Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2)

  NEVER

  FAR FROM

  HOME

  MARY ELLIS

  HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  EUGENE, OREGON

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, IL 60189 USA. All rights reserved.

  Cover photos © and design by Garborg Design Works, Savage, Minnesota

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  NEVER FAR FROM HOME

  Copyright © 2010 by Mary Ellis

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97402

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ellis, Mary

  Never far from home / Mary Ellis.

  p. cm.—(The Miller Family series ; bk. 2)

  ISBN 978-0-7369-2733-8 (pbk.)

  1. Amish—Fiction. 2. Holmes County (Ohio)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3626.E36N48 2009

  813’.6—dc22

  2009019361

  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—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 / RDM-SK / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To the love of my life and best friend…

  my husband.

  I can’t imagine how dull life would

  have been had I not met you.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to Carol Lee and Owen Shevlin, who welcomed me into their home and opened doors for me in the Amish community.

  Thanks to Dennis Miller and Carl Becker, who answered endless agricultural questions.

  Thanks to my lovely proofreader, Mrs. Joycelyn Sullivan.

  A special thank you to Joanna and Kathryn, and Mrs. Miller and her daughter Rosa, members of the Old Order Amish community.

  Thanks to my wonderful agent, Mary Sue Seymour, who had faith in me from the beginning.

  Finally, thanks to my editor, Kim Moore, and the wonderful staff at Harvest House Publishers.

  And thanks be to God—all things in this world are by His hand.

  April

  Hannah Miller sipped her tea and gazed out the window over the sink, mesmerized by a winter world changing to spring before her eyes. Trees with only fat buds this morning now displayed tiny, tender green leaves. She had spotted a red-tailed hawk on her ride to Julia’s, soaring effortlessly on wind currents warmed by the sun. Tomorrow it might turn rainy and cold again. Even an April snowstorm wasn’t out of the question, but today God was giving them a small taste of good weather to come. Hannah’s spirits lifted, despite having spent six hours on her feet helping with spring-cleaning at her sister’s. With Leah only twelve, and Julia’s hands unable to hold a sponge or wield a broom for very long, Emma had needed her aunt’s help. But Hannah enjoyed the friendly camaraderie of women after a season too long cooped up indoors.

  This had been a bad week for Julia’s rheumatoid arthritis. Changeable weather, especially damp cold nights, increased the stiffness and pain in her swollen joints. Though steroid injections and prescription pain relievers had given Julia months of relief, her face revealed that a true cure was nowhere in sight.

  Hannah listened to Phoebe humming a lullaby to her doll in the next room. The child was thriving during her first year of school. Such a relief after Hannah’s worry last year that she might never speak again. Now she rattled on in both Deutsch and English until Seth raised his hand and admonished, “Rest your tongue, daughter. It must last you a lifetime.”

  Refilling her cup from the teapot, Hannah leaned her hip against the counter and savored a few moments of quiet introspection. Supper was reheating in the oven—leftovers because she still cooked too much food for three people. Soon Seth would come home and tell her about his day in the low, husky voice she loved so well. Hannah enjoyed sharing a cup of coffee with him in the late afternoon or sometimes after supper if Phoebe had homework. But right now, Hannah was content to watch two blue jays tugging on the same twig…and then she saw a shiny green truck pulling up their lane.

  What on earth? She knew before the driver’s door opened who was paying them an afternoon call. The Englischer, a young sheep farmer who sold his wool to Audrey Dunn in Sugar Creek, stepped down from the pickup and headed toward the back door. Shaking her head, Hannah walked out onto the porch.

  “Hello, Mrs. Brown. I hope you remember me, ma’am. James Davis from Charm. We met at A Stitch in Time.” He swept a ball cap from his head.

  “Of course, young man. You came here last fall looking for my niece.” She glanced again at his vehicle, oddly clean compared to the mud-spattered trucks and buggies so common this time of year.

  A corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. “Yes, ma’am. Your niece told me to stop by on my way home from Gram’s to see your sheep operation.”

  Hannah vaguely recalled Emma suggested that the Davis family be invited to the wedding, which of course she had not done. They were complete strangers. But to the young man waiting patiently she said, “I’d be happy to point you in the direction of my sheep, and you’re welcome to look around at anything you wish. But I’m sorry; my niece isn’t here. Emma lives with her parents on Route 63, just around the corner. The second house you come to on your right. She should be home right now.”

  He looked disappointed for a moment until the subject of their conversation rounded the house from the back path. Emma was wearing a fresh pink dress and her skin glowed with youthful vitality. This wasn’t at all how Hannah had seen her earlier, before leaving Julia’s. Emma had cobwebs in her hair, a sweaty face, and a wrinkled and stained apron.

