Starting from Scratch Read online

  Endorsements

  Praise for Starting from Scratch

  “In Starting from Scratch, Kate Lloyd creates a delightful cast of characters with flaws to which we can all relate. This is a story rich with details from the Lancaster County Amish countryside. You’ll want to keep turning the pages through the twists and turns to discover if Eva makes the right choices in love and faith.”

  Kelly Irvin, author of the Amish of Bee County series

  “From the whirlwind beginning to the delightfully unexpected ending, Starting from Scratch is an adventurous tale of life as you rarely see it.”

  Naomi Miller, author of the Amish Sweet Shop Mystery series

  “Love, forgiveness, and a reminder of the devastating power of words—Starting from Scratch will tug at your heartstrings, tickle your funny bone, and leave you breathless for more.”

  Amy Lillard, author of the Wells Landing Series

  “You will enjoy every minute you spend with Starting from Scratch, and you will come away at the end with new life in your heart. That’s simply the way it is with Kate Lloyd’s novels. They’re hours and days of reading wonder.”

  Murray Pura, author of An Amish Family Christmas

  What Others Are Saying About A Letter from Lancaster County

  “A Letter from Lancaster County is a touching story that explores the way relationships intertwine and the varying ways people interpret the same truths. This book drew me in from the beginning, kept me guessing, and touched my heart—everything I want in a book. Highly recommended.”

  Beth Wiseman, bestselling author of the Daughters of the Promise series

  “Two sisters, one man, and a Mennonite farm are at the heart of Kate Lloyd’s new novel about family ties. When Angela and Rose, sisters who are opposite in every way, return to their mother’s childhood home, they come to grips with issues long neglected…and emerge from the visit transformed. Lloyd’s fine storytelling in A Letter from Lancaster County will captivate and delight fans.”

  Suzanne Woods Fisher, bestselling author of The Quieting

  “Kate Lloyd’s A Letter from Lancaster County is a wonderful read. I was wrapped up in Angela and Rose’s story from the first page and couldn’t read it fast enough. Kate has a way of writing that feels fresh and new. It was descriptive, meaningful, at times humorous, and always gripping. Anyone who picks up a novel by Kate Lloyd is in for a treat.”

  Shelley Shephard Gray, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

  “From the first page, I was drawn into this lovely story and felt as if I were walking with the characters through the plain and simple community in Lancaster County. This book will touch your heart.”

  Vannetta Chapman, author of Anna’s Healing

  “Fans of Kate Lloyd will adore this new women’s fiction set in Amish country. Dynamic protagonists and an increasingly tense narrative set the scene for a heart-wrenching and engaging story.”

  Laura V. Hilton, author of The Amish Wanderer

  “Kate Lloyd’s newest novel offers an insightful look into the lives and loves of two very different sisters. While dealing sensitively with the very real issues of temptation, brokenness, and unforgiveness, Lloyd manages to avoid pat answers while still offering the hope of redemption. A Letter from Lancaster County is a thoroughly engaging read.”

  Ann Tatlock, award-winning author of Once Beyond a Time

  “In A Letter from Lancaster County, Kate Lloyd tells a thoughtful and compelling story of two sisters and their life-changing journey. Kate’s sense of setting (lovely!) and her depiction of realistic characters quickly draws readers into the drama. As the story unfolds, themes of reconciliation and redemption are explored in a heartfelt and gracious manner.”

  Leslie Gould, bestselling and Christy Award–winning author

  “Beautifully written, A Letter From Lancaster County is a truly mesmerizing tale.”

  Patrick Craig, author of the Apple Creek Dreams series

  Books by Kate Lloyd

  LANCASTER DISCOVERIES

  A Letter from Lancaster County

  Starting from Scratch

  HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  EUGENE, OREGON

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Cover by Garborg Design Works

  Cover images © Phonlamaiphoto, Milkos, Yastremska / Bigstock

  The author is represented by MacGregor Literary, Inc.

  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, is entirely coincidental.

  STARTING FROM SCRATCH

  Copyright © 2018 by Kate Lloyd

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97408

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  ISBN 978-0-7369-7023-5 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-0-7369-7024-2 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Date

  Names: Lloyd, Kate (Novelist)

  Title: Starting from scratch / Kate Lloyd.

  Description: Eugene, Oregon: Harvest House Publishers, [2018]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017035965 (print) | LCCN 2017040450 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736970242 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736970235 (paperback)

  Subjects: LCSH: Amish—Fiction. | Lancaster County (Pa.)—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Christian / Romance. | GSAFD: Christian fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3612.L58 (ebook) | LCC PS3612.L58 S73 2018 (print) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC recond available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017035965

  All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.

