Bertha's Resolve: Love's Journey in Sugarcreek, Book 4 Read online

  Love’s Journey in Sugarcreek

  Bertha’s Resolve

  Serena B. Miller

  Copyright © 2020 by Serena B. Miller

  Find more books by Serena B. Miller at SerenaBMiller.com

  Find her on Facebook, FB.com/AuthorSerenaMiller

  Follow her on Twitter, @SerenaBMiller

  The town depicted in this book is a real place, but all characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental. Serena B. Miller is not a medical professional nor legal advisor. Any references to medical or legal advice and procedures is purely for entertainment purposes.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Scripture references are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (kjv). The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan.

  Most foreign words have been taken from Pennsylvania Deitsh Dictionary: A Dictionary for the Language Spoken by the Amish and Used in the Pennsylvania Deitsh New Testament by Thomas Beachy, © 1999, published by Carlisle Press.

  Author photos by Angie Griffith and KMK Photography

  KMKphotography.com - Used by permission.

  Cover & Interior design by Jacob Miller

  Published by L. J. Emory Publishing

  Love’s Journey is a registered trademark of L. J. Emory Publishing.

  First L. J. Emory Publishing trade paperback edition September 2020

  ISBN 978-1-940283-53-1

  ISBN 978-1-940283-52-4 (Print Version)

  ISBN 978-1-940283-54-8 (Large Print Version)

  To Steven

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Author’s Note

  Also by Serena B. Miller

  About the Author

  “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

  ~Romans 13:9

  Chapter 1

  Sugarcreek, Ohio

  January

  Ten-year-old Calvin Brook’s stomach growled with hunger. On the days that he walked home from school, he often smelled the aroma of fresh-baked pies wafting from a small building behind the Sugar Haus Inn. The scent, a combination of spices, fruit, and pie crust baking, was intoxicating. Especially for a growing boy who was almost always hungry.

  The small, one-story building behind the inn was painted white, which matched the bigger house where he had noticed that three old Amish ladies lived. The big house had a sign that said, “Sugar Haus Inn.” The little building behind the inn had a sign over it that said, “Sugar Haus Pies.”

  He rarely got to taste pie anymore. At least not since his grandma died. He had never experienced hunger when she was alive, but life was a lot different now.

  A small schoolhouse, which was only a short walk from the inn, drew his attention. Sometimes he saw those weird Amish kids playing outside when he walked past. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of a few older Amish girls walking the short distance from their school to the pie building in the afternoon.

  Lunchtime felt far in the past as he stood there, sniffing the air like a hungry pup. He could barely remember having eaten lunch; it was so long ago. As usual, there had been no breakfast for him this morning.

  Well, actually, Alex, had poured him a bowl of cold cereal and called it breakfast, but it wasn’t a real breakfast, not like his grandma used to make. Grandma always said cold cereal was not a meal, it was a snack. Calvin wholeheartedly agreed. Especially when he thought about the buckwheat pancakes she used to make. Store brand cereal did not come close to satisfying hunger like Grandma’s breakfasts.

  The January cold stung his gloveless hands, but he wore a new, warm, coat which was a Christmas gift from a local church. They had also given him and several other children a sock hat and gloves. He still wore the sock hat, but he’d lost the gloves. This he regretted as he dug his raw hands deeper into the coat’s pockets.

  That aroma! He stood on the side of the road wishing for pie and having no idea how to go about getting any. His mouth filled with saliva, just thinking about the possibility of all the baking going on in that small building. He had loved his grandma’s apple pie and was reasonably sure he could consume one all by himself. Or cherry! Or peach! It didn’t matter what kind of filling it had. Any kind would do. He loved them all.

  As he stood there, a horse pulling a buggy clip-clopped down the road and pulled into the Sugar Haus Inn’s graveled driveway. An Amish man got out and went into the pie house. The man came out a few moments later with three Amish girls who all piled into the buggy. They wore black, high-top tennis shoes with their light-colored dresses, which struck even Calvin as odd, but they still sounded and acted like the girls at his school. They were giggling and talking and seemed to be having an awfully good time together.

