Love Blooms in Morning Star

Book 4: Maidels of Morning Star

by Charlotte Hubbard

Genres: Amish & Mennonite; Christian Romance; Clean & Wholesome Romance

Synopsis

When five unmarried Amish maidels turn a ramshackle barn into a thriving business, their small Missouri town is energized by new opportunities. But the Morning Star Marketplace has also brought unexpected joy, as each woman finds her own true love . . .



As Jo Fussner keeps the Marketplace humming, her heart dances with a joyous secret. Jo and Michael Wengerd, a shy nursery owner from a nearby town, have fallen hopelessly in love. When Michael buys a courting buggy, Jo is sure a proposal will follow. But she'll have to work hard to gain her mother's approval—because the widowed Drusilla Fussner is convinced that marriage will bring her daughter nothing but heartache.



To win Jo's hand, Michael enlists his father's help in convincing Drusilla to give the marriage her blessing—and perhaps even open her heart to new happiness of her own. . . . But just as Jo and Michael's hope for their future grows, an even bigger obstacle looms. The Amish elders vote to forbid any maidel from working once she marries. Now Jo must choose between the beloved store she's put her heart into, and the man she can't live without. Conflicted, Jo will have to trust that anything is possible when true faith guides the way . . .

Release date: July 26, 2022

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

Jo Fussner gripped the pew bench in her excitement, thrumming with joy as she gazed across the center of the room at Michael Wengerd. As newehockers, they had front-row seats at Molly and Marietta Helfing’s double wedding, which was about to begin now that the church service had concluded. In his black pants and vest, with a white shirt that glowed in the March sunshine streaming through the window, Michael looked so handsome that Jo still wondered what he saw in a bulky, big-boned woman like her. But the love shining in his gray-blue eyes as he returned her gaze had the power to make her feel beautiful beyond belief.

Michael might’ve stayed in Queen City over the winter to make things easier for me, but his face still reflects his deep feelings for me—his belief that we should be together. It’s a miracle even more special than springtime, Lord, and for that I thank You!

When Bishop Jeremiah Shetler smiled at Marietta and Molly, the brides rose from the pew bench. In their dresses of deep teal, adorned with aprons made of crisp white organdy, they looked fresh and lovely as they centered themselves before the bishop with their grooms on either side of them. Pete Shetler appeared as nervous as Jo had ever seen him—until Molly’s reassuring smile brought the dimples back into his playful grin. Widowed nearly a year ago, Glenn Detweiler offered his elbow to slender Marietta, who took it with a dreamlike sigh as he placed his hand over hers.

Lydianne Christner, another of the twins’ side-sitters, leaned closer to Jo. “It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for!” she whispered happily. As the bishop’s fiancée, the pretty blond teacher was anticipating her own wedding in May, after school let out.

On Lydianne’s other side, redheaded Regina leaned forward to share her excitement, as well. “And your turns are coming!” she put in. “Last year at this time, who could’ve believed that every one of us confirmed maidels would find the man of her dreams?”

Jo’s heart thumped like a happy dog’s tail. She and Michael hadn’t yet set a date, but she considered Regina—who’d married Gabe Flaud last fall—Lydianne, and the Helfing twins the finest inspiration she could ever have. Together, the five of them had organized The Marketplace, a thriving mall where Plain crafters sold their wares. What had been a dilapidated barn last spring now stood as solid, profitable testimony to the power of friendship and the ability to make a dream come true.

“We’ve surprised a lot of people—and ourselves,” Jo agreed.

When Bishop Jeremiah glanced their way—probably to share another smile with his beloved Lydianne before beginning the ceremony—the three women sat back again with their hands clasped demurely in their laps. Over the years they’d shared many a whispered remark during lengthy church services, but it was time to focus on the brides and grooms with proper solemnity.

“Beloved family of God, flock of the Gut Shepherd, Our Lord Jesus Christ,” the bishop intoned in his resonant voice, “as we gather to celebrate the union of these two fine couples, we should rejoice in all that’s happened in their lives over the past several months. We give thanks that Glenn Detweiler has passed through the valley of the shadow and into the light again, following the loss of his wife, his mamm, and his home last year. And we rejoice with his new bride, Marietta, who stands before us completely recovered from her cancer and her chemo treatments.”

Folks in the congregation nodded. As Glenn stood confidently beside his bride, he looked like a man who’d been reclaimed and rescued by the love he’d found because Marietta had accepted his proposal last Christmas.