  Dedication

  To my cousin

  Alex McBrien

  Contents

  Endorsements

  Books by Kate Lloyd

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty
<
br />   Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Ready to Discover More?

  About the Publisher

  ONE

  Mamm peered out my bedroom window as buggy wheels crunched to a halt in the barnyard.

  “Ach, Evie.” She spoke over her shoulder. “Reuben and Marta are here. Two days early.”

  I wasn’t packed yet, but I plastered on a smile and said, “Wunderbaar,” as if my whole world weren’t being turned upside down.

  I flew to the window to see my brother’s boisterous family of five gathering boxes from their buggy and making their way up the porch steps to the back door.

  Minutes later, Marta, my tall and angular sister-in-law, marched into my bedroom and gave me a one-armed embrace. “Almost finished packing?”

  “Uh, not yet. We thought you were coming the day after tomorrow.”

  Marta straightened my prayer kapp and tied the strings under my chin as if I were one of her daughters. “Well, now I can help ya, but you should have already started.” Marta’s gaze landed on my unmade bed. “Where’s your suitcase?” She shouted to her twin daughters. “Kumm rei, Nancy and Mary Lou. Help your aendi move out.”

  “I’m the one who needs help,” Mamm said, I figured for my benefit. “Want to see the daadi haus, girls?” She called to them as she started down the stairs to the kitchen. My prudent mother had already thoroughly cleaned and moved my father’s and her clothing into the small house attached to a corner of the larger home. My grandparents had resided there before their deaths.

  “Ach, we packed our belongings yesterday and rose at dawn to get here.” Marta let out a weary yawn. “Our landlord was badgering us to leave or he’d charge us another month’s rent. And your bruder was determined we get here today. He’s so excited. But we should have called you first.”

  My brother Reuben now owned the property and would run the farm so Dat could retire.

  “Not a problem,” I said. “It’s fine.”

  “You do want my help packing, don’t ya?” Marta asked. “Our dochders are dying to sleep in here tonight.”

  “They could sleep with me.” I straightened my sheets, blanket, and the Lone Star quilt my grandmother made for me when I was a girl. “We can have a slumber party.”

  “Nee, they need to turn in early. We all stayed up too late last night.” Her eyes squinted above her beaky nose. “I regret having to say this, but if you’d found yourself a gut husband, we wouldn’t be in this awkward predicament.”

  Her words harpooned into my chest. “You may be right.” I recalled the sermon one of our ministers expounded in church last Sunday: Turn the other cheek. “Okay, I’ll get ready right now. I’m sure Dat won’t mind taking me today instead.”

  “I hope you know I’m speaking the truth in love, Evie.” She gave me a quick, unexpected one-armed hug. “You may have made mistakes, but I never bought into those rumors.”

  Ach. I didn’t want to rehash them. “Denki.”

  Marta called down the stairway. “Reuben, will you please bring up an empty suitcase for your schweschder?” Then she sashayed over to my solid-colored dresses and black aprons hanging on hooks on the wall. Her long arms scooped up the clothes as if they were sheaves of harvested wheat. Before I could open my mouth to ask her to stop, she tossed them on the bed atop the quilt. I hoped my new bed would be big enough to accommodate it. Well, of course it would. Yet I’d neglected to inquire how my future abode was furnished. I should have asked a myriad of questions before accepting the job working in the nursery. But my favorite cousin, Olivia, insisted I pounce on the job before someone else did. For some reason, she’d recently given up her position managing the café there, but she insisted the nursery was a good place to work.

  As I gathered my toiletries, my mind spun like a windmill during a tempest. I’d planned to drive Dat’s buggy to the nursery today to meet the owner and survey my new home, described as a cute cottage by Olivia. Sometimes she embellished her descriptions, but I’d be happy with a storage shed now that Marta was here.

  Olivia told me the place had been recently vacated by an aged housekeeper who’d lived there until she moved to Indiana to reside with a niece. The dwelling was strictly Amish, meaning no electrical wires or telephone. Propane lights illuminated the interior, and a small refrigerator and gas stove provided cooking options. But I’d forgotten to ask if it had an indoor bathroom or an outhouse.

  Reuben lumbered up the stairs and opened a suitcase on my bed. Marta gave him a look of appreciation—an outward show of affection was verboten in our Amish community. I figured she rarely showed him affection even in private. Yet they had three children, so who was I to look down on her? She and my brother shared a harmonious marriage, while I seemed doomed to be single the rest of my life.

