Rebecca's Return
Authors: Jerry S. Eicher
Tags: #Romance, #Amish, #Christian, #First Loves, #Fiction, #Christian Fiction, #Amish - Ohio, #Ohio, #General, #Religious, #Love Stories
Rebecca’s
R E T U R N
J E R R Y S. E I C H E R
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Dugan Design Group, Bloomington, Minnesota
Cover photos © Alan Becker / Riser / Getty Images; Joan Kimball / iStockphoto; Author photo by Brian Ritchie
REBECCA’S RETURN
Copyright © 2009 by Jerry S. Eicher
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Eicher, Jerry S.
Rebecca’s return / Jerry Eicher.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7369-2636-2 (pbk.)
1. Amish—Ohio—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3605.I34R43 2009
813.'6—dc22
2008041618
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 / RDM-NI / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
C
ONTENTS
Other fine fiction from Harvest House Publishers
J
ohn Miller knew he loved Rebecca Keim, and yet he was afraid.
In the predawn darkness, John walked across the graveled parking lot of Miller’s Furniture, digging in his pocket for his keys. Even with his glove off, his fingers still kept fumbling, his mind on Rebecca. Why hadn’t she returned yet?
There had been no word, no phone call, and no letter. Miller’s Furniture had a phone in the building just outside the backdoor, and its ringing could usually be heard from the front desk. Was he expecting too much that Rebecca should call him? But then where would she have called from since Leona, Rebecca’s aunt, could hardly be expected to have a telephone close to her home.
Even so, she surely could have found a way—and that was what bothered him.
They had become engaged right before she left to help care for her aunt’s family in Milroy while Leona gave birth. That was only a few weeks ago, but to John it was an eternity. He had seen her only once since their engagement. That was on the night she told him she was leaving for Indiana to help with the newly arriving baby. It had been a sudden decision made by her mother, Leona’s sister, and according to Rebecca, it was a surprise to her also.
That was a reasonable explanation, but did Rebecca need to seem so happy about leaving? Wouldn’t she miss him? And yet, going to help an aunt with a new baby was a good thing and a sign of trust and status.
He was sure there was something more going on with Rebecca. The gnawing fact hung around him like a sweat fly in the summer. Like the fly, the thoughts of trouble would land on him, and he would swat them away, but they always seemed to find a place to land again, and he would swat again.
Was he afraid of somehow losing Rebecca? But why would that happen? The idea had no basis. Yet the doubt persisted.
Had the baby come already, he wondered. There was really no way of knowing unless he asked Rebecca’s family on Sunday, but he would feel awkward doing that.
What was he to do? Walk up to Lester, Rebecca’s father, after church and ask, “Has Leona’s baby been born?” Maybe he could get his mother, Miriam, to ask Rebecca’s mother.
No, he wouldn’t do either of those things. Surely Rebecca would contact him soon. He tilted his brimmed hat sideways to keep it from blowing away in the wind. There was no snow expected today, for which he was glad. Even though he worked inside most of the time, both as a sales person and all-around handyman, winter always came too soon for him.
With his fingers finally around the keys, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and transferred the ring to his other hand. Placing his glove back on the exposed hand, his fingers warmed quickly in the fur lining. Pausing at the door, he brushed the frost from the knob and inserted the key.
As he walked through the door, the warmth of the store welcomed him. The outdoor furnace could burn all night on low when well-stocked with wood. Now though, the furnace would be in need of fresh fuel.
John’s uncle Aden was already in his office, light from a gas lantern shining out into the main room. When John glanced in, Aden said without looking up, “Fire needs making.” He was reading from the current issue of the
Adams County Crossroads,
an official visitor’s guide to Adams County, Ohio, in which Miller’s Furniture and Bakery was prominently featured.
“It’s pretty warm still,” John said. “The furnace keeps up the heat, even on cold nights.”
Aden, his brown eyes framed by black hair and a dark beard that came down over the first button on his shirt, glanced up and answered, “Ya, it’s a good furnace. Does pretty good unless we get subzero weather. I have to come out during the night once or so to add wood.”
“How cold is too cold in here before there’s damage to the furniture?” John asked, curious.
Aden wrinkled up his face. “Don’t really want to find that out but maybe below forty. Just to be safe, fifty or so.”
“Sales are pretty good this year,” John said.
“The Lord has blessed us, especially our year-end sales,” Aden agreed, not looking up from his
Adams County Crossroads.
With Christmas only two weeks away, business was brisk. Even the slowing economy seemed not to have affected the tourists from Cincinnati, a bastion of conservatism and old money.
These were people who valued the Amish traditions, admired their industriousness and the quality of the finished product to the extent that they readily passed up names like Widdicomb and Lane to invest in the unnamed brands created by the Amish. In a sense,
Amish
was itself the brand, produced in little shops and crannies of the various Amish communities located in Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania.
Here on Wheat Ridge, there was no Christmas sale, as there were no Sunday sales, in deference to the sacred nature of the holiday. There was a year-end sale though, serving the same purpose but avoiding the impropriety.
“I’d better see to the furnace,” John said, stepping out of the office and following the hallway to the outside door where the garage-type structure housed the furnace.
Stacks of wood lined the north wall. More was outside, now snow-covered. John calculated that there was enough inside, high and dry, until a thaw arrived and allowed more wood to be moved in. If not, then the snow-covered wood could be moved inside and stored until it dried from the heat of the furnace.
Opening the large steel door, he stirred the embers with the long fire rod. Under the rod’s encouragement, the ash filtered down into the ash box below. The embers left on top glowed with a red intensity. John removed the sliding ash box, took it a distance away, and carefully spread the ash on the ground.
John took care to keep the pile of ash thin enough, so it would cool fairly rapidly. Piled thick, the coals could be kept alive for days under the ash. If a wind arose at night and blew the ash off the top, the live coals could start a fire where it was not wanted.
With the ash box back in the furnace, John piled the chamber full of wood, setting the last two pieces in vertically in front. He then went to the thermostat and set it to its normal setting for daytime comfort.
When John returned to the office, Aden was still reading his
Adams County Crossroads.