And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.
—Ephesians 4:32
From the time I put the first word on the page for this book, I knew without a doubt who it would be dedicated to. This book is dedicated to my friend and fellow author Amy Lamont, who has shown more strength and courage than anyone I know. You have inspired so many of us with your journey. Many, many blessings to you, my friend.
There are always so many people who are part of the team it takes to make the germ of an idea become a full-blown story. First and foremost, I’d like to thank my agent, Michelle Grajkowski, who puts up with all my angst, and to all of my fellow Love Inspired authors, you have opened up a whole new world of support and friendship beyond what I could have ever imagined. Thank you all so much. To my editor, Melissa Endlich, thank you for making my dream of becoming a Harlequin author come true. To the fabulous team that Harlequin has put together to get our work out there in the world, you all deserve a hearty round of applause. And finally, to my husband, TJ, I couldn’t do any of this without you by my side.
Contents
Note to Readers
Miller’s Crossing, Chautauqua County, New York
“Good morning, Lizzie.”
Her long-time neighbor and friend, Paul Burkholder, greeted Elizabeth Miller, or “Lizzie” as everyone called her, from the other side of the screen door on the front porch. A tall man with mahogany-brown hair and dark brown eyes, his head barely cleared the top of the door. He was holding his flat-brimmed straw hat in one hand and a bag in the other. He wore a blue work shirt and black pants with thin leather suspenders, the ends buttoned inside the waist of his pants, the typical everyday clothing of a Miller’s Crossing Amish man.
His face was clean-shaven, void of the full beard that marked the married men. She’d always thought him to be handsome. At twenty-three he remained single, while most of his friends were getting married, though she’d heard rumors at the last frolic that he wanted to change all of that. Paul might look like many of the other men in their church district, but Lizzie knew this man had a big heart. Maybe sometimes too big of a heart. He’d stuck by her through thick and thin.
Even all the times she’d pushed him away.
Lizzie knew over the past week she’d been pushing at him extra hard. This time of year was always a difficult one for her and her family. Her gaze slid to the hook on the wall next to the door. The place where her bruder’s black hat still hung. She swung her attention back to the man standing on the porch. Concentrating on the present kept Lizzie from thinking about that long-ago day. A day she tried hard to forget. Yes, some of her memories of that day remained foggy, stuck somewhere deep in her mind, like a splinter that she couldn’t get out. Still, the end result could never be changed; no matter what she remembered, her brother, David, would still be gone and she would have this mark seared on her face.
Paul rolled his shoulders, the strong muscles flexing beneath the cotton fabric of his light blue shirt. Lizzie’s hand moved to cover the scar on her face. Beneath her fingertips