Winter of Wishes Read online

  “YOU’RE INTERESTED IN THE POSITION?”

  There was a hopeful upturn in Andy Leitner’s voice as it came through the phone. “I was wondering if the store owners had taken my note down.”

  Rhoda’s heart raced. “Jah, I’d like to talk to you about it,” she gushed. “But ya should understand right out that I don’t have a car, on account of how we Amish don’t believe in ownin’—I mean, I’m not preachin’ at ya, or—”

  She winced. “This is comin’ out all wrong. Sorry,” she rasped. “My name’s Rhoda Lantz, and I’m in Willow Ridge. I sure hope you don’t think I’m too ferhoodled to even be considered for the job.”

  “Ferhoodled?” The word rolled melodiously from the receiver and teased at her.

  “Crazy mixed-up,” she explained. “Confused, and—well, I’m keepin’ ya from whatever ya need to be doin’, so—”

  “Ah, but you’re a solution to my problem. The answer to a prayer . . .”

  More Seasons of the Heart books by Charlotte Hubbard

  Summer of Secrets Autumn Winds

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  WINTER Of WISHES

  Seasons of the Heart

  Charlotte Hubbard

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  “YOU’RE INTERESTED IN THE POSITION?”

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  What’s Cookin’ at the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café?

  An Amish Country Christmas

  Copyright Page

  For Darla, who knows how to live, laugh, and love!

  Acknowledgments

  Thank You once again, Lord, for guiding this story and sending me wonderful ideas each time I needed them. Your sudden inspirations are always better than my deliberate plotting and planning.

  As always, working with Alicia Condon, my editor, and Evan Marshall, my agent, has been such a pleasure. Thank you both for sharing your excitement and your ideas with me as this series progresses through the seasons of our hearts.

  Special thanks again to Jim Smith of Step Back in Time Tours in Jamesport, Missouri, as I continue to write Amish stories and ask him questions about Old Order ways. Blessings on you for helping me even as you fought the good fight—and won!—your battle with cancer.

  Thanks to Martha Johnson, author and colleague, for answers to questions about all manner of Amish details.

  Special blessings and love to you, Neal, for knowing when I needed entertainment and comic relief as I wrote this one. Your application for sainthood is being processed.

  Matthew 19:16–26

  And, behold, one came and said unto him, Good Master, what good thing shall I do, that I may have eternal life?

  And He said unto him, Why callest thou me good? there is none good but one, that is God: but if thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments.

  He saith unto him, Which? Jesus said, Thou shalt do no murder, Thou shalt not commit adultery, Thou shalt not steal, Thou shalt not bear false witness,

  Honor thy father and thy mother: and thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

  The young man saith unto Him, All these things have I kept from my youth up: what lack I yet?

  Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give it to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me.

  But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful: for he had great possessions.

  Then said Jesus unto his disciples, Verily I say unto you, That a rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of heaven.

  And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.

  When his disciples heard it, they were exceedingly amazed, saying Who then can be saved?

  But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.

  Luke 1:46–53

  And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord,

  And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.

  For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden; for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.

  For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name, And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation.

  He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

  He hath put down the mighty from their seats and exalted them of low degree.

  He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away.

  Chapter One

  As Rhoda Lantz stood gazing out the window of the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café, her mood matched the ominous gray clouds that shrouded the dark, predawn sky. Here it was the day after Thanksgiving and she felt anything but thankful. Oh, she’d eaten Mamma’s wonderful dinner yesterday and smiled at all the right times during the gathering of family and friends around their extended kitchen table, but she’d been going through the motions. Feeling distanced . . . not liking it, but not knowing what to do about it, either.

  “You all right, honey-bug? Ya seem a million miles away.”

  Rhoda jumped. Mamma had slipped up behind her while she’d been lost in her thoughts. “Jah, jah. Fine and dandy,” she fibbed. “Just thinkin’ how it looks like we’re in for a winter storm, which most likely means we won’t have as many folks come to eat today and tomorrow. It’s just . . . well, things got really slow last year at this time.”

  Her mother’s concerned gaze told Rhoda her little white lie hadn’t sounded very convincing. Mamma glanced toward the kitchen, where her partner, Naomi Brenneman, and Naomi’s daughter, Hannah, were frying sausage and bacon for the day’s breakfast buffet. “Tell ya what,” she said gently. “Lydia Zook left a phone message about a couple of fresh turkeys still bein’ in their meat case. Why not go to the market and fetch those, along with a case of eggs—and I’m thinkin’ it’s a perfect day for that wonderful-gut cream soup we make with the potatoes and carrots and cheese in the sauce. I’ll call in the order, and by the time ya get over there they’ll have everything all gathered up.”

