Will she jeopardize her family secret for love?

Secrecy kept her family safe...

Will she risk it all for a chance at love?

Carolyn Wiebe discarded her Amish roots to hide her niece and nephew from their violent father. Yet when a hurricane crashes into their isolated Mennonite life, she can no longer keep the world at bay. With Christmas approaching, Amish carpenter Michael Miller wants to help her rebuild her home. But can their burgeoning love withstand the rising storm of her secrets?

Green Mountain Blessings

JO ANN BROWN has always loved stories with happily-ever-after endings. A former military officer, she is thrilled to have the chance to write stories about people falling in love. She is also a photographer and travels with her husband of more than thirty years to places where she can snap pictures. They have three children and live in Florida. Drop her a note at joannbrownbooks.com.

Also By Jo Ann Brown

Green Mountain Blessings

An Amish Christmas Promise

Amish Spinster Club

The Amish Suitor

The Amish Christmas Cowboy

The Amish Bachelor’s Baby

The Amish Widower’s Twins

Amish Hearts

Amish Homecoming

An Amish Match

His Amish Sweetheart

An Amish Reunion

A Ready-Made Amish Family

An Amish Proposal

An Amish Arrangement

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

An Amish Christmas Promise

Jo Ann Brown

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90064-9

AN AMISH CHRISTMAS PROMISE

© 2019 Jo Ann Ferguson

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“Are the kinder okay?”

Uncomfortable with his small intrusion into her family, Carolyn said, “Kevin had a bad dream and woke us up.”

“Because of the rain?”

“It’s possible.”

“Rebuilding a building is easy. Rebuilding one’s sense of security isn’t.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience.”

Michael sighed. “My parents died when I was young, and both my twin brother and I had to learn not to expect something horrible was going to happen without warning.”

“I’m sorry. I should have asked more about you and the other volunteers. I’ve been wrapped up in my own tragedy.”

“At times like this, nobody expects you to be thinking of anything but getting a roof over your kinder’s heads.”

He didn’t reach out to touch her, but she was aware of every inch of him so close to her. His quiet strength had awed her from the beginning. As she’d come to know him better, his fundamental decency had impressed her more. He was a man she believed she could trust.

She shoved that thought aside. Trusting any man would be the worst thing she could do.

Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ. For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself. But let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another. For every man shall bear his own burden.

—Galatians 6:2–5

Dear Reader,

Sometimes, the worst events bring out the best in people. We met many of our new neighbors when a hurricane swept through our town, and we were outside cleaning debris. Those who were able stepped up without fanfare to help those who weren’t, and within a week, our neighborhood looked just as it should have. But we had a new camaraderie that lasted far longer than the scars of damage.

The Mennonite Disaster Service was established seventy years ago when a group of young people wanted to help others. MDS volunteers, who are both plain and Englisch, come primarily from the US and Canada and have helped rebuild homes and lives after disasters, usually weather related or due to wildfires.

Visit me at www.joannbrownbooks.com. Look for my next book, again set in Evergreen Corners, Vermont, coming soon.

Wishing you many blessings,

Jo Ann Brown

For Amanda, who keeps us looking good

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One
Evergreen Corners, Vermont

The bus slowed with a rumble of its diesel engine.

Michael Miller opened his eyes. A crick in his neck warned him that he’d fallen asleep in a weird position. The last time he’d ridden a bus was when he caught one to the train station in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Then he’d traveled with his twin brother and Gabriel’s bopplin to their new farm in Harmony Creek Hollow in northern New York.

Now he was on a bus on a late October day because he needed time away, time with peace and quiet, to figure out the answer to one vital question: Should he remain in their Amish community, or was the future he wanted beyond a plain life?

Today Michael was in Vermont, on his way to Evergreen Corners. The small village was at the epicenter of powerful flash floods that had accompanied Hurricane Kevin when the massive storm stalled over the eastern slopes of the Green Mountains last week.

The bus hit another pothole in the dirt on what once had been a paved road. He was shocked to discover the other lane had been washed away. The road, a major north–south conduit in the state, was barely wider than the bus’s wheels. He didn’t see any cars anywhere, just a couple of trucks with what looked like a town seal on their doors. They were parked near a building where all the windows and doors were missing.

His stomach tightened. Had those vehicles been commandeered as ambulances? Were the people working there looking for victims?

The stories coming out of Vermont had warned that the situation was dismal. Whole sections of towns like Evergreen Corners had been washed away by torrents surging along what had been babbling brooks. People left with no place to live, all their possessions gone or covered with thick mud. Trees torn from the banks. Rocks—both giant boulders and tons of gravel—swept beneath bridges and damming the streams, forcing the water even higher.

Michael could see the road—or what there was left of it—followed a twisting stream between two steep mountains. The job of rebuilding was going to be bigger than he’d imagined when he’d stepped forward to offer his skills as a carpenter.

How much could he and the other fifteen volunteers on the bus do in the next three months? Where did they begin?

And what had made him think he’d find a chance to think about the future here?

God, I trust You know where I should be. Help me see.

The bus jerked to a stop, and the driver opened the door. “Here we are!”

A pungent odor oozed into the bus. It was a disgusting mix of mud and gasoline and the fuel oil that had been washed out of household storage tanks. Michael gasped, choking on the reek.

When a mask was held out to him, he took it from his friend, Benjamin Kuhns, who was sitting beside him, but didn’t put it on. Like Michael, Benjamin had volunteered when a representative of Amish Helping Hands had come two days ago to Harmony Creek Hollow. Amish Helping Hands worked with other plain organizations to help after natural disasters. Benjamin announcing that he wanted to come, too, had been a surprise, because he’d been focused for the past year on working with his older brother, Menno, in getting their sawmill running. Business had been growing well, and Michael wondered if Benjamin was seeking something to help him grasp onto his future, too.

“Watch where you step,” shouted the bus driver before he went out.

Michael stood and grabbed his small bag off the shelf over his head, stuffing the mask into a pocket. He noticed a few people on the bus had donned theirs.

His larger bag, where he’d packed the tools he expected he’d need, was stored under the bus. Nobody spoke as they filed out, and he knew he wasn’t the only person overwhelmed by the destruction.

As his feet touched the muddy ground, he heard, “Look out!”

He wasn’t sure whether to duck, jump aside or climb back on the bus. Looking around, he saw a slender blonde barreling toward him, arms outstretched.

Squawking was the only warning he got before a small brown chicken ran into him, bounced backward, turned and kept weaving through the crowd of volunteers moving to get their luggage from beneath the bus. The chicken let out another terrified screech before vanishing through a forest of legs and duffels.

The woman halted before she ran into him, too. Putting out her hands, she stopped two kinder from colliding with him. The force of their forward motion drove her a step closer, and he dropped his bag to the ground and caught her by the shoulders before she tumbled over the toes of his weather-beaten work boots. He was astounded that though her dress was a plain style, the fabric was a bright pink-and-green plaid.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked.

She nodded and looked at him with earth-brown eyes that seemed the perfect complement to her pale hair. She was so short her head hardly reached his shoulder. Her features were delicate. Thanking him, she turned to the kinder.

He hadn’t expected the simple act of gazing into her pretty eyes to hit him like the recoil of a mishandled nail gun. Was she plain, or dressed simply because she was cleaning up the mess left by the flood?

He glanced at the kinder who’d been chasing her and the chicken. The boy appeared to be around six or seven years old. He had light brown hair, freckles and blue-gray eyes. Along with jeans and sneakers, he wore a T-shirt stained with what looked like peanut butter and jelly. Beside him, and wearing almost identical clothing, though without the stains, the little girl had hair the same soft honey-blond as the woman’s. Like the boy, she had freckles, but her eyes were dark. When she grinned at him, she revealed she’d lost her two front teeth.

He couldn’t keep from smiling. The kind was adorable, and he could imagine how she’d be twisting boys’ hearts around her finger in a few years.

Just as Adah Burcky had with every guy who’d glanced her way. What a dummkopf he’d been to think he was the sole recipient of her kisses and flirtatious glances! He could hear her laugh when she’d walked away with another man. There had been a hint of triumph in it, as if she took delight in keeping track of the hearts she broke...including his.

