Jenny's Choice (Apple Creek Dreams #3) (29 page)

A
ND SO,
J
ENNY AND
R
ACHEL
returned to Paradise. The sale of her parents’ farm in Apple Creek had taken some emotional toll, but Jenny knew it was for the best. There would be no looking back.

The day they arrived, the old farmhouse almost seemed to welcome them back. Rachel ran straight to her room and jumped onto her bed.

“I’m home, room!” she cried.

Jenny went into her room and closed the door. She looked around, and then she knelt down by the bed.

“I’ve come home, Jonathan. I’m home to stay. I will thank God every day that He gave us this place to make it into a home. Everything I shared with you is here. Rachel was born here, and we had true love here, so this is where I’ll stay, content, until the glorious day I see you again.”

Then she got up and went about the business of coming home.

That first winter back in Paradise passed quickly, and then it was spring, and the daffodils were in bloom. Jenny stood on the porch one morning beating a carpet when she saw an old Ford pickup coming
up the drive. A familiar face smiled at her through the open window. Bobby Halverson had retired as sheriff of Wayne County and had come to visit as he promised. They sat up late the next few nights talking things over, and in the end, Bobby agreed to come and live with them. Lem fixed up the old bungalow that sat on the rise just beyond the barn. Bobby brought his things, and then he was there and that was that. At first the local Amish wondered at an
Englischer
living on an Amish farm, but when
Bisschop
Troyer came to visit and told of the love the Ohio Amish had for the man, they accepted Bobby unequivocally.

Jenny made the spare bedroom upstairs into an office and set up her desk there. Lem and Bobby took out the old tall window with the sliding sash and put in a wide picture window so Jenny could look out onto the rolling fields of her place while she wrote. And write she did!

The wellspring of inspiration that had dried up in Apple Creek began to flow again—first a trickle, then a stream, and then a torrent. She wrote poems, short stories, and articles. She delighted in the Amish life, and her articles were full of insight and humor about the highs and lows, the perfections and foibles of her faith. She wrote often about Apple Creek, about her mama and papa, keeping their memory alive with wonderful stories about growing up among the Ohio Amish. The stories made her think about the book—it lay in its place at the bottom of the cedar chest—but she never got it out. As far as she was concerned, that was a closed chapter.

At a certain point Bobby read one of her Apple Creek stories and encouraged her to submit it to the local newspaper. The editor loved it, and soon Jenny was writing a weekly column. After a year, the local paper was purchased by a bigger publication in Lancaster, and Jenny’s column went with it. Soon she was getting a flood of mail, asking her questions about the Amish, their ways and culture and faith. She printed her answers in her column, and readers began calling her “Dear Jenny.”

Five years passed, years of peace and calm and productivity. Rachel grew from a sprout to a precocious teenager, and Bobby and Jenny aged gracefully. And then one day Jenny had a visitor. And with the visitor came change and turmoil and the hand of the Lord moving in her life again. The visitor was Jeremy King.

Jenny was out in the back garden pulling up some onions and spreading them on the ground to dry. It was late August, and the afternoons in Paradise were heavy and languid. The last days of summer heat did their best to keep the impending fall at bay, but instead they made the fields heavy with the coming harvest, and the fall came anyway. Jenny’s garden was overflowing with beans, carrots, and turnips—all the staples that she would put up for the winter. As she bent over the row of onions, she head a voice call her name.

“Jenny, Jenny Hershberger!”

“I’m out back…come around the house.”

Jenny stood with her hands on her hips, the rebellious curls still doing their best to escape from the bun under her
kappe.
Jeremy King walked around the corner and stopped. If anything, the years had made Jenny even more beautiful, and there was life in her eyes and joy in her greeting.

“Jeremy! What a surprise—and a delight. How are you, my friend?”

Jenny put out her hand, and Jeremy took it.

“You’re as pretty as a picture, Jenny. And you look happy. It does my heart good to see you in such fine spirits.”

Jenny laughed. “I was a wreck when I was staying with my folks in Apple Creek, wasn’t I? You must have thought me a basket case.”

Jeremy laughed too. “Maybe. But the most delightful basket case I’ve ever met.”

“So, what brings you to Paradise?” Jenny asked.

“I want to chat with you about an idea.”

“Come inside. I’ll make some coffee and we’ll chat.”

They went in the back door, and Jeremy looked around. “Where’s Rachel?”

“Rachel’s fourteen and in her last year of
schule
. But she’s an excellent student, and she wants to know why she can’t keep going. I’m going to have to wrestle with her and some other people over this, I’m afraid.”

“Times are changing, Jenny. The old ways are disappearing.”

“That’s the problem, Jeremy. If the old ways disappear for the Amish, there will be no Amish.”

“Still convinced that the Amish way is the best way, Jenny?”

“It’s who I am, Jeremy. Without my faith and my culture, who would I be then?”

“I left, Jenny, and I’m still who I am.”

