Marry Me, Millie

Book 1: Paradise Valley

by Amy Lillard

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

Synopsis

Amy Lillard's uplifting new series unites a "Widows Club" of women who share solace, friendship, and faith in the Amish community of Paradise Valley, Missouri . . .



When her young husband died unexpectedly, Millie Bauman thought her life was over too—until she learned she was carrying his child. Now, as she awaits the baby's arrival, Millie's sure her future will revolve around motherhood, the B&B she runs with her Aunt Sylvie, and the beloved Whoopie Pies her Widows Club whips up each week. But when a handsome newcomer arrives in town, Millie is intrigued, and the club wonders if Millie might find a second chance at love . . .



Henry King plans to stay in Paradise Valley long enough to take care of some family business, and hopefully mend the heartache of his own lost love. As Henry and Millie cross paths, it's clear their neighbors are gently trying to play matchmaker. Not wanting to disappoint, the two pretend to play along—but life gets complicated when a true and tender affection grows. As Millie gets ready to welcome her baby, they must rely on faith and fate to decide if they should risk their hearts on love again . . .

Release date: December 28, 2021

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

“Who’s that?”

At her aunt’s question, Millie Bauman stopped pouring water into the little foam cups and gazed out across Thomas Kurtz’s yard. She didn’t see anyone she didn’t recognize and immediately went back to her task. The sermon had been long and her back was aching. She was ready to finish her chore and find somewhere to rest for a bit. With or without a plate of food, she didn’t care. She might be six months pregnant, but with the added weight she’d attracted recently, rest was quickly becoming more important than food.

The six-month mark had been strange for her. It seemed as if everything had shifted. Her balance was off, she got tired more easily, and with the growing heat there in central Missouri, she was decidedly crankier. Not that she let her change in attitude show. She did her best every day to be as even-tempered as possible. And that was not always an easy endeavor. Which seemed to wear her out. And then the whole process started all over again.

“I don’t see anybody new,” she said.

“You didn’t even look,” her aunt protested.

“I did. I saw Thomas Kurtz talking to Vern King and Christian Beachy. That’s not exactly big news around here.” After all, it was Thomas’s house where they had just held their church services. He and Christian were both widowers in their small community of Paradise Springs, and Vern . . . well, Vern seemed to always be around somewhere. Not in a bad way, but it was as if he was always in the thick of things. There was another man, but she couldn’t see him well enough to decipher who he was. Christian was blocking her view. Maybe that’s who her aunt was talking about.

“That’s Henry King,” Lillian Lambert said, sidling up behind them.

The line had slowed and Millie had several cups already poured for the next people who wanted them. She got one for herself and took a long drink, studying the men across the yard. Then Christian moved and she saw him, this Henry King.

“He’s handsome,” Sylvie said offhandedly. A little too offhandedly.

“Sylvie, no,” Millie protested. This was a new development in their relationship. Sylvie had taken it into her head that Millie needed to get married again. It was ironic, she supposed. The very reason she had moved to Paradise Springs, one of the two settlements in Paradise Valley, was to avoid that very thing. The rest of Millie’s family was in Adrian, just a short distance away. Millie would have been there too, had her husband not died in a freak construction accident, leaving her alone and pregnant. Though, at the time, she’d had no idea that she carried a child. When she realized the truth, she decided she didn’t want to get married again, so she sold everything she had and moved here to Paradise Springs to help her aunt with her business, the Paradise Springs B&B.

“You don’t think he’s handsome?” Lillian asked, brows raised till they almost met her hairline.

“She doesn’t think who’s handsome?” Elsie Miller picked that time to saunter up. She took up her own cup of water as she waited for Lillian to continue.

“Joy’s cousin.”

Millie quickly did the math. Joy Lehman was Vern King’s granddaughter so, jah, that would make her and Henry cousins or siblings. Though it didn’t matter how handsome he was—and he was handsome, rust-colored hair and dark eyes—she wasn’t interested.

“I didn’t think we were supposed to care about such trivial things as looks,” she said with a sniff.

Lillian laughed. “Name me one woman who doesn’t think their man is handsome.”

“Frannie Lambright,” Sylvie said emphatically.

