Her Amish Springtime Miracle

Book 2: Hope's Haven

by Winnie Griggs

Genres: Small Town & Rural

Synopsis

In this delightful and heartwarming novel, an orphaned baby brings together an unlikely couple who learn the true meaning of family.

When Hannah Eicher discovered sweet baby Grace in her barn last spring, the adorable infant seemed like the answer to her prayers. The young Amish baker has always wanted a familye of her own and now that she’s fostered Grace for nearly a year, her adoption application is almost certain to be approved. But an unexpected visitor to Hope’s Haven could change everything…

Englischer paramedic Mike Colder is only returning to his childhood hometown to locate and adopt his late sister’s baby. But when the trail leads to Hannah and Grace, Mike’s determination falters. With Hannah, the simple life he left behind suddenly seems appealing. Despite their wildly different worlds, can Mike and Hannah give each other—and Grace—the greatest gift of all: a life together?

Release date: May 24, 2022

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 368

Sample

Prologue

Hope’s Haven, Ohio

Hannah Eicher inhaled deeply as she took a sheet pan of sugar cookies from the oven. She loved the aroma of fresh baked goods, but the scent of sugar cookies was her favorite. The sweet smell put her right back into her childhood, baking cookies with Mamm. Sugar cookies were the first thing Mamm taught her to bake, and they were also the first thing Mamm had let her bake by herself. The memory of those special times with her mother normally had the power to lift Hannah’s spirits.

But not tonight.

She would give a lot to have Mamm to talk to right now.

Hannah fumbled as she went to set the pan down and jumped back as it hit the floor. She winced at the clatter—Daed and her older shveshtah, Martha, had already retired for the evening.

Fortunately, none of the cookies touched the floor, so except for two that broke they were still usable. She placed the pan on the counter, then leaned over the sink with her head bowed.

Not impossible but highly unlikely.

Even after three weeks, the doctor’s words had the power to put knots in her chest, to clog her throat with a tangled ball of emotion. All her hopes and dreams for a large familye had shredded in an instant. Timothy breaking off their courtship hadn’t made things easier. Not that she blamed him. He deserved a woman who would be a proper fraa for him, one who could give him children.

She’d thought she was coping, moving toward acceptance. She’d even made it through all the orders for Mother’s Day desserts this week without breaking down.

But then yesterday she’d spotted a young couple, strangers to her, holding hands while the woman had her free hand resting on her obviously pregnant midsection, and suddenly Hannah felt as if she couldn’t breathe. With barely a word to her co-worker, she’d fled the bakery and stood, bent nearly double, out back by the horse shed, sobbing uncontrollably.

Her fists clenched. Gotte, why have You allowed this to happen? Is this the future You have for me, to be a spinster, relegated to the sidelines of my familye?

Hannah took a deep breath, trying to push away the bitterness, to change her prayer to something reflecting faith and humility. She had to pull from the very depths of her being to do it.

Gotte, it isn’t my place to question Your will, but I’m weak. Please help me remember You are a loving Father who cares for His kinner. I beseech You for a miracle, but above all give me a sense of peace to face whatever future is in Your will for me.

Trying to shake off her melancholy mood, Hannah straightened and closed the oven door. She should have taken care of the order at her bakery before she left for the afternoon—this oven just wasn’t made to handle large-scale baking. And Sweet Kneads was receiving more and more special orders these days.

Not that she was working on special orders. These cookies were for her weekly deliveries to shut-ins.

Grabbing a spatula, she gently pried each cookie from the baking sheet and set it on a large platter to finish cooling.

Then she turned to the small loaves of bread she’d baked earlier. A quick touch test verified they’d had enough time to cool, so she quickly wrapped them in plastic wrap and placed one in each of the seven cloth-lined baskets that already contained Martha’s contribution of some homemade jam and cheese. Once she added the cookies, all that would be left would be for her friend Alma to add jars of her chicken soup when Hannah stopped by her place in the morning.

