The Amish Baker

A child brings them together...

Will their differing Amish beliefs pull them apart?

When his son breaks one of baker Sarah Gingerich’s prized possessions, widower Caleb Brenneman insists the boy make amends by doing odd jobs in her bake shop. A childless widow, Sarah can’t help falling for the boy...or his farmer father. But Caleb is progressive New Order Amish while Sarah holds traditional beliefs. Though they’re worlds apart, are they a perfect match?

MARIE E. BAST grew up on a farm in northern Illinois. In the solitude of country life, she often read or made up stories. She earned a BA, an MBA and an MA in general theology and enjoyed a career with the federal government, but characters kept whispering her name. She retired and now pursues her passion of full-time writing. Marie loves walking, golfing with her husband of twenty-seven years and baking. Visit Marie at mariebast.Blogspot.com.

Also By Marie E. Bast

The Amish Baker

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The Amish Baker

Marie E. Bast

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09482-5

THE AMISH BAKER

© 2019 Marie Elizabeth Bast

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 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.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Caleb laid his hand over hers.

“Let me speak first.” His voice was warm and laced with excitement. “We have never had an understanding, but I think you care for me. Is that true?”

“Jah.”

“More than just as a friend?”

A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “Jah.”

“Gut. Until we figure out how to get around being from different Orders, can we just have an understanding that we want to see each other?”

Her fitful night’s sleep last evening had filled her with fear of never seeing Caleb and his kinner again. Now as she looked out the buggy and across the street, that fear lunged at her throat. Her bishop was staring straight at her.

Caleb’s request met with her approval, for sure, but given their differences and the scowl on the bishop’s face, she was equally certain Bishop Yoder would not agree. But how far would he go to make her rethink her decision?

Dear Reader,

I grew up on a farm in northern Illinois, not far from Amish country. When we would drive to town, I’d see Amish buggies and horses. That form of transportation looked like fun, so I asked my dad why we didn’t have a horse and buggy. To my disappointment, he explained it was part of their religion to give up modern devices. From then on, the Amish have intrigued me.

Now I live seventy-six miles from Kalona, Iowa, and visit there often. The Amish started to move to Iowa in 1846 to live a more secluded lifestyle. The different groups—including the Old Order, New Order and Beachy Amish—have settled in seven Iowa counties.

In The Amish Baker, Sarah Gingerich, who is Old Order, and Caleb Brenneman, who belongs to the New Order, struggle with what their church Ordnung requires and what their hearts want. Like Sarah and Caleb, sometimes we might feel as though God has left our side. That is, until we discover that the impossible can come true and God is faithful and has never left us.

I love to hear from readers. Tell me what you enjoyed or what inspired you. Email me at Bast.Marie@yahoo.com, visit me at mariebast.blogspot.com and facebook.com/marie.bast, or follow me on Twitter.

Blessings,

Marie E. Bast

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

—Jeremiah 29:11

My husband and sons, you three are the joy of my life.

In loving memory of Lois Walline, my mom, and Blanche Browning, my aunt, the two best cooks and bakers I have ever known. I miss you dearly.

Also, to Melissa, my editor and wizard in disguise, for believing in me, and Scribes202, my critique partners.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Washington County, Iowa

Sarah Gingerich stomped into her Amish Sweet Delights bakery an hour earlier than her usual arrival time of 4:00 a.m. Who could sleep a wink after what Bishop Yoder had said to her yesterday? She slid the dead bolt closed. He had his nerve.

Straightening her shoulders, she shook off the indignant words. Gelassenheit—calm down and let it go.

She scooted to the pantry for flour, mixed the bread dough, tossed it on a floured board and began kneading. After folding the soft mass over, she floured and kneaded again.

As she punched the dough a little harder than necessary, the bishop’s words came rushing back to her. Heat rose from her neck to her ears, burning her now as it had when he had said them. She couldn’t believe that during his preaching on the rewards of being a wife and mother, he had stared straight at her the entire time. Later, he called her aside and mentioned it was time she stopped mourning Samuel and remarried. Why would he say such a thing?

Maybe it was just a casual comment, or maybe the bishop thought he was looking out for her best interest. That’s all. She steered her hands back to kneading and mentally put a circle around her bad thoughts and tossed them away.

