Thanksgiving Blessing

Book 3: An Amish Holiday Novel

by Marta Perry

Genres: General Fiction; Christian Fiction; Christian Romance; Romance; Clean & Wholesome Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

When Promise Glen is struck by a vandalism spree around the Thanksgiving holiday, a community’s values—and two weathered hearts—are put to the test.

As a widow with two-year-old twins and a struggling orchard, Rebecca King’s dreams of expanding her business seem near impossible. To make matters worse, a troublesome string of destructive acts around Promise Glen threatens her roadside fruit and vegetable stand, forcing Rebecca to accept the help of her condescending new neighbor, Nathan Mueller.

Nathan didn’t intend to offend Rebecca with his offer to share the stand, especially since he’s a widower and single parent himself. He admires Rebecca’s strength and kindness in the face of adversity. If only they hadn’t started off on the wrong foot…

Despite their best efforts to shield their hearts, working side by side through the busy harvest plants the seeds of a budding friendship. But when the vandalism spreading through Promise Glen escalates to arson and rumors blaze through the town, they’ll have to learn to rely on each other more than ever. As Thanksgiving approaches, Rebecca and Nathan are forced to reconcile with their own grief, forgive what can’t be changed, and come to truly understand the core values of the holiday: love and gratitude.

Release date: October 24, 2023

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 272

Sample

Chapter One

Becca King pulled a wagon loaded with apples and late pears along the lane that led from her orchard to the main road. The farmstand her husband had built had done a good business all summer, but Thomas hadn't been here to enjoy it. The familiar pain grasped her heart.

Hard as it was to believe, she'd been a widow for over a year. Sometimes it seemed an eternity, while other times she was sure it had been only yesterday that he was here with her, bending over their babies and looking at her with eyes filled with wonder and joy.

With an effort, Becca pushed the memories to the back of her thoughts. With their eighteen-month-old twins to chase and the orchard to look after, she was so busy sometimes she didn't think of him as often as she should, and she felt guilty.

But then some ordinary thing reminded her, and grief stabbed her again, still fresh after all these months.

Get on with the job, she ordered herself. There wouldn't be many more weeks before the harvest season was over and their farmstand closed for another year. The angle of the sunlight and the glow of color showed it.

Becca rounded a clump of overgrown lilac bushes, tugging the wagon loaded with peck baskets of apples and late pears when it resisted turning. There weren't as many pears as she'd hoped, unfortunately, but the pear trees were getting old. She'd have to make a decision soon about planting more of them.

Would her grandfather be pleased with how she'd tended the orchard he'd left her? Sometimes she felt that the trees had borne more fruit for him than they did for her, but that was ferhoodled. Anyway, she hoped it was. Grandfather had always said the trees responded to the owner, and he'd certain sure loved every tree.

She set up the Open sign so anyone coming down the road would see it and began putting out the baskets she'd brought. Everything else had been loaded in the pony cart, and her sister Deborah would be along with it once she'd corralled the twins. James and Joanna loved to ride in the cart, but they could be a handful. Still, her fifteen-year-old sister managed them almost as well as Becca herself did.

She glanced back down the lane to see if she could spot them coming but only saw the colors of autumn that seemed to brighten every day. The bronze plumes of the sumac came first, even as the meadow beyond began to turn golden. Beyond that, the trees took over, their yellow, orange, and red leaves calling out to the tourists who had begun to drive along to enjoy the color and hopefully stop to buy.

"Mrs. King?"

The voice behind her startled her so much that the basket of McIntosh apples nearly escaped her grasp, sending apples scattering around the feet of the man who stood there.

She stooped to get the apples, nearly colliding with the man who bent at the same time. "Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean . . ."

"No matter," she said quickly, hoping she wasn't flushing. She knew who he was, of course. He'd moved into the old Mueller place next door last week, inheriting it from his uncle, the rumors said. She could only hope, as did the rest of the Amish community, that he'd be a better neighbor than his uncle had been.

"There, that's all of them." He put the last handful into the basket. "You are Mrs. King, yah? I'm Nathan Mueller."

"Next door, I know." She tried for a welcoming tone. "We heard you were moving in. I hope the house is in good shape."

Few people had been inside it for the last several years, given Joseph Mueller's attitude toward visitors. Like as not to turn the dogs on them, so folks claimed. But she shouldn't let that affect her manner toward this nephew of his.

