A NEW SUITOR

  “What will you say to him?” Bethany asked again.

  “I might just tell him what’s kept me here,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m Amish. I believe in this life. I want my own kinner to have the kind of childhood I did.”

  That was simple enough, and she highly doubted it would be enough. Micah had left because he didn’t believe in their life anymore. He’d been very clear about that.

  “And I might tell him that he’s left behind a beautiful girl,” he added, his voice low. “And that she’s beautiful and insightful and . . . that he’s dumber than a fence post if he thinks he can do better anywhere else, Englishers included.”

  Bethany blinked back a mist in her eyes. “That’s sweet.”

  “It’s the truth,” he said. “He beat the rest of us to you, and maybe I’ll tell him what it was like for me to watch him move forward with you, what it felt like to see him make you smile the way he did. Maybe he should know how lucky he was to have gotten to you first, because if he’d been a few weeks slower, I would have asked you home from singing myself.”

  She turned toward Isaiah, her breath lodged in her throat. “Is that true?”

  “Yah.”

  Books by Patricia Johns

  THE BISHOP’S DAUGHTER

  THURSDAY’S BRIDE

  JEB’S WIFE

  THE PREACHER’S SON

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  The Preacher’s Son

  PATRICIA JOHNS

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2021 by Patricia Johns

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  BOUQUET Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-5236-4

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5239-5 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-5239-4 (eBook)

  Chapter One

  “Her name is Lovina, and she’s twenty years old.” Isaiah fixed the bus station ticket agent with an iron stare. “She’s short—about this high. Blond hair, blue eyes . . . Amish.”

  The bus station in Bountiful, Pennsylvania, was located at the far end of Main Street. A fresh busload of Englisher tourists had just arrived, and the people came flooding out of the bus, phones held aloft already—although what they figured was worth recording in a small-town bus station, he had no idea.

  “That sounds like half the Amish girls we see,” the man said with an apologetic shrug. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “She’d have taken a bus out—I know that.” Isaiah didn’t have any other information about his sister, only that she was gone. She’d left a note on her neatly made bed that they only found after lunch—two pages, one for them and one meant for Johannes, her steady boyfriend. Lovina said she wasn’t coming back, and that she wasn’t holding Johannes to sharing this life of shame with her. Their daet’s crime and imprisonment was too much for her to handle. He’d been arrested six months ago, gone to trial faster than anyone expected, and two weeks previously, he’d started his three years in prison. It had been horrible for all of them, and Lovina didn’t think she had a place with the Amish anymore. The letter, along with the extra note for Johannes, was still in Isaiah’s pocket.

  It wasn’t like Lovina was the only one dealing with that shame—Isaiah had inadvertently helped his daet, not knowing that the charity Abe was collecting for was a sham. How could he have known? How could he have even guessed? And Lovina thought she had it worse than the rest of them? She had the right to leave?

  “I’m sorry,” the man said with a shake of his head. “There were about three Amish families who left this morning. I think there were a few young women.”

  “She would have been alone,” Isaiah pressed. “I think . . . I’m pretty sure.”

  But now that he said it, he wasn’t positive. Even if she didn’t leave with Johannes, she might have left with a friend.

  “No one stood out,” the man replied. “Sorry.”

  Isaiah sighed, then tapped the counter. “Thanks anyway.”

  “Good luck.”

  Isaiah needed more than luck. He needed divine intervention, but he wasn’t sure their family even deserved it at this point. Maybe it was only fair that Lovina left like the others. This winnowing of the faithful was only happening because of Isaiah’s father, Abe Yoder. And Isaiah couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible, too. The police had let him off the hook and hadn’t pressed charges. But the community wasn’t so quick to forgive. His daet had ruined not only the family name, but also Isaiah’s personal reputation.

  Isaiah turned from the ticket window and stopped short when he spotted Bethany Glick. Her gaze was locked on him reproachfully.

  “Have you seen my sister?” Isaiah asked, winding around some plastic seats until he reached her.

  “Have you seen my fiancé?” she retorted bitterly.

  “Micah?” He felt like the wind had been knocked out of his chest.

  “He left,” Bethany said. “I thought he would have told you.”

  “No . . .” His friend had seemed odd the last couple of weeks, but everyone was on edge. “When did he leave? Today?”

  “Three days ago,” she said, licking her lips. “But yah. He’s gone.”

  Micah leaving—it was unbelievable. But he and Lovina weren’t the only ones . . . there had been at least eight other young people who had jumped the fence since Abe’s arrest. Isaiah’s wasn’t the only life being torn apart, and he met Bethany’s bitter gaze.

