Second Chances (2 page)

I
T TAKES A
village to raise a child, and it takes a team to write a book. God has
blessed me with an amazing team. My family and friends help me with brainstorming
ideas, proofreading, and watching me pace the floor as I think out loud. My Charisma
family provides unlimited support to me—this time tolerating several delays due to
medical reasons, a laptop incident involving coffee (that shall never be discussed
again, for I am still in mourning), and multiple rounds of editing.

Thank you to my husband, Marc Schumacher, my parents, Stan and Ellie Nice, my children,
Alex and Cat, my Charisma team, Adrienne and Lori, and my dear cheer-leading team,
Lisa, Michelle, Judy, Iris, Gina, and Marisol.

Yes, God has blessed me in many ways, but this amazing team surrounding me with love
and support is one of His greatest gifts of all.

H
UGS!

S
ARAH
P
RICE

Preface

T
HE IDEA FOR
this book was a long time coming. I started to read quite early in
life, and my taste for books transcended the typical chunky books that preschoolers
are made to read. I confess that my first love was Laura Ingalls Wilder's books,
which I devoured practically on a daily basis. To say I was a bookworm would be
putting it mildly. Children would take bets on whether or not I could finish a book
a day, a challenge I won easily most days.

So my transition to classic literature came at an early age, with my favorites being
Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Emily Brontë, Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy, and (a
personal favorite) Victor Hugo. Christmas was fairly predictable in my house. Just
one leather-bound book always made it the “bestest Christmas ever.”

In writing Amish Christian romances, something that I have been doing for twenty-five
years, I have always tried to explore new angles to the stories. I base most of my
stories on my own experiences, having lived on Amish farms and in Amish homes over
the years. I have come to know these amazingly strong and devout people in a way
that I am constantly pinching myself as to why I have been able
to do so. I must
confess that, on more than one occasion, I have heard the same from them: “We aren't
quite sure what it is, Sarah, but . . . there's something deeply special about you.”

Besides adoring my Amish friends and “family,” I also adore my readers. Many of you
know that I spend countless hours using social media to individually connect with
as many readers as I can. I found some of my “bestest friends” online, and despite
living in Virginia or Hawaii or Nebraska or Australia, they are as dear to me as
the ones that live two miles down the road.

Well, something clicked when I combined my love of literature with my adoration of
my readers and respect of the Amish. It is my hope that by creating this literary
triad, my readers will experience the Amish in a new way. They will experience authentic Amish culture and religion based on my experiences
of having lived among them and my exposure to the masterpieces of literary greats
from years past.

It's amazing to think that a love of God and passion for reading can be combined
in such a manner to touch so many people. I hope that you too are touched, and I
truly welcome your e-mails, letters, and postings.

B
LESSINGS
,

S
ARAH
P
RICE

[email protected]

www.sarahpriceauthor.com

www.facebook.com/fansofsarahprice

Twitter/Pinterest/Instagram:
@SarahPriceAuthr

Prologue

S
HE STOOD AT
the window, her arms wrapped around her chest as if trying to keep
warm even though the autumn weather was perfect. The trees at the backside of her
father's small farm were colorful and bright with yellows, oranges, and reds. As
beautiful as the scenery was, she couldn't enjoy it. Not today.

“Anna?”

She turned around and looked at her younger sister, Mary, but did not respond.

“Why haven't you changed?” Mary asked, her voice sharp and disapproving. She paused
to look in the small mirror hanging on the wall by the staircase. She tucked a strand
of her brown hair under her white prayer
kapp
and retied the long strings hanging
under her chin. “Aren't you going to the youth singing?”

Anna shook her head, hoping that she didn't look as forlorn as she felt. She still
wore her dark blue dress from the worship service, although she had removed her white
apron and cape when they had returned home earlier that afternoon. “
Nee
, Mary,” Anna
replied.

Ignoring the expression on Mary's face, one that clearly displayed her lack of approval
with Anna's decision, she
turned back to the window and stared outside. “Suit yourself,
then,” Mary said, a tone of criticism in her voice, before she headed out the door.
“I'm not about to sit home and let all of the young bachelors pass by
me
!”

