A Promise of Hope Read online

  A Promise of Hope

  Amy Clipston

  BOOK TWO

  ZONDERVAN

  A Promise of Hope

  Copyright © 2010 by Amy Clipston

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.

  ePub Edition MARCH 2010 ISBN: 978-0-310-56396-9

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Clipston, Amy.

  A promise of hope / Amy Clipston.

  p. cm.-(Kauffman Amish bakery series ; bk. 2)

  Summary: An Amish widow with newborn twins discovers her deceased husband had disturbing secrets. As she tries to come to grips with the past, she considers a loveless marriage to ensure stability for her young family…with her faith in God hanging in the balance.

  ISBN 978-0-310-28984-5 (softcover)

  1. Amish—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3603.L58P76 2010

  813’.6—dc22

  2009051036

  * * *

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version-. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.

  Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers printed in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

  In loving memory of my father-in-law, Joseph Martin Clipston Jr., who left us too soon. You’re forever in our hearts.

  Note to the Reader

  While this novel is set against the real backdrop of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, the characters are fictional. There is no intended resemblance between the characters in this book and any real members of the Amish and Mennonite communities. As with any work of fiction, I’ve taken license in some areas of research as a means of creating the necessary circumstances for my characters. My research was thorough; however, it would be impossible to be completely accurate in details and description, since each and every community differs. Therefore, any inaccuracies in the Amish and Mennonite lifestyles portrayed in this book are completely due to fictional license.

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Note to the Reader

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  Fastnachts (Raised Donuts)

  4

  5

  6

  7

  Funny Cake Pie

  8

  9

  10

  11

  Apple Ring Fritters

  12

  13

  14

  15

  Coconut Chews

  16

  17

  18

  19

  Applesauce Cake

  20

  21

  22

  23

  Pound Cake

  24

  25

  26

  Sand Tarts

  27

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  Kauffman Amish Bakery Series

  Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  About the Publisher

  Share Your Thoughts

  Prologue

  Luke Troyer blew out a sigh and wiped his brow. The sweltering heat of the carpentry shop choked the air. The heaviness of sawdust, the pungent odor of stain, and the sweet smell of wood filled his nostrils. Tools and loud voices blared while a dozen other men created custom cabinets in the large work area surrounding him.

  He placed his hammer next to the cabinets he’d been sanding and headed toward the small break room in the back of the shop. It held a long table with chairs, a refrigerator, and a counter with a sink. He fetched his lunch pail from the large refrigerator and pulled out a can of Coke.

  “How are those cabinets coming along?” Mel Stoltzfus asked, leaning in the doorway.

  Luke shrugged and gulped his cool, carbonated beverage. “All right, I guess. I’m about halfway through.” Lowering himself into the chair at the small table, he glanced across at a folded copy of The Budget, the Amish newspaper, and sudden memories of his father gripped him. Pop had read The Budget cover to cover every Wednesday.

  “You have plans tonight?” Moving into the room, Mel sat on the chair across from Luke and opened his bottle of iced tea. “Sally told me to invite you for supper. She’s making her famous chicken and dumplings.”

  “Danki, but I have plans.” Luke unfolded the paper and skimmed the articles.

  “Ya. Sure.” Mel snorted. “I can imagine what your plans are. You’re going to work three hours past closing, go home, make yourself a turkey sandwich, and then putter around your shed until midnight. Then you’ll go to bed and start all over again tomorrow.”

  Grimacing, Luke met his friend’s pointed stare. “I don’t do that every night.”

  “Ya, you do. You’ve done the same thing every night since your dat passed away.” Mel set his bottle down and tapped the table for emphasis. “You nursed your dat for eight years. It’s time you started living again. You’re young, so start acting like it.”

  Luke blew out a sigh and turned his attention to the paper. He’d heard this lecture from Mel several times since Pop passed away eight months ago. Although Luke knew his friend was right, he just didn’t know how to move on. He’d nursed Pop since he was twenty-one, so Luke didn’t know how to “act young.”

  “You know I speak the truth,” Mel said. “You should leave work on time tonight and come to my house. Enjoy an evening of friends, not solitude.”

  Luke shook his head and opened his mouth to respond, but the whooshing of the door opening derailed his train of thought. He gaped when he found a ghost from his past standing in the doorway.

  “DeLana?” Luke stood, examining the tall, thin woman dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket. Her long, dark hair framed her attractive face, which was outlined with makeup.

  “Long time, no see.” She gave him a wry smile, her brown eyes sparkling. “How long has it been? Eight years?”

  Luke nodded. “I reckon so.” He motioned toward Mel. “DeLana Maloney, this is my good friend Mel Stoltzfus.”