What had brought Adah to mind? He’d come to Evergreen Corners to decide what he wanted to do with his future, not to focus on the past. For too long, he’d been drifting, following his twin brother to their new home, a place where he wasn’t sure he belonged. Was his life among the plain folk, or was the route God had mapped for him meant to take him somewhere else? He had three months to figure that out.

“She’s getting away,” the boy insisted in an ever-louder voice, breaking into Michael’s thoughts. “We’ve got to catch her before she gets hit by a car.”

“There aren’t a lot of cars on the road,” the woman replied, ruffling his hair in an attempt to calm him.

“But there are buses.” The boy flung out a hand toward the one that had brought Michael to Evergreen Corners. “See?”

Michael wasn’t the only one trying to stifle a grin as the woman said, “We’ll pray she’ll be fine, Kevin. Place her in God’s hands and trust He knows what’s best.”

Though he thought the boy would protest, the kind nodded. “Like you placed us in God’s hands when the brook rose.”

She nodded, but her serene facade splintered for a second. By the time she’d turned to Michael, it was again in place, and he wondered if he’d imagined the shadows in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “We’ve been chasing Henrietta for the past fifteen minutes.” She gave him a wry smile. “Not an original name for a chicken, but the kids chose our flock’s names.”

“She went that way.” He pointed down the hill where a shallow brook rippled in the late-afternoon sunshine.

“She’s headed toward our place, so maybe she’ll turn up in what’s left of our yard if she gets hungry enough.” She wiped her forearm against her forehead and readjusted the black kerchief she wore over her honey-blond hair that was, he noticed for the first time, pulled into a tight bun at her nape.

“So your house is okay?” Michael asked.

She bit her lip before standing straighter. “No. Our house is gone.”

He was shocked that anyone who’d lost their home could smile as she had. Could he have faced the situation with such aplomb and the gut spirits she did? That was a question he hoped he’d never have to answer.

Carolyn Wiebe knew she’d astounded the handsome dark-haired man who’d stepped off the bus. What had he expected her to do? Rage against the whims of nature? The storm that decimated everything she’d worked for during the past four years had been a mindless beast whose winds tore up the valley before sending water barreling down it. Be angry at God? How could she, when He’d spared their lives and everyone else’s in Evergreen Corners? That hadn’t been the situation in other towns, or so rumor whispered. No one could be sure of anything, but she’d heard of five deaths. People swept away as she and her children could have been. She’d made a promise to look after them forever, and she wasn’t going to let a tempest change that.

Scanning the group from the bus, she dared to take a deep breath. She didn’t see any sign of Leland Reber. There were other brown-haired men, but not the formerly plain man who’d married her late sister and had two youngsters with her. Though she hadn’t seen his photo in over four years, she was sure she’d recognize him whether he dressed like her Englisch neighbors or in plain clothing. He had a square jaw with a cleft in his chin, which her sister Regina had found appealing...until the beatings started within weeks of their marriage.

For four years, Carolyn had managed to push Leland out of her mind while she focused on raising the children her sister had entrusted to her, children who called her Mommy. Then a neighbor had told her about hearing how Carolyn and the kids had been shown on national television news when reporters had appeared the day after the flood. If so, Leland, who’d embraced an Englisch life, most especially television and alcohol, could have learned where they were.

Carolyn’s first thought had been to flee as they had when she’d left her beloved plain community in Indiana. She realized doing that was impossible when the roads were open only to authorized vehicles. Her car had been swept away in the flood and hadn’t been found so she couldn’t take Kevin and Rose Anne anywhere.

Her one consolation was Leland should have as much trouble getting to Evergreen Corners. The one way he could gain entry was to pretend to volunteer and get a ride with one of the disaster services. So she asked about vehicles bringing volunteers into Evergreen Corners, and she’d devised an excuse to be nearby when the newcomers had stepped off the bus. Today, Henrietta had provided her with one. She couldn’t chance Leland sneaking into town and finding her and his son and daughter.

“Do you know where we’re supposed to go, Mrs.—?” asked the man who’d been accosted by Henrietta.

He wasn’t classically handsome. His straight nose was prominent, but his other features, especially his kind eyes, drew her attention away from it. Sharp cheekbones and a firm jaw suggested he wasn’t someone to dismiss. In the sunlight that had shone every day after the hurricane, red accents glistened in the brown hair beneath his straw hat. The breadth of the black strap on his hat as well as his accent told her that he must be from Pennsylvania.

She warned herself to be cautious. Though Leland wasn’t plain, he had many friends who were. Could he have sent one to look for her?

Stop being paranoid, she scolded herself. She wasn’t worried for herself, but for her niece and nephew.

“I’m Carolyn Wiebe.” She spoke the name without hesitation. She’d given it to herself after leaving Indiana, and she didn’t correct his assumption she was married. Even in her thoughts, she sometimes forgot her real name was Cora Hilty. She was glad neither of the children recalled the surname they’d been given at birth. “This is Rose Anne, and that is Kevin.”

“Kevin? Like Hurricane Kevin?”

“Appropriate for a five-year-old boy, don’t you think?” She laughed at the surprise on the man’s face. She didn’t want to tell him that, with her emotions so raw, she had two choices: laugh or cry. During the day, she laughed. At night when everyone else was asleep, she gave in to tears at the thought of how the flood had taken her home and livelihood. With her kitchen gone, she could no longer bake pies and cookies for the diner in town as well as a trio of tourist farms not far out of town.

And laughing kept her from having to respond to the man’s amazement when she said Kevin was five. She’d heard comments about how big he was for his age and how advanced he was. She’d brushed them aside, not wanting to admit the truth. Kevin was almost eighteen months older. She’d changed his age, as well as his sister’s, to make it harder for Leland to locate these two sweet children. Assuming he was looking for them—and she had to—he would search for a nearly seven-year-old boy and a girl who’d had her fifth birthday. As far as the residents of Evergreen Corners knew, Rose Anne was four. More than one person had commented on how early she was losing her teeth, but that was always followed by a comment about how every kid was different.

“I’m Michael Miller,” the man replied with a wink at Kevin. “They told us to report to a check-in center at the school. Can you point us in the right direction?”

“I’m heading that way. It’s easier to show you than tell you.” Her voice caught, but she rushed on, “Almost all the familiar landmarks are gone.”

He nodded, and she saw his sympathy before he picked up the bag he’d dropped when she’d nearly run into him. His large duffel bag was set with others on a narrow patch of grass that had somehow not been washed away.

“We appreciate that, Mrs.—”

“Carolyn will do.” She wasn’t going to explain that her neighbors assumed she was a widow. Guilt tore at her each time she thought of the lies she had woven like a cocoon to protect Kevin and Rose Anne. “We’re not big on formality.”

After he’d introduced her to Benjamin Kuhns and James Streicher, two men who’d traveled with him from an Amish settlement across the New York line, she motioned for the trio to follow her and the kinder.

Children! She needed to say “children” not kinder.

She must remember not to use Deitsch. Or act as if she understood it. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed hearing the Amish spoken language until these plain men began using it. But she had to seem as ignorant of it as her neighbors. Revealing she understood the language was one of the clues that, if repeated beyond the village, could draw Leland’s attention to Evergreen Corners.

Holding Rose Anne’s hand to stop the curious little girl from peering over the broken edge of the road, Carolyn made sure Kevin and the men were following her as she walked along the street toward the single intersection in the village. Nothing appeared as it had a week ago. Wide swaths of ground had been wiped clean by the rushing waters, and teetering buildings looked as if a faint breeze would send them crashing onto the sidewalks.

Michael moved to walk alongside her and Rose Anne as they passed ruined buildings. She heard Kevin regaling the other two men with tales of trying to recover their ten missing chickens.

“Do you think they survived?” Michael asked. “The chickens, I mean.”

“We’ve seen most of them around the village. I opened the fence around the chicken coop before we evacuated.” She pushed from her mind images of the horrifying moments when she and the children had struggled to escape the maddened waters.

She couldn’t keep them from filling her nightmares, but she didn’t intend to let those memories taint her waking hours. If they did, she might get distracted and fail to discover Leland had found them until it was too late. She couldn’t take the chance he’d abduct Kevin and Rose Anne as he’d tried to before her sister died.