They all laughed, though Millie wished she had curtailed her own humor. Leroy Lambright might resemble a donkey at times, but he was a good and godly man. Father of eight, grandfather to who knew how many, deacon to their district, and all-around beautiful man. On the inside. Where it counted most.

Frannie herself was something of a saint. Millie knew that most people would take it for granted that Frannie would see after her brother-in-law’s new baby. After all, it had only been a couple of months since his wife died having the child, but Frannie was almost sixty years old. She was past the time for toting around an infant, but Benjamin needed her, and she had stepped up. To Millie, it sounded a tad crazy, but commendable all the same.

“And then Frannie and that baby,” Lillian continued, echoing Millie’s thoughts. Lillian shook her head, as if that explained everything. Actually, it did. They all knew it was quite an undertaking to accept the responsibility for such a small child to the benefit of another. Even Sylvie, who had never had any children of her own, understood how much time and care a newborn demanded. Frannie was on the cusp of her golden years, working toward the time when she could merely bounce her grandchildren on her knee and wait for others to provide most of her care. Instead, she wagged that baby to work with her at the Lambrights’ meat market in town—Paradise Meats—and watched her and the counter all day. Benjamin’s other children went to stay with his mother-in-law while he worked the dairy farm he shared with his brother, then onto the meat market, where they took turns manning the cutting blades each day.

“He’s not going to be able to keep this up for long,” Sylvie said with a small shake of her head.

“It’s already been two months,” Lillian pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sylvie continued. “He’s going to have to remarry soon, even if he’s in mourning. Those babies need a mother.”

Maybe Sylvie was on an everyone-needs-to-be-married kick or something. Which was strange, seeing as how she had been a widow for as long as Millie could remember. Maybe even before she was born. And Sylvie pretty much ran the Whoopie Pie Widows Club, so it didn’t seem like she was thinking about marriage anytime soon.

The Whoopie Pie Widows Club. So that wasn’t the exact name of the group. It was something like Paradise Springs Widows Group or some such, but no one called it that. To most all of Paradise Springs—and neighboring rival, Paradise Hill—the group of widowed women were known as the Whoopie Pie Widows Club.

From what Millie had learned in her time in Paradise Springs, it had all started when Felty Lambright’s wife, Sue, was diagnosed with cancer. The widows got together to do a bake sale for a fundraiser, but it just so happened that they all made whoopie pies. Millie figured someone fell down on their job in organizing a variety. At any rate, the ladies made exotic flavors of the traditional, well-loved dessert, and before anyone could turn around, the nickname had stuck. Not that anyone called them that where any of them could hear. But still, they were most definitely the Whoopie Pie Widows Club.

“He came into the store yesterday,” Lillian said, drawing Millie out of her own thoughts.

“Who?” Millie asked.

“Henry King,” Lillian explained with a small frown. Clearly she was disappointed that Millie was not keeping up with the conversation better than she was.

“The variety store?” Millie questioned, still a bit behind. Lillian’s father-in-law owned and operated a variety store. Lillian had gone to work there several years before when her own husband had died. So it would make sense that was the store she was talking about.

“Of course.” Lillian’s frown deepened a bit. “He seems like a real nice man. A perfect match for one of our younger women.”

“If he stays,” Elsie said. “Betsy told me that he was only here for the growing season. Once fall comes, he’s going back to Oklahoma. That’s where he’s from.”

“Betsy would know,” Lillian said sagely.

Betsy Stoll, also a member of the Whoopie Pie Widows Club, owned and ran the Paradise Apothecary. She sold herbs and home remedies to everyone in Paradise Springs and had a strong finger on the pulse of the community.

“Maybe,” Sylvie said. “I know who would really know.” She let out a low whistle and waved to Joy Lehman, Henry’s cousin.

Joy nodded to the people she was talking to, then made her way over to where they stood at the water station. “Honestly, Sylvie, whistling at church?”

Sylvie returned Joy’s look unabashedly. “It was a low whistle and everyone has eaten.”

Joy shook her head. “You’ll bring the bishop down on you in a quick minute if you don’t behave yourself.”

A few of the women snickered. That was the one thing that surprised Millie when she moved to Paradise Springs, the bishop. Zebadiah Miller might take his duties seriously, but he was not out to police his community. If no one complained, he didn’t bother. And Millie was certain no one complained much. It made for a smooth-running district, even if they were a bit . . . unorthodox.

