Is Henry really the one, chosen by God? How can Veronica be sure?

All her dreams have been dashed thus far. She only wished to live out a simple life in her Amish community, seeking God, caring for a husband and a family, being part of a loving church. Veronica cannot understand why some folks have all the bad luck. Why are some visited by tragedies while others are not? Does God pull all the strings like a giant puppeteer? Are these things predestined from all eternity? Can she trust Him while not understanding this life she finds herself living? Was having faith meant to be this hard? Will He really wipe away every tear?

Upon meeting Veronica, Henry had looked at her then and she looked at him. No words were needed. They both knew. This had been the plan for all Eternity. His plan for them. According to the world, it would seem folly. But to those that have embraced this path less trod, it couldn’t be clearer. Their gaze was interrupted by a tiny voice then. “More...please.”

Rosie looked up at both of them and smiled. She seemed to know, too.

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Release Date: October 1, 2024
Genre: Amish Romance

~ A White Satin Romance ~

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Excerpt

Chapter One
From Afar

His visit was just plain too short. After writing back and forth for an entire year, getting to know each other ‘from afar’ as they say, Henry had finally visited. It was her fault she wasn’t ready to meet him earlier than that. She had decided years ago—eight already—that she wouldn’t dare marry again. Only to bury your husband after a buggy accident? There were just too many of those these days. She also decided she wouldn’t have more children, after her dear little one died, coming entirely too early and with so many problems. No, she would turn her heart to stone so that nothing could touch it again. Not like that. She’d convinced herself she’d crack up, be a total basket case, no good to anyone, if she had to go through any of that again. No way.

But then the minister took it upon himself to find her a husband. She was still young, only thirty-five. She could marry again. Have children. The minister had received a letter from one of the Amish bishops up in Canada asking about her on behalf of a widower in his district. One thing led to another and unfolded over the past year first into a wonderful friendship and finally brought them to the visit.

Henry hadn’t planned it, not at all, but at the last minute had to bring little Rose along, who was all of three years old. Veronica found the precious child irresistible. Rose was always accompanied by her faceless Amish doll she’d named Rosemary, who had little dresses and pinafores matching Rose’s. Her mother was in heaven now, though little Rose appeared too young to have understood all the goings on in these last few years, since her birth over three years ago.

Veronica’s feelings for Henry had grown during this visit. It became clear that they were indeed meant for each other. How could Gott arrange such things, she marveled. Of all the billions of souls in the universe, how could you find that one meant only for you? She knew it was futile trying to understand any of His ways. They were far too deep and wide for mere mortals to grasp.

She recalled the last day of their visit. Henry was staying with a cousin several miles away from Veronica’s farm. Each morning, he and Rose (never without her Amish doll, Rosemary, clutched tightly in her arms) rode over in the cousin’s buggy and stayed for most of the day. That last afternoon before he would return to Canada was the hardest. Bittersweet. She had burned the image of him pushing Rose on the swing in the yard into her mind.

Her first husband, Amos, had fixed it up just before their baby was born. She didn’t live long enough to use the swing—not once—and Veronica hadn’t the heart to take it down in all this time since her dear little Marta’s death. And here was Rose laughing her heart out, that deep rolling baby laugh. I could eat her up; I am hopelessly in love with this little one, she remembered telling herself that afternoon. Then it struck her. It should have been my baby swinging there. But maybe, chust maybe Gott has sent Rose to take her place. To somehow heal the past. Does He really wipe every tear away? It for sure would seem so.

It had only been a month earlier that she’d gotten the results of the genetic studies from the hospital that confirmed she indeed did not carry any genes that could cause future children to be disabled. Her chances of having normal babies were the same as for most other women. She’d only assumed she would lose any future offspring because of what happened the first time. Their baby was premature and the research and technology at the time didn’t offer much hope that they could save her. But now, with fear and trembling, she’d written to Henry saying she might be ready for a visit, knowing what she’d found out. Before that he had all but given up hope of moving forward with Veronica and was about to ask the minister’s advice to find some new leads in his search for a wife.