“And now everything is gone?” Michael asked, drawing her back from the abyss of her fears.

“Not everything.”

“What’s left?” he asked.

“Anything more than twenty-five feet above the brook survived, though several buildings were flooded a couple of feet into the first floor. The school, where we’re headed, is the closest building to the brook that wasn’t damaged at all.”

He looked along the road running east and west through the village. “You’re talking about more than five hundred feet away from the stream’s banks.”

“Uh-huh.” She’d started to say ja, but halted herself. “Look at the mountains. They make this valley into a funnel, and the water kept rising and rising. We lost two restaurants and three shops as well as parts of the town hall, the fire station, the library, the elementary school, a building supply store. Also some historic buildings like the old gristmill that used to sit next to the brook. And, of course, a lot of houses, including a couple that had been here from when the town was founded in 1750. Many of the records were saved from the town hall, and, thankfully, the local newspaper had stored its back issues from the nineteenth century in the library, because their building washed away.”

“What about the library books?” asked Benjamin. “Were the books saved?”

“A lot of them were lost. The cellar and first floor of the library were flooded, and many of the ones out on loan were washed away.”

The men exchanged glances, but she looked at Kevin and Rose Anne. She was glad they were talking to each other and paying no attention to the adults’ conversation. Her arms ached as she remembered holding them and trying to comfort them after their escape from the flood. They’d been upset about losing their home, but having the library flooded had distressed them even more. They’d loved going there and borrowing books or listening to one read aloud to them.

“Though the books have gone swimming,” Rose Anne, ever the diplomat, had said, as tears had welled in her eyes, “Jenna will tell us stories. She’s nice, and she has lots and lots of the goriest stories.”

Carolyn had translated Rose Anne’s mangling of the language as she did each time Rose Anne came up with a new “version” of a word. She’d guessed the little girl meant glorious rather than goriest, but she hadn’t wanted to take the time to ask. Instead, she’d offered the little girl what solace she could. However, after talking with her good friend Jenna Sommers, the village’s librarian and the foster mother of a six-year-old little girl whom Rose Anne adored, Carolyn knew it would be many months—maybe even a year or two—before the library was operational again. First, people needed homes, and the roads had to be repaired and made safe.

And the children needed to be kept safe, too. Her sister had won full custody of the two children in the wake of her separation from Leland. He’d fought to keep them. Not because he wanted them. They would have been in the way of his rough life of drinking and drugs. He’d fought because he hadn’t wanted his wife to have a single moment of joy. It hadn’t been enough he’d left Regina with bruises and broken bones each time he bothered to come home. At last, her sister had agreed to let Carolyn help her escape the abuse. Regina had been free of her abusive husband for almost three months before she became ill and died two days later from what the doktors had said was a vicious strain of pneumonia.

“Wow,” murmured one of the men behind her as they reached the main intersection where a concrete bridge’s pilings were lost in a jungle of debris and branches. “Is there another bridge into town?”

“Not now. There was a covered bridge.”

“Was it destroyed?” Michael asked.

“Half of it was except for a couple of deck boards. The other half’s wobbly. From what I’ve heard, engineers will come next week to see what, if anything, can be salvaged.”

“So the road we traveled in on the bus is the only way in or out?”

“For now.” She didn’t add it might be several months or longer before the lost and damaged bridges were repaired.

She led the men to higher ground. She listened as they spoke in hushed Deitsch about how difficult it would be to get supplies in for rebuilding. It was hard not to smile with relief while she listened to their practical suggestions. How splendid it was to have these down-to-earth men in Evergreen Corners! Instead of talking about paperwork and bureaucracy, they planned to get to work.

Hurrying up the street, Carolyn saw two of her chickens perched in a nearby tree. She was glad neither child noticed. Both were too busy asking the newcomers a barrage of questions.

The parking lot in front of the high school held news vans with their satellite dishes, so she cut across the lawn to avoid the curiosity of reporters looking for a few more stories before they headed to the next crisis. She nodded her thanks to Michael when he opened the door for her and the children but didn’t slow while she strode along the hall that should have been filled with teenagers.

The temporary town hall was in the school’s gym. She’d already heard grumbling from the students that the school had survived when so many other buildings hadn’t. By the end of next week when school was scheduled to restart, she guessed most of them would be glad to be done with the drudgery of digging in the mud and get back to their books. Kevin and Rose Anne were growing more restless each day, and only the hunt for their chickens kept them from whining about it.

Voices reached out past the gym’s open doors, and Carolyn said, “This is where volunteers are supposed to sign in. They’ll get you a place to stay and your assignments.” She flushed, realizing what she should have said from the beginning. “Thank you for coming to help us.”

“More volunteers?” A man wearing a loosened tie and a cheerful smile came out of the gym, carrying a clipboard. Tony Whittaker was the mayor’s husband. Asking their names, he pulled out a pen to check their names off. “Michael Miller, did you say?”

“Ja,” Michael replied.

Tony’s smile became more genuine. “I’m glad you and Carolyn have met already.”

“Really?” she inquired at the same time Michael asked, “Why?”

“You, Michael, have been assigned to the team building Carolyn and her children a new home.” He chuckled. “Hope you’ve made a good impression on each other, because you’re going to be spending a lot of time together for the next three months.”

Chapter Two

Carolyn woke to the cramped space in what once had been—and would again be—stables. The barn, along a ridge overlooking the village, was owned by Merritt Aiken, who had moved to Evergreen Corners after retiring from some fancy job in California.

The stables had become a temporary home for five families who’d been left homeless in the flood. Her cot, along with the two smaller ones the children used, left little room for any possessions in their cramped space in two stalls. They had only a few changes of clothing, donated by kind members of the Mennonite congregation.

Carolyn had been able to rescue Hopper, the toy rabbit Rose Anne had slept with since she was born. Somehow in the craziness of escaping the flood, she’d grabbed the wrong thing from Kevin’s bed. Instead of his beloved Tippy, a battered dog who’d lost most of his stuffing years ago, she’d taken an afghan. Kevin had told her it was okay.

“I’m too big for a stuffed toy anyhow,” he’d said.

She’d guessed he was trying to spare her feelings. That had been confirmed when the children were offered new stuffed toys. Kevin had thanked the volunteers and taken a bear, but it had been left on the floor by his cot. She’d caught sight of the stains of tears on his face after he’d fallen asleep and known he ached for his special toy.

It was too great a burden for a little boy to bear. The weight of everything they’d lost pressed down on her. It was difficult to act as if everything could be made right again. All she had from a week ago was the heart-shaped locket that had belonged to her sister and contained baby pictures of the children. It had taken her almost a month to get accustomed to wearing the necklace without feeling she was doing something wrong. A proper plain woman didn’t wear jewelry, but she hoped God would understand she was fulfilling her sister’s dying wish to keep the children close to her heart.

She clenched the gold locket as she savored the familiar scents of the barn. The dried hay and oats that had been a treat for the horses consigned to a meadow out back were a wonderful break from the odors closer to the brook. She let herself pretend she was a child again and had fallen asleep in her family’s barn on a hot summer afternoon.

But she wasn’t in that innocent time. She and the children were homeless, and she feared Leland would care enough about Kevin and Rose Anne to come to Vermont.

Assuming they’d been on the news, and he’d seen the report. Maybe he’d missed it.

Help me keep these children safe, she prayed.

The image of Michael Miller flashed through her mind, startling her. Why had she thought of him when she imagined being safe? It must be, she reassured herself, that he represented the Amish life she’d given up. Or maybe it was because he was going to be rebuilding their house. She shouldn’t be envisioning his strong shoulders and easy smile, which had made her feel that everything was going to be okay simply because he was there.

She pushed herself up to sit. Was she out of her mind? Her sister and mamm had been enticed by good looks and charming talk, and both had suffered for it. Though Daed had never struck Mamm, at least as far as Carolyn knew, he’d berated her whenever something went wrong. Even if it’d been his fault. That abuse had continued until his death and had worn her mother down until she died the year before Carolyn left Indiana.