“Can I have a turn now?” Sylvie asked.

Joy rolled her eyes, but the action was a bit playful, Millie noticed. “What is it?”

“Millie was just asking about your cousin,” Sylvie said.

“I was no—” Millie stopped. Denying it sounded worse than if she had actually asked. Which she hadn’t.

Joy smiled. “He’s a good seed,” she said, then her expression grew dark. “But I think he’s up to no good.” She pressed her lips together before starting back up. “It’s not his fault. It’s Dale’s . . . my uncle,” she continued when no one responded.

“Oh.” The ladies nodded in unison.

“He wants Vern to come to Oklahoma and live with him. Says he’s getting forgetful and needs to be around his family. So I asked Dale what did that make me? He said I didn’t count.”

The ladies gasped.

“Not in so many words,” Joy backpedaled. “But that was the gist. Then he offered to let me come down too. Not sure where he thinks I’ll live. Not in the dawdihaus with Dat, that’s for certain.” She gave a small harrumph.

“What’s in Oklahoma?” Elsie asked.

Joy gave a delicate shrug. “Most of the family, I guess. But when they all moved down there—to use the tractors, you know—Vern and my Rudy decided they wanted to stay here.”

And then Rudy died. Joy had lost her income, so she leased her farmland and opened a bakery in her basement. After all, she had four children to care for.

That was one thing Millie could say about the widows in Paradise Springs: They were made of stern stuff. She laid a protective hand over her belly. She hoped some of that gumption would rub off on her. She had a feeling she was going to need it once her baby was born.

“What’s the matter?” Sylvie asked, noticing Millie’s fingers splayed across her bulging midsection.

“Nothing.” Millie smiled to reassure her aunt.

“Did the baby kick?” Elsie asked, reaching a tentative hand toward Millie, but not quite touching her.

As near as Millie could figure, Elsie was at least fifty, but she had never had any children of her own. It was strange to Millie how such things came about. Elsie seemed like she would make a kind and loving mother, whereas Lillian seemed to be counting down the days until her youngest daughter and last child left home, got married, and moved out. Lillian had five kids total. Esther, the youngest, was promised to marry Mark Esh this December. And then that would be that.

But Millie knew that this child she carried—a little boy or a little girl, she did not know—would be her only child. She was never marrying again, so it only stood to reason. But she was fine with that decision. She had made peace with it, and with God.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sylvie said. “Out of the sun.”

“Good idea,” Elsie said. She grabbed a lawn chair off the side porch and carried it under the shade of the nearby oak tree. “Come sit, Millie.”

What could she do but comply? Especially after the action had been carried out just for her. Still, she thought as she settled into the seat, it was good to get off her aching feet and to rest her aching back. No one ever talked about how painful pregnancy could be. There were days when she was certain even her hair hurt, but she wasn’t complaining. One look at Elsie’s sparkling eyes every time she caught sight of a sweet child was enough to have Millie thanking God for the blessings she had. She knew it was arrogant and prideful to believe that she would carry the baby full-term and have a healthy child to raise, but she still thanked God every chance she got.

“You just sit there and rest,” her aunt said, patting her on the hand in a gesture that Millie was pretty sure was meant to show support.

Despite her aunt’s overly considerate tone and the fact that several people were coming up to get drinks, Millie decided to do just that.

Sylvie Yoder cast one last, quick look at her niece and started across Thomas Kurtz’s yard.

Millie might not be able to see the truth for what it was, but Sylvie could. And the truth was, Millie needed to get married again.

Don’t get it wrong, she enjoyed having her niece there at the B&B, helping take some of the workload from Sylvie’s own shoulders, but Millie was only twenty-four. She needed more from life than dirty diapers, baking muffins, and changing the sheets for strangers.

Not that it was a bad life. Well, maybe the dirty diapers, but Sylvie had never had any children of her own, so she couldn’t say for sure. Only that it seemed that way. But in truth, running a B&B and seeing to the needs of her variety of guests was Sylvie’s calling. Just after her husband, Andrew, died, Sylvie pooled all her money together, marched into the bank, and demanded a loan. Demanded might be too strong a word, but she did ask very sternly, hoping her strong attitude would convince them not to turn her down. It must have worked, because they gave her the loan, she bought the old, run-down Davidson B&B, and turned it into the quaint overnight stay it now was.