Tears pressed at the corners of her eyes. They caught on her lashes, and she batted them away. She had her daed’s bakery and the apartment upstairs; she didn’t need an ehemann for support. Sarah plopped the dough in a bowl, covered it and pushed it to the side. Then she grabbed more ingredients, stirred up several batches of yeast rolls and set them to rise.

While the yeast worked, she stirred up a spice cake and shoved it into the oven. When the cake tested done, she pulled it out and popped the bread and rolls in to bake. She set the timer and started on the pies and cookies.

When the first batch of baked goods had cooled, she carted the pastries to the front of the shop and placed them in the display case. A job Hannah Ropp, her friend and assistant, usually performed. Hannah loved to decorate the shelves with rows of cookies and cupcakes in cute patterns—maybe in a heart shape.

Where is Hannah? She’s usually here by now.

Sarah set the goodies the kinner liked on the bottom shelf. Treats adults normally selected took over the middle shelf. The best sellers, breads and rolls claimed the prize spot on the top shelf.

Without Hannah, she didn’t have time to arrange the shelves neatly. Her eyes roamed over the display. Not as gut a job as her friend would have done, but good enough for now.

The bakery’s cell phone, which the Ordnung allowed for business, jingled and lit up with Hannah’s name. She touched the screen. “Where are you?”

“I figured you’d forget. I have a doctor’s appointment this morning and will be in around noon.”

“I’m sorry. I did forget.” Tension laced her voice.

“Oh, no. Is something wrong?”

“I wanted to tell you what Bishop Yoder said to me yesterday.”

“What did he say?” Hannah asked, her voice steeped in concern.

“He told me it’s time to get remarried.” Sarah blurted into the phone. “I’m happy. I don’t want an ehemann.”

“Ach! I told you that I heard the bishop had a habit of pressuring some of the widows into remarrying. Now do you believe me?”

“Hannah, that’s gossiping and a sin.” Sarah shook her head.

“It’s only a sin if it’s not true. This is true.”

“Shame on you, Hannah Ropp. You’re looking for loopholes in the Bible.”

“Jah, jah. Gotta go. Hang on ’til I get there, and we’ll talk about it.”

“Don’t hurry. I’m managing.” Sarah hit the end button.

She grabbed a wet dishcloth and started wiping off the crumbs she’d spilled on the counter. As her hand zipped across the Formica, it bumped the walnut papa and mama bears Samuel had carved, knocking them over with a bang. Sarah jerked her hand back.

Slowly, she picked each one up—holding her breath—and surveyed for damage before setting it upright. She heaved a long sigh.

Both fine.

The bears were one of the few things she had left to remind her of Samuel. They brought her comfort and served as a good form of advertisement for the Amish artisans in the area. Many Englischers had admired the walnut carvings and asked for directions to the woodcraft shop.

The bishop’s words flitted through her mind again. Working fourteen hours a day in the bakery gave her little time to care for a family. Would an ehemann allow her to keep the shop? The bakery was her life. It was all she had. She couldn’t give it up. Not to mention, she had an obligation to the town—Kalona—and to her customers.

When Samuel had died three years ago, she had stumbled through those first few weeks as if she were groping her way around a dark house without a lantern. Nothing made sense, she couldn’t make a decision and she had no desire to bake. She had promised to liebe, honor and cherish Samuel “’til death do us part,” but she’d figured that meant after fifty years of marriage and seven kinner.

Her heart had shattered as if it were a crystal dropped upon the floor. Hannah had helped her plow through the sorrow of Samuel’s death.

But life had had no meaning after Samuel died until she returned to the bakery and continued with her cookbook that she would dedicate to her parents and the bakery they loved. Some of their recipes mingled in with her recipes.

Nein. She couldn’t give up the bakery. She wouldn’t. The bishop couldn’t make her remarry.

Could he?

She didn’t believe Hannah’s gossip. Surely the bishop was only matchmaking those who wanted a spouse.

After grabbing a set of pot holders, she opened the oven door to a steamy whiff of white bread, mingled with the aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls and buttered buns. She set the pans on racks to cool. Pivoting, she glanced at the clock.

Ach. Almost time to unlock the front door.

