Thanksgiving In Hollybrook (Hollybrook Holiday Amish Romance) Read online

  Thanksgiving in Hollybrook

  Amish Romance

  Brenda Maxfield

  Copyright © 2019 by Tica House Publishing LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Personal Word from the Author

  Dearest Readers,

  Thank you so much for choosing one of my books. I am proud to be a part of the team of writers at Tica House Publishing who work joyfully to bring you stories of hope, faith, courage, and love. Your kind words and loving readership are deeply appreciated.

  I would like to personally invite you to sign up for updates and to become part of our Exclusive Reader Club—it’s completely Free to join! We’d love to welcome you!

  Much love,

  Brenda Maxfield

  CLICK HERE to Join our Reader’s Club and to Receive Tica House Updates!

  Contents

  Personal Word from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Continue Reading…

  Thank you for Reading

  More Amish Romance for You

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him and bless his name.

  Psalms 100:4 KJV

  Leora jolted upright in bed and looked about in confusion for a moment, before her mind cleared. She wiped the sweat from her upper lip.

  Again. It had happened again.

  She threw off the heavy quilt and swung her legs over the bed, getting up quickly, her bare feet padding across the cold floor. She went to the window and pulled the white linen curtain aside, peering out onto the barren yard. The sky was clear, and the moon shone on the frozen ground, sending up sparkles of light.

  She blinked and realized she was crying. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to shake it off.

  But it wouldn’t shake off. She drew in a long, quivering breath. She still felt her husband’s tender touch, still felt his embrace, his kisses. She fancied that she could even smell him—smell his earthy scent mingling with the faint hint of shampoo and soap.

  She shuddered.

  One year. It had been one entire year since she’d lain in his arms. One long, lonely year. So why did it seem like only yesterday? Like only minutes had passed since he…

  She put her arms around herself, pressing them against her stomach. After the dreams, she always felt nauseous. She had no idea why—it certainly didn’t make any sense. But there it was. She turned from the window and in the narrow stream of light falling across the floor, she made her way back to her bed. She pulled the quilt up to her chin and stayed very still.

  Sometimes, after a dream, she could fall back asleep. Other times, sleep wouldn’t even tiptoe near her. Without waiting another minute, she knew which it was going to be that night. With a heavy sigh, she got back up and pulled on her robe. She went out to the kitchen and fumbled a bit before getting the lantern lit. The room sprang to life, and she put the kettle on.

  Sinking down onto a kitchen chair, she waited in the cold, echoing silence. When the kettle finally whistled, the piercing sound was welcome.

  Mostly, Leora was used to living alone. And mostly, she didn’t mind it. But right then, at that moment, it was as if she were the only person left on earth. The solitary human woman, eking out her existence alone and unaided…

  She made a soft snorting sound. Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself. You’re perfectly fine.

  She poured the hot water into the waiting mug and plopped a chamomile teabag into it. She carried it to the front room and sat in the rocking chair, putting her hands around the almost-too-hot mug to absorb its warmth. She made no move to take a sip. She made no move at all, really. She simply sat there, staring at nothing, until the hot mug turned cold in her hands.

  * * *

  Leora was nearly ready; all she had to do was put on her heavy winter cape and wrap a scarf around her neck. The Jeffreys would be expecting her soon, and she didn’t like to be late. Not that she ever was, but still.

  She was fetching her woolen scarf from the washroom when she heard the buggy. Her ears pricked. Who would be coming to visit her that early? She hurried back to the front room to peer out the window. Martha—with her two children in tow.

  Leora threw open the front door and stepped out onto the porch to greet her best friend. “Martha? Ach, but you’re a surprise this morning.”

  “I know, I know,” Martha said, climbing out of the buggy holding little Louisa. Ben, being all of four years old, clambered out by himself.

  “I was just leaving…”

  Martha nodded. “I can see that. Where are you heading?”

  “Just some chores,” Leora said vaguely, knowing she wasn’t fooling Martha for a second.

  “Right.” Martha walked around the buggy and climbed the steps. “Can’t you spare a few minutes? I packed up the kinner to come see you. And what with all the boots and coats, that’s no small task.”

  Leora grinned. “Of course. Come in.”

  They all went inside, and Leora went straight to the heating stove to chuck in another log. Martha peeled off her coat and the children’s coats. They shed their boots right inside the door. Martha rarely stayed for only a few minutes, so Leora would be late to the Jeffreys that day, after all.

  Martha heaved a great groan and sat down, lowering Louisa to the floor. Leora quickly fetched the box of wooden toys she kept for just such occasions. She dumped them into the middle of the floor, and both children went right to them.

  “You were going to your job, ain’t so?” Martha asked, giving Leora a frank look.

