Love At Pebble Creek (Hope Chest of Dreams Book 5) Read online

  The question seemed to ease her. The flecks on her pupils stopped dancing. Her shoulders relaxed.

  “I guess you could say I’m getting closer.” She crossed her hands over her chest and closed her eyes in what appeared to be a wistful moment. “But it will get there. I have faith.”

  She expelled a frustrated breath and offered a shake of her head. “Jesse, it’s hard to have a dream and not be able to share it with anyone. You don’t know how happy I am that you’ve become a part of it.”

  He lifted his chin a notch. “Really?”

  A surprised expression flickered across her face, and she responded in a soft, unsure voice. “Of course.”

  Why did I ask that?

  “I want to reciprocate. Really, I do. You’ve done so much for me in such a short time.” She looked away a moment while she started a running list. “Getting me inside the barn during the storm, pulling me out of Conrads’ pond, listening to me ramble on about my art and my uncertain future.”

  “Your future doesn’t have to be uncertain,” he corrected. As their gazes locked, she parted her lips. At that moment, he knew he was in love with her.

  “How can you say that?”

  He swallowed, realizing that he wanted her to know just how strongly he felt about her. And how losing her would break his heart.

  “Anna, you know what you said a while ago? That you love to be with me?”

  Her eyes widened as she offered an eager nod.

  “Well, I feel the same around you. But if you want the truth, I’m hesitant at living here . . .” He gestured with his hands. “Without you.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Because you’ve become so special to me.”

  He went on as their gazes locked. He told her about the farm that would soon be going up for sale.

  “I really hope I can buy it.”

  “Oh, Jesse, that would be wonderful! I will say special prayers that you get it!”

  After a pause, he lowered his voice. “No matter what you do, Anna, I’m certain about the two things I want.”

  “To buy a farm.” She hesitated before narrowing her brows. “But what’s the other?”

  “A future with you.”

  * * *

  The following morning, small, gurgling sounds came from Pebble Creek as Anna sat on the small, dark blue blanket she’d knit from beautiful balls of yarn given to her last Christmas. Birds chirped, and a fly buzzed behind her.

  She crossed her legs beneath her and eyed the partly finished canvas work in front of her. But as she did so, visions of Jesse floated through her head until she closed her eyes.

  He was making it more difficult for her to focus on her dream. Everything about him . . . his warm touch, the beautiful color of his eyes, his soft voice, his reassurances . . . He stopped her thoughts.

  And he wanted to be with her. At the same time, she had been quick to note that there had been no mention of love. And she did love him. But she knew from experience that she couldn’t have everything in life that she wanted. This was one of those times. Because Jesse conflicted with her dream.

  I’ve got to do this. She swallowed and focused on the canvas. Here I am again. Trying to get into the head of the woman who isn’t Amish. It’s starting to be frustrating.

  As she assessed the drawing, she lifted a curious, uncertain brow. In the near distance, wildflowers on both sides of Pebble Creek bent with the light summer breeze.

  Where the creek was most shallow, pebbles peeked up out of the water. The water was so clear, it was easy to see them. From where she sat, she had a bird’s-eye view of the well-known hill. For years, it had been talked about because it was the only hill in the area. And pretty much everyone knew the story of Levi and Annie Miller carrying stones all the way to the top to sit on.

  Anna smiled a little as she envisioned a young girl and a young boy falling in love at Pebble Creek. But they weren’t the only ones connected with the hill. Rumor had it that something had happened between Old Sam’s great-niece, Jessica, and Annie and Levi’s son, Eli, too. They were courting and planned to marry soon.

  Drawing in a determined breath, she focused on her contest entry. As she studied it, she arched a brow. One woman torn between two lifestyles.

  The images mirrored her. Because of that, Anna figured it should be easy to make the differences clear. After all, it was Anna King, and who could better capture that person than her?

  She pressed her lips together and tried to envision the real differences. While she sat very still, she took in spread-out two-story country homes and fields of tall corn, beans, and alfalfa.