She had worked hard and sacrificed a lot to make her dream come true and she was proud of what she had accomplished. But not in a bad way. In the absolute best way possible. But the life wasn’t always easy, and she didn’t want it for Millie and the baby she carried.

It was a boy, Sylvie thought. Maybe Millie would name him after her Andrew. They could call him Andy. Andy Bauman. That had a nice ring to it. Or maybe Andy King . . .

There he was!

Vern King. Just the man she was looking for.

“Vern,” she called, resisting the urge to whistle at him as well. One whistle a church Sunday was plenty, she supposed. Zebadiah might be an easygoing bishop, but that didn’t mean he had no backbone at all. No sense pushing it.

Vern turned when he heard her call his name. He smiled and shaded his eyes as he watched her draw near. She wasn’t sure why he did that. He was wearing his hat; all he had to do was pull the brim a bit lower and wait for her to catch up to him. But no, he shaded his face with the back of one hand and watched as she approached.

“Sylvie Yoder,” he said, a smile in his voice and still on his lips. “What can I do for you today?”

“I have a leaky sink,” she said, the idea coming to her even as she said the words. “Can you come take a look at it this week? The sooner the better,” she added.

Vern stroked his hand down his beard and thoughtfully checked the sun, as if that was where the week’s schedule was written. “I suppose.”

“It needs to be seen about before it gets worse,” she pressed him.

“If you’re in that big of a hurry, why don’t you call a plumber?”

Sylvie propped her hands on her hips. “Because I don’t want to pay that much. You know some of these English plumbers are worse than pirates.” Well, at least the ones in Paradise Springs were. She couldn’t say the same for certain about Paradise Hill, but she supposed if she tried to call one of them, he would leave a bigger mess than what she had started with. Which was none. There was no leaking faucet, but she needed an excuse to get Vern King and his grandson—especially his grandson—to the B&B this week.

“I suppose.” Vern nodded, still stroking his beard. “Might there be a home-cooked meal involved in this transaction?”

“If you manage to come into town and actually look at the faucet, I’m sure there will be.”

He dipped his chin approvingly. “And some whoopie pies . . .” he prodded.

Sylvie beamed him her brightest smile. “Of course.”

Stroke, stroke, stroke.

“I’ll pay you,” she finally said. What else did she have to do to get the man to agree?

“Oh, no. No,” Vern said. “The meal and whoopie pies will be enough. Sometime this week, eh?”

“The sooner the better,”’ she said, still pushing, though Vern seemed intent on taking his time approving their plans.

“I suppose I can manage that,” he finally said.

Sylvie wanted to jump for joy. This was it. The start of something big. For Millie anyway. “That’s good,” she said with a very controlled smile. She didn’t want to give too much away. What were those card players who came to the B&B always saying? She didn’t want to reveal her hand, or some such. She supposed that fit in this situation. She didn’t want Vern to know how much she was counting on him coming to fix a sink that wasn’t broken.

“Hopefully Wednesday,” Vern continued. “Will that be okay?”

Sylvie gave a quick nod. “Perfect,”’ she said, then she turned on her toes and started back to where the women waited, no doubt wondering what the two of them had been talking about. Well, let them wonder. She turned back to face Vern as if she had forgotten to tell him something important. She hadn’t forgotten anything. “And bring your grandson,” she said, before spinning back around and leaving him standing in the middle of the yard all alone.

“It’s because of Johnny B’s accident,” Sylvie said as they trotted home in their shiny black buggy. Unlike the Swiss Amish over in Seymour, the Amish in Paradise Valley—both Paradise Springs and Paradise Hill—rode around with buggies that had tops. Millie would be especially happy about that come the wintertime. It got cold in Missouri.

“What was that?” Millie asked. She had been listening to her aunt, but Sylvie had a tendency to jump from one subject to another without warning.

Her aunt sighed. “Johnny B’s accident.”

