Chapter One

      John Miller squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the impact of the bus hurtling toward the back of his wagon.

      God have mercy on my soul.

      A powerful draft knocked his hat from his head as the bus flew around him, missing his wagon by inches. The reckless driver laid on the horn as he swerved back into the proper lane. John’s frightened team of horses shied off the edge of the highway, jolting the wagon and nearly unseating him.

      He quickly brought his animals under control and maneuvered his wagon back onto the roadway. It took longer to get his heart out of his throat. When his erratic pulse settled, he picked up his black Amish hat from where it had fallen onto the floorboards and dusted it against his thigh. God must still have a use for me here on earth. I’m sorry, Katie May. One day I will be with you again.

      John shook his head when the bus pulled to a stop a few hundred yards down the highway. “Foolish Englischer. In a hurry to get nowhere fast.”

      He settled his hat on his head and glanced back at his cargo. Thankfully, the restored antique sleigh carefully wrapped in a heavy tarp hadn’t shifted. He could ill afford another delay in getting it to its new owner.

      His entire trip had been one misadventure after another. He’d left home in plenty of time to complete the two-day journey, but a wrong turn in unfamiliar country had taken him five miles out of his way. One of his tie-downs had snapped, forcing him to lose time rigging another. Then a broken wheel had taken three hours to repair, time he didn’t have to spare. This simple trip could end up costing him as much if not more than a hired hauler would have charged and he was already half a day late for his appointment. He hoped his Englisch client was the understanding sort.

      Putting his team in motion, John reached the rear of the bus before it moved on. According to the directions in the letter from his customer, he needed to turn right at the rural intersection just ahead. He waited for the bus driver to move out of the way. After several minutes, he leaned to the side trying to see what the holdup was. A woman in a red coat with a purple backpack slung over her shoulder finally stepped off with two little children in tow. The bus pulled away, belching black fumes that made his horses snort and toss their heads. He spoke softly to quiet them.

      The woman stood at the edge of the highway, looking first north and then south as if expecting someone who hadn’t shown up. The roads were empty in all directions except for the bus traveling away from them. The children, both girls about three years old, were clinging to her legs. One rubbed her eyes, the other cried to be picked up. The family’s clothing and uncovered heads told John they weren’t Amish.

      He slapped the reins against his team’s rumps and turned his wagon in front of them, glancing at the woman’s face as he did. She looked worried and worn-out, but she smiled and nodded slightly when she met his gaze.

      One of her little girls pointed to his team. “Horsey, Mama. See horsey?”

      “I do, sweetheart. They’re lovely horses, aren’t they?” Her smile brightened as she glanced down at her daughter. The love in her eyes shone through her weariness. Why wasn’t anyone here to meet them?

      “Horses bad,” the other child said, stepping behind her mother.

      The woman dropped to one knee and pulled the child close. “No, they aren’t bad. They may look big and scary, but they won’t hurt you. This man tells them what to do. I’m sure they mind him far better than you mind me sometimes.”

      The child muttered something he couldn’t make out, but the young mother laughed softly. It was a sweet sound. “No, precious. They won’t step on you and squish you.”

      The child latched on to her mother’s neck and muttered, “I tired. Want to go home now.”

      He should keep moving. He’d told his client to expect him four hours ago, but it didn’t feel right to drive away and leave this young mother standing alone out here even if she wasn’t Amish. He pulled the horses to a stop and looked down at her. “Do you need help?”

      Detaching the child from her neck, she stood up and smoothed the front of her coat with one hand. As she did, he noticed a bulge at her waist. Was she pregnant?

      “I’m trying to get my bearings. I haven’t been out this way in years. Do you know an Amish farmer named Ezekiel Lapp?”

      Her voice was soft and low. He heard the weariness underlying her tone. The wind blew a strand of her shoulder-length blond curls across her face. She brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear as she looked at him with wide blue eyes.

      She was a pretty woman. Her daughters, identical twins by the look of them, were the spitting images of her with blue eyes and curly blond hair. Some man was fortunate to have such handsome children and a lovely wife to come home to at night.

      She placed a hand on each little girl’s head in a comforting or perhaps protective gesture, her fingers moving gently through their hair. She raised her chin as she faced him.

      The gesture reminded him of his wife, Katie, and sent a painful pang through his chest. Katie used to give him that exact look when she was determined to do things her own way. The woman at the roadside wasn’t physically similar to his wife. She was tiny where Katie had been tall and willowy. She was fair where Katie had been dark, but the two women shared the same stubborn set to their chins and the same determination in their eyes. He smiled in spite of himself.

      Katie would have been a good mother, too...if only she had lived.

      He shut away his heartbreaking memories. Katie May was gone, their unborn child laid to rest with her. It had been four years since their passing, but his grief was as sharp as if it had been yesterday. Most folks thought he had moved on with his life. He’d tried to, but he couldn’t forgive God or himself for her death.

      He looked away from the young woman and her children. “I don’t know him. I’m not from this area.”

      Realizing how gruff his voice sounded, he gestured to the tarp on the flatbed wagon behind him. It had taken him eight weeks to restore the sleigh and two days to haul it this far. He was anxious to drop it off and head home. “I’m delivering this sleigh to Melvin Taylor. The directions he sent said he lived four miles south of this intersection. Does that