D Is for Daisy (Amish ABCs #5)

Prologue

It was cold out and the forecasters predicted a batch of snow on the way. Though she was as cozy as could be in the rocking chair in front of the fireplace, Ruthie Miller glared out the window.

The snow and colder weather would mean shoveling a path from the front door to the barn’s door, breaking any ice that had formed on the horses’ and the milk cows’ water troughs overnight, and even more days of being stranded in their house.

“Nee, not stranded,” she corrected herself. “You just won’t be able to go anywhere. You’ll have to stay put until the roads clear.”

Her words made perfect sense. A year ago, when she’d still been working at the fabric store, the idea of not having to get dressed, trudge down the sidewalk in her snow boots, or worry about falling on ice sounded heavenly.

Now, she wasn’t so sure. Even though she could go back to sleep after helping Mervin with the animals, she never did.

There was always so much to do. She and Mervin had to take care of their front steps and the path to the barn.

Ruthie hadn’t ever thought about that, since all their neighbors had been salting their front steps and walkway for the last five years.

Well, ever since they’d turned fifty-seven and Mervin had broken his wrist while he’d been taking out the trash.

They were alone now, and it was quiet, a bit lonely, and a whole lot of work.

Living on twenty acres was a lot harder than she’d ever imagined. Not that she’d actually admit that to any of their friends who had advised them not to move.

The whole plan had sounded so easy on paper. Mervin was finally going to take a step back from work and they were going to have fun together. For the past year, Ruthie had been counting the days until Mervin retired and she stopped working at Sew and So, a bustling fabric store in Millersburg.

At last, they were going to embrace the “simple” life.

Instead of their big, beautiful five-bedroom home with the giant “farmhouse” kitchen on the same street where they’d lived for thirty years, they were going to relocate.

Instead of wandering around in all that extra space, they were going to live in a cute little two-bedroom farmhouse with a tiny dawdi haus just a few steps away.

Sure, the dawdi haus was worn down and their farmhouse seriously lacked storage space, but they’d make do.

Why, they were Amish. They weren’t supposed to have tons of stuff.

Instead of running to the store to get fresh milk and eggs, they were going to have their own cow and flock of chickens. She’d learn to milk Velvet and become friends with the hens. She’d heard some folks did that.

But most importantly, she and Mervin were going to have lots of time together while they puttered around their twenty-acre farm.

Mervin was going to take up gardening! And when she wasn’t collecting eggs and learning how to churn butter, she was finally going to learn to knit and make precious, darling blankets and hats for future grandchildren.

It was going to be so great.

Ruthie really hoped that it would be “great” one day, too. Because today was not that day.

Today, she had a bit of a cold, was nursing a small wound from one of the hens, and had just dropped another two stitches.

“I really hate knitting,” she blurted to Lizzie, their spoiled four-year-old basset hound.

Lizzie, who’d been half asleep in front of the fireplace, lifted up her head, seemed to take in the mess of bright purple yarn on her lap, and then gave her a doleful look.

Ruthie didn’t blame her. “I know. Picking purple was a mistake.” There was nothing soothing about the hue. Unfortunately, the bold choice seemed to accentuate every tiny mistake she made. There were a lot of mistakes, too.

Frustrated with the fruits of her morning, Ruthie stood up and forced herself to wind back up the yarn ball and carefully place the needles and her project in the basket by the chair.

It was so much better to do that instead of what she really wanted to do—which was toss the whole thing in the bag for charity and never think about knitting ever again.

Boy, Mervin had better know what was good for him and not tease her about the fact that he still didn’t have the afghan that she’d promised she’d make for him for Christmas. If he wasn’t careful, she was going to throw those stupid needles across the room in frustration.

She had just finished hiding the purple yarn in her basket and was petting Lizzie—a much more enjoyable task—when the kitchen door opened. She smiled when she heard Bethany and Aaron’s voices float down the hall. She hadn’t known their children were going to stop by.

“Mamm?” Aaron called out. “Hey, Mamm?”

Suddenly, her day was much brighter. “I’m right here!” she called out as she got to her feet. “In the living room.”

Bethany came into view just as Ruthie was shaking out the skirt of her gray dress.

“Mamm, what were you … oh! I know. Hiya, Lizzie.”

Lizzie, who’d been happily sprawled out on her side so Ruthie could pet her belly easier, stood up and padded to one of her favorite people on earth.

Bethany knelt down and kissed the top of her head. “Hi, you sweet, lazy lady. I’ve missed you.”

Lizzie wagged her tail and gave Bethany a little head shake before padding over to Aaron.

