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Amish Christmas Memories
Vannetta Chapman
All she wants for Christmas is her memoriesAn Indiana Amish Brides bookWhen a young Amish woman collapses in the snow shortly before Christmas, Caleb Wittmer rushes to her aid. Only, “Rachel” remembers nothing of who she is. Now his family has taken in the pretty stranger, disrupting Caleb’s ordered world. He’s determined to find out where she belongs…even if Rachel’s departure means saying goodbye to his old-fashioned heart forever.
All she wants for Christmas is her memories
An Indiana Amish Brides book
When a young Amish woman collapses in the snow shortly before Christmas, Caleb Wittmer rushes to her aid. Only, “Rachel” remembers nothing of who she is. Now his family has taken in the pretty stranger, disrupting Caleb’s ordered world. He’s determined to find out where she belongs…even if Rachel’s departure means saying goodbye to his old-fashioned heart forever.
VANNETTA CHAPMAN has published over one hundred articles in Christian family magazines, receiving over two dozen awards from Romance Writers of America chapter groups. She discovered her love for the Amish while researching her grandfather’s birthplace of Albion, Pennsylvania. Her first novel, A Simple Amish Christmas, quickly became a bestseller. Chapman lives in the Texas Hill Country with her husband.
Also By Vannetta Chapman (#u2b1d1c03-f850-5246-9a57-b45354f86271)
Indiana Amish Brides
A Widow’s Hope
Amish Christmas Memories
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Amish Christmas Memories
Vannetta Chapman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08642-4
AMISH CHRISTMAS MEMORIES
© 2018 Vannetta Chapman
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
“So why did you want me to come out to the barn?”
“I told you—”
“To brush down the horses at seven thirty in the evening,” she said. “Ya, I heard you.”
“Could be a guy just likes a little help with the work. Plus, I get a little restless, especially on winter nights.”
She only smiled wider, and he knew that he wasn’t fooling her.
He thought Rachel looked especially pretty in the glow of the lantern. He was suddenly glad that she had fallen into their lives. He was already starting to think of events in terms of before Rachel or after Rachel, as if she was some sort of dividing line in his life. She was certainly unlike any of the girls he had stepped out with.
What did that mean?
Was he falling for her?
It wasn’t like she was staying here. It wasn’t like they had a chance to build a life together. Then again, how much control did one have over who they fell in love with?
Dear Reader (#u2b1d1c03-f850-5246-9a57-b45354f86271),
Our memories are dear to us—we keep pictures on our phones, frame schoolwork from our children and place our wedding photograph on the mantel. In many ways, our memories define us. When those memories are stripped away, we’re left simply with who we have become. We’re left with the knowledge that our Heavenly Father knows us—truly knows us—and cares for us more than we can fathom.
As Rachel rediscovers her past, she also learns to trust the woman she has become. And without that past, she must depend on the kindness of strangers. God provides for her, even in the midst of her pain and confusion. God is with her, even when she doesn’t know exactly who or where she is.
Caleb is very busy with the life that he believes God has laid out before him. He scarcely has time for rescuing ladies in distress, or making new friends, or listening to his heart. Furthermore, he clings to tradition as if it were the single thing keeping him afloat on the sea of life. Then he meets Rachel, a quite untraditional person, and God begins to work on Caleb’s heart and set into motion the special plans He has for him.
I hope you enjoyed reading Amish Christmas Memories. I welcome comments and letters at vannettachapman@gmail.com.
May we continue to “always give thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).
Blessings,
Vannetta
And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.
—Ephesians 4:32
He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
—Psalms 147:3
This book is dedicated to Vicki Sewell,
who is so much like family that she is family.
I know you know—but I love you.
Acknowledgments (#u2b1d1c03-f850-5246-9a57-b45354f86271)
I would like to thank my editor, Melissa Endlich, for pushing me to write better. I’d also like to thank the art department and editorial team for helping me through the art forms, line edits and everything in between. Finally, thank you to my agent, Steve Laube, for your continued guidance.
