Healing Grace (9781621362982) Read online

  With Healing Grace Beth Shriver draws us into a story of two worlds meeting, clashing, and blending. Through challenges and hardship Abby and Mose learn they have more in common than they might have imagined. And we reap the benefit of watching their surprising love unfold. As one character says, “Things aren’t always what they seem.”

  —TRISH PERRY

  AUTHOR, THE MIDWIFE’S LEGACYANDLOVE FINDS YOU

  ON CHRISTMAS MORNING

  Healing Grace is a story fraught with tension. An accident and abuse force the protagonists together. But they both ultimately must face forgiveness and tough decisions. Beth Shriver does a great job of bring us into the lives of these characters. Fans of Amish fiction will want to read Healing Grace.

  —LAURA V. HILTON

  AUTHOR, AWAKENED LOVE

  Beth Shriver has written a tender love story that is sure to please readers. It also had me wanting to run out and purchase a horse! Filled with vivid details and well-rounded characters.

  —VANNETTA CHAPMAN

  AUTHOR OF THE PEBBLE CREEK SERIES

  BETH

  SHRIVER

  Most CHARISMA HOUSE BOOK GROUP products are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchase for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, and educational needs. For details, write Charisma House Book Group, 600 Rinehart Road, Lake Mary, Florida 32746, or telephone (407) 333-0600.

  HEALING GRACE by Beth Shriver

  Published by Realms

  Charisma Media/Charisma House Book Group

  600 Rinehart Road

  Lake Mary, Florida 32746

  www.charismahouse.com

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible and from the Holy Bible, New International Version, copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, International Bible Society. Used by permission.

  Although this story is depicted from the real town of Beeville and the surrounding area, the characters created are fictitious. The traditions are similar to the Amish ways, but because all groups are different with dialogue, rules, and culture, they may vary from your conception.

  Copyright © 2013 by Beth Shriver

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by Bill Johnson

  Visit the author’s website at www.BethShriverWriter.com.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

  Shriver, Beth.

  Healing Grace / Beth Shriver. -- First edition.

  pages cm. -- (Touch of Grace ; Book 3)

  ISBN 978-1-62136-297-5 (trade paper) -- ISBN 978-1-62136-298-2 (ebook)

  1. Amish--Fiction. 2. Texas--Fiction. 3. Christian fiction. I. Title.

  PS3619.H7746H43 2013

  813’.6--dc23

  2013022994

  To Jan Halvorson

  Some friends encourage, and some support, but to find a friend who completely believes in you, that person is a true friend. Many thanks for helping me get this story started.

  “If you admire our faith, strengthen yours. If you admire

  our sense of commitment, deepen yours. If you admire

  our community spirit, build yours. If you admire deep

  character and enduring values, live them yourself.”

  —Amish writer quoted in Small Farmer’s Journal

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Glossary

  Chapter One

  THIS IS ALL I have.” Abby flashed the money at the horse trader. It was more than she had planned to spend, but the filly was worth it. Did this man know the value of what he had, or did he just feel sorry for her? It hadn’t been all that long since her mother passed away, but he and everyone else in town knew her dad was a swindler. He wouldn’t be empathetic.

  “That’s what they all say.” He grinned. “You know your horses.” He leaned back against a wooden post by the stall.

  She studied him for a moment, trying to decide if she trusted him. Abby did have a knack for picking horses. Focusing on conformation, temperament, and breed, she also had a good eye to go with her knowledge and experience. All of this told her that this equine had bloodlines for excellent breeding. Abby had learned the process from her father, Jim, who once was one of the best breeders around. But Abby’s dream was to train them for shows, something Jim thought was ridiculous. With a horse like this, they could make it happen.

  The last bit of sunlight disappeared, darkening the old barn. She didn’t like this part of town, and she was still unsure about this dealer, but he had the horse she wanted. She flipped her long blonde ponytail behind her and studied the filly before locking eyes with the trader. “She hasn’t been used on the track, has she?”

  When he hesitated, Abby moved toward the horse.

  “’Course not,” he scoffed.

  She lifted the filly’s upper lip. No tattoo, the mark of a racer. She didn’t want a three-year-old burned-out horse. “Just checking.”

  His dark eyebrows drew together, changing along with his demeanor. “I’m an honest horse seller, unlike your old man.”

  Abby froze and stared at the horse until the heat in her face cooled down. She tried to think of how to respond, but she knew he was right, so she decided to ignore the comment. “Can I see the papers?”

  “Sure.” He pulled some folded documents out of his back pocket and handed them to her. “Sign this one, and our business is done.” He pointed to the line where she was to write her name.

  Abby paused. This was all the money her mother had given her—money Jim didn’t know about. How would she be able to explain this?

  She looked over at the bay-colored mare. The brown tones contrasted beautifully with the white socks on all four of her legs, and her sleek body structure was the making of a fine competitor.

  “Second thoughts?” His tone was flat, not friendly, but not flippant either.

  “No…I—”

  “You can wait and come back another time and see if she’s still here.” He almost sounded sincere.

  She looked up at him to see a confident smirk appear. She knew the lines and had heard every spiel. Jim was the master of horse-selling tactics.

  “You
know better.” There was something about him she didn’t trust, so she stuck the money back in her pocket. “And so do I.” He was getting a good deal, and Abby hoped she was too.

  He grunted, amused, then conceded with a nod.

