When Hattie Finds Love

Book 4: Paradise Valley

by Amy Lillard

Genres: Christian Romance

Synopsis

From USA Today bestselling author Amy Lillard, the new inspirational romance featuring the "Whoopie Pie Widow's Club," a group of women who share solace, friendship, and faith. When they bet that their most outgoing member can't turn around the attitude of their most grumpy neighbor, the last thing they expected was their wager leading to new love for Hattie!



Hattie Schrock's lively optimism makes her the Widows Club's most outgoing member. The circle has helped her through widowhood—and in building a thriving popcorn shop with her cousin. So when Elsie bets Hattie that she can't help Paradise Valley's most cantankerous man learn to be happier, Hattie tackles the challenge head-on. But what can she do when she finds Christian Beachy is far more complicated—and appealing—than she thought?



Christian lives his faith through hard work, supporting his overbearing sister, and growing the Valley's best vegetables. After all, a good Amish man should be dedicated to duty. Yet suddenly, Hattie's warmhearted attentions and knack for unexpected adventures is showing him life can be so much more—especially if Hattie can share it with him. But when he discovers her wager, can she and the Widows Club ever convince him that her growing love is the real thing—and that risking together forever will be the sweetest, most fulfilling chance of all?

Release date: November 28, 2023

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

“Hard to believe that Joy and Uriah have already been married for two weeks.”

“Uh-huh.” Hattie Schrock didn’t bother to look up from her plate of spaghetti in order to answer her cousin. If grunting could actually count as an answer. But she knew what Elsie was getting at, and it wasn’t something she really wanted to think about.

“Fourteen whole days.”

“Uh-huh,” Hattie said again, eyes still downcast.

“It’s amazing how time flies.”

Now that was something Hattie could agree with. And running from the situation was not going to make it any better. God give me strength.

Hattie pulled in a fortifying breath of air the good Lord had provided, then propped her elbows on the table and met her cousin’s mischievous gaze. No . . . mischievous wasn’t quite the look. Elsie was a little too much of a worrywart to be mischievous, but she was definitely trying to get her digs in tonight. “Go ahead and say it,” Hattie commanded.

“Say what?” Elsie had the nerve to look innocent. “I was just talking how it’s funny that it’s already been fourteen days since Uriah and Joy got married.”

Hattie rolled one hand in the air in front of her. “And?” She drew out the word until it had three complete syllables.

“Oh!” Elsie’s eyes grew big in mock surprise. “You’re talking about the bet.”

Hattie shook her head, tossed her French bread back onto her plate. “Of course I’m talking about the bet. Aren’t you talking about the bet?”

“I was talking about Uriah and Joy.”

“And the bet we made at their wedding.”

Elsie shrugged. “Why would I be talking about the bet? If I win, you clean the copper pots, so waste all the time you want.”

“I–I . . . You,” Hattie sputtered. “I’m not trying to waste time.”

“You’re doing a real fine job of it, for sure.”

Hattie twisted her mouth into something between a grimace and a frown. “It’s not that easy.”

Elsie leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms over her middle. Unlike Hattie, Elsie hadn’t been woolgathering instead of eating and had finished her meal. “I thought everybody could benefit from a positive attitude. Isn’t that what you said?”

Thankfully her cousin’s words held no malice; they were merely a statement of fact. Something that Hattie had said so many times they might carve it on her headstone. Well, they might if Amish did such things, but since they didn’t, she supposed she could just consider it her mantra. That was the saying that you repeated to yourself often to get through your day. She heard some Englisch women talking about it in line in front of her at the grocery store. A positive attitude always helped her get through her day. So she figured it counted.

“I do believe that.” With all her heart she believed it.

“I know. But you gotta put your money where your mouth is.”

Hattie frowned. “We didn’t bet money.”

“Your scrubbing skills then,” Elsie said. “You’ve already wasted two weeks. That leaves you thirty-six days to improve that man’s life.”

“Forty-six,” Hattie corrected. Math never was Elsie’s strong suit.