  James must have caught Hannah’s surprised expression, because he pivoted on a dime. “Hi, Emma,” he called. “I’d hoped you would be working at your aunt’s today.” His greeting could only be described as enthusiastic.

  Emma smiled demurely and offered a little wave as she approached. Hannah noticed she was walking rather daintily. Usually, Emma scurried wherever she went, only to be outpaced by Phoebe.

  Not one to miss anything, Phoebe walked out of the house, letting the screen door bang behind her. She looked uneasily at the stranger before spotting her cousin. “Hi, Emma,” she called and then ran to meet her.

  “Hello, Phoebe,” Emma greeted, enveloping the little girl with a hug. To the young man Emma said, “Hi, James. Welcome to Wines-burg. I’m so glad you found us.”

  “No problem at all. Your directions were perfect.” He stuffed his cap into the back pocket of his jeans.

  Perfect directions? Hannah was thoroughly confused. Had Emma explained where they
lived during their quick cup of cocoa in Sugar Creek last fall? That was a long time ago to remember an obscure township road on the other side of the county.

  “Do you remember my aunt, Mrs. Miller?” Emma asked, glancing from James to Hannah.

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said, his smile growing ever larger. “Miz Dunn mentioned coming to your wedding a while back,” he said. “Congratulations. She said it was real nice. Great eats.”

  “Thank you, James,” Hannah said, remembering to use only English. To her niece she murmured, “I didn’t think we would see you again so soon.”

  Emma flushed. “I got a notion to walk over and check on my…I mean, your new lambs. There was still a bit of time before supper.”

  Hannah didn’t comment on her quick bath and fresh change of clothing.

  “Is it all right if James takes a look at our sheep, Aunt Hannah? I told him I’m going into business with you, and that I’m saving money for my own spinning wheel and loom.” Sunlight reflected on her pretty face as she grinned with pride.

  Hannah hadn’t seen her quite so joyous in a while.

  “Our Cheviots look pretty much like other Cheviots, same with our Dorsets and Suffolks. But if you’d like to show them off, I don’t see any harm in it. I, myself, need to finish supper.” She slanted her niece a curious look and then said to James, “Nice seeing you again. Please give my regards to Mrs. Dunn if you get to Sugar Creek before I do.”

  “Will do, ma’am. Nice seeing you again.” He bobbed his head before putting his ball cap back on.

  Neither teenager paid Hannah another smidgen of attention. They were watching each other with abject fascination.

  Phoebe glanced curiously from one to the other until Hannah took her by the hand and they headed inside. An unsettled feeling was growing in the pit of her stomach.

  I’ve come to see your sheep, indeed.

  Emma waited until her aunt shut the kitchen door behind her before looking up at James. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “I’ve been ready for this all day,” James answered. “I couldn’t wait till I finished chores at my grandparents’ house.”

  She tried to hide her pleasure with his comment. “My aunt brought mostly Cheviots and Dorset crossbreeds from Pennsylvania when she moved here, but my uncle added Suffolks to the flock. The sheep pasture is on the other side of the barn. Uncle Seth keeps the sheep separated from his cattle.”

  “That’s smart, Emma,” he said, “especially if you have a bull in with your cows. He could trample young lambs when he gets in a bad mood.” James stuck his hands in his pockets and seemed to relax the farther they walked from the house.

  “Our bull turns surly on a regular basis.” She was anxious to keep the conversation going, although finding things to say hadn’t been difficult in the past.

  “Your aunt seems nice. So you’re partnering up with her instead of your folks?” He pulled up some weeds and stuck the longest one in his mouth.

  “Jah…I mean, yes,” she said, feeling herself blush. “My father has just started liking sheep. Until recently, he used to call them smelly wool bags.”

  James laughed. “They do take time to grow on a person. I used to think something very similar to that myself. But if you concentrate on the fact that you never have to milk them and you can sell their wool on a regular basis, a person can overlook the fact they have the smallest brain in the animal kingdom.”

  “Smaller than that of a field mouse?” she asked as they reached the pasture.

  “By half,” he stated. James plucked a handful of dried Queen Anne Lace and handed it to Emma as though giving her a bouquet of expensive flowers.

  Emma accepted the bunch and sniffed, knowing full well the weeds had no fragrance whatsoever. “Small brains or not, I like sheep. They have the world’s sweetest babies. Look at those two young Suffolks with their velvety black heads and pink noses. They’re much cuter than any dog or cat.”

  James focused on where Emma pointed. “You’re right. Those are cuter than anybody’s pet.” He stepped up to the bottom fence rail and offered a hand. She glanced around quickly before joining him. “What’s your dad’s opinion now?” he asked.

