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Overview
As a bishop’s daughter and good Amish mother, widowed Sadie Hochstetler teaches her young son that God blesses those who try their best to please Him. But her brief marriage taught her that life is infinitely more complicated than that. Older, and serious, her late husband seemed a sensible choice—especially compared to Elijah Fisher, the spirited boy with whom she butted heads and hearts. Then Elijah abruptly left for the Englisher world, taking Sadie’s beloved brother along with him—a double betrayal she still strives to forgive. Especially now that Elijah has returned . . .
Elijah plans to stay in the Amish community only as long as he’s needed, helping his family and working for Sadie’s ailing father. The outside world has changed him, leading him to question rules and restrictions that others take on faith. Once, he’d been head over heels in love with the bishop’s daughter—a girl he was judged unworthy of courting. Nine years have changed so much between them. Yet something remains—a spark that, for all their differences, might light the way home again . . .
"Heartrending, poignant and perceptive, this beautifully written story has a cultural rather than a solely religious focus and will appeal to fans of sweet romance across the board. A solid debut."
—Library Journal STARRED REVIEW for The Bishop’s Daughter
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781420149111 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Kensington |
| Publication date: | 04/30/2019 |
| Pages: | 352 |
| Sales rank: | 715,982 |
| Product dimensions: | 4.10(w) x 6.60(h) x 0.90(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Sadie looked out the window, watching as Daet trudged out toward the barn. She smoothed her hands over her apron, but her expression was grim. Daet wasn't well. He'd been to the doctor in town, and he'd been diagnosed with a heart problem, prescribed several different bottles of medication, and told he needed to take a break. But Amish men didn't take breaks — they worked, just like the women. Breaks felt sinful somehow, unless it was a Sunday, and Daet was both a farmer and the bishop of their local church. A break from one job meant time for the other. Besides, there were three hundred head of cattle getting ready for market, and the sale of those meat cows was a big chunk of yearly income.
Sadie, Mamm, and Rosmanda worked on breakfast. This was their domain, and while Sadie and Rosmanda had been helping out Daet with the cattle, he didn't like having them forced into men's labor. He was hiring a hand, he said. Someone to take care of the extra work until Sadie's brothers and nephews would come to help with the haying.
"I wonder when Jonathan Yoder and Mary Beiler will finally get married," Mamm commented.
"They aren't that serious," Rosmanda said as she filled a pot with water.
Sadie passed Mamm the corn meal for the fritters they'd soon be frying up. She glanced over at her sister. Rosmanda's hair was rolled up underneath her white kapp, a single tendril falling loose down her neck.
"They've been courting for almost a year," Sadie said with a short laugh. "That's serious. Besides, the Beilers planted three extra rows of celery this year ..."
Celery — the main ingredient for wedding soup. That was as much as Sadie could say without betraying her friendship to Mary. Jonathan had already proposed, and Daet would be announcing their banns in a matter of weeks.
"How many times did Mervin take you home from singing before he proposed?" Rosmanda asked.
"Four," Sadie replied. "And I knew how to keep a secret until the banns."
Rosmanda muttered something, and Sadie and her mother exchanged a look. While Mamm patted the corn dough into a soft patty, Sadie tossed some thick lard into the pan where it slowly melted into a puddle. What was with her sister's moodiness over Jonathan and Mary? Their relationship was well known — those banns wouldn't exactly be a shock.
"You're not old enough to worry about eligible bachelors, Rosie," Sadie teased. "Keep your eyes to the boys your own age. I don't think Mary will be giving Jonathan up without a fight."
"Well, maybe I don't want to have to marry an old man like you did," Rosmanda snapped, and Sadie froze for a moment, the barb sinking in.
Old man. Yes, she'd thought the same at her age, but at twenty and having the Stoltfuz sisters with their blond hair and sparkling complexions as her competition, she wasn't in a position to be choosy. Besides, like other farmers, Mervin had been in good shape — long limbs and tight muscle.
"He was a kind husband," Mamm cut in. "Rosmanda, you could do far worse than a decent man like Mervin."