“We’re also delighted to see Pete Shetler standing before us without a crutch or a cane, recovered after his fall from the Detweilers’ roof in December,” Bishop Jeremiah continued with a special smile for his blond nephew. “And we’re grateful to his helpmate, Molly, for inspiring Pete during his physical therapy and encouraging his return to work—”

“Slave driver,” Pete whispered loudly.

“Slacker,” Molly teased back, just loudly enough to make the congregation chuckle.

“—and for providing support for Marietta and the Detweilers during their times of trial, as well,” the bishop added. “It’s my greatest pleasure to unite these twin sisters and the men with whom God has blessed them in holy matrimony today. If any amongst you can give a reason why either of these two couples should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The Helfings’ newly renovated front room rang with silence. Glossy refinished hardwood floors, new built-in cabinets along the back wall, and fresh blue paint attested to the carpentry skills of both Pete and Glenn, who’d worked together to ensure that the twins’ longtime residence would be ready for today’s special event.

Jo was delighted that Molly would remain in her lifelong home with her new husband while Marietta would be moving into the Detweilers’ house, which had risen like a phoenix from the ashes after the previous structure had burned to the ground shortly before Christmas. Signs of new life—the renewal that bloomed with the dogwoods and redbud trees in the spring—were evident everywhere she looked, and Jo felt a special surge of hope as the bishop led the twins in their vows.

She was soon pulled out of the ceremonial spell the bishop wove with his words, however, as she met Michael’s gaze again. It had been such a blessing when she’d spotted him earlier this morning, striding toward her. As he’d done in her fondest dreams over the winter, he’d held out his hands and she’d grabbed them as though she’d never let them go.

“I have a surprise for you, Josie-girl,” he’d whispered. “Right after the wedding, you’ll see it.”

Josie-girl. The sound of Michael’s unique endearment had made her eager heart turn somersaults. How was she supposed to pay attention to the wedding ceremony while she wondered about the surprise he’d promised?

But one thing Jo knew, as surely as she could bake cinnamon rolls: Michael had returned to Morning Star loving her even more than when Mamm had sent him and his dat away at Christmas. Michael and Nelson weren’t renting the Fussners’ dawdi haus anymore, but the Wengerds were back in her life, and they intended to move forward with the plans they’d made during her visit to their home in Queen City last December.

Life simply didn’t get any more exciting than that. Jo’s confidence in their future together bloomed even more spectacularly than the thousands of red poinsettias she’d beheld in the Wengerd greenhouses when she’d defied her mother’s wishes to visit them.

“We joked with Marietta and Molly about how old they were at their birthday in December,” Bishop Jeremiah was saying lightheartedly. “At thirty-five, they stand before us as a reminder that it’s never too late to believe love will lead us to the altar—and that we never outgrow our need for love and companionship. God is love, after all, and He created us in His image.”

As folks in the crowded room nodded their assent, Jo smiled at the twin brides. Only months ago Marietta had believed her bilateral mastectomy had rendered her too undesirable to ever marry—and Molly had stood steadfastly by her sister as they’d planned to live out their lives as maidels who supported themselves with their homemade noodle business. But Glenn Detweiler had believed Marietta was the perfect woman to give him a new life and raise his two young sons. Pete Shetler had recognized Molly’s sense of humor and inner strength as the foundation on which to build a responsible adulthood within the Old Order community—a lifestyle he’d avoided for years.

Jo sighed gratefully. It wasn’t so long ago that I believed no man would ever marry a woman of thirty-one who looked exactly like her big, bulky dat. Yet Michael’s eyes look beyond my appearance and into my soul, and he shares so many of my hopes and dreams.

“The same thing can be said for folks who’ve lost the mates they married as young people,” the bishop continued, gazing around the room. “If we sincerely believe God wants us to be happy, and that He’ll provide a partner to share our later-life journey, that person will appear. I’m not talking about fairy-tale magic, folks,” he added earnestly. “I’m talking about the everyday, down-to-earth, wondrous love our Heavenly Father blesses us with as surely as He makes the flowers bloom each spring.”

Across the room, seated among the men, Nelson Wengerd raised his eyebrows in a hopeful expression. Despite Mamm’s negativity and the way she’d informed him that marriage was a trap, he seemed ready to face Drusilla Fussner again. Jo believed it would be a blessing for her mother to realize the Wengerds’ true natures rather than assuming they’d cause the same disappointment she’d apparently suffered during her life with Jo’s deceased dat.

