Inspired

  The Amish Spinster’s Courtship

  The Christmas Courtship

  A Summer Amish Courtship

  An Amish Holiday Courtship

  The Amish Matchmaker

  A Match for Addy

  A Husband for Mari

  A Beau for Katie

  A Love for Leah

  A Groom for Ruby

  A Man for Honor

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  AN AMISH HOLIDAY COURTSHIP

  Emma Miller

  Can two walk together, except they be agreed?

  —Amos 3:3

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from A Precious Christmas Gift by Patricia Johns

  Chapter One

  Hickory Grove, Kent County, Delaware

  Ginger Stutzman followed her mother down the baking aisle of Byler’s store pushing a grocery cart. They’d come midday because her sister wanted to make rosina kuchen. Tara made the best raisin pie in Kent County, hands down. She’d been halfway through the recipe when she realized she was short a full cup of raisins, and their mother had offered to run to Byler’s as she already had a list of items to pick up. Ginger had volunteered to accompany their mother because she genuinely enjoyed grocery shopping, but also because she knew the young man she was sweet on, Joe Verkler, frequented Byler’s at that time of day. Not only did the store sell groceries and kitchen goods, and even woodstoves, but they also had a deli where sandwiches were made. Amish work crews often stopped there for lunch, and Joe had mentioned after church the previous Sunday that he was overseeing a work crew nearby. She hoped that she might accidentally bump into him.

  “Let’s see, dark brown sugar and white whole wheat flour,” Ginger’s mother, Rosemary, read off a list from the back of an envelope. “Anything else you can think of that we need baking-wise?” She glanced up, her new reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She’d resisted buying the eyeglasses, hating to admit that she was at an age that she needed them, but she was finding they made her life easier.

  “Ne, nothing that I can think of,” Ginger replied, searching for Joe, but trying hard not to appear to be looking for anyone. To her delight, as she reached the end of the aisle, sure enough, she spotted him.

  Joe Verkler was standing near the deli counter, waiting to place an order, a white numbered ticket in his hand. She smiled the moment she saw him and was pleased that she was wearing her favorite dress, a rose-colored one that he’d remarked on the first time they met. It had been three weeks ago, at a barn raising in nearby Seven Poplars. Joe had only just arrived from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and had struck up a bold conversation with her, saying he was new in town and wanted to get to know all the pretty, single girls.

  Joe was what Ginger’s mother called a man too handsome for his own good. He was tall and broad shouldered, with golden hair that tumbled almost to his shoulders and a dimple on his square chin. He was clean-shaven, of course, meaning he was unmarried. And though he wore the typical Amish male clothing of homemade denim trousers and a colored shirt under his denim coat, his suspenders were a fancy braided leather. Today he was sporting a pair of black Nike running shoes. It was something not seen among the Amish in Kent County and a bit of scandal, according to her friend Martha Gruber’s mother, Eunice. Apparently, all of the mothers in Hickory Grove were in a tizzy over Joe’s flashy looks and his choice of footwear. Most Amish men wore sturdy work boots or rubber boots if the weather was poor. No one wore name-brand items for fear of appearing too much like an Englisher. But the Amish church districts of Lancaster County were less strict than locally; that’s what Martha said. Martha was practically engaged to be married to a boy from Lancaster, so if anyone knew such things, she would.

  “Oh dear, the raisins!” Ginger’s mother chuckled. “We can’t forget the raisins, can we? Now where did they get to? The next aisle, maybe?” she asked, walking past Ginger.

  Ginger waited for her mother to go down the next aisle and then eased the cart that was already half-full off to the side so other shoppers could get by. Even a midweek grocery run for their family was a full cart. It took a lot of food to feed the sixteen adults and children who ate at her mother and stepfather’s two kitchen tables. Pinching her cheeks to give them color, Ginger pretended to be interested in a display of iced gingerbread cookies at the endcap. She took a quick peek in Joe’s direction, and then when he turned his head, she quickly reached for one.

  “Ginger!” Joe called.

  When she didn’t answer right away, she saw him, out of the corner of her eye, walk toward her. “Ginger Stutzman?”

  She turned to him, pretending to be surprised. Then she smiled her prettiest smile. “Joe.”

  “I thought that was you,” he exclaimed, hooking his thumbs beneath his suspenders.

  “What a surprise, seeing you here.” She returned the cookies to the shelf. They didn’t buy packaged sweets, not when Tara was such a good baker.

  “I’m ordering a sandwich.” He pointed in the direction of the deli counter. “Waiting my turn.”

  One of the clerks called out the next number and a tall, thin English woman carrying a baby on her back hurried toward the counter. “Do you have smoked turkey?” she asked, seeming quite harried.

