I hope you enjoyed meeting Clyde and Juliet as well as Helen and Mark. Charlotte will remain one of my favorite characters of all time. Thanks for letting me tell you another tale about the Bowman family. Paul’s story will be next. I’m searching for the perfect girl for him right now.
Blessings,
Patricia Davids
This book is dedicated with boundless love to my granddaughter Shantel Widick. You are a smart, beautiful young woman of many talents, a lover of animals, a keen-eyed photographer and the person I most enjoy laughing with on a late-night sleepover. Remember to put down the phone and experience life firsthand. Oh, and never drive the four-wheeler that fast in front of your great-grandfather again. Ever.
Love you always.
MeMa Pat
Contents
Mark Bowman lifted his straw hat off his face and sat up with a disgruntled sigh. Trying to sleep on a bus was hard enough, but the sound of muffled weeping coming from the seat behind him was making it impossible. He turned to look over his shoulder. The culprit was an Amish woman with her face buried in a large white handkerchief. She was alone. Should he say something or ignore her?
Normally he avoided meddling in the affairs of others, but he recalled his uncle’s advice to him before he’d left Bowmans Crossing four days ago. A business owner needed to be a good listener as well as a good salesman. Success wasn’t always about numbers, it was about making people feel you cared about them and their concerns. It was about building friendships. Isaac had asked Mark to make an effort to be more outgoing on this trip.
There was no one Mark respected more than his uncle. Isaac Bowman had achieved everything Mark was working toward. He had a successful furniture-making business and a large happy family. Isaac was well respected in his Amish church and in the community and with good reason. He was always willing to lend a helping hand.
Mark didn’t have to imagine what his uncle would do in this situation. He would ask if he could help. Taking a deep breath, Mark spoke softly to the woman. “Fräulein, are you all right?”
She glanced up and then turned her face to the window. “I’m fine.”
It was dark outside. There was nothing to see except the occasional lights from the farms they passed. She dabbed her eyes and sniffled. She was a lovely woman. Her pale blond hair was tucked neatly beneath a gauzy, heart-shaped white kapp. He didn’t recognize the style and wondered where she was from. “You don’t sound fine.”
“Maybe not yet, but I will be.”
The defiance in her tone took him by surprise and reminded him of his six-year-old sister when she didn’t get her way. Experience had taught him the best way to stop his sister’s tears was to distract her. “I don’t care much for bus rides. Makes me queasy in the stomach. How about you?”
“They don’t bother me.”
“Where are you headed?”
“To visit family.” The woman’s clipped reply said she wasn’t interested in talking about it. He should have let it go at that, but he didn’t.
“Then someone in your family must be ill. Or perhaps you are on your way to a funeral.”
She frowned at him. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s a reasonable assumption. You’d hardly be crying if you were on your way to a wedding.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. With a strangled cry, she scrambled out of her seat and moved to one at the rear of the bus, effectively ending their conversation.
Confused, he stared at her. Somehow he’d made things worse, and he had no idea what he’d said that upset her so. He shook his head in bewilderment. Women could be so unpredictable. Fortunately, the woman he planned to marry was sensible and levelheaded. He couldn’t imagine Angela drawing attention to herself by weeping in public.
He noticed a few of the nearby passengers scowling at him. He shrugged and settled back to finish his nap. He should have gone with his first instinct to mind his own business. His brother Paul claimed most women were emotional creatures who enjoyed drama and making mountains out of molehills. Clearly she was one of those. He was fortunate she had moved to the back of the bus and wouldn’t trouble him again.
* * *