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Hannah straightened, swiping the back of her hand across her forehead as she surveyed her work by the glow of the gas lamps. Placing her hands on her hips as she arched her back, she decided she was well pleased with the night’s results.

It was tempting to leave the cleanup for morning, but she pushed that thought aside as she pictured the sour face Martha would make if this sight greeted her tomorrow. And Martha was always the first one up in the morning.

As she worked, the comforting aroma of the sugar cookies lingered, providing a pleasant counterpoint to the astringent smell of the cleaning soap.

Finally hanging the dishrag above the sink, she stifled a yawn. Hopefully she’d tired herself out enough that she’d sleep better tonight than she had these last few weeks.

She reached up to turn down the lamp, then paused when she heard a dog outside. That was Skip’s I’ve-got-something-cornered bark. What had him all stirred up tonight? Had he spotted some critter prowling around the barn? It wasn’t unusual for animals of one sort or another to look for a cozy place to shelter, especially with the cool-for-May temperatures they’d had the last few nights.

She chewed her lower lip. Should she go check it out?

Before she could decide, Daed’s door opened with that creak he hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. A moment later he stepped into the kitchen, his hunting rifle under his arm.

“Ach, Hannah, up late again I see.”

“I’m just finishing for the night. Did Skip’s barking wake you?”

“Jah. It’s probably nothing, but if I don’t check, Skip will keep at it all night.” He reached for the flashlight they kept on the hutch.

Hannah followed him to the door. “I’ll go with you. You may need me to hold on to Skip if he has an animal cornered.”

Daed opened the door, and they walked side by side through the darkness. Hannah rubbed her arms, trying to ward off the cool night air. The three-quarter moon provided enough light for them to pick their way without the flashlight. Skip’s barking was coming from the hay barn. If a stray animal was looking for a place to bed down, burrowing into the hay would be ideal.

As they neared the barn door, her daed switched on the flashlight and handed it to her. “Take this and shine it inside. Be careful.” He raised his rifle. “It’s probably just a stray cat, but there’s no point in taking chances.”

Hannah nodded and pointed the flashlight straight ahead.

Skip ran out to greet them, then rushed back inside to bark at whatever had invaded his domain.

Her daed moved ahead of her, his rifle at the ready. The interloper wasn’t immediately visible, but based on Skip’s position, it was right behind a stack of square bales halfway down the left side.

Was that a whimper? Hannah frowned in concern. Was the animal injured? Had Skip hurt it?

Her daed marched forward without hesitation, and Hannah hurried after, trying to keep the flashlight focused a few feet ahead of him.

As soon as he got in viewing distance of whatever was behind the hay bales, he stiffened and halted in his tracks.

What was it? Hannah followed and then she, too, halted at the unexpected sight.

An infant carrier, complete with infant, was nestled in a bed of hay.

Hannah rushed forward and dropped to her knees, gathering the pink-swaddled bundle into her arms, crooning soft nothings as she patted the boppli’s back.

The weight of the child in her arms was comfortable, precious, right.

“Where did this boppli come from?”

Her daed’s question barely registered as she continued to marvel at what she knew deep inside was the answer to her anguished prayers.

His next words, however, made more of an impression.

“There’s a note.” He reached past her and plucked it up. “Ach, it’s addressed to you.”

“To me?” She shifted the boppli in her arms so she could read the note.

In the distance, a motor vehicle’s engine started up. Whoever had left this precious bundle had apparently stayed close by long enough to make sure someone found the infant.

Hannah looked down at the note.

Dear Hannah,

You don’t know me very well, but you were very kind to me once when I needed a friend, and I appreciated it more than you will ever know.

My baby’s father abandoned us before this beautiful little girl was born, and I’m unable to care for her on my own. I have no one I can turn to for help, so I’m asking you to take in my precious baby and love her as if she were your own. She comes from Amish roots, and I want her to be raised within the community of Plain people rather than by the English.

The only other thing I ask is that if you ever speak of me to her, please let her know that I loved her very much and truly believe my leaving her with you is what is best for her.

Hannah turned the note over, but the other side was blank—no name, no birth date, nothing other than that the baby was from an Amish family.