"Kind?" Rosmanda turned. "He didn't leave her anything!"
"He had grown children." Sadie was tired of explaining this, pretending that it hadn't cut her as deeply as it had when she'd seen the will. "And he did leave me some money. If he'd known I was pregnant —"
"You were his wife!" Rosmanda shook her head.
There had been a full farm, which he'd left to his youngest son, who'd been working the land with Mervin. The older boys had married and already gotten mortgages for their pieces of land farther away from the family. And then there was the boy who'd opened a woodworking shop in town for the tourists, and made a more regular income than his farming brothers.
"There were other considerations." His children, who'd never quite accepted her.
"You deserved —" Rosmanda started.
"And you're questioning a man's authority," Mamm snapped. "Watch your mouth, Rosmanda. Your sister married a good man who provided for her comfortably. A young widow can marry again. And a woman who can't hold her tongue won't get married at all."
The thought of another marriage brought a heaviness to Sadie's chest, though, and it wasn't rooted in her love for her late husband. She knew how hard marriage was now that she'd experienced it, and a decent man and a woman who could cook might look like a successful match to the outside world, but Sadie had never been lonelier than in her marriage. She'd missed her parents and her sister, and while her husband's grown children who had stayed in the area were kind to her, there was always an awkward distance. It wasn't an easy family life to navigate.
"Enjoy this time," Sadie said. "You're under your father's roof, and you'll miss these days. I guarantee it."
Even Absolom seemed to miss those simpler days before life became complicated and difficult. These times were not to be taken for granted. And Sadie was keeping her own advice. She couldn't stay a burden to her parents forever, either, and she knew she'd have to get married again. It was the proper thing to do. But she'd miss this time, this rest between husbands. Maybe the next one could be younger ... but a younger husband came with younger children from his first marriage, and she'd be raising a houseful of kinner that would never truly see her as their mamm. There'd be sidelong glances and insolent silences — anger at the one person they could blame because everything was heartbreakingly different.
Mamm passed the corn patties, and Sadie slipped them into the pan, the lard popping and spattering. She stepped back to avoid being burned. The women worked in silence for the next few minutes, getting breakfast finished and put on the table. And while she worked, Sadie attempted to tamp down the annoyance she felt toward her sister. So she was the example in life to avoid, was she? She wished she felt more indignant, and a little less exposed. How much had Sadie let slip during her short marriage? How much of her unhappiness had been obvious to others?
They covered the dishes with lids and plates to keep them warm so that Daet would have a hot breakfast when he came back in. Sadie headed upstairs to get Samuel up, relieved to leave her sister behind her for a few minutes. Rosmanda was getting more and more irritable — which was normal enough at her age — but her barbs were too well aimed. Sadie wiped her hands on her apron as she climbed the staircase, and when she opened her bedroom door, she couldn't help but smile when she saw her son lying spread eagle in the center of her bed, the sheet kicked off so that his little legs were bare to the morning cool.
"Sammie," she said softly. "It's time to get up."
Samuel stirred, then blinked open his eyes. He yawned and blinked a few times more.
"Good morning, sugar," she said with a smile. "Come on. We'll get you dressed and wash your face. Are you hungry?"
Samuel nodded. "I want breakfast."
"Me, too." She grabbed his clothes that sat folded on a chair, waiting for the day. She peeled off his night shirt and had him dressed in no time. He used the chamber pot — little boys didn't have the bladder control to make it out to the outhouse. She'd take care of this later when she made beds and cleaned the upstairs.
"Now let's pray to start the day," she said, and he obediently clasped his hands together. "Lord, we thank You for this day. Guide our steps and bless our ways. Amen."
It was a simple prayer, and Samuel liked the rhyming. As a good mother, Sadie taught her son a simple faith — that there was right and there was wrong, and God blessed the righteous. Except Sadie knew that it was infinitely more complicated than that. It was possible to do everything right, to be a pillar of female virtue, and still not earn her own husband's love ...
As she and Samuel came downstairs, Daet was just coming in from the mudroom in sock feet. His shoulders were stooped, and he paused at the door to rest against the jamb.