“Jah.” Millie nodded. Johnny B was Joy Lehman’s oldest son. He had fallen out of the hayloft earlier in the year and bruised all the muscles in his back. For the time being he was in a wheelchair. According to Joy, the doctors weren’t sure if he would ever walk again. Only time would tell how deep the damage went.

“Johnny B had been helping Vern in the fields, but because he’s hurt, Vern’s son, Dale, sent Henry up to help him.”

“So what’s because of Johnny B’s accident,” Millie asked, not sure where she had lost the thread of the conversation.

Sylvie sighed. “That’s the reason Henry King is in town.”

“Oh.” She nodded, though she was still a little confused. Not why or how Henry King came to be in Paradise Springs, but why her aunt was telling her this. No, that wasn’t it either. She knew why her aunt was telling her all this; she wanted to keep Henry King in the forefront of Millie’s thoughts. But she was confused as to why her aunt was telling her this now.

But Millie didn’t ask. She loved her aunt, but sometimes inviting yourself into her thought process was an iffy endeavor.

Sylvie pulled their mare into the short drive at the side of the house and hopped down.

“Do you want me to take Daisy down to the stables?” Millie asked as she climbed down a bit more carefully than her aunt. All the extra weight being in the front had tipped her balance forward. It was hard to go slow and take her time when all her life she had been used to getting up and doing without thinking about it.

“I can do it,” her aunt said, making her way to the front of the horse. She started to unhitch her from the buggy. “You need to rest your feet.”

“Honestly, I would rather walk her down than try to put up the buggy.” It wasn’t that it was all that heavy, but it was awkward getting it turned around and into the carriage house without bumping it on the side walls.

And the stables weren’t very far away. Jason Stoll, one of the members of their church district, had opened a stable there at the edge of town where he housed horses for townie Amish and English alike. It was so much better for the horses to be allowed both inside and outside time. The land that the B&B had that could accommodate the horse for pasture time had been taken up in parking for the guests. So it was perfect for them. The horse was cared for during the week and over the non-church weekend. She got to be around the other horses, which Millie knew made horses happy, and she and Sylvie could concentrate their attention on their business without worrying about Daisy.

Sylvie shook her head. “I’ll do both. You go inside and rest.”

Millie opened her mouth to protest, but Sylvie shook her head once again, her kapp strings swinging around her shoulders. Sometime during the ride home, Sylvie had untied them. Slightly rebellious in their district, but it was better than cutting them off, like Millie had seen some of the younger girls do.

“Don’t argue with me. Things are going to get harder and harder for you now. At least that’s what Imogene told me.”

“Imogene Yoder?”

Sylvie stopped unbuckling the horse and looked at Millie sharply. “You know any other Imogenes?”

Millie sighed. “No. But she’s only been pregnant once, and with twins. Of course her balance was off.” At least Millie suspected that was the reason. This was her first baby too, and it wasn’t twins, so she could guess, but she couldn’t say for certain.

“Stop being so stubborn and accept some help,” Sylvie admonished as she went back to her chore. It was only a heartbeat later that she held Daisy’s reins in her hand. She eased the horse around. “Now get inside and get off your feet.”

Millie shook her head and smiled. She hated being treated like an invalid, but now was not the time to assert her independence. Her time with her aunt had taught her that she had to measure each situation and pick her battles. “Okay,” she said on a sigh. “But be careful walking Daisy down to the stables.” It was Sunday, and even though all the Amish businesses in town were closed, there always seemed to be increased automobile traffic. Englishers headed here and there, out to enjoy the beautiful late spring day.

“I will.” Sylvie led the horse to the end of the drive, then stopped. “And we may have some guests coming by. I told them check-in’s at four, but you know how that goes.”

Millie did. People tended to get overexcited when they vacationed and had a habit of showing up early. Which was the exact reason that Millie and Sylvie left the church service with the others who had cows and such to tend to.

“It’s almost three now,” Sylvie continued. “When they get here, put them in the Lavender Room.”

All the rooms in the inn were color coded. There was the Lavender Room, the Red Room, the Blue Room, and the Green Room, along with the Sunshine Suite, which was, of course, decorated in shades of yellow. All either had an adjacent bathroom or one close by. Something Millie was learning was extremely important in the business.

“I thought they were staying in the Green Room.” It had the best view of the backyard and the edge of town. Th. . .