This was no time to ponder her parents’ marriage, however. As Jo refocused on Bishop Jeremiah’s sermon, she dreamed of the day she would exchange vows with Michael. What was the surprise he’d brought her? Could they slip out together after they’d fulfilled their duties as side-sitters?

“It gives me great pleasure to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Glenn Detweiler,” Bishop Jeremiah said happily.

The congregation applauded as Marietta and Glenn turned to face everyone, appearing relieved and extremely happy. Jo thought both of them seemed younger than they had in months, now that they’d left behind their trials to become a couple.

“And I’ll also be the first to congratulate Mr. and Mrs. Peter Shetler!” the bishop said with a lilt in his voice. “Gutness knows we all wondered if we’d ever see the day my nephew gave up English ways to settle into the Amish faith with a wife by his side!”

As Pete and Molly laughed along with their friends and families, Jo continued clapping. Pete had once worked at the nearby pet food factory, spending his leisure time at the pool hall with his English coworkers and running the roads in his old pickup truck with his dog, Riley. These days, he was putting his design and carpentry skills to good use: He’d completely renovated his uncle Jeremiah’s home before updating the Helfing house with many special kitchen features Jo envied.

“We’ll be enjoying the wedding meal in the commons area of The Marketplace,” the bishop reminded everyone as they began rising from the benches. “You’ll want to head in that direction as soon as you’ve greeted the brides and grooms.”

Jo was pleased the church leaders had agreed that Molly and Marietta could host their meal in the large red barn’s open area rather than squeezing the guests around tables in their small home, eating in shifts, as was the tradition. Because the twins had lost their mamm years ago, other local ladies had stepped in to oversee the big meal—and because Jo’s bakery at The Marketplace had three ovens, commercial-size refrigerators, and other features required by the health department, it was a very convenient place to feed a large crowd.

Jo followed Lydianne and Regina through a gap in the wedding guests, toward the small table where the newehockers would sign the marriage certificate as witnesses. Gabe joined his wife, Regina, as they stepped up to sign first. When Jo felt someone stopping close behind her, she instinctively knew it was Michael.

“It’s a happy day,” he murmured near her ear. “A time to observe the ceremony’s details more closely, jah?”

Jo was taller than most women, so she never tired of looking up into Michael’s dear face rather than over the top of his head. “And in a couple of months we’ll watch the bishop and Lydianne tie the knot,” she remarked. “The vows and service might stay the same, but every ceremony reflects the couple standing up front.”

Michael gestured for Jo to take the pen and sign before he did. “Today’s surprise will, um, drive us a little closer to our day,” he whispered.

Jo’s smile widened as she carefully penned her full name, Josephine Louise Fussner, on the line beneath Regina’s signature. Michael was obviously so tickled about his surprise that she could hardly wait to see it. When she offered him the pen, delighting in the way his fingers lingered over hers, she wanted this day to go on and on. After being apart for more than two months, they had a lot of catching up to do.

“Right this way, sweet Josie,” he murmured. He took her hand to start toward the room where they’d stashed their coats. “We won’t be late for the meal, but we don’t have to be the first to arrive either, ain’t so?”

Intrigued by his hint, Jo chuckled as they made their way through the crowd. A downstairs bedroom near the kitchen had been designated as the place for folks to stack their coats and cloaks, and because the newehockers had arrived earlier than most of the guests, Jo and Michael dug toward the bottom of the piles. One black Amish coat looked exactly like the next, so they spent a few moments reading the name labels sewn inside the collars.

“Here’s mine,” Jo said, recognizing the cloak with her turquoise label and embroidered name.

“And mine. We’re out of here as soon as I find my hat!”

Moments later they were stepping out the mudroom door, heading for the line of rigs parked along the Helfings’ gravel lane and pasture fence. For the twelfth of March, the day was warm, so Jo was glad she’d left her heavy winter coat at home. With her hand in Michael’s, she raised her face to the sunlight and said a quick prayer of thanks for this glorious moment in time, when everything except the two of them faded away.

“Jo and Michael, may I have a word before you hit the road?”

Nelson’s familiar voice made her turn toward the man who’d also left ahead of the crowd. His salt-and-pepper hair and beard were neatly trimmed and—as always—Michael’s dat exuded a sense of quiet confidence. “Your mamm’s not here today. I hope she’s not ill?”