  Ginger looked back at Joe. He had big, gorgeous hazel eyes. “What kind of sandwich?” she asked, tucking her hands behind her back.

  He was grinning at her and she felt her cheeks flush. She knew that hochmut was something frowned upon by the Amish. Especially pride in one’s looks. After all, that was just a matter of who your parents were, but Martha said that she and Joe made a fetching couple—him being so handsome and Ginger being the prettiest girl
in the county.

  At twenty-four, Ginger had been walking out with boys for years. She had been in no hurry to get serious, though, and had enjoyed the liberty given by her mother and stepfather to get to know as many young men as possible. She knew she was blessed that they had given her the freedom to figure out what kind of man she wanted to marry. She’d gone to church suppers and picnics and more singings than she could count. But now, with her twenty-fifth birthday approaching, she was beginning to think about settling down. Like every Amish girl, she dreamed of having a husband and children. And handsome Joe Verkler was just the kind of man she thought she ought to marry.

  “I ordered a spicy Italian sub,” Joe responded, holding her gaze. He wore a pair of sunglasses perched on his forehead, below his navy knit beanie. The glasses looked expensive, not like the ones her brothers bought at Spence’s Bazaar, two pairs for ten dollars. “With lettuce, tomato and hot peppers,” he added. “I love hot peppers.”

  “You didn’t pack your lunch?” Ginger teased. “My mam says buying out can be expensive. My brothers pack when they work away from home.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I hate to trouble my aunt Edna. She and my uncle Ader have been kind enough to let me stay with them. She’s got a houseful of little ones and enough work without me adding tasks to her morning.” He made a face. “Besides, she makes terrible sandwiches. Too much mayonnaise.”

  It was on the tip of Ginger’s tongue to suggest he could make his own sandwich for lunch, but she held back the comment. She didn’t want to seem shrewish. Maybe men didn’t make their own lunches in Lancaster. While the kitchen was certainly a woman’s domain in her mother’s house, her stepfather wasn’t above making his own peanut butter and honey sandwich, and her stepbrothers all knew how to make their own coffee and sweep a floor.

  “So... You here alone?” Joe asked. He was practically out-and-out flirting with her right there in the middle of the store for anyone to see.

  The place was busy as always with English and Amish alike. It was a good store to catch a bargain. And maybe a good place to catch a husband, Ginger thought.

  “Alone? Of course not.” Ginger smiled and rolled her eyes as if Joe had just said the silliest thing. “I’m here with my mam. My sister Tara is making rosina kuchen and we ran out of raisins.”

  “Too bad.” Joe knitted his thick brows. “About you not being here alone. Not about the raisins. Because if you were here on your own, I’d offer you a ride home. I’ve got my rig here.” He pointed in the direction of the side parking lot where folks could safely leave a horse and buggy. “A two-seater. Built it myself in two weeks. You know, after work and chores.”

  Ginger’s stepfather had built several buggies in his shop, so she knew how much time went into such a project. It was hardly something one could build in a few weeks. A few months was more like it, but she just smiled up at him, nodding. If Joe wanted to impress her, who was she to correct him on such a small detail?

  “Atch, there you are.” Ginger’s mother appeared from around the corner. “I found the raisins and lost you, Dochtah.” A box of raisins in one hand and the list in the other, she took in Joe, measuring him up.

  Ginger could tell right away by the purse of her mother’s mouth that she didn’t approve. “Um, you remember Joe Verkler,” she introduced. “You met him at Rufus Yoder’s barn raising? He’s staying with his aunt and uncle, Ader and Edna Verkler. Joe’s from Lancaster County,” she added.

  “Good to see you again, Rosemary.” Joe fiddled with the numbered ticket he held in his hand.

  “And you, Joe.” Without a smile, her mother returned her attention to the list on the envelope. “I forgot lettuce, Ginger. Could you fetch it? Three heads of romaine.”

  Just then, their neighbor Eli Kutz came walking their way carrying a handbasket. Ginger couldn’t help but notice that it was filled with individual servings of premade pudding and Jell-O, as well as store-bought cookies and snack cakes. Two red packages of iced ginger cookies teetered on the top.

  “Rosemary, Ginger,” he exclaimed, his face lighting up with genuine pleasure.

  Eli was a widower and older than Ginger, maybe in his midthirties. He wasn’t an ugly man, but he wasn’t what a girl would call handsome, either. Not like Joe. But she liked Eli, as did everyone in her family. He had been the first neighbor to extend his hand in friendship when they moved from New York to Delaware almost three years ago. His kindness had particularly touched Ginger. His wife had only recently passed, yet he had appeared at their door bearing honey from his own combs and a smile that was always on his face, despite his trials.

  “Eli, have you met Joe Verkler?” Ginger went through the introductions again and then explained to Joe where Eli lived. Eli hadn’t been at the barn raising, as his daughter was ill, and Joe didn’t belong to their same church district, so she doubted the two men had crossed paths.