Sarah pulled out the medium-roast and the decaf beans and started the coffee. While it brewed, she wrote the daily special on the chalkboard, then scooted to the front door, pulled the dead bolt back and flipped the sign to Open.

She puttered around the shop, setting out foam cups and filling the napkin holders. When the doorbell jingled, she stashed the napkin bags behind the counter and looked up into the face of an Amish man she’d never seen before. Judging from his trimmed beard and hair, he was New Order Amish. In her Old Order community, men didn’t trim their beards.

“Welkum.” Sarah whisked out her best smile.

“Danki.” His voice was as quiet as his footfalls. Glancing at the pastries, he smiled and shook his head as if the decision were too much for this early in the morning.

“Can I help you?” Sarah’s gaze locked with his sage-green eyes, which were set against sun-bronzed skin. A handsome face for sure and for certain. Ach. She stared. He’d think her a forward woman. Her cheeks heated like roasting marshmallows and she glanced away.

He removed his straw hat and twirled it around in his hands as he studied the rolls, cookies and pies. Each received a generous amount of time.

“Gut morgen. I’m Caleb Brenneman. How do you do?”

Sarah’s stomach tickled as he looked at her. “Fine, danki. I’m Sarah Gingerich. I own the bakery.”

“Nice to meet you. I’ll have a cinnamon roll and a cup of that gut-smelling coffee.”

She handed him the roll and coffee, then gestured to the five tables and chairs by the windows. “Feel free to have a seat.”

After serving the others who’d trailed into the bakery behind Caleb, Sarah refilled the display case but sensed the newcomer’s eyes watching her work. Did he know her? She couldn’t place him. Because of the bakery, she was acquainted with most of the Plain community around Kalona, at least by sight. Still, the Amish were scattered in seven counties in Iowa, so there were plenty she hadn’t met.

She glanced his way at the exact moment when he looked at her. Ach—caught! A smile brewed deep in her chest and crept onto her lips. “Do you live around here, Caleb?”

“I bought a farm north of town.”

“You’re from Iowa then?”

“I grew up here. When I met my frau, I moved to Seymour, Missouri. After Martha got cancer, I moved her and our family back, so she could have treatment in Iowa City, and we’d be closer to my bruder Peter and his family.”

The doorbell jingled and Sarah reluctantly peeled her eyes away from Caleb and focused on her customer. “Gut mornin’.”

“Morning, Sarah.” Mrs. Wallin smiled as she entered the bakery. “Just a loaf of white bread today.”

Caleb finished his cinnamon roll and coffee, tossed his cup in the wastebasket next to the counter and tipped his hat to Sarah. “Have a gut day.”

Sarah gave a nod. “You, too.” As she was bagging the white bread for Mrs. Wallin, she peered up and caught his wink, and had to steady her hands.

Her pulse jumped. Her mind raced in a hundred different directions, but only for a few seconds. What was she thinking? She didn’t want to remarry. The bakery was her life.

* * *

Caleb strode toward his buggy, his heart pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer. Sarah’s chocolate-brown hair and cinnamon-brown eyes had stolen his attention. He’d tried to refocus but couldn’t keep his eyes from following her. He could have sat in the bakery all day, staring at her as she worked.

Still, it was unmistakable with her navy blue dress and the shape of her prayer kapp. She was Old Order Amish. If she were single, where could the relationship go? He enjoyed the liberties his church allowed—shorter beard and hair, Sunday school and Bible study. The Old Order wanted only the church to interpret Scriptures, while New Order encouraged small group study.

His church even believed in church outreach and helping the non-Amish. They also permitted electric conveniences, such as the tractor, mechanical milker and refrigerator, rototiller, lawn mower, chainsaw and propane gas. Without grown sohns to help Caleb, he needed such things on the farm.

He must chase thoughts of the beautiful baker out of his head. A relationship between Old Order and New Order would never work. Jah, he must forget about Sarah with the cinnamon-brown eyes and concentrate on his farming and crops.

Caleb climbed into his buggy and tapped the leather straps against Snowball’s back. “Giddyap, slowpoke. I have chores waiting at home.”

As the horse trotted along, Caleb gawked at his neighbors’ fields and mentally compared theirs to his. Jah, his looked gut, maybe better.