Jo’s smile fell a notch. “She said she wasn’t in the mood for a wedding. I tried to talk her into coming, figuring it would raise her spirits to eat amongst her friends, but she was having none of it. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize for her,” Nelson remarked with a sigh. “You kids have a gut time celebrating with the twins and their new husbands. I’ll catch up to you later.”

When he spotted other folks coming outside, Michael guided Jo toward the parked rigs again, placing his hand at the small of her back. He focused on the many buggies for a moment before his eyes lit up.

“Here we are! What do you think of my new courting buggy, Jo?” he asked eagerly. “I ordered it from Saul Hartzler’s factory before we left Morning Star in December and picked it up last night when we drove into town for the wedding.”

Jo’s jaw dropped. A courting buggy! As they approached the open rig with a seat only big enough for two, her heart skipped like a happy schoolgirl’s. “It’s beautiful, Michael! Look at the way the wood shines. And what a wonderful shade of magenta you chose for your seat fabric.”

Michael smiled proudly as they stopped beside his rig. “I splurged on real leather, too,” he confided. “I figured this was the only time I’d be buying such a buggy, so I wanted it to be first-class for you, Jo. Wait here while I fetch my mare.”

Off he sprinted toward the pasture, where folks had left their horses during the morning’s services. Jo ran her finger along the buggy’s black wood, polished to such a shine that she could see her reflection in it. Deacon Saul was known for producing a quality product—and he hadn’t gotten wealthy by undercharging for his work, either. It wasn’t her place to ask Michael how many thousands of dollars he’d invested in his new rig. She and Mamm had considered ordering a new enclosed buggy a couple of years ago—the most basic model the Hartzler Carriage Company made—but when they’d heard what it would cost, they decided to make do with their old one.

“Gut girl—you’re doing fine,” Michael assured his horse as he approached Jo. “This is our Josie, and you’ll be seeing a lot of her. And Josie, this is Starla, my new buggy mare. I’ve been working with her for the past month, but she’s still a little skittish around strangers.”

“Oh, aren’t you a pretty girl?” Jo said as she extended her hand. The mare looked young and angular, not yet in her prime. Her coat was a deep gray, and the irregular white star centered above her eyes would make her easy to recognize in a corral full of horses. “Did you have her tethered to the back of your dat’s rig when you drove here yesterday?”

“Jah, and she did fine. She wasn’t quite sure how to handle being hitched up behind the motel last night, but—”

“You can keep her—and your new buggy—at our place!” Jo blurted out. “It’s one thing for Mamm to say you fellows can’t stay in our dawdi haus anymore, but I see no reason for your horses to be stuck in that tiny patch of grass at the motel! Those English owners weren’t figuring on Plain folks parking there, after all.”

“Are you sure?” Michael handed Starla’s lead rope to Jo so he could push his courting buggy backward to hitch up. “I wouldn’t want your mamm to think we were overstepping her authority—”

“Starla—and your dat’s horse—can stay with us on my authority,” Jo interrupted. “If Mamm makes a fuss, I’ll take the blame. No arguing with me now, when you’ve bought a special buggy for us to go riding in. This is quite a surprise, Michael!” she added as she admired the way his black buggy and charcoal-colored mare looked together. Wasn’t it just like Michael to get all the details right?

He took her hand to help her up the black metal steps and into his new rig. “I’m glad you see it that way, Josie-girl. I don’t intend to upset your mother, but I don’t plan on tiptoeing around her bad moods, either. We have a whole new life ahead of us—together. Shall we get on with it?”

As Nelson drove toward the Fussner place, he admired the deep pink blooms of the redbud trees and the ivory blossoms on the dogwoods that were sprinkled among the hardwoods and cedars along the roadside. This region of Missouri was hillier and rockier than Queen City, and many wooded areas were tucked among the plowed farmsteads he passed. Spring had always been his favorite time of year—its bright green renewal in the countryside filled him with the sense of hope that came with each new planting season. Although his nursery plots and greenhouses were thriving, Nelson felt that God’s own landscaping handiwork was far more magnificent than anything he could plant himself.

When he turned in at the Fussners’ gravel lane, however, he immediately noticed that the cold, snowy winter hadn’t done their house and outbuildings any favors. Most of the Plain homes around Morning Star took on a shine in the afternoon sun, but the Fussner farmhouse needed fresh white paint and a new roof. The red barn was showing its age, as well—and Nelson saw these potential repairs as a way he and Michael could make amends with Jo’s mother to prove their intentions were honorable.

