CHAPTER 1

It felt like dawn would never come.

When Anna first realized that it was going to be one ofthose nights ... one of those awful nights that felt like it wouldnever end ... she reached for the book she'd been readingand read for a while with the help of the battery lamp on thebedside table.

Reading didn't help. Knitting didn't, either, and knittingalways relaxed her. Reaching for her robe, Anna pushed herfeet into her slippers and padded downstairs to the kitchen.There was no need for a light for she knew her way from allthe dozens—no, hundreds—of nights she'd gone downstairsin the dark.

Even before the first time she stepped inside this house sheknew it like the back of her hand. She and Samuel had drawnthe plans, spent hours talking about how he and his brotherswere going to build it. As soon as the house was finished, he'dstarted crafting furniture for it. The final piece he'd made wasa cradle for the baby he hoped they'd have soon.

His sudden illness stopped him in his tracks. Leukemia,said the doctor. One day it seemed he was an agile monkeyclimbing up the frame of a barn he and other men were raisingand just a few days later he could barely get out of bed andshe'd joked he'd turned into an old man.

She'd insisted that he see a doctor, and reluctantly, he'ddone so.

Six months later he was gone, and she'd shut the door tothe room with the tiny crib. She buried her dreams the day sheburied Samuel.

She filled the teakettle and set it on the stove to heat. Howmany cups of tea have I drunk in the middle of the night? shewondered as she reached for a cup and the box of chamomiletea bags.

Before Samuel had died, she'd heard about the seven stagesof grief. She'd been naïve. You didn't go through them oneby one in order. Sometimes you walked—faltered—throughthem in no certain order. Sometimes they ganged up on youwhen you least expected them.

And sometimes—it felt like too many times—no oneseemed to understand.

She couldn't blame them. The only way she got throughthe first month, the first year, was to put on a brave face andpretend she was getting through it. There was no way shecould get through it otherwise—she'd shatter into a thousandpieces that no one would be able to put back together again.

Humpty Dumpty, she thought wryly. Then she frowned,wishing that she hadn't thought of the childhood story. Aclosed door didn't keep out the memory of the tiny crib thatlay behind it.

The teakettle's whistle broke into her musing, its sound sosharp and shrill that she put her hands over her ears to blockit while she got up to take it off the flame. She poured the hotwater over the tea bag and took the mug back to the kitchentable and sat there, dipping the bag in and out of the water.

Finally, she pulled the bag out and set it on the saucer.Sighing, she massaged her scalp and wondered if she shouldtake an aspirin to stop the pain. Then she flicked her hairbehind her shoulders and hunched over the cup. In a minute,she'd get up and get the aspirin. Her mind might be awake, buther body felt tired and full of lead.

As she trudged back up the stairs a few minutes later, sheheard something—it sounded like a laugh, a high, excited onethat went rushing past her and up the stairs. She watched,tired, leaning against the wall as she saw herself, lifting thehem of her nightgown so she wouldn't trip, Samuel reachingfor her as she flew up the stairs to their room.

She blinked, not sure if she was dreaming or seeing a ghostof the two of them, so young and in love, so unaware thatanything bad could touch them.

When she reached her room, no one was there. Climbingback into bed, she pulled the quilt around her shoulders andlay on her side facing the uncurtained window. The weddingquilt that her cousins Naomi and Mary Katherine and hergrandmother had sewn for her and Samuel lay wrapped inmuslin and tucked in a box in the closet of the same room asthe cradle. She hadn't been able to bear lying under it afterSamuel died.

She'd thought she wouldn't be able to bear living withouthim in this house they had built, but her grandmother hadbrought her here after the funeral to pack and she'd foundshe couldn't leave it. Somehow it felt like she'd be abandoningeverything they'd worked so hard for.

Her grandmother had understood. She'd done the samething—continued to live in the house she'd shared with herhusband who'd also died too young. She'd continued to staythere for nearly two decades, and only in the last couple ofyears had Mary Katherine and then Naomi come to stay withher.

Hours passed. Anna remembered reading that it was alwaysdarkest before dawn. She could vouch for that.

Finally, the sky began lightening. She got up and made thebed before she went to shower. The reflection in the mirrormade her wince. She looked tired, with faint lavender shadowsunder her eyes.

