— chapter one
JANUARY
She was late. Guiding her buggy horse into the back of the middle school parking lot, Cynthia Byler attempted to ignore the beads of perspiration forming between her shoulder blades.
Ever since she was a teenager, she began to sweat whenever she got frazzled.
It was embarrassing, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
The only things that did seem to help were to breathe slowly and count her blessings. There were a few days in her past when both of those things had been difficult to do.
Luckily, today wasn’t one of them.
For sure, she had many blessings now. She was thankful for still having a horse and buggy, even though the buggy was old and smelled faintly of mildew.
She was thankful for her twins, Nora and Danny, who for some reason were still kind and considerate to her and to each other instead of being disagreeable teenagers.
She was also grateful for her job at Cornerstone Bakery.
It was a good job, and Tricia, her boss, was both dependable and kind.
Cindy even appreciated the unusually good weather they were having in January.
It made driving a horse and buggy so much easier.
“You are fine. Relax,” she whispered to herself as she set the parking brake, secured Vanderbilt to the hitching post, and crossed the parking lot.
But even after successfully dodging three vehicles in the pickup lane and making her way toward the school’s gymnasium where her twins were playing volleyball, Cindy knew the truth.
No matter how many deep breaths she took or blessings she counted, the truth was that she was not okay. She was tired. She was frazzled. She could use a fifteen-minute break from her life.
But most of all, she really wanted to go take a hot shower.
And not for the usual reasons either. Sure, her back was now damp from her latest panic attack, and her shoulder muscles hurt after spending eight hours working at the bakery.
No, today was rather special because she was currently splattered with two cups of chocolate glaze. It was as sticky as it was unsightly.
The accident hadn’t been her fault either.
Rachel Weaver—Tricia’s newest hire—had been scatterbrained yet again. Lost in her own world, Rachel had picked up a hot, heavy pan from the stove too quickly, nearly walked into Tricia, turned on her heel, and then splashed Cynthia with two cups of warm glaze.
Her white kapp, apron, and much of her dress were stained. The sticky substance was difficult to wash from her skin and even more uncomfortable to wear.
Though Tricia was usually rather kind, she didn’t offer to allow Cindy to go home early. After giving her a few minutes to clean up, she put everyone back to work.
Cindy supposed she couldn’t blame her—they’d had a big order for the Rotary Club.
Tricia had promised to deliver several dozen cupcakes, frosted brownies, and cookies to the organization by five o’clock.
By the time Cindy was able to leave, the glaze had soaked into the fabric of her gray dress and dried.
Now here she was, walking into the gym of the public middle school, smelling like a stale chocolate cake and looking like . . . well, there was no good descriptor. Calling her a mess was an understatement.
Cindy’s only hope was that Danny or Nora would spot her quickly, notify the other, and hurry to her side. If that happened, there was a chance that she could leave the premises without too many folks noticing her current state.
“Hi, Mrs. Byler! I was just about to ask Nora if she thought—oh my gosh! What happened to you?”
Cindy gritted her teeth. Miss Mayson was Nora’s favorite teacher in the seventh grade. She taught art and was fresh out of college.
She also was bright, cheerful, and had afternoon duty for all the students who chose to stay after school to play intramural sports. Miss Mayson also happened to have the loudest voice in Alliance, Ohio.
Okay, sure. That wasn’t very nice of her to think. But given the way half the population of the gymnasium was now staring at her, it sure felt that way.
Rushing to her side, sweet, oh-so-loud Miss Mayson patted her arm. “Oh, Mrs. Byler. You look a sight. Are you okay?” she asked.
Though Cindy was tempted to answer her honestly, she did what she always did. Smile and deflect. “Jah. Sure. Someone at the bakery had an unfortunate accident with a pan of chocolate glaze. I’m afraid I got the brunt of the spill.”
“I’m so sorry. Did you get burned?” The young woman truly was a sweetheart.
Cindy took a deep breath. “Nee. I mean, not really.” She glanced at the game in progress. It was hard to see every player. There had to be at least thirty adults and children watching the game from the sidelines.
The teacher frowned as worry clouded her eyes. “Not really? Do you need—”
“Do you happen to know where Nora and Danny are?” she interrupted.
“Oh. Uh . . .”
“We’re coming, Mamm!” Danny called out. “Give us five minutes.”