Wincing at her sister's words, Anna wished that she could tell Mary how hurtful her
comment truly was. The only problem was that only one person knew the truth about
what Anna was about to do: Lydia Rothberger.
A longtime friend of their now deceased mother, Anne Eicher, Lydia had taken charge
of providing maternal advice and personal counsel to all three Eicher daughters,
even though neither of her two sisters seemed too interested in either advice or
counsel from anyone. Elizabeth was quiet and spent most of her days at home caring
for her father instead of courting young men or socializing, while Mary was quite
self-absorbed and vocal with her opinions.

So, when Anna had a decision to make, one that she thought Lydia would gladly approve,
she had been surprised to learn that she was wrong. According to Lydia and her father
there was only one answer to give Freman Whittmore, and the sooner Anna told him,
the better.

Earlier that day, immediately following the worship service and during the organized
chaos of setting up for the fellowship meal, Anna had managed to find a moment to
speak with Freman in the mudroom. Her heart had felt heavy as she stood on her tiptoes
to whisper in his ear, “I have to speak with you today. Alone.”

The look in his eyes further tore at her heart. She knew what he thought and she
wished he was right. “Shall I fetch you early for the singing?” he asked.

She replied by simply shaking her head.

“Is everything all right, my sweet Anna?”

His term of endearment caught her off guard. Usually he only called her that when
he drove her home from the youth singings, away from any prying ears that might overhear
him. Courtship was a private matter, after all, and while some Amish youths didn't
seem to care if others knew about their relationships, Freman was definitely more
conservative when it came to such matters. It was one of the things that Anna loved
about him.

“I'll see you tonight,” she managed to say before one of the older women came into
the room to retrieve something. With a forced smile, Anna had hurried away, her
eyes downcast and her heart breaking into what felt like a hundred little pieces.

Now she stood at the window, waiting for the sound of his buggy. He always parked
on the street, just beyond her father's mailbox. He had been doing that for weeks,
and thanks to his discretion, no one except Lydia knew that they were courting.

Ten minutes passed before she heard the familiar sound of horse hooves in the distance.
She looked in the direction of the approaching buggy to make certain it wasn't the
neighbors heading for the youth singing. It wasn't.

Grateful that Elizabeth and her father were out visiting so that no one would ask
where she was going, Anna grabbed her black shawl from a hook near the door and hurried
outside to meet up with Freman. She clutched it around her chest as she walked as
fast as she could up the driveway. There was a chill in the air, the wind starting
to pick up as the sun started to descend in the sky. Soon it would be dusk, and once
the sun set, the night temperature would drop even further.

He stood by the side of the buggy, the door already open as he waited for her. Without
a word, he reached for her hand and helped her step into the buggy. When he followed,
it jiggled under his weight, and she steadied herself as she sat on the small seat.

“It's getting cold,” he said and reached behind the seat for a blanket. With great
tenderness, he covered her lap and smiled at her. “Better?”

She nodded.

“Now, tell me,” he said as he depressed the foot brake and gave the reins a slight
slap upon the horse's backside. The buggy lurched forward and headed down the road.
“What has you looking so perplexed, my sweet Anna?”

Words escaped her, and she remained mute at his side.

Slowly, his expression changed. She wondered if he suspected what she was going to
say. If he did, surely he knew how heavy her heart felt.

“Anna?”

Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes, saying a quick prayer to God for the strength
to speak what weighed so heavily on her mind. There was no easy way to tell him,
so she chose to be candid instead of softening her words. “Freman, I cannot marry
you in November.”

She waited for his response.

For a moment, he remained silent.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and blinked rapidly to stop them from falling.
She couldn't imagine his devastation at the news. After so many long buggy rides
home from the youth singings on Sunday evenings, their compatibility more than apparent
to both of them, it had been only natural that they would marry. She
wanted
to marry
him. But when she informed Lydia and asked how
best to tell her
daed
, she quickly
learned that her admiration for Freman was not shared by others. How could she defy
the advice of her mother's best friend or the wishes of her own father?