Elsie shrugged her thin shoulders. Math was never her strong suit and it never seemed to bother her. “Fact remains that time is running out.”

“I know, I know.” She knew. She did not need her cousin reminding her. But she had pushed the idea of the bet from her mind because it was easier not to think about it than to try to figure out what to do. “It’s not that easy.”

“You could have fooled me,” Elsie said. “You walk around here like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. Like it comes natural for you.”

A positive attitude did come naturally to Hattie, just as natural as Elsie’s worrywart attitude came to her. That wasn’t the point.

Hattie shook her head. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“How is a middle-aged Amish woman supposed to make a man change a lifelong attitude? It isn’t like I can strike up a friendship with him just out of the blue. That won’t look weird at all.”

Elsie gave her an apologetic yet not so apologetic smile. “I guess you better start scrubbing those pots then. Might as well just get it over with.”

She was not throwing in the towel. Not yet anyway. “We just don’t run in the same circles,” she tried to explain. “And since I live in town and he is out there on the farm, in the country, growing vegetables, the only time I get to see him is at church. And I really don’t think that’s appropriate for church.”

“I feel like church is the most positive place we have.”

“Not positive stuff. I’m talking about me going up and trying to be friends with him or something. I know I can change his attitude. It’s just we’re not friends. A middle-aged Amish woman can’t be friends with a single Amish man. It’s weird.”

Elsie raised her eyebrows in that way she had that Hattie considered her facial shrug. “I think you’re past middle-aged now.”

Hattie closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again when she felt a little more composed. “Not the point.”

“The point is the bet. If you don’t figure out a way to go talk to him, then how do you suppose you can bring positivity into his life?”

Hattie hadn’t thought it all the way through. She figured that like everyone else, he would see her living positive and want some of the same. Lead by example, but if she wasn’t around him, it wasn’t like she could do that. Even when they were at church together, he hung out with the men and she stayed around the Whoopie Pie Widows’ Club.

Okay, so that wasn’t the official name of their widows’ group, a group both she and Elsie were members of. But over the years they had become known for their whoopie pie benefits for people who had been injured or gotten sick in the community. Somehow the name had just stuck. There were a few members that didn’t care for the moniker, but Hattie thought it had a certain ring to it. Whoopie Pie Widows’ Club. Jah, she could live with that. But the fact still remained that she was hanging out with her friends after church and he was hanging out with his friends after church and never the twain should meet. Or something like that.

“Let me get this straight,” Elsie said. That was another habit that she had, repeating things so she was sure she understood it. If Hattie was being honest, she would tell her cousin flat out that she was a worrywart. But sometimes honesty could hurt, so she wouldn’t say that to her best friend for anything in the world. They owned a business together, they lived together, they went to church together, and they had known each other their entire lives. Hurtful or not, Elsie was a worrywart. Even worrying that she might misunderstand someone and cause some kind of fracas. “You’re not wasting time because you don’t think that you can change his life and make him more positive, you’re wasting time because you don’t know how to approach him. Is that correct?”

Hattie sighed in relief. Now her cousin was getting it. “That’s right. I mean, I know these young people run all over and do all kinds of crazy things that don’t follow the same rules that we did growing up, but I just can’t imagine approaching him if I have no reason to.” It would look forward, untoward, and a bunch of other wards, so she hadn’t managed to find a way to do it yet because she couldn’t find a way that it didn’t look forward and untoward and the other wards.

“I don’t know what to tell you, cousin.” Elsie stood, grabbed her plate off their tiny, drop-leaf table, and took it to the sink. She turned the water on to rinse it.

Hattie stared at her half-eaten supper, now cold and more unappetizing than it had been when this conversation had started. “I don’t know what to tell me either.” She grabbed her fork and twirled up a bite of the pasta. She’d been taught to clean her plate as a child and clean her plate she would.

She slowly chewed the bite, not really tasting the food as she continued to mull over this problem. She knew she could change his mind and his attitude. She knew she could make Christian Beachy live a little happier with a more positive attitude and a sunnier outlook. But the way it was looking she would need more than a little divine intervention in order to pull this off.