Funny, everyone said that she and her two cousins whoworked with her at Stitches in Time—Mary Katherine andNaomi—all looked so much alike with their oval faces andbrown eyes and brown hair. But she felt she just looked likea dull version of them lately. She looked older and moresubdued.

With a sigh she center-parted her hair and began arrangingit in a bun, then she placed a starched kapp on her head. Shechose her favorite dark blue dress and hoped the color wouldmake her look less pale.

Her first cup of coffee helped her get moving. The knock onthe door startled her as she sat eating her breakfast.

She opened her door to find Nick standing there.

"Sorry, I had to come a little early," he apologized as sheinvited him inside.

"It's okay. I'm ready."

He touched her shoulder. "You look tired."

"I sure hope you don't ever say that to Naomi," she respondedtestily. "No woman wants to hear that kind of thing."

"I'll remember that."

She regarded this man who was engaged to marry Naomi.He had dark hair, angular features, and sharp green eyes. Notas handsome as Samuel had been.

Nick was quiet and serious and had a heart just as bigas Samuel's. She could trust him with someone as dear asNaomi ...

"Want some coffee before we go?"

He shook his head. "I have a thermos in the car."

She took a plastic box filled with sandwiches from therefrigerator and tucked it into a tote bag. A bag of cookies wasnext.

Catching Nick's interest, she pulled another plastic bagfrom a nearby cupboard and filled it with half a dozen andhanded it to him.

"Oatmeal raisin," he said with a satisfied sigh. "Will youmarry me?"

"Sorry, the Amish don't believe in plural marriage."

Gathering up her sweater and her purse, she walked to thedoor with him and locked it behind her.

After they climbed into the van, Nick set the cookies on theseat between them.

"You know you're going to eat them now."

"They're oatmeal," he reasoned. "Just because it's not hotand in a bowl ..."

"So very logical," she agreed, trying not to smile.

"That's me, logical."

She opened the bag so he could slide his hand inside, pullone out, and take a bite.

"Please give Naomi the recipe."

"Are you sure you want to tell your intended that you likemy oatmeal raisin cookies better than hers?"

He considered that. "Maybe not. She wasn't happy when Icomplimented Leah's rolls."

"Exactly."

"Maybe you'll sneak me some of these now and then?"

"Maybe," she agreed with a grin.

Nick glanced at his watch and turned the radio on. "I wantto check out the weather forecast. We're certainly having acool November, aren't we?"

Anna nodded as the jingle that announced the news broadcastfilled the interior of the van.

"The forecast is partly sunny and cool in Paradise,Pennsylvania. Chance of afternoon showers," the announcersaid cheerfully.

"Tell me how it can be partly sunny. It's either sunny or it'snot."

Nick chuckled. "I agree."

They listened to the quick news report and then the weatherbefore Nick turned the station off.

A yawn overtook her. She covered her mouth and shook herhead. "Sorry."

"S'okay. Rough night?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't you close your eyes and try to get a littleshuteye?"

"Don't want to be rude," she said, stifling another yawn.

"I don't mind. I might fall asleep in front of you someday."

She blinked at him. "Don't do that when you're driving!"

He laughed as he reached for another cookie. "I saw AbeHarshberger asleep as he was driving the other day."

"Abe was driving his buggy," she pointed out. "I heard thehorse got him home okay." She studied him. "How are the lessonsgoing?"

"The last time I remember being around a horse my motherwas putting me up on it for a kiddie ride," he said with a grin."I was five. I didn't really like it very much and never wantedto be around a horse again. Now here I am buying a businesswhere I'll have to work with horses for hours every day. Feedthem, water them, care for them. Hitch them to a buggy, persuadethem to walk along a route for me."

He glanced at her. "Deal with manure." He made a face,then patted his steering wheel with one hand. "Big changefrom this horseless carriage."

"It sure is."

"Thank goodness I made training me a condition of thesale," he said.

"How's the other instruction going?"

Nick reached for a third cookie. "Just as hard. I thought Iknew what was involved, but there are so many more rulesthan I thought ..."

He began telling her about the lessons he was taking tobecome Amish. It hadn't been all that long ago that she'dtaken them as every Amish did before joining the church. Shefound her attention drifting off even as she frowned and wonderedwhy she'd never noticed how Nick spoke in a monotone.Snuggling her cheek against the upholstery of the back of theseat, she heard him chuckle.