  “Jah.”

  “I don’t understand what’s so hush-hush about it. You’re not the only one in the district who works for the Englisch.”

  “I know. And it’s not hush-hush.”

  “Then why don’t you just come out and talk about it like everyone else?”

  Why, indeed? But Leora didn’t like her entire goings-on laid out before the people. It had been bad enough after David died. Everyone poked their noses into every single detail of her life. What was she going to do now? How would she support herself? … What? You mean Leora Fisher is moving off her farm? She’s moving to the Yoder’s old house? Renting it? That little thing? Goodness, but what is she thinking? Why didn’t she just lease her land? It would have given her income…

  But what no one knew—what Leora didn’t even know until David’s last days—was that their farm was heavily mortgaged. David hadn’t paid off anything. In truth, he’d taken out a second mortgage after their first year of dismal crops. So Leora hadn’t any choice. She’d had to sell the farm to pay off the mortgages. And even that had barely done it.

  So now, she rented. And she had to make that monthly payment, or her next move would be to a loft in someone’s barn. She scowled. No
. In truth, her next move would have to be to some relative’s house in either Linder Creek or Wisconsin—neither of which held any appeal to her at all.

  “Leora, you look tired,” Martha observed.

  “So do you.”

  Martha burst out laughing. “Of course, I look tired! I have two young kinner.” She gave Leora a sly look. “And another one on the way. Haven’t you noticed my bulging belly?”

  Leora’s eyes widened. “Ach! Are you serious? But that’s wonderful gut news, Martha.”

  Martha nodded. “I s’pose it is, but I get tired just thinking about it.”

  Leora jumped up. “Let me get you some tea.”

  “I won’t say no to that,” Martha said. She looked at her two young ones. “Now, Ben, you can share those blocks with Louisa. Come on, now, son.”

  Ben gave his mother a sour look, but he obediently handed two blocks to his sister, who immediately started beating them on the braided rug. Martha stood and followed Leora to the kitchen.

  “Are you going to the youth singing this Sunday after preaching service.”

  Leora shook her head. “I feel like a fool when I go. I’m much older than most of them, and I’ve already been married. I don’t fit in, Martha.”

  “You’re not the oldest. I happen to know some young men who attend who are older than you.”

  “Maybe so, but I still don’t want to go.”

  Martha repositioned herself against the counter with a stifled moan. “You need to marry again.” She looked around the small kitchen. “You shouldn’t be alone like this. It ain’t natural.”

  Leora shrugged. “Natural or not, it’s my life.”

  “I can ask around…” Martha reached out and touched Leora’s elbow. “I can see who might be interested in—”

  “Nee,” Leora cut in. “Don’t. Please.”

  “It ain’t natural. And you’re a fine woman, Leora. You were a gut wife to David. You would make a gut wife to—”

  “Nee,” Leora cut in again. “Please, Martha.”

  “You’re way too stubborn,” Martha observed. “And just so you know, I overheard Deacon Benjamin talking about you.”

  Leora rolled her eyes. “What now?”

  “He was saying it’s about time for you to be wed again. And he said that his wife reported to him that you ain’t been attending the frolics lately.”

  Leora faced her. “What frolics?”

  “Well, we did have a quilting bee last month, and you didn’t come.”

  “Surely, I wasn’t the only woman not there.”

  Martha shrugged. “Maybe not. But you were the one who’s absence was noted.”

  Leora’s jaw tensed. “And just who was the deacon talking to?”

  Martha laughed. “Eliza Troyer.”

  “Ach! Eliza Troyer. She’s the biggest gossip of all.”

  “Seeing how she’s the owner of the Feed & Supply, it ain’t too surprising, is it? She hears everything.”

  “Wonderful,” Leora said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Now, I s’pose she’s talking about my widowhood to everyone who comes into the shop.”

  Martha chuckled. “I doubt that. I do think it would help if you didn’t act so mysterious, though.”

  “Mysterious?” Leora frowned at her. “I don’t act mysterious. That’s ridiculous.”

  “You keep to yourself. It ain’t right.”

  Leora shook her head. “Can we change the subject, please?”

  Martha moved to the kitchen table and sank down onto the bench. “We can. I’m thinking of naming this new one Linda or Peter. What do you think?”

  Leora wondered whether she would ever be in the position to name a child. Her child. She and David had planned on having children, but in the three years they were married, it hadn’t happened. And then, he’d gotten sick and died so quickly, it had left her head spinning. Sometimes, she wished she’d had his child before he died. It would have been a comfort to her. But other times, she wasn’t sure. Well, it didn’t matter now anyway. It hadn’t happened, and that was never going to change.