Turning, she saw that both twins were playing volleyball on the far side of the gym. They were mixed in with several English students, and everyone seemed to be clapping for Nora, who’d just served.
“Go, Nora!” one of the kids in the crowd yelled.
Miss Mayson grinned at Cindy. “Your daughter can rock a mean serve.”
“Ah.” She hoped that meant Nora was a good player.
Her children were safe and happy. Playing a game. Allowing them to go to the public middle school for seventh and eighth grade had been the right decision.
The knowledge made her smile for the first time in hours, and she relaxed at last.
Miss Mayson’s posture eased as well. “I’m sorry you have to wait, but your children really are well-liked, Mrs. Byler. That’s across the board too. Everyone—teachers and students—enjoy them very much.”
“Thank you. That is good to hear.”
Miss Mayson looked as if she was about to add something else but was summoned by another parent. “I better go see what she needs. See you later, Mrs. Byler.”
Folding her arms across her chest, Cindy sagged against the wall.
It could be worse, she told herself. They could be troublemakers or getting picked on.
Instead, they were happy, well-adjusted children.
It was a miracle, really. Their father had died seven years earlier, when they were only six.
They’d been too young to experience death.
Unfortunately, Adam’s death hadn’t been the worst thing they’d ever experienced. She swallowed. Life with him had been fraught with pain too.
Her skin prickled as the memories that she fought so hard to block threatened to surface. Cindy breathed deep. Exhaled.
“Are you waiting for the game to finish too?”
She turned to the voice. An Amish man had walked to her side while she’d been having her mini panic attack. She thought she recognized him, but she couldn’t place his name. That made her almost as uncomfortable as her dirty dress.
Though she would’ve loved to ignore him, Cindy realized she didn’t have a choice. He was waiting for a response. “I am.”
“Which one is yours?” He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was watching the white ball continually fly back and forth over the net.
“I have two children over there. A boy and a girl.”
“Two? Which ones?”
She pointed. “They’re on the left. My son just served, and my daughter is in the front row. She’s the one wearing the dark-green dress.”
The man scanned the group, then grinned when he seemed to spot them. “Ah, I should’ve guessed. They look just like you.”
“I suppose they do.” She’d always loved that they had her blue eyes and light-brown curls.
Adam had had dark hair, ruddy cheeks, and matching dark eyes.
It hadn’t been displeasing. He’d been handsome at one time.
Before life and years and hardships got in the way and seemed to sour both his looks and his disposition.
“My son is the tall one in the back with the blond hair. His name is Roy.”
“Ah.”
“So, your son is Danny. What is your daughter’s name?” There was humor in the man’s voice. It was obvious he was amused by her prickly attitude.
She didn’t appreciate that.
Reminding herself that she was already covered in chocolate and didn’t need to embarrass her children further, she cleared her throat. “Her name is Nora.”
“Which one is in eighth?”
“Neither. They’re both in the seventh grade. They’re twins.”
“My Roy is fifteen and he’s in eighth grade.”
Fifteen? “That seems old for middle school.”
He nodded. “That’s probably because it is.”
He didn’t seem flustered, but her rude statement pricked her consciousness. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”
“Did you?” He shrugged. “I think you were more likely stating a fact. Roy is old for his grade. It couldn’t be helped, though.
He had to repeat third grade. He missed a lot of school that year.
We’d already kept him home an extra year too.
” He shrugged. “I used to feel guilty, but it doesn’t seem to have done him any harm.
” Looking almost amused, he added, “I’ve been told by my parents that one can’t go back in time.
Therefore, I should agree that it is what it is. ”
He’d just told her a lot of information that Cindy hadn’t asked for but now couldn’t help but think about. She wondered why. “I see.”
“Do you? Hmm.”
Feeling a bit embarrassed, she turned to watch the game again. What was wrong with her? She was usually more circumspect. Always a lot less judgmental. Roy’s educational development was none of her business.
She should probably apologize again. When she glanced his way again, she was caught off guard. The man had his hands stuffed into his front pockets and was humming a tune of some sort under his breath. Why was he in such a good mood?
And why was he persisting to speak to her? She had on a shapeless gray dress and probably smelled like an old chocolate bar.
“Hey, I just realized that I never introduced myself. My name is Monroe Cross. What’s yours?”