Was the mother an Amish girl who’d left the community for a young man only to be abandoned by him eventually? Hannah had heard of it happening before.

Regardless, she felt only gratitude that she’d been entrusted with this precious gift. She would pray for the boppli’s parents every day. Just as she would thank Gotte.

She had prayed for a miracle, but to her shame she realized that her faith had been lacking. She hadn’t truly believed those prayers would be answered.

But Gotte was good. He’d shown her such amazing grace in setting in motion the events that delivered this boppli into her care.

She would do everything in her power to cherish this beautiful, living, breathing miracle.

Chapter 1

One year later

Mike Colder pulled his truck into the parking lot of Rosie’s Diner and turned off the engine, cutting off the country singer on the radio mid-lyric.

He sat there unmoving, staring straight ahead. The fatigue of the eight-hour drive that had followed a long day of physical labor pressed down like talons on his shoulders, rubbed grit in his eyes and wrapped a cloud of fog around his tired mind. When he’d decided last night to make this trip, he’d barely paused long enough to pack his bag and let his boss know he was taking a few weeks of his accrued vacation. He’d driven without stopping except once to refill his gas tank.

But he wasn’t exactly sure where to start his search now that he was finally here.

Here in Hope’s Haven, Ohio.

Here in the hometown he’d left behind as a child twenty-two years ago.

Here in the community that had turned their backs on him and his father, just when they’d needed their support the most.

In fact, based on what his dad told him all those years ago, he half expected a group of bearded men in black mutza suits and straw hats to approach, hook their thumbs through their suspenders and demand that he leave.

But of course no one here knew who he was—at least not yet.

He rolled his shoulders and arched his neck, trying to ease the stiffness from his muscles and the fog from his brain. He needed a cup of coffee and something to eat. It was only ten forty-five, still early for lunch. But that day-old pastry he’d grabbed at the gas station three hours back was long gone. And already there were several vehicles, both buggies and cars, in the diner’s parking lot, which boded well for the quality of the food.

The diner, located just inside the city limits, hadn’t been in existence back when he’d lived here. It was one reason he’d selected this place to stop—no chance of being assaulted by unwanted memories.

Mike stepped out of his truck and immediately felt the difference in temperature. It had to be at least fifteen degrees cooler than the seventy-two he’d left behind him in Missouri. There were also light gusts of wind stirring the branches of nearby ornamental bushes.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he hustled toward the diner entrance. A spring wreath hung on the door, and right below it was an aged sign that listed the diner’s business hours—the designation for Sunday indicated that this was an English-run establishment. Good.

Mike stepped inside and paused next to the podium where a placard requested customers wait to be seated. While he complied, he studied the room. Years of experience as a paramedic had made swift assessments of his surroundings almost second nature.

The venue itself was set up like a typical diner. There was a counter with stools near the kitchen, a number of tables, both intimate and family-sized, and a row of booths along the windowed wall facing the street. The decor included an assortment of pie plates, both vintage and decorative, displayed on the walls.

About a fourth of the tables and booths were occupied. They were mostly English with a few Amish as well. As he scanned the room, his gaze paused at a table near the back where an Amish couple were seated. He was about to move on when the woman looked up.

Mamm!

In the space of one breath to the next he realized his mistake. His pulse resumed its normal rhythm and his hands unclenched. Of course it wasn’t her—his mother had died twenty-two years ago, just before he and his dad moved away. In fact, he’d always believed that was part of the reason they’d left—too many painful memories here for his dad.

But for just that split second when she’d first looked up, he was a little boy again, basking in his mother’s smile. It was only a trick of the light, of course. Couple that with the way she gestured and the lines of her profile, it had all played with his mind. He could see now that she was nothing like his mother, or what he could remember of her.

It seemed, whether he wanted them or not, the memories from his childhood were determined to make themselves felt. And as the past few moments demonstrated, many of those memories were good ones. Because they were the memories of a child, before his eyes had been opened by how deep betrayal could cut.