  She breathed in the familiar scent of manure, acknowledging that many would wrinkle their noses at it. However, Anna would much prefer using nature on crops over man-made fragrances.

  That was one of the things she loved about her Amish community. For the most part, they were for going the natural route with what God had given them. There were many other things about the faith that she appreciated, too.

  She’d always been a horse and buggy fan. For some reason, she’d never been drawn to automobiles. And as far as the air-conditioning that the Englisch used? She lifted a skeptical brow. She didn’t like cold air on her skin and much preferred the outdoor air that came in through the window screens.

  At the same time, there were things she didn’t care for. Like the way Mrs. Graber had treated her growing up. Of course, that was just one person. Two, really. Mrs. Graber and her aunt. To be fair, they certainly didn’t represent everyone in their community.

  There had been many times when Anna had yearned to voice her thoughts, but inside, she’d known that some within her church wouldn’t have approved. If she had grown up in the Englisch community, would things have been different?

  She wasn’t certain, but she knew plenty of Englisch-ers in town, and it seemed as though they were more outspoken than the Amish. Except for Mary Conrad. And Annie Miller. The thought of two of her favorite women pulled the corners of her lips up.

  What Anna was sure of was that there was no perfect faith. Of course, she didn’t expect perfection in every area from the Amish. But it was difficult to compare the Amish to the Englisch because she had no actual experience as an Englischer.

  While she stared at the pencil sketches of both faces, she whispered, “Which one is Anna King?” For a moment, she paused and pressed her lips together thoughtfully and pondered the serious question.

  Right now, the answer was unknown. But she believed that finding the truth was within her power. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy. Unfortunately, the only way was to step outside the tightly knit Amish community and find out. Rumspringa hadn’t offered her enough opportunity or enough time.

  Swallowing an emotional knot, she tucked a strand of hair back under her kapp and frowned. While the gentle breeze loosened more hair from her covering, she didn’t bother to restrain them. She enjoyed the light caress on the back of her neck.

  Moments later, she acknowledged that her real concern wasn’t about where her life would take her after the contest. Or if she won or if she lost. She would leave that to the Lord. What did bother her was the fear of disappointing her parents.

  Still, even that couldn’t stop her from yearning for a broader view of life. A world without rules for what you could do and what you could wear. A feeling of guilt washed over her, and she acknowledged that despite the strictness, Anna’s mind was still free to think independently. And she did. Fortunately, her mind was out-of-bounds for rules. It was a place that no one could see or control.

  She focused her attention on the unfinished art and narrowed her brows. Okay, I’m not Englisch, so right now, I must use my imagination to get to know the person I’d be today had I not been raised Amish.

  For several heartbeats, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried with everything she had to see herself in that manner. Finally, she opened her lids and began moving her pencil back and forth. She smiled a little while the speed of her heart picked up to an excited pace.<
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  As she sketched, she pondered the limitless opportunities. She’d definitely wear her hair down. She drew strands that fell over her shoulders. Suddenly, an idea struck her, and she began moving her pencil quickly for fear of losing her thought.

  She’d been to an Englisch wedding and had been captivated by a black dress worn by one of the women. It was sleeveless. As she drew herself, showing her uncovered neck and above her breasts, she quickly shook her head and began erasing what she’d put on paper. Even if she became Englisch, her strict Amish upbringing wouldn’t allow her to wear something so revealing.

  How about blue jeans and a casual top? She pictured herself in jeans and sketched. As she did so, she relaxed.

  She began making light strokes to create a comfortable top that seemed to say that she enjoyed the outdoors. Before long, she had fully clothed the woman on the sketch pad.

  As she eyed her work, she thought of her birth mother and wondered how she’d dressed. If she’d liked being outside. What she’d eaten. If she’d traveled.

  The more Anna considered everything she didn’t know, she longed desperately to meet her biological mamma. What did you do in your spare time? How old were you when you delivered me? Were you married? Divorced?