  She smiled at Mel. “Nice to meet you.”

  Mel nodded, speechless.

  She honed her gaze in on Luke. “Any chance we can talk? Alone?” She looked back at Mel again. “No offense.”

  “Uh, it’s no trouble at all.” Mel stood and started toward the door. He glanced back at Luke, looking puzzled, then closed the door.

  Luke turned his attention to DeLana. “How have you been?” he asked.

  “Good.” She nodded. “How about you?”

  “Gut.” He cleared his throat. “It’s a surprise to see you here.”

  “I bet you thought you’d never see me again, huh?” She adjusted her leather purse on her shoulder.

  Luke motioned toward the table. “Would you like to have a seat? I have a spare Coke if you’r
e thirsty.”

  “No, thanks. I can’t stay long.” DeLana rooted around in her purse and pulled out an envelope. “I wanted to ask you about Peter.”

  “Peter?” Luke narrowed his eyes in question. “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t heard from him in a few months. I’ve written him a few times, but the letters from him have stopped.” She handed him the envelope. “I was going to mail this to him, but I was wondering if it’s even worth it since he’s cut me off. Do you know why?”

  Luke stared down at letters addressed to Peter Troyer in Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania. “No, I don’t. I haven’t heard from him in years.”

  “It’s strange.” She shook her head, her diamond-studded earrings sparkling in the light of the gas lamps. “I heard from him every month like clockwork and then it all stopped about five months ago.”

  He glanced at the envelope again, his mind clicking with questions. “Bird-in-Hand? Is that where he’s living?”

  “Yeah. He said he worked at some Amish furniture place in town.” She folded her arms, pondering. “Shoot, I can’t remember the name of it.”

  His brow furrowed in disbelief. “He’s working in an Amish furniture store? Are you certain?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m certain. He mentioned it often, talking about the different projects he was working on.” She pursed her lips. “So you don’t know anything?”

  Luke shook his head, processing the information. Peter was living in Pennsylvania and working in an Amish furniture store.

  Is he still Amish?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Like I said, I haven’t heard from him in years.”

  She pulled her car keys from her purse, and they jingled in response. “If you hear from him, would you ask him to contact me?”

  “Of course.” He held the envelope out to her.

  “Would you please give that to him if you find him?” She glanced at her watch. “I’d better run.”

  “Let me walk you out.” Luke followed her through the shop and out the front door to the parking lot, his mind flooded with questions about Peter. He shivered in the crisp autumn air.

  “It was good to see you,” she said.

  “Ya, it was.” He gripped the envelopes in his hand.

  “If you hear from him, would you ask him to write or call me?” she asked. “He has my number.”

  “Ya, I will.” He nodded.

  “Thanks. Take care.” She started across the parking lot.

  “What was that about?” a voice behind Luke asked.

  “Peter,” Luke said, glancing toward Mel. “Letters from him have stopped, and her letters to him have gone unanswered.”

  “I’m confused,” Mel said, coming up to glance at the envelopes in Luke’s hand. “Why would Peter be exchanging letters with her?”

  Luke waved as DeLana’s SUV sped past, beeping on its way to the parking-lot exit.

  “Apparently he’s living in Pennsylvania and working in an Amish furniture store,” Luke said.

  “Amish furniture store?” Mel sounded as surprised as Luke felt. “He’s still Amish?”

  “That’s what I said.” Luke studied the envelopes again. “It looks like I’m heading to Pennsylvania.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “To find out what’s happened to Peter. It’s time for me to use the vacation time I’ve been saving for years.” He headed toward the office to ask his boss for an extended leave of absence.

  1

  Smoke filled Sarah Troyer’s lungs and stung her watering eyes. Covering her mouth with her trembling hand, she fell to her knees while flames engulfed the large carpentry area of the furniture store.

  “Peter!” Her attempt to scream her husband’s name came out in a strangled cough, inaudible over the noise of the roaring fire surrounding her.

  Peter was somewhere in the fire. She had to get to him. But how would she find her way through the flames? Had someone called for help? Where was the fire department?

  A thunderous boom shook the floor beneath Sarah’s feet, causing her body to shake with fear. The roof must’ve collapsed!

  “Sarah!” Peter’s voice echoed, hoarse and weak within the flames.

  “I’m coming!” Sobs wracked her body as she crawled toward the back of the shop. She would find him. She had to!

  Turning her face toward the ceiling, Sarah begged God to spare her husband’s life. He had to live. She needed him. He was everything to her. They were going to be parents.

  Their baby needed a father.

