a family would distract him from that goal. Yet he learned that devoting himself to a family was a fight against evil as well.
Katie struggled with control as so many of us do. Her prayers had become habitual, not a time of true communion with Gott. But in the search for her brother, she realized that Gott is the One who is ultimately in control and she needed to trust Him more. By the time she reached the sawmill, she was ready to admit that many things were out of her power and she needed to pray and leave it in Gott’s hands. He always comes through!
I would be honored to hear from you. You can visit my website at www.meghancarver.com, where you can sign up for my author newsletter, or email me at [email protected]. If you’re on Facebook, I’d like to be your friend at Facebook.com/meghancarverauthor. If you wish to write the Amish way, on good, old-fashioned stationery, you can send it to me c/o Love Inspired Books, 195 Broadway, 24th Floor, New York, NY 10007.
Many blessings to you,
Meghan Carver
I will bless the Lord at all times: his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
—Psalms 34:1
To the Amish friends the Lord has brought into my life recently. I am grateful for your kindness and generosity in answering my questions and opening yourselves to me. You know who you are.
Contents
Note to Readers
The steady rhythm of the bicycle did little to calm her nerves. Ominous dark blue clouds propelled Katie Schwartz forward. Faster. Her twin girls, Ruth and Rebekah, were safely ensconced with friends, and the adrenaline pulsing through her cemented her resolve to see this through.
A slight breeze ruffled the leaves, sending a few skittering across the road. But then it died, leaving an unnatural stillness in the hush of the oncoming storm. The only things still fluttering were her skirt around her knees and the ties of her prayer kapp flying behind her. They tickled her legs and her neck, like ants at a summer picnic, but she didn’t dare let loose of the handlebars. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead.
As she rounded a curve, the blue-black clouds chasing her, her bruder’s house and woodworking shop appeared. The white-sided house sat silent, not even the rocking chair on the front porch daring to move. She steered her bicycle around the house and to the barn door.
Should she call out? Announce herself?
What had her bruder been up to? What was keeping him from his family, from her and her daughters? It had been two months since she had seen him, and in their tight-knit Amish community, two months seemed like an eternity. Not even the bishop had been able to compel a meeting with him.
She wanted to call out a greeting, but her voice stuck in her throat before she could form the words.
She