"Benjamin?" Mamm said, hurrying toward him, but he waved her off.
"I'm fine, Sarah. Just a bit tired." Daet came all the way inside the kitchen and looked at the table with a weary smile. "Now that's a beautiful sight."
Rosmanda pulled the lids and plates off the bowls of food, and steam rose from each dish. Samuel crawled up into his booster seat, and he stared hungrily at the corn fritters, his particular favorite. Sammie wouldn't dare touch the food before they prayed, but she spotted his fingers inching toward the table, and she shot him a warning look. At three, he was old enough to follow the rules.
The family sat around the table, and they bowed their heads in silent prayer. When Daet raised his head, they all followed his example, and the meal began.
"Your mamm and I talked about hiring some help around here," Daet said, filling his plate with corn fritters, bacon, and fried eggs. "Here, Samuel. A fritter for you."
Daet dropped a cake in the center of Samuel's plate, and the boy beamed up at his grandfather.
"You all know what the doctor said," Daet went on. "So I've hired a young man who will be sharing meals with us during the work day, so you'll be needing to take him into account in the cooking."
"Who is it, Daet?" Rosmanda asked, her eyes lighting up. She was hoping for someone handsome and close to her age, Sadie knew, and she smothered a smile.
"Elijah Fisher," he replied.
Silence descended on the table, and Sadie's heart stalled, then jolted to catch up. Elijah Fisher had been Absolom's best friend — her best friend. They'd played together as kids, then grown up together. Elijah Fisher had been her first kiss, and many more kisses afterward. He'd been her first love, a part of her coming of age, and in one fell swoop of betrayal, he'd lured Absolom with him to the Englisher world, leaving her behind without even a good-bye.
"But Daet —" Sadie began, sounding more breathless than she intended.
"It's already done, and your mother was fully in agreement," Daet replied.
"Mamm?" The sisters turned to their mother, who had just put food into her mouth. She chewed slowly, showing no signs of hurry.
"He's a part of our community now," Daet went on. "Coming home again isn't easy. Some grace is necessary."
"We are all sinners," Mamm murmured once she'd swallowed.
Sadie wasn't in disagreement with the theology here, but she hadn't forgiven Elijah, either. Elijah had been exciting and daring — an intoxicating combination when she was young and naïve enough to think that nothing could change. She'd felt like his whole world when he'd looked down into her eyes, but his promises that he'd never look at another girl obviously had been nothing more than words, because he'd left, taken Absolom with him, and she'd never heard from him again. As for Absolom, he'd never have gone if it weren't for Elijah, and then once he was outside of their community, he'd never returned. But Elijah had — a few weeks ago, visibly defiant and still sporting that strange, short-cropped Englisher hairstyle.
And Absolom had stayed away.
"He needs work," Mamm said. "His parents told us, and it isn't easy to find a job, especially when he's been away for so long. We are obliged to care for our neighbors."
"There aren't other farms?" Rosmanda asked woodenly.
"When the Lord puts a needy person in our path, He doesn't ask us to send them to someone else," Daet said. "We are obliged to help."
"And your daet needs the help, too," Mamm reminded them. "You know what the doctor said."
Sadie put some oatmeal, sugar, and cream into a small bowl for Samuel, and passed it to him with a spoon. Daet had made a decision, and there would be no changing it. This might be her home, but it wasn't her farm, and she had no right to tell her father how to run it. That was a man's work, not hers.
And while Elijah Fisher might have been their playmate in years past, he was no longer just a rambunctious boy who liked to fish and run. He was no longer a gangly teen who told her that she was pretty and held her hand when no one else could see. He was now a grown man who'd spent a significant amount of time with Englishers and had lured Absolom away. He was trouble, and Sadie was firmly of the opinion that someone else should give him a job.
But her daet was the bishop, and they must be an example in public forgiveness of the one man who'd caused their deepest grief.
"He's arriving any time now," Daet said, pushing back his chair. "So I'd best get out to meet him. He'll be eating with us for lunch."
