The River (24 page)

K
ris’s kitchen chair scraped back against the floor when Ruthie and I walked into the kitchen that first evening home. The twins came running from the family room—oh, did they ever! So much love, and I was wrapped in it times three as my husband and Jenya and Tavani squeezed me into their happy circle.
“
Mommy
’
s
home
!”
There’d even been a few hugs to spare for Ruthie, as well.

Weeks later, close to Thanksgiving, when things had settled down for Ruthie, she confided in me that her young man from church wanted to court her—the English way, of course. I was delighted to see the quiet joy in my sister’s eyes, to know she was valued by someone who truly seemed to know the path God had set before him. Ruthie feels sure a marriage proposal is in her near future, and this time, she’ll have no hesitations!

Since our trip, letters have been coming from both Mamm and Melvin, and one from Josie, too—she’s expecting another baby, come next summer. It’s really wonderful, knowing the love of family continues to blossom there in our first home.

While at Ruthie’s recently, a letter arrived from Daed addressed to her—unheard of. As we sat, rather shocked, in
her comfortable living room with its contemporary trappings, I told my sister I doubted he’d ever written a letter in his life.

“My dear Ruthie
,”
it began. And then, quite unexpectedly, she handed the letter to me to read.

“Are you sure?” I glanced at the scrawled handwriting. She said she was, and I saw why—her eyes were already filling with tears. “Aw, sister . . .”

“I’m nervous—no telling what he’s written.”

Words
can hurt.
I knew this.

She motioned for me to read it silently. “Please, Tilly,” she pleaded, and I knew then she must be worried it related somehow to Will Kauffman.

I’m feeling some better, and I wanted you
and Tilly to know. I’ve even started a wood
working project—making rocking horses for our
Kinner
—starting with
Sammy and Johanna next door. How about that?

Something else, I’ve agreed to have pacemaker surgery in a few weeks, and I’m asking for your prayers. Jah, I’m uneasy, even though the doctor says it’s routine and he’s done hundreds of these implants.

Your brother Melvin paid me a visit here lately. I was mighty surprised to hear that Deacon Kauffman’s grandson is planning to move out to Ohio—Mount Hope, to be exact. I’m glad he’ll be on his way. You were a wise young woman to cut things off right quick, Ruthie—both times. I’m proud of you for having such good sense.

By the way, Josie’s holding her breath for another reunion, this one at Christmas. Will you and Tilly think about coming? And if ya do, bring Tilly’s Kris and my grand-twins with the interesting names. It would do this old heart mighty good.

Well, it’s been a long time coming, but I honestly believe you and Tilly are better off living out there amongst the Englischers—together, like sisters should be.

I hope you’ll write back. Either way, you’ll be hearing from me. I need to practice my penmanship, for one thing!

Oh, and give my first daughter a greeting, will ya? Tilly’s one very special young woman, for sure.

Your Daed,
Lester Lantz

“What is it?” Ruthie asked, seeing me brush back tears.

“Who would have thought he could write like this?” I handed the letter to her. “There’s nothing to fret about, and every reason to smile.”

“Truly?”

“Read it and rejoice.” I got up and walked to her kitchen, where the teapot was simmering, and I went to stand below the beautiful wall hanging Ruthie had made years before. I stared at it and thought of Daed—yes, my father. So very grateful for Ruthie’s urging us home.

Tilly’s one very
special young woman,
Daed had written. Something I’d never expected to hear from his lips, nor see in print.

“Thank you, Lord,” I whispered. “Thanks for the trials that make me stronger.”

On Thanksgiving Day afternoon, once Kris’s parents said their loving good-byes, Kris, the girls, and I began making plans to go to Lancaster County for Christmas.

“Can we milk the cows?” Tavani asked, big-eyed.

“
I
don’t want to do that . . . I want to swing on the rope in the hayloft!” Jenya declared.

Kris chuckled at his girls’ cheer. “Since we’re naming off our wishes, I’ll admit that I’m looking forward to having my first taste of mincemeat pie.” He was grinning.

“You don’t have to leave home for that, hon,” I said, promising to make the delicious dessert soon.

Tavani babbled about learning to talk Pennsylvania Dutch “chust maybe.” The twins giggled and decided which stuffed animals to take along.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, studying Kris.

“Isn’t it about time we blended with your Plain family?” He winked. “But I might need a pair of suspenders before we go—and I could sprout a beard, too. I’d like to fit in.”