  “Oh, he likes them, at least he says he does. He’s letting me start my own flock with Aunt Hannah’s spring lambs once they’re weaned. They will be payment for work I did.” Emma didn’t mention how little work she actually performed while Hannah and Seth were on their honeymoon. The compensation was overly generous.

  “Is that right? Then let’s hope for plenty of sets of twins,” he said with a wink.

  Something about his smile made her feel warm inside. It seemed as though she’d known James for a long time instead of as a casual acquaintance. Are all English boys this friendly and relaxed around girls? He wasn’t bashful and tongue-tied like most Amish fellows. Not that she knew that many—her daed wouldn’t allow her to attend Sunday singings yet, not until she turned sixteen.

  “I suppose you’re already done with school,” he said with his gaze still on the lambs.

  “Yes, almost two years ago.” Emma felt her mouth go dry.

  “You are one lucky lady. I’ve got a couple more months till graduation.”

  A lady? No one had ever called her that. She had been referred to as girl, child, female, kinner, but never a lady. The warm sensation in her belly spread from her head down to her toes. “I used to like school,” she said, “but I’m glad it’s done. I never wanted to be a teacher like my cousin Phoebe. That’s all she talks about anymore.”

  “All I ever wanted to do is farm,” James said, squinting from the sun dropping low on the horizon. “But now my dad’s talking agricultural college. I don’t need all that book learning to work my folks’ three hundred acres.” He pulled the weed from his teeth and tossed it down.

  Emma nodded. “Me, neither. I want to raise sheep, sell the extra wool, and maybe knit a warm sweater or two during the winter.” She smoothed a damp palm down her skirt.

  He nodded in sage agreement and then jumped down from the rail. “We’d better start back.” He offered his hand to her.

  Normally, Emma would have hopped down from the fence the way he did. But now that she was a lady, she accepted his hand and stepped down with dignity. “Would you like to see our barns and the shearing room?”

  “Better not. I don’t want any trouble with your aunt on my very first visit.”

  The two walked side by side back to the house without speaking. Each seemed lost in their private thoughts.

  Emma didn’t know what James was thinking about, perhaps what his mom might fix for dinner or maybe what time the baseball game would be on TV tonight, but she couldn’t help pondering his choice of words: I don’t want any trouble with your aunt on my very first visit.

  That only meant one thing—James Davis planned to stop by again!

  Hidden behind a swamp willow, Emma watched James’ truck pull onto the highway and head south. When his taillights disappeared around the bend, she picked up the rubber muck boots she’d hidden behind Aunt Hannah’s barn and tugged them on over her shoes. Although the boots were quite practical for walking the path between the two Miller brother farms, she had preferred not to be wearing something so unfeminine when she met James Davis again.

  She had begun to think he’d forgotten his promise to stop and see Aunt Hannah’s flock. How she yearned to visit his parents’ three hundred acres! She was sure she and her aunt could learn a lot from him, despite the fact that he was English.

  Weren’t sheep still sheep? Some things didn’t change whether you sheared by hand or with electric clippers. His family had been producing wool longer than Aunt Hannah, and they were familiar with the grazing peculiarities of Ohio pastures.

  More to the point, Emma thought he had forgotten about her. James still attended the county high school and therefore crossed paths with plenty of pretty girls every day. Why would he remember one Amish girl he’d met last fall? Yet he had remembered. He’d left a
note for her with Mrs. Dunn written on the back of a loading receipt:

  Emma, I will stop at your aunt’s farm on my way home from

  Brewster on Tuesday. Hope you can give me the grand tour then.

  James Davis

  He had folded the paper over twice, secured it with a piece of tape, and then printed “Miss Emma Miller” on the outside, using a tiny circle to dot the i in her last name. Emma remembered the circle because she’d reread the note nine times before tucking it inside the pillow slip on her bed.

  “Goodness!” she exclaimed when one of her boots sunk down into soft mud. Her skirt hem quickly soaked up the cold standing water. If she didn’t stop daydreaming she would end up in the bog up to her knees and remain there until her family sent out a search party. Stomping her feet to keep the blood flowing, Emma gazed across the pond where water lotus had sprouted yellow bull’s-eyes and the new reeds and cattails waved gently in the breeze. Ringing the water’s edge, the swamp willows were fully leafed out in yellow-green foliage. Returning thrushes, wrens, and blackbirds had noisily set up homes in treetops. Several pairs of blue herons were already hard at work on their massive nests of sticks. Wood ducks and mallards would arrive any day to lay their eggs on the mossy riverbank.

  Signs of spring were everywhere, but none so indicative as her light and merry heart. James Davis had paid her a social call and wished to be a friend. She didn’t have many friends, especially not young male friends. And none had eyes the same shade of blue as a robin’s egg.