Her son was just as fond of Lizzie as her daughter was. Aaron also bent down and greeted the hound. “You’re looking a bit more svelte, Lizzie-loo. Farm life must be agreeing with you.”

The hound yawned and returned to the fireplace as Ruthie hugged each of her children.

“What a nice surprise!” Ruthie said. “I didn’t know you two were stopping by today. And where’s Hanna?”

“With the weather the way it is, Hanna decided to stay home with her parents,” Aaron explained.

“I hope she is feeling okay?” Aaron and Hanna had shared on Christmas Day that they were expecting their first baby.

“I think so. She feels queasy all the time but her mother said she’d felt that way, too.”

“I had plenty of queasy days when I was pregnant with both of you,” Ruthie said. “I hope it will pass soon.”

“Me too.”

“What would you two like to do? Are you hungry? I’d be happy to make you something.”

“We’re gut, Mamm.”

“Okay … so, you two just decided to stop by?”

“Kind of.” Looking at her brother, Bethany said, “When Aaron and I were talking last night, we decided to come see you.” Bethany smiled, just as if that made perfect sense.

Ruthie didn’t think it did. She narrowed her eyes. “Hmm.”

“Jah,” Aaron added. “Early this morning, Bethy stopped by the haus, said hi to Hanna and now … here we are.”

Ruthie was now very sure that her kids didn’t just “happen” to decide to visit. There was something on their minds. “I see.” She was going to need some help. “Where is your father? Did you see him when you drove up?”

“Jah,” said Aaron. “He was in the barn.”

“I’m not sure what he was doing though,” Bethany added. “He didn’t seem to be doing a whole lot.”

“He likes to be in there with the horses. And Velvet.”

“Really?” Aaron asked. “I didn’t think Daed liked hanging out in barns. He used to always sneeze and complain about the dust. Come to think of it, I didn’t think he liked milking either.”

“Oh, he’s over that now,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “Velvet was one of the reasons we were so excited about the farm. She’s supposed to be a gut dairy cow.” Though, the cow hadn’t been producing much milk of late.

“Every time I’ve been around Velvet, she’s seemed kind of grumpy. Or, maybe sad?” Bethany shrugged. “I didn’t think cows could feel happy or sad, but then again, I don’t know much about them. I should do some research, I think.”

Ruthie was starting to think the same thing, not that she was going to admit it to her grown children. “That’s because you two aren’t friends yet. It takes Velvet a while to warm up to people.” She cleared her throat. “Did Daed say when he was coming inside to visit with us?”

Aaron nodded. “Jah. He said he’d join us pretty soon.”

“Perfect. Let’s go in the kitchen. We’ll have some kaffi while we wait.”

“Is it fresh, Mamm?” Bethany asked.

“It will be, child. I’m going to make a fresh pot for us.”

“Oh. Good.”

Ruthie mentally rolled her eyes. Ever since Bethany fell in love with an Englischer and moved to the suburbs with her doctor-husband, she’d become something of a coffee snob. She liked fancy, five-dollar coffees from the drive-thru or freshly ground beans at her home.

She kept those thoughts to herself as she rinsed out the percolator and put in fresh water and coffee grounds. She was far more concerned about whatever was on the children’s minds than teasing her daughter about becoming so fancy.

Just as she’d poured four cups of coffee and Bethany had placed four slices of chocolate-pecan pie onto plates, Mervin joined them at the table.

He smelled like the soap he’d just washed his hands with, fresh cotton, and horse. “Let us give thanks for the food we are about to receive,” he said quietly.

When each of them raised their heads, Aaron stabbed a good bit of pie off his slice.

“Mamm, you make the best pies, but I love this one the most.”

“I know you do, son.”

“Did you have a feeling we were coming over?”

“Nee, but I’ve made it on New Years Eve for almost as long as I can remember. It’s tradition.” She winked. “Is that why you two are here? To have some chocolate pie?”

The kids exchanged glances. “Not exactly.”

“What is the reason then?” Mervin asked. “Exactly.”

Bethany clasped her hands together. “Well, Daed. See, the three of us have been talking.”

“Bethy, me, and Hanna,” Aaron explained.

“About what?” Ruthie asked.

“About the two of you living on this farm.”

Mervin frowned. “What about it?”

When he paused again, Ruthie blurted, “Snow’s coming, child. It’s supposed to be a good one, too. The roads will get bad and Aaron’s going to need to get home to Hanna. Tell us what’s on your mind.”

“Okay, fine. Here’s the deal. We think you two are in over your heads with this farm. You don’t know what you are doing.”