"Am I boring you?" he asked. "I never bore Naomi."

"She has to put up with you." Anna felt her eyelids growingheavy, and she jerked awake once, then twice.

"You're chicken-pecking," he told her. "Relax and shut youreyes. Don't worry. Your cousins will wake you up."

* * *

"Let her sleep," Nick was whispering. "I don't have to beanywhere for another half hour."

"I'm awake," Anna said, yawning and straightening in herseat. "There's no need to babysit me while I nap."

She saw that they were parked in front of the shop. Turning,she saw Naomi and her grandmother sitting in the backseat,staring at her, concerned.

"Rough night?" her grandmother asked, her eyes kind anda little sad.

"Had trouble sleeping." She unsnapped her seat belt. "I'mfine."

Anna stepped out and looked at the shop while her grandmotherunlocked the door. The name of the shop, Stitchesin Time, was emblazoned on a sign with needles and threadand little quilt squares dancing around the letters. She'd justchanged the window display the night before so she stoppedto examine it before going inside.

Everything about the display was designed to say "fall."Anna had knitted warm woolen mufflers, caps and gloves inearth tones of brown, gold, and green. Cupcake hats for babiesfeatured little pumpkins, owls, and forest animals.

Naomi's log cabin quilt had been tucked around Leah'shandmade Amish dolls. A little fireplace complete with aglowing "flame" made a cozy scene.

Mary Katherine had spent hours weaving placemats andnapkins for tables set for holiday feasts. She'd made sturdywoven tote bags to carry home all the fall fruits and vegetablesfrom the farmer's market and roadside stands.

Jamie's contribution was a wall hanging with a scene of theAmish countryside at harvest time. She'd used a traditionalimage but worked in pieces of bittersweet, pussy willow, andtwigs.

And there were kits for customers to get started on theirChristmas gifts.

She started to go inside and then realized that Naomi stillhadn't gotten out of Nick's van. There was nothing she likedbetter than teasing—not just the two of them but particularlythem. Marching back to the van, she knocked on the window.

"Hey, you two, no PDAs!" she called.

Naomi rolled down the window. "You are so obnoxious! Allwe're doing is exchanging a good-bye kiss!"

"You're steaming up the windows," Anna said with a grin."Get inside before you get arrested."

Nick leaned over and gave Naomi one last kiss. "Have agreat day."

"You've been cheating on me!" she exclaimed, licking herlips. "Whose oatmeal cookies have you been eating?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he told her as hebrushed crumbs from his tie.

"You!" Naomi said, pointing a finger at Anna. "You've beentempting him with your oatmeal cookies."

"Guilty," Anna agreed, grinning. "Maybe if you help mewith a design idea I'll share the recipe."

Naomi climbed out of the van. "Maybe I should rethink thiswedding if my mann can be so easily tempted."

Nick got out and rounded the hood. "You know you don'twant to do that," he told her, his eyes alight with mischief.

He swept Naomi up into a kiss that had some tourists laughingand clapping as they stood observing on the sidewalk.

She beat her hands on his chest. "Stop that! You know youcan't behave like that!"

"I'm not Amish yet," he told her, unrepentant.

Backing away, Naomi tried to look stern. "And at that rate,you're not likely to be." She glanced around her. "What if thebishop had seen you?"

He winked at her before strolling back to his side of thevehicle and getting in.

"Men!" Naomi huffed, and she walked inside the shop.

"Ya, men," said Anna, suddenly feeling like a balloon thatwas deflating. She sighed and went inside.

The interior of the shop, crammed with colorful fabrics,yarns, and supplies, raised her spirits. What would she havedone if her grandmother hadn't asked her and her two cousinsto join her in opening it? She wondered about this asshe walked to the back room to store the sandwiches in therefrigerator.

She'd needed the creative work, the company, the daily routineso much after Samuel died. What did people who weregrieving do when they didn't have the support of their lovingfamily and community, the people they worked with in a jobthat fulfilled them?

Chiding herself for the way she'd vacillated between self-pityand sadness during the sleepless night, she stopped, closedher eyes, and thanked Him for reminding her that she shouldbe grateful for all she had and not focus on what she didn't.

Determined to live with a grateful heart—even if today itmeant moment by moment—she walked back into the shop toask her grandmother what she should do first.