They’d shaken hands goodbye on his last day. Neither wanted to be the first to let go. They each knew the unwritten rules of the church concerning dating and honored them, saving more intimate signs of affection for after the wedding. This ensured that one’s emotions were kept at bay, that a physical relationship at this stage would only muddle their thinking and take away from each sincerely seeking God’s will in this union, together, should it be given.

 

* * *

 

That last day of the visit was ten days ago now, though it seemed like it had been only yesterday. Veronica felt as if her feet had not yet touched back down to earth; she was still floating on cloud nine. They’d agreed to write until they could come up with a plan for their future together.

Ruth, the Amish midwife in their district had not called or paged her again since the last birth. Ruth had enlisted Veronica to help her by being a second pair of hands should she have to attend a birth in the district and need an assistant, though Veronica couldn’t understand for the life of her why Ruth would ask her. With no experience in such things, she thought of herself as more of a burden, a liability, than a help.

Picking up her coffee mug from the dry sink, she ran her other hand over the length of the still-pristine granite countertop there. Amos brought it on her birthday, the last one before she’d married him, getting her to come out to the buggy and help him haul it in. He explained that it was for her peanut brittle and candy-making business, pointing out that the best chocolates and brittles are cooled on a granite or marble slab. It proved to be true, too. In the end it also proved to be a lasting memory of her dear husband, taken too soon. Far too soon.

She continued to slowly wander through the downstairs rooms of the house. Her parents bought it before she was born, before Rufus, who came along before her. Over the years the snug house had seen several additions added on as the family grew. An annex of sorts off the kitchen, expanding the space there to accommodate them all, where the big oak table fit in was the first renovation. Then a summer kitchen where Mamm could cook and do all the canning was erected. It would definitely be an improvement keeping the house cooler during the hottest months. The summer kitchen was basically a pavilion of sorts, with a roof over the cement slab and the walls open to the breeze.

 

* * *

 

Next came a proper kesslehaus where they could concentrate all the washing in one central place for both bodies and clothes. A woodburning stove would keep the room toasty warm and the large kettles of hot water ready. Clothes lines crossed between the rafters there to hang up items during the coldest months, though ‘freeze drying’ was still Mamm’s preferredmethod of choice. She’d hang the trousers and dresses and sheets and larger items outside where the excess rinse water would drip and then freeze the wash quite solid. Freeze dried clothes. The wind did its part too. Pants and all the rest could stand up by themselves then and would be brought in and finish drying inside on the lines.

Next on the tour while sipping her still-warm coffee was die gut shtup, the great room or living room. She stopped and gazed at the couch there while wrapping her black wool shawl tighter around herself. Winter will be here before long, she mused. Time to start making Grischtdaag presents. Rosie had fallen asleep there on the last night of their visit. They’d covered her up and returned to the kitchen where they stayed up entirely too late visiting and talking and drinking decaf coffee with a second serving of her rhubarb strawberry pie. Around midnight Henry wrapped Rose up in the blanket and brought her out to the buggy for the trip back to his cousin’s house where they’d been staying until they would catch the Greyhound bus back to Canada the next morning.

“I guess this is it,” Veronica announced when Henry was finally in the driver’s seat.

“I guess it is,” Henry replied, “though I hate to leave now. What was it? Three short days?” he asked, shaking his head.

“You’ll hurry back once you have everything in order with your bruder back in Canada?” Veronica asked.

“Definitely. Then we’ll visit your minister together and go from there, eh?” Henry said.

“Ya. And I will be praying the whole time until I see both of you again,” Veronica assured him, though she was fighting back the stinging tears that were threatening to burst at any moment...

“Me too,” he promised in return as he extended his hand. No more words were needed. They both felt it: love. This wasn’t some fad or infatuation. Indeed, it was an enduring blessing from a loving Father above.

 

Learn from the mistakes of others; you can’t possibly live long enough to make them all by yourself.

~ Amish saying

 

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