“To each his own, Jeremy. It’s not something I can explain. Now, what did you come about?”

Jeremy laughed. “Why don’t you just get out a hammer and hit me between the eyes with it, Jenny Hershberger? I guess I better get to the point before you do. You’re still the most direct person I’ve ever met.”

Jenny put the coffee on, and they sat down.

“I’ve been reading your column in the local paper in Lancaster. It’s wonderful, you know. You’re funny, wise, insightful, and sometimes even prophetic. And your readership is growing every day. The paper must be happy to have you.”

“It is going well with the column and the articles, Jeremy. Years ago you said that the interest in all things Amish was the coming trend. Well, it’s happening just like you said. And it’s not just from people who live around here. I get letters from all over the country. People send someone one of my articles, and then I get a letter from California
or Montana, and so on. The newspaper is thinking about syndicating the column, and then I don’t know how I’ll handle all the mail.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. How would you like to do a book based on your articles? In fact it could be just that—your articles with questions and answers and an index with information on how to find out more about the Amish. I’m sure it would be extremely popular, and it would just be a setup for more books. What do you say, Jenny?”

Jenny thought about it for a moment. “You know, Jeremy, I think that would be a good idea. I’ve always wanted my writing to glorify God and help people to understand the Amish more. How would we do it?”

“We’ll have to get permission from the paper to reprint the articles. I might have to pay them a small royalty or a flat fee, but I know the publisher, and we can work that part out. Besides, a book will just increase their circulation. All I need is to write up a contract and have you go over it, and if it’s fair, you can sign it and I’ll do the rest.”

“That sounds fine, Jeremy. I’ll wait for your contract. Now, how about some coffee?”

Jenny talked it over with Bobby and Rachel that night at dinner. Bobby listened while she laid out the proposal and then nodded in agreement.

“Do you think by putting my articles in a book I’ll be going beyond the limits of what the
Ordnung
says, Uncle Bobby?”

“Jenny, you’ve already been writing articles for the paper for three years. You either write them by hand or on your old manual typewriter. You’re not making personal appearance tours; you’re just helping people to better understand the Amish. I know that I sure do after I read your articles. Funny how you can live among a people for years and never really know what makes them tick.”

Rachel was a little more reticent. “Are you sure you want to get into something that is going to bring you a lot of attention from the world, Mama?”

“As always, my darling girl, your questions go straight to the heart of the matter. I prayed about it this afternoon, and I have no check in my spirit. For some reason, I believe the Lord is going to use this to do something wonderful.”

Later that week, the contract from Jeremy came. Lem sent Jenny to a local attorney who advised the Amish on legal matters. The attorney read through the contract and gave his approval.

“It’s a standard publishing contract. In fact, it’s very generously weighted in your favor. The fellow who wrote it up must like you.”

Jenny thought about that.

I wonder if Jeremy is still carrying a torch for me. I hope not. I certainly don’t want to stir all that up again.

The book came out in the spring of 1986. Within a few months it was wending its way up some regional best seller lists. The manager of the Christian bookstore in Lancaster displayed it and reported steady sales. The Amish and their separated lifestyle definitely piqued the interest of readers. Jenny started getting more letters from people here and there around the country who wanted to know about the Amish, and she was in awe at the positive response to her book.

Then one night, when things seemed to be going well with the book, there was a knock on Jenny’s door. When she opened it, there were three elders from the local congregation on her doorstep. Jenny could not read the expressions on their faces, but a little warning leapt up in her heart.

The lead elder spoke up. “Jenny, we need to talk to you about your writing. It seems to be stirring up some amount of…interest among
the members of the local district, and we wanted to discuss the matter with you.”

Jenny nodded and invited them in. The three men filed past her into the house. Jenny had a sense of déjà vu—she had been through this before. And she didn’t feel very good about the prospect of going through it again.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY

Songs from the Heart

R
ICHARD
S
ANDBRIDGE HEARD THE BUZZER
on his intercom, but he didn’t answer it. Instead he continued to strum his guitar. The song idea had been eluding him for days, and he was determined to capture it this time around. The intercom buzzed again. With a sigh, Richard put down his guitar and pressed the intercom button.

“Yes, Deborah, what is it?”

“Sam Westerbrook from Cross & Crowne is on the phone. He wants to talk to you about getting in the studio again. Says his guys are ready for another big hit.”

“Okay, Deb, I’ll take it. Thanks.”

Richard switched to line one. “Richard Sandbridge.”

“Yeah, Richard, this is Sam Westerbrook. How are you?”

“If I was any more blessed, I’d be twins,” Richard said.

“What?”

“Don’t worry, Sam. It’s a joke.”

“Uh…okay, whatever. Say, Richard, do you have any new songs for us? The guys are pretty tired of playing “Crown of Thorns” for the thousandth time. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a wonderful song and the
kids really dig it, but I’d like to have something new and fresh out there. Got anything for us?”