  Standing, she threw her body into the flames, rushing toward the crumpled silhouette on the floor next to the smashed remains of the roof…

  Sarah’s eyes flew open, and she gasped. She touched her sweat-drenched nightgown with her trembling hands. Closing her eyes, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  It was a dream!

  Stretching her arm through the dark, she reached across the double bed for her husband of three years; however, her hand brushed only cool sheets.

  Empty.

  Oh, no.

  Sarah cupped a hand to her hot face while reality crashed down on her. Peter had died in the fire in her father’s furniture store five months ago. He was gone, and she was staying in her parents’ house.

  Taking a deep, ragged breath, she swallowed a sob. She’d had the fire dream again—the fourth time this week.

  When were the nightmares going to cease? When was life going to get easier?

  She rested her hands on her swelling belly while tears cooled her burning cheeks. It seemed like only yesterday Sarah was sharing the news of their blessing with Peter and he was smiling, his hazel eyes twinkling, while he pulled her close and kissed her.

  It had been their dream to have a big family with as many as seven children, like most of the Amish couples in their church district. Sarah and Peter had spent many late nights snuggling in each other’s arms while talking about names.

  However, Sarah had buried those dreams along with her husband, and she still felt as bewildered as the day his body was laid to rest. She wondered how she’d ever find the emotional strength to raise her baby without the love and support of her beloved Peter.

  She’d believed since the day she married Peter that they would raise a family and grow old together. But that ghastly fire had stolen everything from Sarah and her baby—their future and their stability. Her life was now in flux.

  Closing her eyes, she mentally repeated her mother’s favorite Scripture, Romans 12:12: “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” But the verse offered no comfort. She tried to pray, but the words remained unformed in her heart.

  Sarah was completely numb.

  She stared up through the dark until a light tap on her door roused her from her thoughts.

  “Sarah Rose.” Her mother’s soft voice sounded through the closed door. “It’s time to get up.”

  “Ya.” Wiping the tears from her face, Sarah rose and slowly dressed, pulling on her black dress, black apron, and shoes. She then parted her golden hair and twirled long strands back from her face before winding the rest into a bun. Once her hair was tightly secured, she placed her white prayer kapp over it, anchoring it with pins.

  Sarah hurried down the stairs and met her mother in the front hall of the old farmhouse in which she’d been raised. “I’m ready,” she said.

  Mamm’s blue eyes studied her. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “No.” Sarah headed for the back door. “Let’s go. I’ll eat later.”

  “Sarah Rose. You must eat for the boppli.” Her mother trotted after her.

  “I’m not hungry.” Sarah slipped out onto the porch.

  “Did you have the dream again?” Mamm’s voice was filled with concern.

  Sarah sucked in a breath, hoping to curb the tears rising in her throat. “I’m just tired.” She started down the dirt driveway toward the bakery.

  Mamm caught up with her. Taking Sarah’s hand in hers, she gave her a bereaved expr
ession. “Sarah Rose, mei liewe, how it breaks my heart to see you hurting. I want to help you through this. Please let me.”

  Swallowing the tears that threatened, Sarah stared down at her mother’s warm hand cradling hers. Grief crashed down on her, memories of Peter and their last quiet evening together flooding her. He’d held her close while they discussed their future as parents.

  Rehashing those memories was too painful for Sarah to bear. She missed him with every fiber of her being. Sarah had to change the subject before she wound up sobbing in her mother’s arms—again.

  “We best get to work before the girls think we overslept,” Sarah whispered, quickening her steps.

  “Don’t forget this afternoon is your ultrasound appointment, ” Mamm said. “Maybe we’ll find out if you’re having a boy or a girl. Nina Janitz is going to pick us up at one so we’re at the hospital on time.”

  At her mother’s words Sarah swallowed a groan. The idea of facing this doctor’s appointment without Peter sharpened the pain that pulsated in her heart.

  Pushing the thought aside, Sarah stared at the bakery her mother had opened more than twenty years ago. The large, white clapboard farmhouse sat near the road and included a sweeping wraparound porch. A sign with “Kauffman Amish Bakery” in old-fashioned letters hung above the door.

  Out behind the building was a fenced-in play area where a few of the Kauffman grandchildren ran around playing tag and climbing on a huge wooden swing set. Beyond it was the fenced pasture. Mamm’s, Peter’s, and Timothy’s large farmhouses, along with four barns, were set back beyond the pasture. The dirt road leading to the other homes was roped off with a sign declaring Private Property—No Trespassing.

  A large paved parking lot sat adjacent to the building. The lot—always full during the summer months, the height of the tourist season—was now empty. Even though temperatures had cooled off for autumn, the tourist season had ended a month ago in Bird-in-Hand.