Carolyn heard the children shifting as they woke. She dressed and hushed Kevin as she helped him and his sister get ready for the day care center at the Mennonite meetinghouse’s community center. The children had been going there while she helped prepare breakfast for the displaced and the volunteers.

After they’d made their beds and folded their nightclothes on top of the blankets, she held her finger to her lips as she led the way out of the barn.

Some of the people in the large barn were still asleep. With worries about when they’d have a home or a job to return to, many found it impossible to sleep through the night. She’d woken often during the long nights and heard people pacing or talking in anxious whispers. But, just as she did, the resilient Vermonters kept on their cheerful faces during the day.

Kissing the children and getting kisses in return, Carolyn watched as they joined the others at the low tables where they’d be served breakfast soon. She wasn’t surprised Rose Anne chose a seat right next to Taylor, the librarian’s foster daughter. Rose Anne and Taylor whispered in delight at seeing each other. Her niece had asked to have her hair done like Taylor’s pom-pom pigtails, but Rose Anne’s hair was too straight.

Carolyn waved to the women and one lone elderly man working at the day care center that morning.

Jenna Sommers, whose hair was as black as her foster daughter’s, wove through the tables toward her, motioning for Carolyn to wait. More than one child halted the town’s librarian and asked when she was going to read to them. Assuring them she would if they ate their breakfast, she was smiling as she reached the door where Carolyn stood, trying not to look impatient to get to work.

“Good morning, Carolyn,” Jenna said in her sweet voice, which could alter to a growl when she read a book with a big dog or a giant in it. “I hear the team has arrived who is building you a new house.”

“That’s what Tony told me yesterday.” Carolyn shifted uneasily, overwhelmed with the generosity. And how the thought of spending time with Michael Miller accelerated her heart rate. “There are other people who need a home as much as we do.”

“I don’t know what the policies are for this new group, but I’ve heard the MDS helps the elderly and single mothers first.”

Carolyn had learned MDS stood for the Mennonite Disaster Service. The organization, which was celebrating its seventieth anniversary, had already sent people to evaluate where their volunteers could best be used, and she had sat through an uncomfortable interview. She was grateful people wanted to help her and the children. Having the community pitch in after a tragedy was what she’d been accustomed to while growing up. She was accustomed to such generosity.

What bothered her was that she wasn’t a single mother. She was a single aunt.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Michael followed his friends into the long, low building attached to the simple white meetinghouse. The Mennonite chapel had no tower or steeple, and the windows were clear glass. He was curious about what the sanctuary looked like, but his destination, as his rumbling stomach reminded him, was breakfast in what the locals called the community center.

Rows of tables in every possible shape and size had been pushed together to allow for the most seating. Chairs and benches flanked them. Upholstered chairs were placed next to lawn chairs with plastic webbing. He wondered if every house in the village had emptied its chairs and tables into the space.

Many were filled with people intent on eating. He could understand because the aromas of eggs, bacon and toast coming from the kitchen were enticing.

As enticing as...

He halted the thought before it could form, but it wasn’t easy when he noticed Carolyn Wiebe smiling at a man and a woman who were selecting generous portions of food at the window between the dining area and what looked like a well-stocked commercial kitchen. Her dark eyes sparkled like stars in a night sky, and her smile was warmer than the air billowing out of the kitchen. He found himself wishing she’d look his way.

“Over here?” asked James before Michael could wonder why he was acting like a teenage boy at his first youth singing.

Looking at where his friend was gesturing, Michael wasn’t surprised none of James’s brothers were seated nearby. James hadn’t said anything, but it was clear he was annoyed with his three older brothers who’d swooped down from their homes in Ontario and insisted James join them in volunteering. He’d heard James had moved to Harmony Creek Hollow to get away from his family, though James had been happy when his younger sister had moved in with him earlier and now taught at the settlement’s school.

Michael pushed thoughts of James’s family from his head as he walked with his two friends to a round table between two rectangular ones. The three chairs on one side would work for them. He nodded to an older couple who sat on the other side before setting his hat on the table.

“The sweet rolls are fine this morning,” the white-haired man said. “You’ll want to check them out, but you may want to be careful.” He winked and grinned before digging into his breakfast again.

Michael wasn’t sure why the man had winked until he went to the serving window and saw Carolyn was handing out cinnamon rolls topped with nuts and raisins to each person who walked by. When she noticed him, she greeted him with the same smile she’d offered each person ahead of him.

“Gute mariye,” he said, then said, “Good morning.”

She laughed. “You don’t need to translate. Anyone could guess what you were saying. After all, it didn’t sound like you were asking for a second roll.”

“Can we have two?” asked Benjamin from behind him.

“The rule is take all you want,” she said with a smile, “but eat all you take.”

Benjamin took a half step back and spooned more scrambled eggs onto his plate. When James arched a brow, he said, “Hey, I’m a growing boy.”

“I’ll have two rolls please, Carolyn,” Michael said.

“Just remember the rules.” Her smile became sassy, and he saw the resemblance between her and her son.

He couldn’t keep from smiling back as their gazes met and held.

A nudge against his back broke the link between them, and Michael wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there savoring her smile. He grabbed flatware rolled into a paper napkin before striding to the table.

“I told you to be careful,” chided the old man with a grin as he stood and helped his wife gather their dishes. “Something sweet can knock a man right off his feet.”

Michael hoped his friends hadn’t heard the comments, but they laughed as they sat beside him. He bent over his plate for grace and watched from the corners of his eyes as James and Benjamin did the same.

Before they could tease him further, Michael began talking about the orientation session they were required to attend after breakfast. He didn’t give either man a chance to change the subject, but he wondered why he’d bothered when he saw the grins they wore as they ate. He wasn’t fooling anyone, not even himself. He looked forward to getting to know Carolyn better, but that’s where he’d have to draw the line.

She was involved in her Mennonite congregation, and he had no idea if he intended to remain Amish. She didn’t need to have him dump his mess of a life on her when she was trying to rebuild everything that had been lost.

She was a total mess.

But so was everyone else in Evergreen Corners.

Carolyn laughed as she thought of how Gladys Whittaker, their mayor, never used to appear in public without every hair in place. Since the flood, mud on her face seemed to be the mayor’s favorite fashion accessory. Elton Hershey had had stains on his pants when he gave the sermon on Sunday. Nobody had complained about their kindhearted pastor, because everyone was fighting to get rid of mud from their clothing, too.

She squatted by the brook that had changed course. There was talk that the water would be forced back into its proper channel, but it was a low priority while people needed places to live.

Washing mud off her hands, Carolyn winced as her back reminded her of the hard work she’d done. She’d joined five others cleaning out a house that had been inundated. Once they’d gotten the mud off the floors, they spent hours removing soaked drywall before mold could grow inside the walls. She’d carried the heavy pieces of wet plaster to a pile in the yard while someone else had sprayed the two-by-fours with a mold killer.

Her hands ached as well as her elbows, shoulders and back. It’d be quicker to count the muscles that didn’t hurt. Taking care of two children and raising chickens and baking hadn’t prepared her for such physical work.

Hearing the flap-flap sound of a helicopter, Carolyn glanced up. It was rising from the football field behind the school. She wondered what had been delivered. She hoped fresh milk. The children were complaining about the taste of powdered milk. There were a half-dozen dairy farms on the other side of the ridge, but no way to get to them. Too many roads and bridges had been destroyed, and what would have been a ten minute drive before the flood now took hours.

She stood, holding her hands against her lower back to silence the protest from her muscles. When she saw four chickens pecking at the ground, she smiled. Mr. Aiken had told them to feel free to use whatever they found in the barn. She’d seen a bucket of corn by one stall. A couple of handfuls might draw the chickens back. That would ease the children’s distress.

What Kevin and Rose Anne needed was a home. Their house hadn’t been big, and most of the ancient mechanicals had needed attention she didn’t know how to give. She and the children had become accustomed to faucets dripping. She’d locked off the back bedroom, fearful Kevin and Rose Anne would tumble through weak boards into the cellar. Now, the cellar hole was the sole remnant of the comfortable old house.

Seeing some broken boards heaped against stones at the brook’s edge, Carolyn went to pull them out of the water, one by one. If nobody else claimed them, she could use them to build a new chicken coop.