  A sadness swept over Anna, and she quickly forced herself to stay positive. As she lifted her chin a notch, the most potent question of all swept into her head and stayed there. Why did you give me away?

  Anna studied her contest entry and pressed her lips together in a frown. I’m closer. But to win, my entry has to be the best.

  She sat up straighter and forced a hopeful smile while she looked at her hope chest from the corner of her eye.

  The thought of Old Sam and his beautiful work immediately inspired an excited tingle that swept up her arms. Her shoulders relaxed. So did the speed of the pulse in her wrist.

  Even though Old Sam Beachy was no longer with them, she could recall the lines of his weathered face. He’d once joked that every wrinkle represented something significant. The births and deaths of his sons. Good times. Bad times. That those lines had been earned and that he wouldn’t give them up for the world.

  Even though he’d never complained, his life hadn’t been easy, having lost his sons and his beloved wife. Still, he’d offered tremendous hope and wisdom to everyone with whom he’d come into contact.

  As the bright sun caressed the back of her neck, Anna touched the miniature hope chest that contained her most special drawings. She’d much rather place them on the walls of her bedroom, where she could see them day and night, but for now, her sketches remained her secret passion. With one exception, of course. Jesse.

  In the distance, two horse-pulled buggies headed south on the blacktop. Houses dotted the spread-out landscape. As she smiled a little, a monarch butterfly floated gracefully near her. A bumblebee hovered over white clover. The air was scented with the familiar aroma of livestock and manure.

  An idea sparked inside her, and she leaned forward to capture what she could while the image was fresh in her mind. She continued detailing herself on paper, as people within her church knew her.

  In her kapp, long dress, and apron. With thick, jet-black hair pulled back and tucked neatly under her covering. The expression on her face was of a combination of humility and kindness. Of secrets.

  She pressed her lips together thoughtfully as she moved the pencil back and forth with swift, light motions. A fly buzzed in front of her nose, and she shooed it away with her hand.

  It left, but returned quickly, so she repeated her action. The brightness disappeared while the sun slipped underneath a large white cloud. A light, warm breeze accompanied the dim light.

  When the sun reappeared, she blinked. She leaned forward and held the yellow pencil between her fingers. For several moments, she paused to consider the two images in front of her.

  She knew the woman in the center. Was all too familiar with her. She tapped the end of the pencil against her thigh and parted her lips. But the other? Knowing what was inside the other Anna was impossible. At least, it was while she was Amish. So she put her entry aside and pulled her favorite sketch in progress from the chest and tweaked it.

  Sometime later, she stopped and held it at arm’s length. She loved it. How could she not? It was the kind, trusting face of Jesse Beiler.

  Chapter Seven

  That evening, in the Kings’ barn, Jesse glimpsed the setting sun in the west through the large, open doors. Dusk was setting in, and the cicadas made their nightly sounds.

  Nearby, a goat played with a white rag. On appearance, it seemed that all was normal and calm. Jesse pulled the tab on the bag of oats and carefully slid it across the top to open the seams.

  He lifted the grain bag and carefully dumped its contents into the feed containers. The troughs were full.

  He considered the docile ambience in which he worked and the turmoil that cluttered his head. He and Anna had ended their last conversation with both wanting to fulfill God’s plan for them.

  While he worked, he considered the deep conversation they’d shared that very afternoon. While he breathed in the familiar, calming smells around him, to his dismay, he couldn’t rid her from his mind.

  He knew it was better, safer, for him not to become involved with Anna and what she had planned. After all, her uncertain path might very well lead her right out of the Amish world. A place where he would never go.

  He closed his eyes and prayed. “Dear God, Anna needs You. Please guide her to make the right choices and make Your plan clear to her. Amen.”

  While he emptied more feed into the large tanks, dust whirled and lingered in a fog a few seconds before evaporating like steam from a teakettle.

