Read Online Summer of Secrets by Charlotte Hubbard - Free Book Online
Authors: Charlotte Hubbard
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Love Stories, Christian fiction, Religious, Christian, Amish, Amish & Mennonite, Restaurants, Betrothal, Triplets
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afraid all the time, ya got no real faith that God’s takin’ care of things.”
“Ya s’pose he sees Lettie’s takin’ off as ... God workin’ things out?” Rachel asked quietly. “That sort of thing’s not s’posed to happen if a woman really loves her man—and if he really loves her. Ain’t so?”
“Now there’s a question best left to God.” Mamma’s tone suggested they might’ve veered from the Gospel into gossip. “Keep goin’, Rhoda. You’re a fine reader, child. Ya don’t just rush over it, mouthin’ the words, like some folks.”
Rhoda nodded and focused on the dark, dense print again. “‘If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from Him, that he who loveth God love his brother also.’”
She sighed, looking out into the night where the insects sang their summer song. “The Word only mentions menfolk and brothers, but it would work the same for a sister, I’m thinkin’. So ... she who loveth God loves her sister, also?”
“Ya just said a mouthful, honey-girl.”
In the porch chair on the other side of the lamp’s glow, Rachel shifted until her face was lit by the lamp. “Like God decidin’ what we need to hear,” she repeated in a faraway voice.
For just the slightest moment, Rhoda had a vision of Tiffany—their Rebecca—in a kapp. Clean faced and smiling ever so gently.
Chapter 7
Out by the county highway on Sunday afternoon, Miriam waved at the familiar van pulling onto the shoulder. She opened the back door to put her picnic hamper on the floor, and then hoisted herself into the front passenger seat. “ Gut afternoon, Sheila! And how are ya this fine day?”
“Doing well, thanks.” The stocky woman behind the wheel smiled and adjusted her sunglasses. She wore brown slacks and a beige short-sleeved sweater, simple yet becoming for a woman her age. “I found that obituary we talked about, and I confess to being very curious about where we’re headed today. That is, if you care to share!”
Miriam fastened her seat belt, wondering how much to reveal. Over the years this kind, careful woman had traveled many miles with her—over the roads, as well as into the uncharted territory known as widowhood—and she trusted Sheila Dougherty nearly as much as she did Naomi. “Well, I might be askin’ ya to go inside with me, to keep me from losin’ my nerve. So ... you found out where Tiffany lives?”
Sheila nodded as she looked right and left before making a U-turn onto the road. “The funeral notice was for a Janet Oliveri, and her husband Bob—and Tiffany—are listed as survivors. Had to check the phone directory for an address, but it’s just up the road in Morning Star, as you told me on the phone.”
“ Jah , that matches what she told us, even if we don’t understand it.” Miriam took a deep breath and released it to quiet her jangling nerves. Was she really on her way to meet the man who’d raised her Rebecca? And maybe to see her daughter again? She felt all twitchy and had to make herself sit still.
“The family suggested donations and memorials be made to the hospice in New Haven, or to the American Cancer Society,” her driver went on in a somber voice. “So I’m guessing this Janet might’ve had a nasty time of it, like my Rick did.”
“Sorry to hear that, but it helps us understand the situation. Poor Tiffany. Awful hard to watch that happenin’ to someone ya love.” Miriam shifted in her seat belt, feeling the waves of curiosity Sheila was too polite to express. They rode in silence for a couple of minutes, past the familiar places of folks she knew ... Henry Zook’s market, closed on this Lord’s day ... Holsteins grazing at the Hostetler dairy farm ... the turnoff that led to the Brenneman shop. “Seems we all take our turns at dealin’ with tragedy, ain’t so? But—well, I had
“Ya s’pose he sees Lettie’s takin’ off as ... God workin’ things out?” Rachel asked quietly. “That sort of thing’s not s’posed to happen if a woman really loves her man—and if he really loves her. Ain’t so?”
“Now there’s a question best left to God.” Mamma’s tone suggested they might’ve veered from the Gospel into gossip. “Keep goin’, Rhoda. You’re a fine reader, child. Ya don’t just rush over it, mouthin’ the words, like some folks.”
Rhoda nodded and focused on the dark, dense print again. “‘If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from Him, that he who loveth God love his brother also.’”
She sighed, looking out into the night where the insects sang their summer song. “The Word only mentions menfolk and brothers, but it would work the same for a sister, I’m thinkin’. So ... she who loveth God loves her sister, also?”
“Ya just said a mouthful, honey-girl.”
In the porch chair on the other side of the lamp’s glow, Rachel shifted until her face was lit by the lamp. “Like God decidin’ what we need to hear,” she repeated in a faraway voice.
For just the slightest moment, Rhoda had a vision of Tiffany—their Rebecca—in a kapp. Clean faced and smiling ever so gently.
Chapter 7
Out by the county highway on Sunday afternoon, Miriam waved at the familiar van pulling onto the shoulder. She opened the back door to put her picnic hamper on the floor, and then hoisted herself into the front passenger seat. “ Gut afternoon, Sheila! And how are ya this fine day?”
“Doing well, thanks.” The stocky woman behind the wheel smiled and adjusted her sunglasses. She wore brown slacks and a beige short-sleeved sweater, simple yet becoming for a woman her age. “I found that obituary we talked about, and I confess to being very curious about where we’re headed today. That is, if you care to share!”
Miriam fastened her seat belt, wondering how much to reveal. Over the years this kind, careful woman had traveled many miles with her—over the roads, as well as into the uncharted territory known as widowhood—and she trusted Sheila Dougherty nearly as much as she did Naomi. “Well, I might be askin’ ya to go inside with me, to keep me from losin’ my nerve. So ... you found out where Tiffany lives?”
Sheila nodded as she looked right and left before making a U-turn onto the road. “The funeral notice was for a Janet Oliveri, and her husband Bob—and Tiffany—are listed as survivors. Had to check the phone directory for an address, but it’s just up the road in Morning Star, as you told me on the phone.”
“ Jah , that matches what she told us, even if we don’t understand it.” Miriam took a deep breath and released it to quiet her jangling nerves. Was she really on her way to meet the man who’d raised her Rebecca? And maybe to see her daughter again? She felt all twitchy and had to make herself sit still.
“The family suggested donations and memorials be made to the hospice in New Haven, or to the American Cancer Society,” her driver went on in a somber voice. “So I’m guessing this Janet might’ve had a nasty time of it, like my Rick did.”
“Sorry to hear that, but it helps us understand the situation. Poor Tiffany. Awful hard to watch that happenin’ to someone ya love.” Miriam shifted in her seat belt, feeling the waves of curiosity Sheila was too polite to express. They rode in silence for a couple of minutes, past the familiar places of folks she knew ... Henry Zook’s market, closed on this Lord’s day ... Holsteins grazing at the Hostetler dairy farm ... the turnoff that led to the Brenneman shop. “Seems we all take our turns at dealin’ with tragedy, ain’t so? But—well, I had
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