“For all I know, Father,” she said as she dropped another board on top of the two she’d pulled out, “these are what’s left of my old coop. But I want them to go to whoever needs them most.”

A shadow slipped over her, and Carolyn looked skyward. Was it going to rain again? Panic gripped her throat, threatening to keep her from drawing another breath.

“Would you like some help?” came a deep voice.

She turned. Michael’s light-blue shirt and black suspenders weren’t as filthy as her dress and apron were, and she guessed he’d come from the volunteers’ orientation class. The sessions were simple, but outlined who was in charge of what and when someone should seek help before making a decision. They had ended the chaos of the first two days after the flood.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

“You didn’t.”

“Something is upsetting you. I’ve seen more color in fresh snow than on your face.”

She let her sore shoulders relax. “Okay, you did scare me. I was deep in my thoughts.”

“This is all that’s left?” He looked down into the cellar hole. “There’s nothing but mud.”

“Everything washed away. The furnace, the water heater and the jars of fruits and vegetables I put up in August. I haven’t told the children yet. I know they aren’t going to be happy with grocery store canned vegetables.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Sometimes it seems you can’t tell the difference between the vegetables in the can and the can itself.”

“You’ve taken a bite out of a can?”

“Of course not.” He chuckled. “You don’t like exaggeration, ain’t so?”

She made sure her reaction to “ain’t so,” a common Amish term, wasn’t visible. “I’m a low-key person, Michael. I prefer to keep things simple.”

“And you’re exhausted.”

She resisted the yearning to check her reflection in the slow waters of the brook to see how bad she looked. “I guess that’s obvious.”

“Why wouldn’t you be tired? You were up early this morning to make breakfast for us, and now you’re taking care of your chickens.” His eyes narrowed as his gaze settled on the stack of wood. “Have you been pulling those out on your own?”

“I thought I could use the boards to build a chicken coop.”

“A gut idea.” Without another word, he waded into the water. He stretched out and grabbed a board beyond her reach.

Tears flooded Carolyn’s eyes as she watched him lift out the planks and set them with the others with an ease she couldn’t have copied. She blinked them away. She must be more exhausted than she’d guessed.

Five minutes later, the wood was stacked. She thanked him, but he waved aside her gratitude before bending to wash his hands in the brook as she had.

“What do you call this stream?” he asked as he straightened and wiped his hands on the sides of his black broadfall trousers.

“Washboard Brook.”

“Brook?” He shook his head, then pushed his brown hair back out of his eyes. “I never imagined anything called a brook could do all the damage this one has.”

“I didn’t, either. I don’t think anyone did.”

“You’ve never had a flood here before?”

“I’ve learned that if the snow up on the peaks melts really fast, we get some minor flooding. Puddles in yards and maybe a splash over onto the road where it’s low.” She flung out her hands. “Nothing like this.”

“Have you considered leaving?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Not once?”

Wanting to be truthful—or at least partially because she couldn’t mention Leland’s name—rather than making believe she could endure anything nature could throw against the town, she said, “I’ve got to admit when I watched our home collapse and get sucked down into the water I wanted to run as fast as I could in any direction away from the flood.”

“But you’re still here.”

“It’s home.”

“So you grew up here?”

Carolyn berated herself. She should have seen the direction their conversation could go and changed the topic before it touched on dangerous territory.

Knowing she must not appear to hesitate, she said, “No, but I’ve lived here for a while. For me, Evergreen Corners is home, and I hope it always will be.”

That was a prayer she said every night before sleep, because if she had to leave, it would be in an attempt to escape from Leland Reber once and for all.

Chapter Three

The first project meeting for Carolyn’s new house was scheduled for ten the next morning. Initially it had been set for eight, but she was signed up to serve breakfast. Some volunteers and government officials came in RVs, and they brought their own food. However, most arrived eager to work with tools and skills and not much else. Fortunately, fewer locals were depending on the community center’s kitchen to provide their meals because some sections of town now had electricity again.

But the steady whir of generators hadn’t decreased in the center of the village. Long orange extension cords snaked from the four in the school parking lot.

She stepped over the cords with care, holding Rose Anne on her hip. The little girl had woken with a sore throat. Though Carolyn suspected it was because she’d been yelling too much yesterday in games at the day care center, she agreed to the child’s demands to stay with her. Kevin had been glad to have his friends to himself, and Rose Anne seemed to perk up as soon as they headed toward the school.

Carolyn reached to open the door, but a hand stretched past her to grasp the handle. Seeing Michael and his two friends, she greeted them. She hadn’t been sure if they’d be coming to the meeting, too, and she was glad to see the men who’d invited her and the children to share supper with them the previous night.

Rose Anne wiggled to get down as soon as Carolyn carried her into the school. The little girl threw her arms around one of Michael’s legs and begged him for a piggyback ride.

“You don’t have to do that,” Carolyn told him.

He gave her a quick smile. Squatting, he waited for the child to lock her hands around his neck before he stood. He kept one arm against her to keep her steady as he loped a few yards along the hallway and back again.

“Go, horsey!” she called in excitement.

He set her on her feet, though she pleaded for another ride.

“One ride per customer,” he said, tapping her freckled nose.

“Later?” Rose Anne persisted.

“Let’s see what later brings.” Carolyn put her hands on the child’s shoulders and smiled her thanks to Michael. “I warned you offering rides to the kids last night was going to get you in trouble.”

“Gut trouble, though.”

“We’ll see when all the children in town are asking for rides after you’ve put in a full day’s work.” She took Rose Anne by the hand and began walking toward the gym.

The three men followed her, talking in Deitsch. The words fell like precious rain on her ears, but she chatted with Rose Anne as if none of what they were saying made sense to her. She wasn’t surprised the men were eager to get started. No plain man was accustomed to sitting in a classroom when work waited to be done. When she’d been growing up, every man she’d known had toiled from before sunrise to after dark. It didn’t matter if the man was a farmer or had a job in one of the nearby factories or owned his own shop. Being idle wasn’t part of the Amish lifestyle.

A woman Carolyn didn’t know stood in front of the gym’s closed double doors. Everything about her pose shouted she would tolerate no nonsense. When Carolyn said her name, the woman checked it on the clipboard she carried.

“Please wait out here,” the woman said. “We’re running about a half hour behind schedule.”

“All right.” Carolyn walked to the plastic chairs. Dropping into one, she lifted Rose Anne onto her lap. She should have borrowed a book from the day care center to keep the little girl entertained.

Michael sat next to her as his friends walked down the hall. Before she could ask, he said, “They’re going to go look for something to do for the next half hour.”

“You don’t need to wait with us.”

“The time will go faster if you’ve got someone to talk to.”

Sliding Rose Anne off her lap when her niece began to wiggle, Carolyn told her to stay in sight. The little girl nodded and began to jump from one black tile to the next on the checkered floor.

“I appreciate you staying here, but it’s not necessary,” Carolyn said, keeping her eyes on the child who could scurry away like a rabbit running from a dog. “I’m not sure I want the time to go faster.”

“Nervous?” Disbelief deepened his voice. “Why? These people are here to help you.”

“It’s not easy to ask others for help.”

“I get that.” He leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and stretched his long legs out, much to Rose Anne’s delight as she began to leap over them. “But you’ve got to think about your kinder—I mean, your children.”

“They’re pretty much all I think about.” She wondered why it was so easy to be honest with Michael, whom she hadn’t known two days ago. “I’d do anything to make sure they’ve got a safe place to live.”

“Even deal with bureaucrats?” He reached out to steady Rose Anne when she almost tripped over his boots.

Carolyn smiled. “When you put it that way, going through this meeting isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

“Only you can answer that.”

“I thought I did.”

His laugh resonated down the otherwise empty hall. “Do you always speak plainly?”

“No.”

“I guess I should feel honored.”

“I guess you should.” She was about to add more, then realized the little girl was partway around a corner. Calling Rose Anne back, she said, “I shouldn’t have given in to her make-believe sore throat this morning. I should have insisted she stay at day care.” She crooked a finger at her niece who was edging toward the end of the hall again. “They’re accustomed to having me around, especially Rose Anne. She’s been going to nursery school, but it’s not the same as being left at the day care center all day, every day.”

