River of Mercy
Authors: BJ Hoff
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
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RIVER OF MERCY
Copyright © 2012 by BJ Hoff
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hoff, B. J.
River of mercy / BJ Hoff.
p. cm.â(The Riverhaven years ; bk. 3)
ISBN 978-0-7369-2420-7 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-4052-8 (eBook)
1. AmishâFiction. I. Title.
PS3558.O34395R58 2012
813'.54âdc22
2012012455
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any otherâexcept for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
CKNOWLEDGMENTS
I'm thankful to so many people who helped bring this book to fulfillment, and especially toâ¦
My husband, Jim, who knows all the important stuff I can never figure out and doesn't make
too
much fun of my helplessness. (He can actually read maps and calculate how long a buggy would have taken to get from point A to point B.) He also puts up with my Irishness and smiles through it all.
My daughters, Dana and Jessie, who pray for me, cheer for me, and put up with me during deadlines and disasters. They also make me smileâa lot.
My grandsons, Noah, Gunnar, and Caleb, who enrich my life and crack me up on a regular basis.
Special friendsâCheryl, the bravest and most resilient woman I know; Sara, a true Steel Magnolia who never ceases to surprise me; Charlotte, who saves me from frumpdom, prays for me, and on occasion, feeds me; Wennie, who storms heaven with a velvet hammer and is known well by the Father; and Edith, who simply does too much for me to list. Bless you all!
My long-suffering editor, Nick Harrison, who wears a mantle of patience and shows the grace of a saint and rolls his eyes only when I'm unaware.
Shane White, indefatigable encourager and optimist supreme.
As always, my agent and friend, Janet Kobobel Grant, who never gives up on me.
Kelli Standish, friend and wizard who teaches me something new at least once a week and holds my hand through the nightmarish maze of cyberspace, Facebook, and The Media.
Harvest Houseâa publisher of the highest integrity that treats its authors like family and friends. Every one of you is such a blessing!
And my readers. I am blessed to have patient and kindhearted readers who continually encourage me with their messages and ongoing prayers. “I thank my God through Jesus Christ for you all.”
Thanks be to my God, who always brings me through in spite of myself.
Prologue: Too Many Long Nights
6. The Man Who Would Be Bishop
24. Day of Blessing, Day of Trouble
41. A Highly Unexpected Turn of Events
PROLOGUE
TOO
M
ANY
L
ONG
N
IGHTS
I feel like one who treads alone
Some banquet hall, deserted.
T
HOMAS
M
OORE
Amish settlement near Riverhaven, Ohio
November 1856
R
achel Brenneman had always liked to walk by the river at twilight.
There had been a time during the People's early years at Riverhaven when she gave no thought to walking alone, day or night. After she and Eli were married, the two of them liked to stroll along the bank of the Ohio in the evening, discussing their day, planning the workweek, dreaming of the future. After Eli's death, however, Rachel no longer went out alone after dark, although sometimes she and her ten-year-old sister, Fannie, took a picnic lunch in the early afternoon and sat watching the fine big boats and smaller vessels that traveled the great Ohio to unknown places.
Now though, venturing away from the community no longer felt safe, even in the middle of the day. In truth, there was nowhere that felt safe, not after the deadly attack on Phoebe Esch and the other troubles recently visited upon the People. At night, especially, Rachel stayed inside, sitting alone in her bedroom with the window scarcely open in deference to the weather, which had recently turned cold.
November was a lonely month. Rachel still loved to listen to the river from inside her home, but the nighttime soundsâthe distant lapping of the water, the blast from a boat's horn, the night creatures in communion with one anotherânever failed to set off a stirring of remembrance and an ache in her heart. Yet she couldn't resist sitting there night after night, watching and listening, trying not to let her memories struggle to the surface of her thoughts, trying not to let new hope ignite the ashes of her dreamsâ¦