  “So . . . the wedding?” he asked hesitantly. It hadn’t been formally announced, but Micah had been a close enough friend that Isaiah had known about his engagement to Bethany all the same.

  “It would appear that it’s off,” Bethany said, and her chin trembled as she said it. “Which sister is gone—Lovina or Elizabeth?”

  “Lovina.” He pulled his sister’s letter from his pocket, but he didn’t hand it over. Her gaze landed on the paper, then slid off of it again. She’d have received a letter of her own from Micah no doubt.

  They stared at each other for a couple of beats, and then Bethany nodded toward the counter where parcels were kept.

  “I’ve got to pick up a package,” she said, and she gave him a curt nod of farewell, then turned to leave.

  “I didn’t know about my daet, you know,” he called after her. “I was tricked, too.”

  She didn’t answer. Isaiah had told her daet the same thing when Abe was first arrested. He’d told anyone who would listen to him—the bishop, the elders, friends, family . . . He hadn’t known! But the damage was done.

  The Englisher tourists stopped to look at him, and Bethany headed for the counter to take care of her business. He gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted was an audience with cell phones recording him.

  His life had been turned upside down even more than anyone else’s—and that was a daring claim at a time like this. The Amish who’d been defrauded lost money—and so had he, for that matter. The family farm was repossessed to help pay back the victims, as well as their savings. But Isaiah had lost more than money. He’d lost his daet, and their good name.

  Across the depot, a female worker hoisted up a large box to the counter, and Bethany hesitated. It would be more than she could comfortably carry—even Isaiah could see that from here. She wanted nothing to do with him, but he couldn’t very well leave a woman to carry that alone either. He sighed and headed over.

  “That looks heavy,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” Bethany replied.

  “Yah?” He stood back. “Okay, then.”

  Bethany slid the b
ox off the counter and grimaced as she lifted it. Something different glittered in those dark eyes—something sharper than reproach. Was that hatred he saw?

  Bethany headed toward the door with slow, careful steps. The box slipped from her grip once, but she caught it and continued on out of the depot without looking in his direction again.

  Isaiah scanned the bus depot one last time. Coming here had been wishful to begin with. He’d hoped that something would have held his sister back, given her pause . . . given him time to get to her before she disappeared from their lives for good.

  Isaiah pushed out the front door and the fresh, spring air engulfed him. The town of Bountiful was a farming community that had managed to lure some tourist attention because of the Amish who lived in the surrounding area. Many Amish shops lined the streets—a bakery, two craft shops, a gift shop, several eateries, and a fabric shop. Sandwiched between a gift shop and a craft store there was the Glick Book Bindery, a little specialty shop that served people all over Pennsylvania, thanks to a website that was kept up by an Englisher company that catered to the Amish’s online needs.

  Bethany paused a few yards down the sidewalk, hoisting the box once more. It slipped in her hands again, and she set it down, rubbing the small of her back. Isaiah sighed and picked up his pace, catching up with her in a few brisk strides.

  “Give it to me,” he said irritably.

  “Isaiah, I don’t need—” she started, but Isaiah bent down and picked up the box, hefting it up onto one shoulder. He cast her an annoyed look.

  “I didn’t know, Bethany. And the police questioned me thoroughly. If they had reason to think I was involved, I’d be in jail, too, right now.”

  “You’re still the one who convinced my daet that stupid charity was a good thing,” she snapped. “I have no idea how my daet is ever going to retire now that the money’s gone. And to make it worse, my fiancé is gone because of your daet. When your father—” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed. “You’re asking a little much of me if you want me to be grateful for the use of your muscles. You could have saved yourself the time.”

  Isaiah adjusted the box on his shoulder. “This might not be the right timing, but Micah asked me to look out for you if anything should happen to him.”

  “Nothing happened to him,” she said. “He left.”

  “Fine. He’s gone. I’m here—let me carry the box!” It may have seemed melodramatic at the time when Micah had mentioned it to him, but a promise was a promise, and Isaiah was nothing if not honest.

  Isaiah angled his steps across the street toward Glick’s Book Bindery. Bethany pulled the door open for him, and as he came into the dim shop, he had to pause to let his eyes adjust a moment.

  “Ah, Isaiah.” Nathaniel Glick sat in front of a vise that held a book in place. He ran his fingers over the spine and pursed his lips. It wasn’t quite a hello.

  “Just carrying the box over for you,” Isaiah said, sliding it onto the counter. He glanced around the shop—it was only Nathaniel and Bethany here, by the looks of it. And Isaiah had been looking for work for over a month now and getting nowhere.