“So she convinced you to let her come with you.”

“She didn’t have to try hard.” She held out her hand, and her niece ran over to take it. “I like spending time with my Rosie Annie.”

The little girl giggled as she leaned on Carolyn’s knee. “I’m sweat smelling, like a rose. That’s what Mommy always says.”

“Maybe not always, but you do smell sweet today.” She ruffled the child’s silken hair. Rose Anne had no memories of her real mother, and Kevin seemed to have forgotten Carolyn was his aunt. She thanked God every morning and night for that, though she prayed there would come a time when she could be honest. “Last night, you were dirty. It took a while to get you clean so you smelled as sweet as a rose again.” To Michael, who was grinning at how Rose Anne had called herself “sweat smelling,” she added, “We’re pretty much limited to a bucket of water each.”

“When can I take a big-girl bath again?” Rose Anne’s voice became a whine. “I miss my bath tube and my floatie fishies.”

She means bathtub, Carolyn mouthed so Michael could read her lips. When he nodded his understanding, she said aloud, “I can’t tell you when, but it’ll be...” She didn’t want to give the child a specific date because she didn’t have any idea how long it would take to build their new house. And she didn’t want to talk about the plastic toys Rose Anne called her floatie fishies. They had washed away with everything in the house.

Michael stood, then dropped to one knee beside her niece. That brought his eyes almost level with Rose Anne’s. “I can tell you when your new house and new bathtub will be ready. It’s going to be right after Christmas.”

“Christmas is a loooooooong time away,” Rose Anne argued.

“No, it’s not. Today is October twenty-fifth, so Christmas is exactly two months away.” Holding up two fingers, he lowered first one, then the other. “One-two. See? Quick like a bunny.”

“That’s what Mommy says. Quick like a bunny!” Rose Anne bounced with excitement. “Mr. Michael knows quick like a bunny, too.”

“I know.” As the little girl danced and twirled along the hall, Carolyn asked, “‘Mr. Michael?’”

“One of the ladies working at supper last night called me that, and the kids started using it.”

“You’re good with children. Do you have any?”

“No, but my brother has year-old twins, and there are plenty of kids in our settlement.” He surveyed the hall before adding, “My brother has his life set for him...as you do.”

She was amazed at his wistful tone. Michael had seemed so sure of himself. Was there a tragedy in his past, too, or did he have another reason to envy his brother’s choices in life?

The woman who’d stood by the gym doors came out and called, “Carolyn Wiebe? They’re ready for you.”

A shiver of anxiety trilled down her back, but Carolyn stood. When Rose Anne rushed to her side, she wasn’t sure if the little girl was aware of her agitation or wanted a change of scenery after exploring every inch of the hall. Carolyn glanced at Michael who’d gotten up, too, and she knew she wasn’t hiding her nerves from him.

But he didn’t offer her trite consolation. Instead, he motioned for her to lead the way.

In the gym, four round tables with plenty of chairs had been placed between the two sets of bleachers. Mats remained under the basketball hoops. Rose Anne took off her shoes and ran to join the other children playing on them.

“The kinder are having gut fun,” Michael said as the woman led them toward the most distant table.

Carolyn recognized fellow residents who’d lost their homes, and she guessed the others were volunteers like Michael and his friends. To avoid any chance of eavesdropping on their conversations, she replied, “The kids are having more fun now than we had the first night after the flood. For lots of us, those mats were our beds. We were so exhausted we would have slept on the wood floor.”

“Glen,” the woman with the clipboard said, “here’s your client. Carolyn Wiebe.”

Trying not to bristle at the woman’s tone that suggested Carolyn was an unworthy charity case, she was glad when the woman walked away.

“I’m Glen Landis,” said the man who was as thin as the hair across his pate. “The project director.”

“We’ve met,” Carolyn replied, pulling her tattered composure around her like a comfortable blanket. “About a year and a half ago, you came to speak at the Evergreen Corners Mennonite Meetinghouse about your experiences.”

“In the recovery efforts after Hurricanes Katrina and Harvey?” He smiled as Michael’s two friends jogged across the gym to join them. From his speech, she’d learned he considered rebuilding homes and communities his mission work. “Those were overwhelming experiences. I’ve been told you’ve met some of the people who’ll be working on your house.”

“I’ve met Benjamin, James and Michael.” She looked at each man as she said his name. Only belatedly did she realize how foolish she’d been to speak Michael’s name last. Without an excuse to shift away, her gaze lingered on him.

Michael gave her a bolstering smile, and she wished she could fling her arms around him as Rose Anne had. She hadn’t realized how much she needed someone’s support.

“Here comes the rest of the crew,” Glen said, motioning for everyone to take a seat.

He went around the table, introducing each person. Art Kennel was the man who looked like a jolly grandfather. Jose Lopez was almost as lanky as Glen and taller. The sole woman was Trisha Lehman. She had the same no-nonsense air about her as the woman by the door, but her smile put Carolyn at ease.

After leading them in prayer to thank God for His grace in bringing them together, Glen pulled a stack of pages stapled on one side out of a briefcase by his chair. He put them in front of Carolyn.

“This is our standard house plan.” He glanced around the table. “Several of you have already built one or more of these houses. If you haven’t or you want to examine the plans more closely, get a copy from me after this meeting.”

She stared at the simple house with a living room, kitchen, a bath and two bedrooms. It wasn’t as big as her previous house, but it would be more than sufficient for what she and the children needed.

As if she’d spoken aloud, Glen said, “Carolyn, if you see things you want to have changed, now is the time to tell us.”

“What sort of things?” She thought of the house the water had taken from her. That rundown house had been their home, something that couldn’t be drawn on paper.

“I know you have two children, a girl and a boy. If you want a third bedroom, so each child may have their own—something I’ve been told by my own kids is an absolute necessity—we can add one. It’s possible to get a second bathroom, but it’ll depend on the amount of money raised through donors and what you can contribute.”

“Definitely the extra bedroom, but one bathroom will suffice.”

“That we should be able to provide within the budget we’ve been given.” He opened a bright blue folder and wrote some notes before launching into an explanation of what each of the six pages in the plans contained.

Carolyn tried to take in the information on septic systems and wells and the required number of electric outlets and where a stackable washer and dryer could be put if she wanted to keep the coat closet by the front door and a linen cupboard in the bathroom. Her head spun with numbers and dimensions, and she was relieved when Glen reassured her they’d be revisiting the plans every day on the work site and once a week in the gym.

“The first supplies will be delivered this afternoon,” he announced as he refolded the plans. “We hope to start on your house within days. It’ll depend on the weather, of course.”

“I understand.” Looking around the table, she said, “Thank you, everyone. Your kindness humbles me. You make me want to live Hebrews 13:2 ‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’ My door will always be open to you.” She laughed. “Once I have a door, that is.”

The others joined in her laughter, and Michael took her hand under the table and squeezed it. A sense of comfort filled her at his compassion.

“Oh, one more thing,” Glen said. “We’ve asked the press to stay away, but we hope you’ll agree to a short interview, Carolyn, after we have the blessing for your new home. We’ve found seeing how others have worked with us leads to more people offering to volunteer. Everyone wants to be part of a happy ending to what started out as a sad story.”

Carolyn stiffened. “An interview?”

“Nothing complicated. A short film to put on our website to show donors how they’ve helped.”

Horror pulsed through every vein in her body, like the flood waters closing in around her again, only this time with fire atop of the rushing waves. She shook her head.

“Is that a problem?” asked Glen.

She pushed back her chair. “If doing an interview is a condition for your help, I can’t do this.”

“You don’t want our help?”

Wishing she didn’t have to see the shock on these kind faces, she wondered how much more appalled they’d be if she told them the truth of why she was turning down their offer. Would any of them have been able to comprehend the depth of fear stalking her in the form of Leland Reber?

“No,” she whispered.

Michael came to his feet along with everyone else at the table when Carolyn stood and, taking Rose Anne by the hand as the little girl protested she needed to retrieve her shoes, started for the door. Unlike everyone else who seemed frozen in shock, he couldn’t watch her throw away her future. Didn’t she realize how blessed she was to know what future she wanted?