Caleb parked the buggy by the barn, stepped down and welcomed the cool breeze that swept across his face. He pulled his hat off, swiped a hand over his brow and then plopped his hat back on his head.

His mind steered his hands back to the job at hand. As he unhitched the horse and walked him to his stall, Caleb tried to push Sarah’s image from his head. What was wrong with him? He was acting like a sixteen-year-old bu who was getting ready to court.

This was nonsense. Martha had died only a year ago; it wasn’t time to start thinking about getting another frau.

Nein. Nein. Too soon.

* * *

Sarah glanced up as Melinda Miller maneuvered her shopping bags through the bakery doorway. “Congratulations on your sohn. I have a boppli gift for little Abraham’s mamm and daed to enjoy.” Sarah scooted to the kitchen, snatched the gift box off a table, returned to the front and handed the box to the new mamm. “I was going to drop it by after work today, but you saved me the trip.”

Melinda lifted the cover enough to peek in. “It’s a cookie shaped like a little buggy with a boppli in it. It looks delicious. Danki, Sarah.” She leaned over the counter, her face beaming like that of a five-year-old girl with a new dress. “A dozen maple-pecan rolls. Motherhood is wunderbaar. Too bad you and Samuel never had kinner.”

The words slammed into Sarah, wrapped around her scarred heart and squeezed. She and Samuel had wanted a kind, a child. Concealing the ache in her chest with a smile barely there, she worked swiftly to bag the order and hand it to Melinda. She took the money, slipped it into the drawer and then slumped a hip against the counter to help ease the pain.

“Danki, Sarah. I’ll see you next week.” Melinda opened the door carefully, trying not to bump her baked goods while guiding her shopping bags.

Alvin Studer held the door for Melinda. When she was through, he entered.

He walked by the display case, slowly checking out the sweets. “You’re a gut cook, Sarah.”

“Danki, Alvin, but you mean baker.”

“What?” He looked up, his eyes full of puzzlement.

“Never mind.” She waited for his order as he paced the floor, looking at breads and rolls, then stealing glances at her. He bent his tall, lanky frame closer to the display case and peered inside. His long face twisted with indecision.

Sarah’s mind wandered back to Caleb Brenneman. Remembering his handsome face pulled a smile across her mouth as she fought to push it away. Most Amish men didn’t come into the bakery, so she’d probably never see him again. That was gut—she’d forget about him in a few days.

“Have you made a selection yet, Alvin?”

He stepped to the counter and gave her a smile while his eyes roved over her. “A loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread.” He hesitated. “Would you like to go for a buggy ride with me Saturday night, Sarah?”

Stunned, she stepped back. She didn’t want to go for a ride with Alvin, or any other man. She had her life. It was comfortable, and she liked things as they were. But with Alvin, she’d heard he had hit his last frau, so the answer was an emphatic nein. Yet the idea of courting anyone who wasn’t Samuel frightened her.

How should she answer Alvin? She hated to be rude, though she wanted no misunderstanding in how she felt. “Danki, Alvin, but my shop requires all my time. When I’m not out front, I’m in the back, baking. I have no free time to squeeze in a buggy ride. Sorry, but that’s the life of a baker.”

His eyes turned dark and mean. His expression hinted that he wanted to say something but didn’t.

She drew in a ragged breath. Her hands fumbled as she plucked the bread from the shelf, almost dropping it. She shoved the loaf in a sack and set it on the counter. “Danki, Alvin.”

He stared at her. The doorbell jingled twice as the stout Bertha Bontrager bumped the door with her hip as she entered. Alvin didn’t flinch at the noise.

Sarah blew out the breath she was holding. “Afternoon, Bertha. What can I do for you today?”

“The bishop said you’d be receptive to my invitation,” Alvin whispered as he tossed Sarah a cold look and laid a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change. I’ll see you next time.” He grabbed his sack and stomped out the door.

Sarah was stunned and winced as a shiver ran up her spine.

* * *

Sarah took advantage of the lull in business after the lunch hour and wiped down the counter. The door opened and Hannah whooshed in like a butterfly.

“Hullo. Sorry I’m late. My appointment took longer than I thought it would.”

“Don’t worry. I managed just fine.”