  “Jah, Mamma, I can do that,” Rhoda murmured. It meant walking down the long lane with the wind whipping at her coat, and then hitching up a carriage, but it was something useful to do.

  Useful. Why is it such a struggle lately to feel useful? I wish I knew what to do with my life.

  Rhoda slipped her coat from the peg at the door, tied on her heavy black bonnet, and stepped outside with a gasp. The temperature had dropped several degrees since she’d come to the café an hour ago. The chill bit through her
woolen stockings as she walked briskly along the gravel lane with her head lowered against the wind.

  “Hey there, Rhoda! Gut mornin’ to ya!” a voice sang out as she passed the smithy behind the Sweet Seasons.

  Rhoda waved to Ben Hooley but didn’t stop to chat. Why did the farrier’s cheerfulness irritate her lately? She had gotten over her schoolgirl crush on him and was happy for Ben and Mamma both, but as their New Year’s Day wedding approached, they seemed more public about their affections—their joy—and, well, that irritated her, too! Across the road from the Sweet Seasons a new home was going up in record time, as Ben’s gift to her mother . . . yet another reminder of how Rhoda’s life would change when Mamma moved out of the apartment above the blacksmith shop, and she would be living there alone.

  As she reached the white house she’d grown up in, Rhoda sighed. No lights glowed in the kitchen window and no one ate breakfast at the table: this holiday weekend, her twin sister Rachel and Rachel’s new groom, Micah Brenneman, were on an extended trip around central Missouri to collect wedding presents as they visited aunts, uncles, and cousins of their two families. Rhoda missed working alongside Rachel at the café more than she could bear to admit, yet here again, she was happy for her sister. The newlyweds radiated a love and sense of satisfaction she could only dream of.

  Rhoda hitched up the enclosed carriage and clapped the reins across Sadie’s broad back. If Thanksgiving had been so difficult yesterday, with so many signposts of the radical changes in all their lives, what would the upcoming Christmas season be like? Ordinarily she loved baking cookies, setting out the Nativity scene, and arranging evergreen branches and candles on the mantel and at the windowsills. Yet as thick, feathery flakes of snow blew across the yard, her heart thudded dully. It wasn’t her way to feel so blue, or to feel life was passing her by. But at twenty-one, she heard her clock ticking ever so loudly.

  God, have Ya stopped listenin’ to my prayers for a husband and a family? Are Ya tellin’ me I’m fated to remain a maidel?

  Rhoda winced at the thought. She gave the mare its head once they were on the county blacktop, and as they rolled across the single-lane bridge that spanned this narrow spot in the Missouri River, she glanced over toward the new gristmill. The huge wooden wheel was in place now, churning slowly as the current of the water propelled it. The first light of dawn revealed two male figures on the roof. Luke and Ira Hooley, Ben’s younger brothers, scrambled like monkeys as they checked their new machinery. The Mill at Willow Ridge would soon be open to tourists. In addition to regular wheat flour and cornmeal, the Hooley brothers would offer specialty grains that would sell to whole-foods stores in Warrensburg and other nearby cities. Mamma was already gathering recipes to bake artisan breads at the Sweet Seasons, as an additional lure for health-conscious tourists.

  But Rhoda’s one brief date with Ira had proven he was more interested in running the roads with Annie Mae Knepp than in settling down or joining the church anytime soon. Both Ira and Luke were seemingly happy to live in a state of eternal rumspringa. Rhoda considered herself as fun loving as any young woman, but she’d long ago committed herself to the Amish faith. Was it too much to ask the same sort of maturity of the men she dated?

  She pulled up alongside Zook’s Market. The grocery and dry goods store wouldn’t open for a couple of hours yet, but already Henry and Lydia Zook were preparing for their day. Rhoda put a determined smile on her face as the bell above the door jangled. “Happy day-after-Thanksgivin’ to ya!” she called out. “Mamm says you’ve got a couple turkeys for us today.”

  “Jah, Rhoda, we’re packin’ your boxes right this minute, too!” Lydia called out from behind the back counter. “Levi! Cyrus! You can be carryin’ those big bags of potatoes and carrots out to Rhoda’s rig, please and thank ya.”

  From an aisle of the store, still shadowy in the low glow of the gas ceiling lights, two of the younger Zook boys stepped away from the shelves they had been restocking. “Hey there, Rhoda,” ten-year-old Levi mumbled.

  “Tell your mamm we could use more of those fine blackberry pies,” his younger brother Cyrus remarked as he hefted a thirty-pound bag of potatoes over his shoulder. “That’s my favorite, and they always sell out. Mamm won’t let us buy a pie unless they’re a day old—and most of ’em don’t stay on the shelf that long.”

  Rhoda smiled wryly. Cyrus Zook wasn’t the only fellow around Willow Ridge with a keen interest in her mother’s pies. “I’ll pass that along. Denki to you boys for loadin’ the carriage.”