Also a big thanks to my family, who remind me to step away from the computer and experience this thing we call life. It’s when I’m with you that I find the heart of my stories.
And finally, “Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).
Contents
Cover (#u210b4a77-55ab-58d4-b674-11a5eb22c382)
Back Cover Text (#uda384569-3c02-5659-96b9-18b931e23572)
About the Author (#ua7287a12-79a5-5356-ae86-0a8bb9e553f1)
Booklist (#u202f5496-60c0-5227-8de8-3f042cd7da0d)
Title Page (#u74aa61bc-f837-567b-9a94-d070113c6f9c)
Copyright (#ud0c50d6f-7c1d-59f9-a77c-2fd1a44b6281)
Introduction (#u5114c71b-3eeb-5cdf-95b4-c60d9e91e78f)
Dear Reader (#uaf7643cf-0827-5069-8a7d-a2a91a62980d)
Bible Verse (#ub66fa9dd-cf53-5b79-b0ae-589c48d2d46c)
Dedication (#ub4524f66-fd10-556b-8365-5464174e08af)
Acknowledgments (#u47a3462b-59e5-56c6-9a41-2a8c57d3595a)
Chapter One (#uf7b506fd-56fc-5cf1-9f94-c7704ae0fe94)
Chapter Two (#u51155d79-ffa1-59f4-9855-93ed915dc5c8)
Chapter Three (#u090642e3-6857-5385-a992-6b0b2d4b7566)
Chapter Four (#u8db2a33a-f382-582d-b447-16b10da69f22)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u2b1d1c03-f850-5246-9a57-b45354f86271)
Caleb Wittmer glanced up from the fence he was mending. Something had caught his eye—a bright blue against the snow-covered fields that stretched in every direction. There it was again, to the north and west, coming along the dirt road.
He stepped closer to the fence. His horse moved with him, nudged his hand.
“Hold on, Stormy.” Caleb squinted his eyes and peered toward the northwest, and then he knew what he was seeing—he just couldn’t make sense of it. Why would a woman be walking on a cold December morning with no coat on?
Goose bumps peppered the skin at the back of his neck. As he watched, the woman wandered to the right of the road and then back to the left.
Something wasn’t right.
He murmured for the gelding to stay, climbed the fence and strode toward her. He’d covered only half of the distance when he noticed that she was wearing Amish clothing, though not their traditional style or color. She was a stranger, then, from a different community. But what was she doing out in the cold with no coat? More disturbing than that, she wore no covering on her head. All Amish women covered their hair when outside—Swiss, Old Order, New Order. It was one of the many things they had in common. The coverings might be styled differently, but always a woman’s head was covered.
He was within thirty feet when he noticed that her long hair was a golden brown, wavy and thick, and unbraided.
At twenty feet he could see the confused look on her face and that she was holding a book.
At ten feet she tumbled to the ground.
Caleb broke into a sprint, covering the last distance in seconds. The mysterious woman was lying in the snow, her eyes closed. Dark brown lashes brushed against skin that still held a slight tan from winter. Freckles dotted the tops of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. A small book had fallen out of her hands. Her hair was splayed around her head like a cloak she’d thrown on the ground, and a pale blue scarf was wrapped around her neck—but no coat.
Where was the woman’s coat?
He shook her gently, but there was no response.
Looking up, he saw Stormy waiting for him at the property line. He’d never be able to take her that way, unless he was willing to dump her over the fence. He couldn’t begin to guess why she had fainted, but throwing her over barbed wire and onto the ground wouldn’t be helpful.
No, he’d have to go the long way, by the road.
Caleb shook her shoulders one more time, but still there was no response. He clutched her hand. Her fingers were like slivers of ice. How long had she been outside? Why was she wandering down their road?
Scooping her up, he turned toward the house.
She weighed little more than a large sack of feed, which he’d been lifting since he was a teenager. Carrying her was not a problem, but now his heart was racing and his breath came out in quick gasps. What if he was too late? What if she was dying?
He strode toward his parents’ house, pulling her body closer to his, willing his heat to warm her, whispering for Gotte’s help.
Stormy kept pace on his side of the fence.