  After their buggy trotted back down the road, Calvin saw a thin, elderly Amish woman in a dark purple dress and a black coat walk from the pie house back into the inn and close the door. It looked like the pie house was abandoned for the time being, but that enticing aroma kept tickling his nose.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to investigate just a little. Alex probably wouldn’t even notice if he didn’t come home right away. For all he knew, Alex was still in bed or staring at some stupid TV show. After moving them from Chicago to this weird little town with the giant cuckoo clock, Alex hadn’t even bothered to get Wi-Fi set up at the stupid house they were renting. He rarely even carried a phone anymore.

  In Calvin’s opinion, Alex spent way too much time sitting around doing nothing, but Alex was not Calvin’s i
mmediate concern. At the moment, it was his stomach that begged for attention.

  He sauntered across the yard, cold hands in his pockets, trying not to look suspicious. Nobody stopped him.

  So far, so good.

  After making it to the pie house without getting apprehended, he peered through one of the windows. At least twenty golden pies sat cooling on a long, wooden counter in the middle of the room. He was staggered by such culinary wealth.

  With his nose pressed against the window, he found himself craving a closer look. He didn’t intend to touch anything, but he thought it would be so nice just to be in the same room as all those pies. Plus, he was freezing and it looked warm in there. Gingerly, he tried the doorknob fully expecting it to be locked. It should have been locked, but it was not.

  The door opened smoothly and silently. Calvin stepped inside and was hit with a wall of warmth and the thick, delicious aroma of fresh baking. The long counter, filled with cooling pies, beckoned to him. Steam still wafted out of the little slits on top of their perfectly golden crusts. He put his hands behind his back, determined not to yield to temptation.

  A cherry pie with a lovely lattice-work crust caught his attention. He couldn’t imagine how those girls or that old woman had made such an intricately-woven topping, but it looked delicious. Grandma had made cherry pie, too, but her crusts had never been that elaborate.

  Carefully glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he pinched off a bit of crust. Just a little pinch. He didn’t think anyone would even notice it was gone. He placed the tiny taste of crust in his mouth and closed his eyes to savor it as it melted onto his tongue with a delicious buttery flavor. After that, there was simply nothing to be done but to risk yet another pinch.

  The pie filling, a shimmering red with fat cherries poking up all over, made the intricate crust look even more enticing, but perhaps the filling wasn’t all that good. Grandma had forgotten to put the sugar into one of her cherry pies once, and it had tasted awful. Perhaps he should check.

  Carefully, he stuck his pinky finger into one of the open squares in the golden lattice-work. The filling was still hot, but not hot enough to burn his tongue. He lifted his finger to his mouth and closed his eyes again as the rich, sweet, cherry flavor filled his senses. Nope, nothing wrong with that filling. It was sweet and just tangy enough to be interesting…and he was so very, very hungry.

  At that point, he knew he would probably be getting into a whole lot of trouble very soon, but he couldn’t help himself. He dug into that pie with both hands and began to eat one fist full after another as fast as he could, hoping to fill his belly before anyone could stop him.

  Chapter 2

  Alex Lane glanced out the kitchen window, wondering why Calvin was taking so long to walk home from school. The wisdom of accepting guardianship of the child and moving him to this town was still a decision he doubted, but he could not have abandoned the boy and continued to consider himself human.

  Unfortunately, Aunt Beatrice could not have died at a worse time, nor could she have asked a less capable person to care for her grandson.

  Alex went back to the task at hand--attempting to make soup. His head ached from the effort. Concentrating on any task these days felt like he was moving in slow motion. All he wanted to do was go back to bed.

  After the gargantuan effort it had taken to pack up, move to Sugarcreek, and enroll Calvin in school, his bed had become his sanctuary. That and the oblivion a bottle of pills his doctor had prescribed to “get him over the hump.”

  Ah, Aunt Beatrice. If only you had realized the mess you were putting us in, leaving him to me. How I wish there had been anyone else who could have taken him!

  He glanced down at the cutting board where an onion lay half chopped. The knife he held was dull. There had been a time in his life when he would have sharpened it without giving it a thought, but these days even a small task like that simply seemed like too much effort.

  The cut-up onion stung his eyes and made them water as he dumped it into the boiling water. As he set the knob to simmer, he had to wipe tears off his face with the tail of his t-shirt. Whether the tears were brought on because of the onions, or for an entirely different reason, he did not know and he didn’t care.