As he strode after her, he was surprised to feel a pinch of vexation. Her future was assured if she agreed to the terms set out by Amish Helping Hands’ partners. She could enjoy a comfortable life with her kinder among her friends, neighbors and congregation. It was being handed to her, and she was turning her back on it.

How he envied her for having the chance to have the life she wanted! Nobody could offer him that, because he didn’t know how he wished his future to unfurl.

He blocked Carolyn’s path to the door. She started to walk around him, but he edged to the side, halting her.

“Are you out of your mind?” he asked, not caring that everyone in the gym was staring at him and Carolyn. He bent and whispered to Rose Anne to go play with the other kinder. As the little girl skipped across the gym, he looked at her mamm. “Your kinder can’t live the rest of their lives in a barn.”

“I don’t want to be interviewed.”

“If you’re shy—” he began, though he couldn’t believe that was the case. She’d been outgoing when he’d arrived.

“I don’t want to be interviewed.”

“Tell Glen that. I’m sure he can find someone else to talk to the reporters.”

“It’s not just being interviewed. I don’t want anyone taking our pictures.”

He frowned. “I thought the Mennonites were more liberal than we Amish are. When I first saw the news about the damage here, there were plenty of pictures of people gathered at your meetinghouse.”

“I don’t want it. Can’t that be answer enough?”

His first inclination was to say no, but seeing how distraught she was, he relented. He couldn’t help being curious why Carolyn—who’d been calm and rational yesterday—found such a simple request upsetting.

“Let me talk to Glen. You and your cute kids would provide great promotional material for them, but I’m sure he can find someone else who’s willing to be the focus of the article.”

She whispered her thanks, then began to apologize. When he stood near her, he was surprised how tiny she was. Her personality and heart were so big that she seemed to tower over others around her. Now she appeared broken. He wasn’t sure why, but he must halt her from making a huge mistake.

“No, Carolyn. There’s no need to ask for forgiveness. Not mine, anyhow, but you need to be honest with Glen and the rest of the team. They deserve to know how you feel.”

She lifted her chin and drew in a deep breath. “You’re right.”

“It’s been known to happen every once in a while.” His attempt at humor gained him the faintest of smiles from her, but it was enough for him to know she’d made up her mind to negotiate for what she had to have.

When they returned to the table where the other volunteers had left Glen sitting alone, the project director had closed the blue folder.

Michael felt his stomach clench. Did that mean Glen would be shutting down work on Carolyn’s house, too? Michael didn’t want to believe that, but he knew little about Englisch ways.

Pulling out a chair, Glen motioned for Carolyn to sit. He gave Michael a pointed look over her head, but Michael decided not to take the hint and allow the two to speak alone.

“I’m sorry to distress you,” Glen said in a subdued voice.

“I’m sorry I tried to storm out of here,” she whispered. “I can’t—I don’t want to be interviewed or have the children interviewed. I understand if you can’t build us a house.”

Michael saw his own questions on Glen’s face. Carolyn had used the word can’t. Why couldn’t she be interviewed? What was she trying to hide about herself and the kinder?

“Of course we’re going to build your house,” Glen replied. “We’d love to have you and the children be part of the information we share with possible volunteers and donors, but that’s not a requirement for you. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” she said, once more with the quiet composure Michael admired. “I’m on edge. If someone says boo, I’ll jump high enough to hit my head on the clouds.”

Glen laughed. “We’ll keep that in mind when we’re ready to put the roof on your house. We wouldn’t want you to go right through it the first day.”

Fifteen minutes later, Michael stood in the hall with his friends from Harmony Creek Hollow while Carolyn knelt nearby, tying Rose Anne’s bright red and yellow sneakers. He spoke in Deitsch. Benjamin and James, peppering him with questions about why Carolyn had reacted as she had and if the project was moving forward, used the same language. He didn’t want Carolyn to know they were talking about her, though he guessed she had some suspicion of that because she glanced in their direction a couple of times. He told his friends he wasn’t sure what had bothered her.

“We might never know,” he said.

“Women,” grumbled Benjamin. “One thing I learned from my sister is it’s impossible to guess what they’re thinking. I’ve figured out it’s better not to try.”

James nodded. “I guess that’s why we’re bachelors.”

Michael changed the subject to the next day when they’d start loading building materials onto a donated forklift and moving them to the construction site.

“It’ll take us at least a day to get the forms set up and ready for concrete,” Benjamin added.

“Do we have tarps to protect the supplies from rain and mud?”

“I saw some among the pallets of supplies.” James scratched behind his ear as he mused, “There are three houses being started at the same time. I wonder if we’ve got enough supplies.”

“Let’s not look for trouble before we find it,” Michael replied, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

“Thanks for coming today,” Carolyn said as she walked past them. “I’m sorry for the scene I caused. Let me make it up to you. I’ll have the keys for the forklift waiting for you at supper so you can get a good start in the morning. See you there.”

Michael stared after her. They’d been talking in Deitsch. Yet, Carolyn had spoken about the forklift as if she’d understood everything they’d said.

How was that possible?

Looking at his friends, he saw the same consternation on their faces.

“Deitsch isn’t so different from German,” James said. “If she’s fluent in German, she’d get the gist of our conversation.”

“Ja.” Michael didn’t add more.

But if his friend wasn’t right, it meant one thing: Carolyn Wiebe might not be what she appeared to be.

Chapter Four

Michael quietly shut the door to the trailer he was sharing with his friends from Harmony Creek Hollow and stepped out into the cold morning. He didn’t want to wake Benjamin or James or anyone else who might be asleep in the other travel trailer parked behind the used car dealership. The two trailers had been donated for the workers rebuilding the homes. He hadn’t expected anything so comfortable when he’d volunteered.

Though describing the cramped trailer as comfortable wasn’t accurate. With three full-grown men trying to squeeze past each other as they got ready each morning and went to bed each night for the past three days, it was a tight squeeze. However, the narrow bed where he slept had a gut mattress.

He looked at his trousers. They were his next-to-last clean pair. The local laundromat had told volunteers that as soon as the business was open in a couple of weeks, they were welcome to come in anytime to wash their clothes for free. Something in the water had left a dirty line above the tops of his rubber boots. The scum might have been gasoline or fuel oil or some other chemical that had leaked into the brook after the flood swept cars and furnaces and everything else along it. He hadn’t seen the telltale rainbow sheen, but it might have dissipated enough so it was no longer visible.

The volunteers working in the flooded houses had been given white plastic coveralls as well as ventilating masks. Mold had begun growing as the water receded, so those workers had to be protected when they tore out drenched drywall and tossed the pieces into wheelbarrows that were then taken to big dumpsters sitting at a central spot in town. The plan, as he understood it, had been for the debris to be removed daily, but so far nobody had come to retrieve it. Stacks of reeking building materials and furniture and carpet were piled along the streets.

The rumble of generators came from the village. He walked past a collection of used cars marked with bright orange paint. When he’d asked why, he’d been told the cars would be destroyed. Water was as destructive to an internal combustion engine as it was to a wooden structure.

Michael counted more than two dozen buildings with visible damage before he stopped, knowing there were more with ruined interior walls and drenched contents. Grimacing, he guessed anything in those buildings wore the same dark sheen as whatever stained his trousers.

What a mess! Before he arrived he hadn’t imagined the breadth of the disaster.

There was one thought he hadn’t been able to shake out of his head as he stared at the brightly colored trees on the mountain beyond the village. If the storm had blasted its way up the other side of the Green Mountains, the settlement along Harmony Creek could have been washed away.

God, make use of my hands and my arms and whatever else You need to help these people regain their normal lives. Let my heart be as eager to help here as it would be to do the same for those at home.

He prayed something similar every morning when he went on a short walk before breakfast. He depended on the prayer to focus him on the work ahead of him. Talking to God also helped him clear his mind of thoughts that seemed to center around the enigma Carolyn was. She’d never explained why she’d reacted so vehemently when Glen spoke about an interview.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Michael continued toward the village. How had Carolyn coped with this day after day for the past week? Nobody could have been prepared for what had occurred, but except for the single outburst at the school, she’d been calm. He was a bit envious because he wished he knew how she managed the drama surrounding her. Maybe if he could learn how she did it, he’d be able to do it himself.