“Somebody needs to do something.” Sylvie King propped her hands on her hips, apparently waiting for someone to respond.

It was Tuesday and the weekly meeting of the Whoopie Pie Widows’ Club, officially known as the Paradise Springs Widows’ Group. The meeting had just begun and everyone had gotten a plate with their whoopie pies.

It started off as a lark and now had become a tradition to bring whoopie pies to the meeting. It was, after all, how they got their name. It also gave them time to practice for the upcoming festival next month.

Every year in May, Paradise Springs held the Whoopie Pie Festival with a whoopie pie baking competition at its core. People—Amish and Englisch—came from all over to buy whoopie pies, get recipes, play games, and find out who would be crowned top whoopie pie baker until the next festival.

This past year, Sylvie had gone through a rough patch after losing her crown as the number one whoopie pie baker in the Valley to newcomer Sadie Yoder. But the group had understood that she was unable to make whoopie pies for a while. She had come out of it now and had only this week baked a delicious pumpkin spice whoopie pie with honey buttercream filling. It was a recipe they were all familiar with as it was the winner four years ago. Or maybe it been five. Anyway, it was a trusted recipe and surely not the one Sylvie would enter in this year’s festival. She was good at keeping her recipe a secret until the day of the event. At least from anyone else who might be vying for the title of number one whoopie pie baker.

“And by ‘somebody’ I suppose you mean us,” Elsie said.

“Do something about what?” Callie Raber asked. “What happened?”

Callie was the newest member of the Whoopie Pie Widows’ Club. Her husband, Samuel, had died last year during the festival. The group had waited a few months before inviting Callie to join their ranks, and she had readily agreed. Hattie supposed that’s what happened when you were widowed at fifty with no children to ease the loss.

“You didn’t hear?” Katie Hostetler broke in. “You work at the buffet. I figured you would’ve heard.”

Callie was the hostess for the Amish buffet, not to be confused with the Chinese buffet, which was also delicious.

Callie shook her head. “I haven’t. I didn’t.”

“In all fairness it just happened today,” Lillian Lambert added. Beside her, Betsy Stoll nodded to back her up.

Lillian worked at the variety store her father-in-law owned while Betsy was a shop owner in her own right. She owned Paradise Apothecary and pretty much had her finger on all the news in the Valley all the time.

“Well,” Sylvie said, gearing up for the speech she had obviously planned since hearing the news. “Barbie Troyer has had a heart attack.”

A few murmurs and gasps broke out among the women— murmurs from those who had already heard and gasps from those who hadn’t.

“That’s right. And according to what I’m hearing it must’ve been a bad one. She’s in intensive care at the hospital.”

She didn’t need to tell them that the bills were stacking up. They had all been in a similar position at one point or another in their lives, but the thing about Amish communities was they pulled together for one another. They might not have insurance like the Englischers, but they took care of their own. Hattie supposed some might look at it as an insurance policy in itself if you were Amish, and maybe it was. At any rate, Sylvie was right. Somebody had to do something.

“Is she going to be all right?” Callie asked.

Being childless, Callie didn’t have as intimate a relationship with Barbie as the rest of the women in the group. All of them had had babies delivered by the midwife. All except for Millie King’s baby who had been delivered by Barbie’s apprentice, Annabelle Glick.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true either. Annabelle had been called due to Barbie already being engaged with another birth. The apprentice had promptly sent Millie to the hospital. Or at least that was the way Sylvie told it.

“It was a bad one,” Sylvie said. “But everything I’m hearing seems to say that she will pull through eventually.”

“She needs to retire,” Elsie muttered from beside Hattie.

Hattie loved her cousin. She did. But sometimes Elsie’s doom and gloom attitude about everything was hard to stomach.

“She has a skill this community needs and the experience to back it up.” Hattie kept her voice low where only Elsie could hear.

“She’s older than dirt,” Elsie shot back, not quite as quietly as Hattie. “And if her eyesight is anything like yours . . .”

Hattie pushed her glasses back a little on her nose. “And that’s why the good Lord gave us the smarts to create a way to see better.”