  “Right. Thank you,” Nathaniel replied, putting down the book he was working on and heading over. “I would have fetched it myself, but we’ve got an order due by tonight. That looks like a full order of leather. I thought this was the half order—”

  “You’re shorthanded,” Isaiah said.

  “Yah.” Nathaniel pulled a box cutter out of the pocket in his black work apron and sliced the tape on the top. He pulled back the flaps and fingered a piece of leather. “Micah’s gone.”

  Isaiah glanced over at Bethany, and he felt the heat climb his collar. Bethany was watching him, the same pursed lips as her daet.

  “I know that my daet’s crime shook the faith of a lot of young people,” Isaiah said. “And I’ve told you before—like I’ve been telling everyone else—that I didn’t know this was a fraud. I thought it was a plan to help Amish families in time of need. It seemed legitimate, and I’d think you’d understand a son not immediately suspecting his own daet of fraud.”

  Nathaniel nodded slowly. “I do sympathize there, Isaiah.”

  “You aren’t the only ones to have lost someone. Lovina jumped the fence, and we only found her letter after lunch today.” Isaiah licked his dry lips. “But I’m not leaving our community. I’m Amish, and I’m going to trust in our community’s ability to forgive because I don’t have much else to hold on to right now.”

  “I told you before that I forgave you.”

  In the strictest Christian sense, of course, Nathaniel had. How could a man ask Gott for forgiveness if he wouldn’t forgive his brother? But what Isaiah needed was something a little more tangible.

  “I need work,” Isaiah said, his voice low. “As you know, the farm is gone now, and I’ve been finding some bits of work here and there, but no one really trusts me anymore—”

  Nathaniel eyed him speculatively. “And you’re staying with your uncle now, right?”

  “Yah. My sisters and me. But I’ve got to contribute, and Uncle Mel already has enough help on the farm with his own sons.” Mel had only taken them in because he felt obliged. They weren’t exactly welcome. Isaiah was hoping to do more than contribute—he wanted to get a place where he could support his sisters on his own . . . if Lovina ever came back.

  “Why should I trust you if no one else does?” Nathaniel asked bluntly.

  “If I had been a part of my daet’s crime knowingly,” Isaiah said quietly, “do you think I’d come ask you for help? I can only face you because I was duped, too.”

  Isaiah could feel Bethany’s presence behind him—her anger like the heat from a woodstove—and his own shame rose to match it. He was here, hat in hand, hoping for a job.

  Nathaniel heaved a sigh. “I do need someone to help out here. Bethany and I can’t do it all alone, and my sons are off in Indiana at my brother’s farm, so . . .” Nathaniel seemed to be thinking out loud.

  “I’ll work hard,” Isaiah said quietly. “I’ll do anything you need around here. I’ll earn back your trust and respect. But I need work, and Mel’s not keen to have me helping out on the farm.”

  “Yah, your uncle lost a good amount of money, too,” Nathaniel said quietly. “So I can understand his bitterness right now.”

  “I do, too, but my daet’s in prison now, paying for what he did. But I figured we’re connected in this. Bethany was the one who told the police about the conversation she overheard—”

  “You can’t blame me!” Bethany erupted behind him.

  “I’m not.” Isaiah glanced over his shoulder, the heat creeping up into his cheeks, then he turned back to Nathaniel. “I’m not blaming anyone but my father. I’m just asking for a chance to work.” He swallowed. “I need to take care of my sisters. Please.”

  Nathaniel sucked in a breath, then nodded slowly. “You make a point.”

  “Daet?” Bethany seemed to want to say more, but she wouldn’t. This was her father’s decision to make, not hers.

  Isaiah licked his lips, watching the older man hopefully.

  “I’ll try you out,” Nathaniel said after a beat of silence. “For a couple of weeks until we get these orders completed. You’ll have to learn fast and do as I say. I can’t promise more than that.”

  Isaiah felt a flood of relief. It was something—and who knew? Maybe he’d prove himself indispensable after all.

  “I’m grateful,” Isaiah said quickly. “Thank you.”

  “Starting now,” Nathaniel said. “It’s now or I’ll change my mind.”

  He had that letter to deliver to Johannes, but a few hours wouldn’t make much difference anyway.

  “Yah. Thank you. I’ll start now,” Isaiah said.

  “Bethany will show you where to put the leather.”

  Isaiah glanced over his shoulder again, and this time he saw Bethany’s full, angry stare directed at him. This was Micah’s job . . . Isaiah knew why this stung her, but he didn’t have much of an option. A paying job with a family who resented him was better than no job at all.