Michael didn’t meet anyone else as he walked past the library. The large two-story building was solid on its foundation, or at least the stone walls made it appear that way. He couldn’t say the same for the seafood restaurant next door. The whole building listed to the right, revealing the foundation had been compromised. Several other structures along the street were also off-kilter, one two-story house so tilted the eaves on one side were low enough he could have touched them without rising to his toes. Yellow police tape surrounded the house, a warning that it might collapse.

The odor of mildew strengthened as he continued along the street. Raw earth scents rose from where trees had been ripped from the ground, leaving gaping holes and thick fingers of roots torn apart. Broken flowerpots lay shattered by front steps, but he guessed they’d once been much farther upstream.

The nearer he got to the brook the worse the damage was. He slowed to stare at the remnants of one house where the first floor had vanished. The upper story sat on the ground about ten feet from the foundation. Another house was tipped over, every window and door intact, as if a gigantic hand had reached down and lifted it off its foundation before setting it on the ground. Not far away, a clock perched over a shop’s door. Its hands marked the time the flood had struck the building.

6:47.

As Carolyn had said, if the waters had arrived a few hours later, people would have been in bed and might not have had time to escape.

Michael sent up a prayer of thanks for the lives saved through God’s providence. Many villagers had lost everything, but they had their most precious possessions—their lives and their families’ lives.

What stopped him in his tracks, however, was the sight of the covered bridge on the north side of the village. One half hung precariously over the water. The rest of it had vanished except for a pair of boards. The top of each arch was more than twelve feet off the ground, and he tried to imagine water reaching high enough to tear the bridge apart.

Destruction spread to the horizon on both sides of a brook he could have waded across in a half-dozen steps. Trees were lying on their sides, on the ground or propped on top of broken roofs. Water pooled everywhere. He’d been wandering through this disaster for three days and still hadn’t seen the full extent of the destruction.

“Can’t believe your eyes, can you?” asked James as he came to stand beside him. His stained pants were stuffed into the tops of his boots. He held out a cup of kaffi to Michael.

Taking the cup with a nod of gratitude, he answered, “I can’t get accustomed to the randomness of it all.” He pointed along the brook toward where a garden shed sat on an island, separated from its house by ten feet of water. “Both buildings look fine, but Washboard Brook now runs between them instead of behind the shed as I assume it used to.”

“I’ve heard there are plans to put the brook back into its original banks.”

“I’ve heard that, too, but I’m not sure if the state will go to the expense of reconnecting a house and its shed.”

“Then it may be left to the homeowner to reroute the water.”

Michael arched his brows, knowing such a task would require excavating equipment and permits. Maybe some rules would be relaxed for the rebuilding, but he guessed most would be kept in place to protect the village and its inhabitants from a repeat of the disaster.

For the first time he wondered how long it would take Evergreen Corners to return to normal.

Or if it ever would.

At breakfast, Michael had had a chance to greet Carolyn and receive one of her pretty smiles, but he didn’t have time to say anything more before he had to move on to let others get their food. It was long enough for him to notice the dark circles under her eyes, and he wondered what had kept her awake. The kinder? The house? Something else?

Pondering the questions kept him silent through breakfast. He was quiet as he walked with James and Benjamin and the other volunteers toward where they’d be clearing debris from the site of Carolyn’s house. At least, he told himself, they could reassure her the project was moving forward.

Jose shared apples from his orchard. The man was one of the hardest workers at the site, and Michael wasn’t surprised to learn Jose had volunteered at other disasters throughout New England. Each day, he came with a treat to share. Though Jose said the apples had been harvested a few weeks ago, they had a crispness that put any apple Michael had ever had in Pennsylvania to shame.

“Our weather in Vermont is perfect for apples,” Jose said. “Warm summer days with cooler nights. When we get plenty of rain—” He scowled as if he’d found a worm in the core of the apple he was eating. “I mean regular rain, not flooding rain like they had along these valleys. When we get lots of nice, steady rain, the apples are juicy. After drier summers like this one, the apples aren’t as juicy, but they’re sweeter. Either way, they’re great for eating, cooking and making cider.”

Trisha, who’d worked with him in the past, laughed. “You sound like an ad for the Vermont apple growers’ association.”

“Hey, a guy’s got to be proud of what he does.” He turned to the other men. “Right?”

Michael hastened to agree rather than explain pride—hochmut—was seen as a negative among the Amish. He doubted the Englischers would be interested in hearing about plain life, and he didn’t want to cause any sort of gulf between the plain volunteers and the Englisch ones. He glanced at his friends and gave the slightest shrug. He got grins in return.

Noise met them before they reached the remains of Carolyn’s home. Generators rumbled, waiting for electric tools to be connected to them. The sound of circular saws battled the whir of gas-powered chainsaws cutting through the debris blocking the brook, creating pools where there shouldn’t be any. Small clouds of blue-gray smoke marked each spot where someone was slicing through wood that might once have been a house or a fence.

As they emerged from the trees separating her property from her neighbor’s, large land-moving equipment was being maneuvered toward Carolyn’s cellar hole. The tons of gravel deposited by the swollen brook onto her yard crunched under large tires and caterpillar tracks. Two skid steers, which looked like a kind’s toys compared to the massive vehicles, were shoving fallen trees into a pile near the brook. He knew they would be burned later but were being shifted out of the way so the massive equipment could do its work.

Glen Landis stood near stone steps that had led to the house. From there, he could supervise workers removing the debris, filling in the old cellar hole and laying out the new foundation. Michael and James were put to work marking the location of the new house with sticks and bright orange string while the others focused on finishing the cleanup.

When the evaluation had come back on Carolyn’s house the day before yesterday, the decision had been clear. The old house, as Michael had suspected, had been built too close to the brook. Though it’d been almost twenty yards away, the building hadn’t been spared during what people were calling a thousand-year flood. He didn’t have much confidence in their timetable. The flood caused by Hurricane Kevin had been the fifth in the past hundred years.

Michael wondered if Carolyn had been consulted about the new location, which would set the front porch a few yards from the road. She had around six acres on either side of the brook, but most was wooded, so putting the house near its original location seemed the best idea.

Though he was focused on his task of trying to make a perfect rectangle with James’s help, Michael knew the instant Carolyn arrived in the clearing. Some sense he couldn’t name told him she was nearby. He couldn’t keep from smiling. She had a white crocheted shawl over the shoulders of the pink dress that looked to be far too big for her. It had, he guessed, come from the bins of donated clothing. She’d cinched it with a black apron, accenting her slender waist. Her gold locket twinkled around her neck.

She scanned the work site and smiled. That expression softened when her gaze caressed his, pausing for a single heartbeat before moving on. Was it his imagination that her smile had grown a shade warmer when their eyes connected?

“Is this the spot for the next stake?” James asked in an impatient tone that suggested he’d already posed the question once or twice.

Michael concentrated on his task. As much as he enjoyed looking at Carolyn, he couldn’t let his attention wander. He squatted and placed a laser level on the ground so the red line marked where the next few stakes should be driven.

His sleeve was grabbed, and he struggled to hold his balance in the awkward stance. Putting his hands on the dirt, he pushed himself to his feet when he realized Carolyn must have rushed down to them.

“Was iss letz?” he asked. When she opened her mouth, he said in Englisch, “What’s wrong?”

A flurry of emotions stormed across her face before she looked away to point farther down the hillside. “Where’s the wood we pulled out of the brook?”

He squinted through the bright morning sunshine. “Right there.” As he was about to add more, a skid steer moved toward the stack. The forks started to slide under the wood. “Did you tell them to move it?”

“No.”

Running at a pace that threatened to send him falling face-first, he managed to slide to a stop before he reached the one-man forklift.

The man inside was so riveted on his task, he didn’t see Michael waving his arms. Michael leaped forward and grabbed the end of one of the boards rising on the forklift.

A curse battered his ears, but he ignored it as he motioned to the man controlling the skid steer.

“Are you crazy?” demanded the man, poking his head out of the small vehicle.

“The owner wants to hold on to these boards.”

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