He pulled himself together as a young Amish woman carrying a menu stepped forward to greet him.

“Wilkom to Rosie’s,” she said with a smile. “Would you prefer a booth or a table?”

When he indicated he’d like a booth, she led him to the one nearest the door.

The fact that his waitress was a young Amish woman surprised him. He’d thought, other than cottage industries, Amish women rarely worked outside the home.

As he slid into his seat, he noticed that the waitress’s name tag read Patience. She handed him a menu and placed a water glass in front of him. “What can I get you to drink while you decide on your order?”

“I’ll take a cup of coffee please.” He didn’t bother to study the menu. “Is there something you’d recommend?” He’d found you rarely went wrong by taking the staff recommendations.

“Any of the lunch specials are gut, but my favorite is the chicken potpie.”

Mike smiled as he waved a hand to indicate the room’s decor. “Pies seem to be a theme here.”

She returned his grin. “For sure and certain. Our cook makes a wonderful gut crust that’s hard to beat.”

He handed the menu back to her. “You’ve convinced me. The chicken potpie it is.”

She jotted down his selection and retrieved the menu. “Gut choice. I’ll turn in your order and be right back with your coffee.”

Once she’d bustled off toward the kitchen, Mike leaned back and stared at the water glass, watching the condensation droplets sullenly slide to the bottom.

Yesterday he’d figured it was time to go through the last few boxes of his stepmother’s and sister Madison’s things. After all, the car accident that took their lives had happened just before Valentine’s Day and it was now late April. When he’d come across Madison’s diary, he’d given in to the temptation to read it. The very first line, though, had tilted his world on its axis.

I think I might be pregnant, and I’ve never been so scared in my life.

The words had hit him like a gut punch. When he’d finished reading her diary, he realized he’d have to go back on his vow to never return to Hope’s Haven.

“Here you go.” Patience set a dish in front of him, pulling Mike’s thoughts back to the present.

As soon as he pierced the crust of the potpie with his fork, the aromatic steam billowed up, reminding him just how hungry he was. The first bite proved that the dish definitely lived up to Patience’s recommendation. He took his time over the meal, savoring each forkful and putting off the moment when he’d have to decide on his next move.

But he finished his meal in what seemed no time at all.

He signaled Patience he was ready for his bill and while he waited, his attention turned to a new customer entering the diner, a young Amish woman with rosy cheeks and bright, curious eyes. Though he couldn’t say exactly what it was, something about her caught and held his attention.

As she moved to the counter, her gaze casually scanned the room. When it connected with his, however, her steps faltered for just a second.

Mike had heard others talk about the instant connection they felt when exchanging glances with someone for the first time, but he’d always scoffed at such notions. Real connections were based on getting to know the other person, not in fleeting looks.

But for the first time he knew what they meant.

Something in that look drew him in, made him want to learn all about her. She seemed at once familiar, as if he’d known her forever, and foreign, like a rare creature apart from anything he’d ever seen before.

And by the way her eyes widened ever so slightly, he could tell she felt something too.

But for all that flashover of feelings, the connection was gone in an instant. She ducked her head shyly, then gave Patience a friendly wave as she reached the counter. Apparently she was here to pick up a take-out order.

He watched her chat with the cashier, her smile infectious, her hand gestures animated. Her gaze didn’t stray his way again.

He tried not to be too obvious about his interest, studying her from the corner of his eye, until Patience returned with his ticket. Handing her his credit card, he leaned back and resolutely turned his thoughts back to his reason for making this trip.

He still had trouble accepting the revelations he’d found in Madison’s diary. Part of him wondered if his little sister had merely been outlining a piece of fiction.

How could his sweet, carefree, barely nineteen-year-old sister have carried a baby to term without him or his stepmom being any the wiser? And to then have abandoned the child…

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. The entry that had stabbed at him the most was when she’d written that she planned to anonymously leave the baby in Hope’s Haven because she knew that, even if Mike were to discover her secret, he would never look for the infant there.

Well, in that she’d been wrong.