At first glance, she saw little resemblance in the tall, sturdy man who stood before her to the shambling figure old Joseph had become. Except maybe for the frown he wore.

He seemed to be ignoring her comment, and instead was studying the farmstand. His preoccupation gave her another moment to assess what she saw. Brown hair and beard, firmly pressed lips, and thick brows that drew down as if in disapproval over cool blue eyes. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but this wasn't it.

And what of the beard? She'd heard no mention of a wife and children . . . just a younger brother who lived with him. If he wore a beard, he'd have been married. Perhaps she was waiting for him to get the house ready before joining him.

He'd turned back to her while she was watching him, making her self-conscious. Had he noticed she was staring? She smoothed her apron down over the dark blue dress she wore.

"Are you interested in some apples? Or pears? I'd be happy to give you a basket to welcome you."

"No."

His response was so abrupt that her hands froze on the basket she'd thought to arrange for him.

"I mean, denke," he added quickly, as if he realized how brusque it sounded. Well, maybe he wasn't one for chattering. "But not right now. I hoped we could talk business for a moment."

"Business?" She looked at him blankly.

He nodded toward the farmstand. "I can see you don't have much produce, and I heard . . . well, someone mentioned you might be willing to sell the farmstand to me. It looks to be well-made, and it could be moved over onto my property easy enough."

Becca's breath caught as she tried to understand what he was saying. For sure the stand was well-made. Thomas had been particular about his work.

But why would she sell the stand Thomas had made? And who was saying things like that?

Just then the pony cart came creaking into view. Deborah drove the shaggy pony and the twins bounced next to her, restrained by their harnesses. Deborah always claimed they needed harnessing more than the mare did.

Grateful for a breathing space before she'd have to answer the man, Becca hurried to help her sister. At least all the baskets on the cart should convince Nathan Mueller that she did indeed have plenty to sell.

Deborah hopped down quickly, reaching out to grab Joanna before she could attempt to get out of her harness by herself. Joanna was the more daring of the twins, and she was likely as not to try jumping down, just as she had from her crib a few days earlier, terrifying her mother.

So while James waited patiently for his aunt's help, Joanna already came toward her mammi at the run that tripped her up more often than not.

"Slow down, little girl," Becca reminded her.

Joanna stopped abruptly, overbalancing at the sight of a stranger, and plopped down on her bottom. James, safe in his aunt's arms, chortled and pointed.

"Ach, don't laugh at your sissy," Deborah scolded, giving a quick glance of her own at the stranger.

Before Becca could reach her, Joanna was up again, and now she headed for Nathan Mueller at top speed.

"Joanna, don't-"

But it was too late. Joanna did her usual trick of throwing her arms around any pair of nearby legs. She looked up at Mueller, probably expecting he'd sweep her up and toss her in the air the way her grossdaadi did.

Becca took a step toward them. "Sorry. That's our little Joanna-"

She stopped abruptly, because she'd caught the expression on Mueller's face. He was staring down at her child, looking as appalled as if he'd stepped into a bear trap.


Nathan realized his mistake in an instant. He knew what he’d done. He’d looked into the rosy, laughing face of the woman’s child and seen the tiny, blue face of his own daughter, who hadn’t lived to draw breath.

Mrs. King had seen his expression. He could tell by the way she'd swooped down and snatched up her child, her golden-brown eyes turning dark with anger. Well, he was angry, too. No one should ever be able to look so deeply into the heart of his pain.

Forcing a smile, he looked from the little girl to the small boy who'd just gained his feet. They both had cornsilk fine hair as light as flax, round blue eyes, and a dimple in the chin.

"Twins?" he asked.

"Yah." Mrs. King looked as if it took an effort to answer him pleasantly. "My children, James and Joanna. And this is my sister, Deborah Stoltz."

Deborah looked about fourteen or fifteen, and her round, rosy face was the older version of little Joanna's. Her smile was unfettered by the woman's quick resentment.

"Confusing, ain't so?" she said. "I'm a twin, too. And I have twin bruders, also. Twins run in our family," she added unnecessarily.

"I see." He felt as if he walked a tightrope between the girl's cheerful friendliness and the woman's antagonism. "Can I give you a hand?"

"We can manage." Mrs. King was already lifting a bushel of apples from the cart, while the pony dropped its head and nibbled at the grass.

Deborah handed a quart basket of pears to each of the children.

"Careful, now," she said, and steadied them on their way.