* * *
Elijah followed Bishop Graber from the buggy barn where his horses were now lodged for the day, and toward a farm wagon, already hitched and ready to take them to the cattle barn farther ahead. He glanced around at the familiar farm. Nothing had changed since he'd last been here as a teenager. The last time he'd been on this land, he and Absolom had been sneaking away in the dead of night with bags over their shoulders.
It had been cowardly, and he'd regretted it later. Not the leaving, but the way he'd done it. His parents had deserved a good-bye, and so had Sadie.
Sadie lived with her parents again, too. Now that her husband had died, she'd come back to the family home to raise her son, and he glanced toward the house automatically. Some towels flapped on the clothesline, but that was the only movement.
"I need to ride," the bishop said, drawing Elijah's attention back. "My ticker isn't doing what it's supposed to do anymore, and it leaves me winded. It's a blow to a man's ego when this happens."
The bishop hoisted himself up onto the wagon bench with a grunt.
"Yah." Elijah wasn't sure how to answer that. A blow to the ego — wasn't that what the Amish aimed to do, crush the ego? They worked as a group, worshiped as a group, disciplined the likes of Elijah and Absolom as a group. Elijah's father had done what he'd expected — he'd followed the church decrees and had never once gone out to visit his son in the city, to see what had become of him. Not because his daet didn't love him, but because the community was more important than one rebellious son. Elijah had hated that part of the faith — the pressure to conform — which had been a big push toward his exit from the community. He'd wanted to be more, and that wasn't lauded here among the plain people.
Elijah hopped up into the front of the wagon next to the older man. The bishop's face was red splotched, and he breathed shallowly, leaning back like a man who'd run a mile in boots.
"You might as well drive the horses," the bishop said. "It'll be part of the job."
Elijah took the reins, then flicked them to get the horses moving.
"Are you alright?" Elijah asked.
"Fine. Fine. Drive on to the barn."
Elijah didn't want this job, but Bishop Graber was offering a fair wage and then some, so he couldn't be picky. He wouldn't be back at all if it weren't for his father's letter confessing that he couldn't even afford new rubber boots, let alone the fabric for his mother to make herself a new dress to replace the ones that were so worn, she'd hemmed up the frayed bottoms almost past the length of decency. It was the first letter that had actually sounded like his father's voice, instead of the constant flood of religious arguments. Elijah had been torn at that point — his daet had never bothered to come see his life in Chicago, and he'd obstinately frozen Elijah out of the family business until he'd had nowhere else to turn. And Elijah was supposed to dump the life he'd been building on his own and return now?
In the end, his duty as his father's only son had won out. And Elijah didn't make enough in Chicago as a common laborer with a road works team to both pay his share of the rent with Absolom and send money home. Yet. Absolom and Sharon needed the help in making ends meet, so they'd offered him a bedroom in their apartment. He and Absolom were close to opening their own lawn care and snow removal business, and the prospects were good. But Daet needed help now, so coming back was his only option in the short term. Even so, he wasn't staying for long.
Abram Fisher, Elijah's daet, made rolls of barbed-wire fencing to sell to local farmers, as well as pressed nails and spun twine. It was a fine and honorable Amish livelihood, but the Englishers could do it all cheaper and faster, so when Elijah's father bought a new barbed-wire machine that sped up the process considerably in order to keep himself in the market, that hadn't gone over well with their plain neighbors. It didn't take long for the elders and the bishop to come do an inspection. This machine required electricity, and could not be hooked up to a gas engine — and that was a problem. If the Fishers wanted to remain in good standing with the church, the machine had to go. Even if it was Abram's last hope of competing with the Englishers.
Farmers could use electricity in their barns, but the Fishers couldn't use it for their machinery in the shop. It was a double standard, and Elijah knew that the elders' vote was heavily guided by the bishop's hard-nosed views — and Elijah wasn't convinced that the bishop didn't hold a secret grudge against the Fisher family for Elijah's role in Absolom leaving Morinville.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Bishop's Daughter"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Patricia Johns.
Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
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