“She should still retire,” Elsie said. “Annabelle can take over for her. She’s good. Or so I’ve heard. And she’s young.”

“With age comes experience,” Hattie reminded her. “And with experience comes age.”

Elsie just shook her head.

Hattie supposed her positive attitude rubbed against Elsie about the same as her cousin’s rainy-day attitude did to Hattie herself.

“What do you suppose we should do?” Hattie asked. “Besides pray, I mean. That goes without saying.”

“We’re known for our whoopie pie benefits,” Sylvie answered. “And since everyone’s gearing up for the festival, I figure there’s a lot of whoopie pies floating around. We could sell those instead of letting them go to waste.”

“I have never in my life heard of the whoopie pie going to waste,” Elsie muttered from beside Hattie.

Hattie had to agree. The women always found a good home for their whoopie pie experiments. Even if it meant freezing them for a rainy day. Or a day you didn’t feel like baking.

“That’s a great idea,” Callie said. She had never been on this side of the fence for a benefit event. Boy, was she in for a treat.

The chatter around them increased as Hattie half-heartedly nibbled on the banana whoopie pie she had chosen. She had a feeling it was a failed attempt by Lillian who had brought them. They were much too plain to win the title. But it was good. Good enough, anyway.

Elsie seemed more interested in her plate than determining when and where they should hold this benefit for Barbie.

“It’s already Tuesday,” Lillian reminded them all. “It might be better to have it next Saturday, instead of this upcoming one.”

Sylvie nodded importantly. “Noted. Does anybody have an objection to holding it Saturday next?”

They all shook their heads, murmured no, and looked around to see if everyone else was in agreement.

Sylvie waited a heartbeat more to make sure everyone’s vote was accounted for. Then she clapped her hands together and rubbed them as if gearing up for physical labor. “Now—”

Elsie raised her head excitedly, pinning Sylvie with an eager stare. “I’ve got an idea.”

Everyone waited and held their breath for her to continue.

“Let’s make it a Sadie Hawkins event.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Sylvie asked. Though Hattie could see she was intrigued.

Hattie herself was a little bit interested. Who was Sadie Hawkins and what did she have to do with their whoopie pie benefit? The only Sadie she knew was Sadie Yoder.

“A Sadie Hawkins event,” Elsie said slower this time, as if that helped explain it, “is where the girls ask the boys. So it’s opposite.” She seemed so pleased with herself, and yet Hattie knew she was going to get shot down. Why would you want to invite a date to a benefit?

“Why would you want to invite a date to a benefit?” Katie protested, ever the voice of reason, Hattie supposed. “It’s a bake sale. Nobody brings a date to a bake sale. And then who’s going to come? The youngins?”

“Well, jah,” Elsie said. “And married couples, but they would have to pay an extra dozen whoopie pies to get in.”

“So everybody’s going to bring whoopie pies?” Sylvie asked.

Elsie shrugged. “If they want to. I mean, why not? And we can have games and little booths like a kissing booth.”

A chorus of “no kissing booth,” rose up in the crowd.

“Okay,” Elsie backpedaled. “No kissing booth. But we do have those go-fish games and maybe we could add a beanbag toss. Anything like that and a cakewalk.”

Katie sat back in her seat, shaking her head. “That sounds awful convoluted.”

“Maybe it is,” Elsie said.

Hattie could hear the hurt tone creeping into her voice. She never asked for anything. Never gave anybody a moment’s trouble and was always willing to help. Surely they could give her this one thing.

“I think it’s a very . . . unique idea. And it’s something we’ve never done before.” Hattie was pleased with herself for coming up with such a brilliant word to describe this fiasco Elsie was currently concocting.

“It’s unique, all right,” Sylvie muttered. “I’ve run quite a few of the benefits,” she continued. “But if we were to do this it’s your baby.”

Elsie sniffed and sat up a little straighter in her chair. “Okay then. I’ll handle it all.”

Hattie turned toward her cousin. “All of it?”