I tossed the dish towel at him . . . then, laughing, found my way into his loving embrace.

T
he Conestoga River captured my attention one October afternoon two years ago—it seemed to call to my heart. I was preparing for the final shoot of the long day, the last segment of my documentary, “Glimpses of Lancaster County with Beverly Lewis” (available via my website, www.beverlylewis.com, or on YouTube). We were set up right near the historic Hunsecker’s Mill Bridge, and I had walked down the grassy slope to review what I’d planned to say, inching my way toward the wide river. There, as I stared at the rushing water, Tilly’s story presented itself to me, as did little Anna’s drowning. In that moment, I knew I had to write
The
River
, with all of its heartrending yet redemptive threads.

I will long remember the surge of emotions, the power of the story. And the way the river seemed to demand top billing in my lineup of Eden Valley characters.

There were many wonderful people who assisted me during the development of this novel, including my own dear father, who, as he always did, prayed daily for its themes to touch readers’ hearts. Then, in the wee hours of January 9, 2014, he slipped peacefully away to join the Church Triumphant.
Even though it may not be theologically correct, I like to think of Dad, my great encourager, looking over my shoulder as I wrote
The River
.

I also wish to offer my enduring gratitude to David Horton and Rochelle Glöege, for their expert editorial work and friendship; Dave Lewis, for reading the first manuscript, for making dinner when I was on deadline, and for fully understanding the challenging life of a writer; Martha Nelson, for listening to the story lines with cheerful support; Barbara Birch and Julie Garcia, for early chapter readings; Jenya and Tavani, for lending their beautiful names; Roswell and Sandra Flower, Alice Henderson, Donna DeFor, Jim and Ann Parrish, Dave and Janet Buchwalter, Aleta Hirschberg, Iris Jones, Judy Verhage; Dale, Barbara, and Elizabeth Birch, and many other prayer partners, including Facebook friends, for answering the call of intercession; Hank and Ruth Hershberger, for accurate translation and spelling of
Deitsch
; Barbara Birch, for final proofreading; Don Kraybill, for his proficient exploration into Old Order Amish culture; and last but never least, my anonymous Amish and Mennonite research assistants, for their joyful willingness to be “on call.”

And finally, a couple of notes in closing: Abner Mast’s jovial personality is modeled after my own cheerful uncle Fred Jones, though the beard is all Abner’s! Lastly, the Strasburg Creamery was not in existence in the early 1970s, when Ruth was being courted by Will Kauffman; however, because I am so very fond of this quaint little country store, I’ve chosen to take a slight liberty for this story and include it.

Soli Deo Gloria!

Beverly Lewis
, born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, is the
New York Times
bestselling author of more than ninety books. Her stories have been published in eleven languages worldwide. A keen interest in her mother’s Plain heritage has inspired Beverly to write many Amish-related novels, beginning with
The Shunning
, which has sold more than one million copies and was made into an Original Hallmark Channel movie. In 2007
The Brethren
was honored with a Christy Award.

Beverly has been interviewed by both national and international media, including
Time
magazine, the Associated Press, and the BBC. She lives with her husband, David, in Colorado.

Visit her website at
www.beverlylewis.com
or
www.facebook.com/officialbeverlylewis
for more information.

The River

H
OME
TO
H
ICKORY
H
OLLOW

The Fiddler

The Bridesmaid

The Guardian

The Secret Keeper

The Last Bride

T
HE
R
OSE
T
RILOGY

The Thorn • The Judgment • The Mercy

A
BRAM
’
S
D
AUGHTERS

The Covenant • The Betrayal • The Sacrifice

The Prodigal • The Revelation

T
HE
H
ERITAGE
OF
L
ANCASTER
C
OUNTY

The Shunning • The Confession • The Reckoning

A
NNIE
’
S
P
EOPLE

The Preacher’s Daughter • The Englisher • The Brethren

T
HE
C
OURTSHIP
OF
N
ELLIE
F
ISHER

The Parting • The Forbidden • The Longing

S
EASONS
OF
G
RACE

The Secret • The Missing • The Telling

The Postcard • The Crossroad

The Redemption of Sarah Cain

October Song • Sanctuary
(with David
Lewis)
 • The Sunroom

Child of Mine
(with David Lewis)

Amish Prayers

The Beverly Lewis Amish Heritage Cookbook

www.beverlylewis.com

Resources:
bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook

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