  Automatically, he compared his life’s goals with Anna’s. Although they seemed drastically different, in the end, really, they yearned for the same things. And that was to lead the lives God had intended for them. But when would God convey which road He wanted her to take?

  Naomi King’s soft voice prompted him to turn toward the open doors where she stood, waving a hand in greeting. She smiled. “Supper’s ’bout ready, Jesse. Won’t you stay and join us?”

  Before he could answer, she cut in. “I’ve got a delicious pot roast. With potatoes and carrots. Sure does smell good.”

  Jesse’s stomach growled. Lunch had been several hours ago. The offer tempted him until he answered with an eager nod. He dipped his head and raised the pitch of his voice to make sure she heard him. “Now that’s an offer I surely can’t say no to. Thank you, Naomi.”

  She waved an inviting hand. “Come on in.”

  “Ich komme. Just give me a few moments to clean this up.”

  Jesse finished his task, stepped inside, and, after greeting Paul and Anna, Naomi motioned to the hall bathroom where Jesse proceeded to wash up. When he joined them at the table, Paul pulled out a chair for him. While Jesse thanked him, he darted a smile at Anna from the opposite side.

  Paul blessed the food. “Amen.” Utensils clinked as they helped themselves to the roast and vegetables that were passed around the table. Jesse watched Anna dish a large helping of potatoes onto her plate.

  He noticed that Paul and Naomi were regarding him with curiosity.

  “Thanks for having me to dinner.” He grinned. “This is the best perk of working here.”

  Ice clinked against glasses and utensils met plates. In the background, the fan put out a low whistle. After a drink of water, Jesse directed his attention to Anna’s mother. “Are things about to wrap up at the bakery?”

  Paul sipped black coffee and offered a nod while he returned his cup to the coaster. He glanced at his plate before cutting a chunk of roast into pieces, appearing only half-interested in what he was saying. “We can see the end. Jesse, we’re so glad you’re helpin’ us out.”

  Jesse could feel the corners of his lips lift. “It’s a win-win for all of us.”

  Naomi chimed in. “Jesse you don’t know what a huge relief it is to have y
our help this summer. We’re so thankful.” She paused to cut a carrot. “You’re a godsend.”

  After Jesse cut his carrot into bites, too, he looked up. “I’m the one who should thank you.” He swallowed before continuing. “From the time I was little, I’ve dreamed of owning a farm.” He glanced across the table at Anna. “In fact, I’ve been talking to Anna about it. And also about the Norris farm coming up for sale.” He smiled. “I hope to buy it.”

  When the Kings looked at their daughter, Anna quickly nodded in agreement. Paul ran his hand over his chin and offered an encouraging nod. “I understand where you’re comin’ from, sohn. That sure would be a nice farm for you. When I was young, I wanted the same thing. Ain’t nothin’ like growing your own food and bringin’ it to the table. But sometimes . . .” He cleared his throat. “Our calling ain’t what we dreamed of.”

  He offered a dismissive shrug. “I’m not complainin’ by any means. As you know, the bakery is a family business, and that’s where God needs me.” After a slight pause, he added, “Even if my brother’s family runs it.”

  Jesse set his drink down on a coaster. “I wish the price of farmland wasn’t so steep.” Ice cubes clinked against his glass.

  Naomi nodded in agreement. She met Jesse’s gaze across the table. “Over the years, big changes have affected we Amish folk.” Several heartbeats later, she went on. “Forty, fifty years ago, most of us farmed. We’re thankful for our small farm. But unfortunately, land prices have made it almost impossible for many of us to do that now. So, a number of us have learned other trades.”

  She paused to scoop potatoes onto her spoon. “When you think about it, half of our church is out doing regular jobs like the Englisch. Welding. Machine work.”

  “It’s true. Fortunately,” Paul cut in, “the bakery provides for our large family.”

  “That’s because of those delicious cinnamon rolls you bake,” Jesse said with a wry grin. After a slight pause, Jesse lowered the pitch of his voice and edged it with curiosity. “I never was convinced that what I heard . . .”