  He picked up the prescription bottle sitting on the window sill. It was becoming harder and harder to limit himself to the two pills a day the doctor had prescribed. Some days he took more. Sleep was the only thing that kept the memories of his failure at bay.

  He sat the bottle back down. The very least he could do was try to be awake each day when the kid got home.

  Chapter 3

  Officer Rachel Troyer Mattias lay in bed, one arm encircling her three-week-old baby girl. Both were fresh from their bath and wore cozy new bathrobes. Baby Holly’s was pink with lace accents and matching booties, which her Great Aunt Lydia had crocheted for her. Rachel’s robe was plain white, a recent Christmas gift from her Aunt Bertha.

  They both smelled of lavender from the drops of essential oil Rachel’s husband, Joe, shook into the water when he drew their bath. Joe was thoughtful like that, and Rachel was wise enough to appreciate it.

  She was due at work soon. In a few minutes, she would need to dress and go to work. But for now, she savored this intimate moment with her family. Life felt so simple and rich when she was at home with Joe and her children.

  She gazed down at the baby—this precious and unexpected gift from God. Could she possibly love her more if she were her flesh and blood? Not possible. Her gratitude to Holly’s biological father, Dane, who had sacrificially given up his rights to his baby daughter, was boundless.

  “Have you made up your mind yet?” Joe sat down on the bed beside her.

  “It’s hard, Joe.” Rachel caressed her daughter’s silky hair. The short, blonde strands curled around her finger while Holly happily gurgled and kicked her tiny legs. A pink booty worked its way off her minuscule feet. Joe nestled her little foot back inside the bootie and securely tied the small pink ribbon.

  “I’ll support whatever you choose to do,” Joe said. “But the restaurant is making a decent profit. If we’re careful, we can live on what we take in.”

  “I’m grateful the restaurant is doing well,” Rachel said. “But, I love my job.”

  Joe was a great father and husband. He spent as much time caring for their two children as she did. Besides that, he was good at it. If there was ever a man who adored his family and wanted to help take care of his children, it was Joe. The problem was her shifting work schedule and the sudden, middle-of-the-night calls to their small police station which sometimes necessitated her response. She was the only cop on the five-person Sugarcreek police force fluent in Pennsylvania Deutsch.

  For Joe, running a successful restaurant wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five workweek either. Balancing two more than full-time jobs while building a business and raising a family was taking a toll on them both.

  Rachel felt so divided. How could one choose between two great loves? She was needed and valued by the Sugarcreek police team. She felt passionate about protecting this small town that, except for the few years she had worked in Cleveland, had been her home since birth.

  “And then there are your aunts.” Joe brought up one more valid point. “They are not getting any younger. I’m afraid our responsibilities to them will become heavier in the near future.”

  Joe picked up Holly and cuddled her against his chest. He was wearing the new Levi’s she had gotten him for Christmas and they fit him well. Joe was smart, kind, and handsome—a rare find. She gave thanks daily for him and Bobby, his six-year-old son, who had walked into her life two years earlier.

  “How blessed are we that Dane chose us to raise his little girl!” Joe’s cheek was pressed against their tiny daughter’s silky hair.

  “I still can’t get over it.” Rachel said. “But I feel sorry for him. That was a terribly stiff sentence he received for doing no more than defend himself.”

 
; “We don’t know for certain that’s true,” Joe said. “We weren’t there, and neither was the jury.”

  “But you weren’t there the night Dane chose to give Holly to me,” Rachel said. “He could have run, but he made certain his little daughter was legally ours first. He wanted to make sure that she was safe with someone he trusted. The look I saw on his face that night as the lawyer drew up the papers--the love and willingness to sacrifice I saw there! He’s had a hard life, and he’s had to do terrible things, but at heart, I know he is a good man.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but mainly I’m just grateful that we have her. Our family is growing, sweetheart! Before long, we’ll need to buy a mini-van. I’ll start working on getting a pot-belly, and you can wear mom-jeans,” he teased. “I can’t wait to see you in mom jeans.”

  Rachel laughed but watching Joe hold that baby continued to melt her heart. Not all that long ago, he had been an elite athlete. His pitching prowess had put him in the ranks of some of the greatest pitchers in the world. His skill had made a good living for him until shoulder injuries, and the trauma of his first wife’s murder permanently took him off the baseball field.