James took a few steps, the basket wobbled, and a pear rolled off, but his aunt was there to catch it and reassure him. Clearly the children were being brought up in traditional Amish fashion to work alongside the family. Nathan blocked the vision of himself doing the same.

Seeing Mrs. King occupied with arranging baskets on the stand, he picked up the next bushel and took it over. He'd gotten off on the wrong foot with the woman, and the last thing he wanted was trouble with a neighbor. They'd had enough of that.

The shopkeeper had been wrong, it seemed. He'd said Mrs. King was a widow, struggling to run an orchard on her own. He'd thought she might be eager to sell the stand, and it would save him building one of his own for the truck farm he hoped to run with his brother.

When he carried over a second basket, she unbent enough to nod her thanks. Encouraged, he risked speaking.

"McIntosh, aren't they?"

She nodded. "Yah, they're past their picking, but they're good keepers, and we sell a lot this time of year."

"Good for applesauce and pies, too," he said, remembering. "My mother always wants McIntosh for canning applesauce."

She actually smiled at that. He found himself thinking she should do it more often. Mrs. King wasn't beautiful, but her hair was like glossy horse chestnuts against the background of autumn yellow and orange leaves. Her anger had faded, and he could see the gold tint in her brown eyes.

Deborah must think her sister should try harder, because she joined the conversation. "Be sure and tell your mother that we have plenty of apples when she's ready to can."

"Our mother's not with us. It's just me and my bruder, Peter."

He hoped that hadn't sounded too sharp. He spared a momentary thought for his mother's remarriage, which had taken her off to another settlement. No matter how she tried to explain it, she clearly hadn't wanted to add a troublesome teenager to her new marriage, and that left him responsible for young Peter.

Not surprising, he guessed. Daad had always been the glue that held the family together, the strong leader who took care of everyone, including their mother. He'd told himself that explained why she'd been so helpless after he passed. And also why she'd been so quick to marry again. Somehow it didn't make much difference in the way he felt, or Peter, either, he guessed.

"Peter's probably close to your age," he said, managing a smile for Deborah. "He's fifteen."

"Yah?" Her face lit. "Della and I are fifteen. And David and Daniel are twelve. Tell your bruder to come see us."

"Denke. He'll be glad to know there are other teenagers next door."

"Not next door." She shook her head. "Becca and the babies live here with Grossmammi, and the rest of us are across the road. The Stoltz farm." She pointed to a prosperous-looking dairy operation he'd already noticed.

"Deborah, do you want to mind the stand for an hour or so? I'll get the twins down for their nap." Mrs. King . . . Becca, her sister had called her . . . was holding out her hands to the kinder.

"Yah, yah. I've got the cash box and the price signs, so I'm ready. As long as you want."

Nathan glanced down the two-lane blacktop. "Not many customers coming by, it looks like," he commented.

"It'll pick up soon," Mrs. King said quickly, as if to counter his remark. "Afternoons are always busier, so that's why we're just opening now."

She had the young ones by the hand and was obviously impatient to leave. He didn't want to hold her up, but he was reluctant to part with her until he was sure he'd made up for his poor introduction to his neighbor.

He fell into step with her as she headed back down the lane, ignoring her surprised glance. Around the shrubbery, the house came into view, sitting at the bottom of the slope leading up to the orchard.

"Back home, we'd usually leave the stand open with a can out for folks to pay." He hoped that didn't sound as if he criticized, but he was curious about his new environment.

Shrugging, she nodded. "We did, too, but we have to stop doing that when Halloween is coming up. Seems like the Englisch youngsters have become more destructive with their pranks lately. At least, I hope it's the Englisch, and not our own teens."

Her golden-brown eyes darkened, and he pulled his attention from them and decided he'd have to keep an eye on any friends Peter made. He wouldn't want the boy getting in with the wrong group, especially since Peter wasn't the easiest of kids.

"So it's just you and your brother? You have sisters?" She seemed to make an effort to show interest.

"Three of them, all married with families of their own." And none of them eager to take on a troublesome teenage boy.

"I hope you and your bruder won't find it lonely here without any close relatives."

The woman's concern seemed honest enough, but he wasn't looking for sympathy, even if she seemed ready to give it.

He and Peter were on their own. It certainly wasn't the family he'd once dreamed of, but his duty was to make it work. And he still hadn't straightened up his initial misunderstanding with Becca King.