  A few minutes later I sat on the suitcase’s lid while Marta fastened the metal latches with gusto. I’d known this day would come, so why was I discombobulated? For one thing, I’d hoped to leave with dignity and leisure, not feel as though I was being booted out of the house like a stray cat.

  “There. Now you’re all packed.” Marta grabbed hold of the handle and lugged the suitcase down the stairs. Following her into the kitchen, I scanned the only home I’d ever known. I recalled an abundance of fond memories, sitting at the kitchen table with my parents and brother, helping Mamm wash the dishes after meals. I hadn’t wanted to live here forever, but I felt the weight of defeat. I’d expected to be married by now, with children of my own.

  “Darling dochder, you don’t have to leave us.” Dat stepped toward me from the utility room. “We have that spare bedroom used for sewing.” My father and I had always shared a special bond.

  I wouldn’t mention how difficult living with my sister-in-law would be, particularly if she kept reminding me of my past. Yet I had no right to complain after the embarrassment I’d caused the family by pining away for Jake Miller for seven years. Not to mention the troubling rumors about me. Even though I was innocent, at times I’d been tempted to confess guilt before our whole congregation just to put an end to the whispers.

  “I’d better follow through as planned, Dat. I don’t want to be labeled a quitter before I even start.” Besides not wanting to live with Marta, I couldn’t imagine myself in the cramped room that housed a treadle sewing machine and piles and piles of fabric. I’d amassed most of it while working at the fabric store in Intercourse. “You know it’s full of material. Though that’s my own fault for not resisting sales, plus my employee discount at Zook’s. I’d assumed someday I’d need all that fabric to sew clothes for my own family.”

  He stared at the oval rag rug on the floor at his feet. “Did ya have to quit that job for some reason? Your boss was Englisch, but he’s a fine man.”

  “I loved that job, but only women shop in there. I’m hoping to meet someone. Someday.”

  Dat winked. “Yah, I suppose not many single men come in for quilting fabric. But you could go to singings.”

  “At age twenty-nine, I’d be the oldest woman there.” And not yet baptized.

  “If only you hadn’t gotten mixed up with that miscreant Jake Miller.”

  My jaw clenched at the sound of his name. “Dat, that’s ancient history. And he didn’t do it.”

  “How do you know for sure? Were you there?” He wagged his callused finger. “Few acts are worse than arson. A terrible thing, burning down a farmer’s barn, even if it was ramshackle.”

  “But I’m sure Jake is innocent.”

  “Because he told you so? If he’s so upstanding, where is he? His parents need him. He’s
their only son now.”

  “I’m not exactly sure where he is.” That wasn’t entirely true. I knew he went to New York State when he left Lancaster County.

  “Maybe that’s for the best.”

  “Yah.” I might go looking for him if I knew where he was. A scandalous mistake.

  Half an hour later, while Dat hitched up our mare, Mamm left the daadi haus and moved to my side. She took my hand.

  “I notice you’re not bringing your hope chest, Evie. Does this mean you’ve given up on finding a husband?”

  “Mamm—” I couldn’t bear to have this conversation yet again.

  She must have sensed my discomfort. “No matter. We’ll keep it here.”

  With Mamm on my heels, I dragged my bulky suitcase off the porch and down the back steps. Dat had already loaded the buggy with several cardboard boxes filled with items I might need: a pot, a pan, mismatched plates and flatware, and a coffee mug I’d picked up at rummage sales. He also put my boots into the buggy. He lifted my suitcase and wedged it in. I felt rushed, sure I was leaving something important behind.

  Mamm placed a wicker basket of food items on the front seat. I noticed a tear at the corner of her eye and guessed her sadness stemmed from the fact that she’d missed the opportunity to see me wed. She’d dreamed of hosting a huge wedding in our home, as was customary. Her guest list and menu had been planned for years, as well as her intention to plant copious amounts of celery. I’d let her and the whole family down.

  “Wait!” Marta charged down the porch steps, carrying my quilt. “You forgot this.” She shoved it in the back and shut the door. “Goodbye.”

  Without further farewells or well wishes, Marta flew to her family’s buggy to gather more of their possessions and trotted an armful inside.

  Minutes later, Dat steered the buggy out of the barnyard. The mare transported us past familiar farms, outbuildings, and fields soon to be dotted with the chartreuse of corn bursting through the spring soil. I spotted an Amish woman collecting her dry laundry, the rainbow of garments sorted by size and colors. Her youngsters danced around her playing keep-away with clothespins. The woman looked about my age. I felt like an over-the-hill has-been.