Drusilla Fussner had become the most negative, disagreeable woman he’d ever met. Over the past several weeks since she’d kicked him and Michael out of her rental dawdi haus, Nelson had seriously considered leaving her to stew in her own juice—but his son was head over heels in love with Jo. He wanted the young couple’s courtship to continue without the dark cloud of Drusilla’s objections hanging over them, so he was willing to try once again to earn her favor and friendship.

In his heart, Nelson knew Jo’s mamm was desperately afraid of losing her only child—fearful of being left to grow old alone if Jo married. He didn’t relish such a future, either. As he pulled up alongside the house, Nelson sent up a prayer.

Give me the right words, Lord—the right ideas to convince Drusilla that we’ll not trap her or Jo in relationships that make them feel we’ve taken advantage of them. Help me understand why she doesn’t trust us.

When he stepped away from his rig, he saw her—a figure in a dark, hooded sweatshirt, hunched over the row she was planting in her large garden plot. What a shame that she could’ve been wearing a nice dress, sitting among her friends at a wedding and a meal she wouldn’t eat alone. Yet she’d chosen to work at home. Drusilla sold her vegetables at a roadside stand in front of the house, but she could’ve easily waited another week to plant her cool-weather crops. Nelson frowned, wondering if her emotional state had declined since he’d last been here—

Or did she skip the wedding so she wouldn’t see me?

The thought warned him to approach Drusilla carefully, and to keep the conversation light. If he was to have any chance at a long-term relationship—or even just a cordial friendship—with Michael’s future mother-in-law, he had to sow seeds of kindness and trust today.

When she straightened to her full height to lean against her hoe, Drusilla still appeared somewhat stooped—older than when he’d last seen her. His heart went out to her even as he braced himself for her negative response to his visit.

“Hello there, Drusilla!” he called out so his approach wouldn’t startle her. “You’re getting an early start on your planting—making hay while the sun shines, jah?”

She looked at him warily, not moving a muscle.

Nelson removed his hat so she could fully see his facial expressions and tried again. “It’s gut to see you. We missed you at the wedding today, so I’m glad you’re not ill.”

Drusilla looked as though she might brandish her hoe as a weapon if he came any closer. “What are you doing here? Returning like a bad penny?” she demanded. “If you’re looking to rent my dawdi haus again, the answer is still no.”

Nelson sighed, sorry her attitude hadn’t improved over the past two and a half months. His poor son had refrained from calling Jo or writing to her all that time, hoping not to strain her relationship with her mother, but it seemed Michael’s effort hadn’t helped Drusilla’s mood. “No, we’ve honored your wishes and we’ll be staying at the roadside motel down the way.”

“That’ll cost you a pretty penny!” she said with a humorless laugh. “Is it worth your long trip from Queen City to sell your plants and produce each weekend?”

Did Drusilla feel his nursery shop at The Marketplace competed with her vegetable sales? She was making conversation rather than walking away, so Nelson didn’t raise that issue—partly because he didn’t intend to change his lucrative business arrangements to humor her.

“Our motel fees are the price of doing business—just as paying rent for your dawdi haus used to be,” he pointed out carefully. “We’ve invested in new greenhouses to increase our production for the crowds at our Marketplace shop and for the summer produce auctions, so we’re committed to the long haul. Our profits here in Morning Star have made our expansion well worth the expense.”

Shrugging, Drusilla lowered the corner of her hoe to the ground again and cut the rest of the garden row she’d been planting.

Nelson remained quiet, giving her a chance to reply in her own good time. As he looked around the Fussner farm, beyond a couple more outbuildings that could use some paint, he spotted a fellow on a horse-drawn plow, tilling a nearby field. During his weekend stays last summer and fall, he hadn’t gotten a clear idea about the size of the Fussner property, so he tried another topic of conversation.

“How much ground does your farm cover, Drusilla?” he asked, hoping he sounded interested rather than nosy. “Looks like you’ve got several acres of woods and rough terrain on your place rather than cropland—”

“Why’s that your concern?” she shot back. “You sound like a man looking to finagle a poor widow woman out of her land.”

Nelson closed his eyes, reminding himself to remain polite. He was an uninvited guest, after all, and he’d apparent. . .