Knowing his nephew was out here was one of the few things that could draw him back. Because family was important. Especially when you thought you had none.

Not only did he intend to find the boy and claim him as his nephew, but he would do everything in his power to make sure the boy wouldn’t be raised among these people.

The people who had turned their backs on him and his father just when they’d needed them most.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Mike surreptitiously focused again on the Amish woman with the ready smile and intriguing brown eyes. As he watched, she gathered up the bags with her order and moved away from the counter. Then she paused to speak to an older Amish gentleman who was eating alone.

Patience returned with his credit card and receipt, momentarily blocking his view.

Which was probably just as well. He had no business letting himself get distracted from his quest right now.

Mike placed a tip on the table and stood to go. But he hadn’t taken so much as a step toward the door when he heard a sharp cry of concern.

“Carl, was is letz?”

Chapter 2

The panicked note in the Amish woman’s voice jerked Mike’s attention back to her. It took only a heartbeat to realize the man she’d been speaking to was choking, and less time than that for his training to kick in.

Mike rushed forward. As he passed a table with an English woman and kids, he issued a “Call nine-one-one” command without pausing. “Tell them we have an elderly man choking on something.”

As soon as he reached the man’s side, Mike pulled the chair away from the table. He spoke to the woman standing nearby in a calm but authoritative voice as he continued to work. “Your friend is choking, and I’m standing him up so I can help him.”

Mike placed a hand on the man’s chest and bent him over at the waist. As he administered five quick blows between the man’s shoulder blades with the heel of his hand, he noticed that the woman had taken the man’s hand, no doubt to comfort him.

When the blows didn’t clear the problem, Mike shifted position to stand behind him and delivered abdominal thrusts in the Heimlich maneuver. On the third thrust, a chunk of food forcibly dislodged, and the man was able to finally draw a deep, shuddering breath.

Mike helped him sit, then stooped beside him to perform a quick exam, or the best exam he could do without getting his go bag from his truck. He glanced up at the woman still holding the man’s hand. As if sensing his scrutiny, she met his gaze and again he felt that jolt of connection.

The wail of approaching sirens brought him back to the issue at hand. “What’s his name?” he asked as he turned back to the choking victim.

“Carl.”

“Hello, Carl. My name is Mike. Your throat will probably be a bit sore for a little while, but you should be able to breathe fine now. I suggest you let the guys who are arriving in the emergency vehicle check you out.” He offered a reassuring smile. “They came all this way, after all.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you. You saved my life, for sure and certain.” Carl held out his hand.

Mike stood and exchanged a quick handshake. “No need for thanks. I was just in the right place at the right time.”

Then he put his hand on Carl’s shoulder as the man attempted to rise. “Keep your seat. Here comes the cavalry now.” He glanced up and for a moment his gaze again locked with that of the Amish woman. That spark of connection and curiosity was still there. What was it about this woman?

Then the door opened and two EMTs rushed in.

Mike introduced himself to the new arrivals and explained what had happened. Then he stepped back and let them take over.

In the hubbub of the next few minutes, Mike slipped away, only pausing to exchange business cards with one of the EMTs in case they had follow-up questions. The adrenaline still zipped through his veins, leaving him with an edgy feeling that would take some time to dissipate. This was the kind of thing that he’d trained for, that made the long hours and emotional and physical effort worth it. If only all his assignments had happy endings like this one.

Unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

Mike stuffed his hands in his pockets. He needed to decide what his next move would be.

But instead he found himself thinking of the woman he’d been drawn to in the diner. She’d smelled faintly of cinnamon and vanilla, scents that evoked warmth and hominess.

He’d glanced her way one last time before making his exit, and he couldn’t deny that he’d found the respectful admiration in her expression flattering.

He forced his thoughts away from the woman inside—after all, he probably wouldn’t see her again. The EMTs would be coming out of the diner shortly and he didn’t want to be found just hanging around.

So where did he go from here? He’d intended to ask the waitress to recommend a local hotel or bed-and-breakfast but had forgotten in all the excitement. Oh, well, he’d just look it up on his phone.
. . .