  “Levi’s fetchin’ your turkeys from the fridge,” their dat, Henry, said from behind his meat counter. “Won’t be but a minute. Say—it sounds like ya had half of Willow Ridge over to your place for dinner yesterday.”

  Again Rhoda smiled to herself: word got around fast in a small town. “Jah, what with Ben and his two brothers and two aunts—and the fact that those aunts invited Tom Hostetler and Hiram and his whole tribe to join us—we had quite a houseful.”

  “Awful nice of ya to look after Preacher Tom and the bishop’s bunch,” Lydia said with an approving nod. “Fellows without wives don’t always get to celebrate with a real Thanksgiving dinner when their married kids live at a distance.”

  “Well, there was no telling Jerusalem and Nazareth Hooley they couldn’t invite Tom and the Knepps,” Rhoda replied with a chuckle. “So there ya have it. They brought half the meal, though, so that wasn’t so bad.”

  “Tell your mamm we said hullo.” Henry turned back toward the big grinder on the back table, where he was making fresh hamburger.

  “Jah, I’ll do that. And denki for havin’ things all set to go.”

  Jonah Zook stood behind his dat’s counter trimming roasts. Rhoda met his eye and nodded, but didn’t try to make small talk. Jonah was a couple of years younger than she, and had driven her home from a few Sunday-night singings, but he had about as much sparkle as a crushed cardboard box. And goodness, but she could use some sparkle about now...

  Rhoda glanced out the store’s front window. Levi and Cyrus were taking their sweet time about loading her groceries, so she wandered over to the bulletin board where folks posted notices of upcoming auctions and other announcements. No sense in standing out in that wind while the boys joshed around.

  The old corkboard was pitted from years of use, and except for the sale bills for upcoming household auctions in New Haven and Morning Star, the yellowed notices for herbal remedies, fresh eggs, and local fellows’ businesses had hung there for months. Rhoda sighed—and then caught sight of a note half-hidden by an auction flyer.

  NEED A COMPASSIONATE, PATIENT CARETAKER FOR MY ELDERLY MOTHER, PLUS AFTER-SCHOOL SUPERVISION FOR TWO KIDS. NEW HAVEN, JUST A BLOCK OFF THE COUNTY HIGHWAY. CALL ANDY LEITNER.

  Rhoda snatched the little notice from the board, her heart thumping. She knew nothing about this fellow except his phone number and that he had an ailing mother and two young children—and that he was surely English if he was advertising for help with family members. Yet something about his decisive block printing told her Mr. Leitner was a man who didn’t waffle over decisions or accept a halfhearted effort from anyone who would work for him. He apparently had no wife—

  Maybe she works away from home. Happens a lot amongst English families.

  —and if he had posted this advertisement in Zook’s Market, he surely realized a Plain woman would be most likely to respond. It was common for Amish and Mennonite gals to hire on for housework and caretaking in English homes, so if she gave him a call, she could start working there, why—as soon as tomorrow!

  How many of these notices has he posted? Plenty of Plain bulk stores to advertise in around Morning Star, plus the big discount stores out past New Haven. And if he had run ads in the local papers, maybe he’d already had dozens of gals apply for this job. But what could it hurt to find out?

  Pulse pounding, Rhoda stepped outside. “You fellas got all my stuff loaded, jah?” she demanded. Levi and Cyrus were playing a rousing game of c
atch with a huge hard-packed snowball, paying no heed to the snow that was falling on their green shirtsleeves.

  Levi, the ornerier of the two, poked his head around the back of the buggy. “Got a train to catch, do ya? Busy day chasin’ after that Ira Hooley fella?” he teased. “Jonah, he says ya been tryin’ to catch yourself some of that Lancaster County money—”

  “And what if I have?” Rhoda shot back. “Your mamm won’t like it when I tell her you two have been lollygaggin’ out here instead of stockin’ your shelves, ain’t so?”

  Levi waited until she was stepping into the carriage before firing the snowball at her backside. But what would she accomplish by stepping out to confront him? Rhoda glanced at the two huge turkeys, the mesh sacks of potatoes, carrots, and onions, and the sturdy boxes loaded with other staples Mamma had ordered, and decided she was ready to go. “Back, Sadie,” she said in a low voice.

  The mare whickered and obeyed immediately. Rhoda chuckled at the two boys’ outcry as she playfully backed the buggy toward them. Then she urged Sadie into a trot. All sorts of questions buzzed in her mind as she headed for the Sweet Seasons. What would Mamma say if she called Andy Leitner? What if a mild winter meant the breakfast and lunch shifts would remain busy, especially with Rachel off collecting wedding presents for a few more weekends? Hannah Brenneman had only been helping them since her sixteenth birthday last week—