Elsie nodded with great conviction. “All of it.” Her tone was emphatic, and Hattie thought she might have been surer about this project than anything they had done, aside from opening the popcorn shop together.

Yet for all of Elsie’s confidence, Hattie could look around the room and see the doubts shining on everyone’s faces. She wasn’t sure if they were trying to hide them or not, but there they were all the same.

“Okay then,” Sylvie said, repeating Elsie’s own words. “If you want to take care of it all, then I suppose we have ourselves a Sadie Hawkins Whoopie Pie Cakewalk Benefit.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting into with this?” Hattie couldn’t help but ask Elsie as they walked back to the popcorn shop.

It was well past dark even though the time change had already come to Paradise Valley. As the summer continued, the days would get longer and longer and the sun would be out until almost nine-thirty at night. She loved those beautiful long summer days. They reminded her of her youth when she still believed that not much wrong could happen in the world. Yet those bad things had happened and she had met them all with a smile and a prayer. Always hoping for the best. It was the only thing that got her through.

“I did this for you,” Elsie said, her tone almost accusatory.

Hattie froze in place, in the middle of the sidewalk, halfway between the Paradise B&B and the Poppin’ Paradise Popcorn Shop. “For me?”

Elsie stopped as well, propped her hands on her hips, and turned back to face Hattie. “For you,” she said. “This whole Sadie Hawkins thing is so you’ll have a way to ask Christian to go someplace, then you can work your charms on him and help him have a more positive outlook on life.”

Well, it certainly did give her a reason to ask him out and, Hattie supposed, to even have a pass to ask him out as well. Since it was a Sadie Hawkins thing and girls would be going around willy-nilly asking boys, then she supposed no one would blink an eye if she asked Christian Beachy to go. Not that she wanted to. There had to be another way.

“It’s the perfect idea,” Elsie said.

Hattie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“I believe the words are thank you.”

“Why should I say thank you—”

“You’re welcome,” Elsie said, and turned on her heel, marching toward the popcorn shop.

Hattie stared after her, mouth agape. She almost had to physically push her chin back into its proper place before following behind her meddling cousin.

“I didn’t want to ask the man on a date,” she said as she made her way up the side stairs to their apartment door.

There was another entrance that led from the back room of the shop to their kitchen, but in times like this when the shop was closed for the evening, they always went in by the side stairs.

“Did you have another plan?” Elsie unlocked the door and stepped inside their apartment without waiting for her answer.

“Well, no.” Hattie started up the stairs not sure whether her cousin heard her or not. Like it mattered. Elsie seemed to have her mind already made up. “But how am I supposed to go out there and ask him to go with me to a whoopie pie cakewalk benefit?”

“The horse and buggy? That’s how most Amish get around.” She set her purse on the side table by the door. “I mean, you could hire a driver, but it’s really not that far.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Hattie closed the door behind her and turned the lock. Elsie had already switched on the propane lamp they used in the living room.

“You just go out there and ask him,” Elsie said calmly.

Hattie didn’t have a rebuttal for that. It was too true and sent chills down her arms. Which was ridiculous. Just go out there and ask him. “How about we just forget the whole thing?”

“Not a chance.” Elsie shook her head with a smile. Her cousin hated cleaning the large copper vats they used daily for their popcorn, and if she won, Hattie would have to clean them herself for a whole year. What was she thinking when she agreed to this nonsense?

She had been thinking that a positive attitude had served her well her entire life and everyone could benefit from one. She hadn’t been thinking about the how. Like how was she going to get Christian Beachy’s attention in order to show him the way? And how was she going to approach him with her ideas and plans for his improved life? She wasn’t friends with the man. She barely spoke to him when he brought by their vegetables in the summer. Or when he stopped to get a bag of popcorn.

She did know that caramel-cheddar was his favorite and he always picked up a packet of siracha salt to sprinkle over the top. So he liked sweet, cheesy, and a little heat. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, she supposed.

“You shouldn’t drag your feet on this,” Elsie quietly warned. “I mean it’s okay with me if you don’t want to prove your point. I love being right. . .