  “I think those two names are right nice,” she said to Martha. She busied herself with the cups and teabags, waiting for the water to warm.

  “Tom ain’t convinced, but he will be,” Martha said with a laugh.

  There was a howl from the front room, and Martha got up to investigate. Leora finished with the tea and set the steaming cups on the table. Martha returned, shaking her head.

  “That Ben is a stinker sometimes, I’ll tell you that.”

  She sat back down and Leora joined her.

  “I worry about you, Leora,” Martha said, her expression soft.

  “You don’t need to. I’m fine.” But Leora’s eyes misted with tears, and she looked down quickly, hoping Martha wouldn’t notice. She wasn’t used to having someone worry about her, and it felt strangely comforting.

  “I know you’re fine. You’re one of the most capable women I know. But still. You could stop by my house more often. Don’t you get lonely?”

  Of course, Leora got lonely, but she wasn’t about to announce it.

  “I’m fine,” she repeated. “But I could stop by more, and I will. I promise.”

  “Gut. Because it’s getting to be more and more troublesome for me to get out and about. Come spring, it’ll be easier. But by then, I’ll be as big as a barn.”

  Leora laughed. “Are you cooking Thanksgiving dinner this year?”

  Martha nodded. “Me and my mamm and sisters. It’ll be at my house. You’re coming, ain’t so?”

  Leora nodded. She didn’t have any other place to be.

  Chapter Two

  Leora was a whiz with numbers. It was a bit of a mystery to her, as she’d never put any extra effort into it. But she’d always been able to figure any math problem out—usually in her head without the benefit of paper and pencil. Some women found out about her gift and came to her for help—especially women who had little side businesses.

  No men, though. That wouldn’t suit.

  Which was probably why David had buried the two of them in debt. If he’d only let her help with their finances, she likely could have avoided the mess she’d been left with after he died. But he didn’t ask her. The one time she’d offered, his reaction was so swift that she was stunned.

  “That’s my job,” he’d told her in no uncertain terms.

  “But, David, it’s easy for m—”

  “Are you implying that it’s hard for me? That maybe I ain’t as smart as you?”

  She’d gaped at him open-mouthed. David was a kind man, not one given to impatience or curt words, so his reaction to her offer was completely unexpected. But it was effective. It shut her up, but quick.

  She never offered again.

  Nor did she realize the extent of their financial issues until he lay dying in the hospital. The pneumonia had been vicious and fast. The doctors did what they could, but he was too far gone. Leora had sat by his side, in stunned disbelief, as he faded further and further from her grasp.

  He struggled to breathe and talk, but he managed to eke out about the second mortgage before he died. He was devastated and ashamed, and she had spent a good while telling him it didn’t matter—telling him that nothing mattered except him getting better. But he hadn’t gotten better. He’d gotten worse until that awful day before Thanksgiving…

  Leora shook off the memories and pushed through the door to Jeffreys Diner. The bell above the door tinkled its welcome. Bill Jeffreys saw her come in from where he stood in the back by the kitchen. He smiled and nodded at her.

  He was a handsome man—his thick black hair had a streak of gray near his temple even though he was hardly old enough to have any gray at all. His eyes were dark and deep, and his gaze on her was always intense. Sometimes, he made her shiver, and then she’d wonder why. He was kind and energetic, and his smile was compelling, drawing her in.

  His customers loved him, laughing and joking with him whenever he came out from the k
itchen onto the floor. And he loved them right back, asking after their children and their jobs. He even remembered the names of their pets.

  Leora enjoyed working for him. She appreciated how mesmerized he was by her agility with numbers. He complimented her often, which she wasn’t used to, but she reveled in it. Later, of course, when she left the diner after her work, she would scold herself for her vanity, but when his next compliment came, she would eat it up all over again.

  Bill worked with his sister, Donna. She was as fair as he was dark, and Leora often marveled that they came from the same parents. Donna worked as the waitress and cashier. During the holidays, they hired extra help, beginning right before Thanksgiving. So, they now had two extra waitresses hired through the middle of January.

  Leora arranged their paychecks and hours. She also kept the diner’s books. She went in every few days to go over the numbers, check the schedules, and make the orders. At first, she’d balked about doing the ordering. But Bill had talked her into it, saying he and Donna didn’t have time, and after all, it was a financial matter and wasn’t she in charge of their finances?

  Which was true.

  Except taxes. Leora had very little knowledge in that arena, so she simply made sure all the books were in order for the tax accountant.

  Now, she walked back to where Bill was standing.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said.

  “I was a bit worried is all,” he told her, his low voice rich and low.

  “I had a visitor that I wasn’t expecting.”

  “Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”