  “Forty-nine!” the clerk at the deli counter called loudly, sounding annoyed. “Last time. Forty-nine!”

  “That’s me.” Joe held up his ticket as if it were a prize. “Be right back.”

  Rosemary offered a quick smile, but her lips were pressed tightly together as if it pained her. She rolled their cart closer and dropped in the raisins.

  “I’ll wait right here,” Ginger told Joe, watching him as he hurried toward the deli counter. He was a fine-looking man, broad shouldered and tall.

  “How is Lizzy?” Rosemary asked, giving Eli her full attention. “Eunice said Lizzy was due for a pediatrician’s visit this morning.” She didn’t have to explain which Eunice she meant, though there were two in Hickory Grove. She meant Eunice Gruber, her friend Martha’s mother. Eunice knew everything that went on in their little town, sometimes things that weren’t meant to be known.

  “She’s doing better. Much better.” Eli set the red plastic basket of goodies at his feet. “The doctor says she expects a full recovery, but Lizzy’s still on bed rest. She’s only to get up a few times a day yet, her being so weak.”

  “Our prayers were answered,” Rosemary murmured. “I know you must be relieved she’s recovering.”

  “We all are, my boys and, of course, my sister and her family.” Eli looked to Ginger. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for the little doll you made for Lizzy that you sent with the chicken soup last week. Lizzy won’t let it out of her sight.”

  “I’m glad she liked it,” Ginger said. “And so glad she’s going to be okay.”

  The little girl had suffered complications from the chicken pox and had been hospitalized two weeks previously for several days due to dehydration. Lizzy, almost four years old, was a sweet little girl, and Ginger felt so sorry for her. When she was sick as a child, she remembered how she had wanted no one but her mam. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to be motherless at such a young age.

  “I’m thankful, indeed, for her improvement.” Eli adjusted the wide-brimmed wool hat perched on his head. Unlike the younger men like Joe and her brothers, he wore more conservative attire to town. “I’m in a bit of a bind now, though, with Mary Yoder married and moving to Kentucky.” He was referring to the twenty-one-year-old who used to babysit for him. With four little ones, Eli cared for his children most of the time on his own, but that meant grocery shopping and doing the laundry on top of barn and field work. Ginger couldn’t imagine how he did it all without full-time help.

  Joe joined the group again. “I got the big sub. A man my size needs a healthy-sized sandwich to keep up his strength. But they are out of hot peppers, and I’m sorely disappointed. I had a mind for hot peppers on my sandwich.”

  Rosemary stared at Joe, her face expressionless. Then she turned back to Eli. “You were saying you have a problem?”

  Ginger rolled her eyes. What her mother was suggesting with that look was that Joe didn’t know what real problems were. Thankfully, he didn’t notice, didn’t understand o
r didn’t care.

  “Ya, I’m not sure what to do.” Eli pressed his hand to his forehead. “Ader Verkler—I’m guessing that’s your uncle.” Eli looked at Joe and then back to the women. “He hired me to build the wood paneling on a fireplace. His client wants it all handmade.” He motioned with both hands. “Built-ins on two sides. All custom plans. It’s a good eight to ten weeks of work. Put me right through to Christmas.”

  “Such beautiful work you do, Eli,” Rosemary said. “Properly Plain, but still so beautiful. A talent like that is God-given.”

  “It doesn’t even have to be Plain,” Eli explained. “The clients are Englishers. Moved here from New Jersey and have their heart set on Amish builders. Anyway, trouble is, now with Mary gone, I’ve no one to watch the little ones while I go off to work. I can bring one or two of the bigger boys along at a time, but Lizzy’s still in bed.” He chuckled. “And to tell the truth, I’m afraid Phillip’s not well behaved enough to set loose on a job site. I can’t imagine what he might get into.”

  Ginger and her mother both smiled. Five-year-old Phillip wasn’t a bad child, but he could be naughty. At a fundraiser supper recently, Phillip had been caught fishing cherries out of a dozen cherry pies meant to be served for dessert. And not long before that, he filled his aunt Claudia’s rubber boots with milk fresh from the morning milking. To make matters worse, the milk had sat all day, curdled and made quite a stink not only to the mudroom but also to his aunt’s stockings.

  “I thought your sister was helping out,” Ginger said, filled with concern for Eli and his family. She imagined the additional income was important. He farmed, of course, but like most Amish men in the community, he supplemented that income with outside work.

  “Ya, she helps out. She was a blessing when Lizzy was at her sickest. But Claudia has a family of her own, her own house to attend to.” He shook his head. “I hate to turn down the work. Like I said, it would only be until Christmas, but I’m at a loss as to what to do.”