  She signed the papers and kept her copy. “This way you’ll know I’ll be back,” she said. Abby took one more look at the filly. “Yeah, this is the one,” she whispered, and she walked out of the barn.

  Chapter Two

  THE SUN WAS hot as blazes. Sweat drenched Mose’s shirt as he drove his buggy down the road. In the distance something moved on the heat-waved pavement. He blinked and then refocused. A vehicle—no, two vehicles—came into focus as they moved toward him, one gaining speed on the other from behind. Now close enough for him to make out, the faster vehicle, a car, recklessly careened around a slower truck that was pulling a horse trailer. As the car passed, the driver of the truck swerved, seeming to lose control. The trailer fishtailed, forcing the truck onto the shoulder and off the road.

  Tires screeched as the driver yanked the truck to the left. The weight of the trailer pulled them down into the ditch.

  Though it happened fast, Mose felt like he was moving through sludge as he jumped out of the buggy, wanting to get to the victims in time to help. The smell of burnt rubber wafted to his nostrils as cars whizzed by, creating hot gusts of wind. His hat blew off and sailed to heaven knew where. He barely noticed in his hurry to get to the accident scene.

  He picked up speed when he saw the trailer tilting dangerously to one side and heard the horses screaming and kicking, trying to get out.

  An older man and a young woman crawled out of the truck. Though they appeared stunned, they didn’t seem injured, so Mose turned his attention to the trailer.

  He got to the trailer’s rear gate and grabbed the trailer handle as the driver and passenger moved toward him. The handle was jammed. He stepped back, got a better grip, and then put all his weight into it.

  “Let me try.” The young woman didn’t look at him, just moved his hands and wiggled the lever until it clicked. Mose strained to pull the metal gate open. The angle of the trailer made it difficult, so she grabbed and pulled with him. The hinge squeaked as the door opened. The sound and movement caused the horses to thrash around wildly in the trailer.

  Speaking softly, Mose calmed the larger of the two horses and then started to move toward the second horse. He felt a hand grip his forearm.

  “I’ve got this.” The young woman spoke in a calm tone to the two animals as she made her way to the front of the trailer. They pranced around nervously as she moved forward, landing a kick to her leg and nearly a blow to her back, but she moved quickly and didn’t stop until she untied them.

  Mose held out his hand. “Give me a lead.” She took two seconds before giving him a rope and grasping the other, urging the bay out of the trailer. Mose gave them room and then clucked to the black gelding, noting the missing tufts of hair, swayback, and worn hooves. When the gelding kicked, he had little range of motion, but it wasn’t because he was hurt. He was about the oldest horse Mose had seen. Mose dropped his voice to a whisper. Old Blackie moved, slow but sure, and made his way out. Mose checked for injuries and found none.

  “Let me see if I can get this rig out of here.” The driver walked to the truck and started it up.

  Mose barely had time to shut the trailer door and step out of the way before the man hit the gas.

  The tires sped until they caught the asphalt, which caused the filly to spook. She tried to run, but one of her legs couldn’t take the weight.

  “She’s hurt,” the young woman said while holding on to Blackie.

  “I know. I hope it’s not too bad.”

  She met his gaze before holding out her hand to shake his. “Thank you for taking care of Wart.” Her expression seemed frozen with worry. Maybe it was from the shock of the event, or maybe she was troubled because her daed didn’t seem to have any manners.

  “Wart?” Mose preferred his name for the old black horse. The English didn’t seem to think of good horse names.

  When he clasped her hand, he felt a heaviness about her. Her gaze was focused on their hands. She quickly tried to pull away, but Mose held on a second longer. “I can help you load them back in, if you like.”

  She glanced at the truck and then back to him. “I can manage.”

  Mose put his hands in his pockets, not ready to leave just yet. “You gave me Wart because you didn’t think I could handle the filly?”

  “I just bought her. Spent a lot of money too.” She looked down at the horse’s damaged leg.

  Mose had a passion for horses and hated to see one in pain that he couldn’t get his hands on to doctor. “Do you want me to take a look at it?” he offered, but by the way she kept looking over her shoulder, he already knew the answer.

  “No, I better not.” She looked at him straight-on, but that only increased the tension. He could have continued the debate, but he wanted to ease her discomfort, and it seemed the only way to do that was to leave. “What’s your name?”

  She hesitated, taken off guard that he changed the conversation. “Abigail.”

  “That’s a mouthful.” He grinned, but she didn’t. “Pretty, though.” The Amish used nicknames, made it friendlier. He wanted to know if she went by one, then wondered why he cared. “Mose Fisher.”

  “Thanks, Mose.” She turned away. The expression on her pretty face remained frozen during their entire conversation. Mose wondered what she’d look like if she smiled but didn’t figure he’d find out.

  “Abby!” The man came around the trailer.

  She sucked in air as he came closer. And her hair fell over her face, covering her pinched forehead. She immediately moved away from Mose and began to coax the filly into the trailer. It took everything he had not to help her with the horse, but he knew his services were no longer wanted.

  “Get those horses loaded.” Her daed nodded to Mose and walked off.

  Mose tethered Wart and turned to leave. He looked back once, to see her look away.

  Abby.

  He’d remember the name.

  Chapter Three

  JIM KEPT HIS eyes on the road. “Told you not to talk to strangers.” He had one hand on the steering wheel and held a handkerchief with the other. His gray hair needed a trimming, hanging down across his forehead and into his dull hazel eyes.

  “I was worried the horses might be hurt worse than they were.” At twenty years of age, Abby felt like she was twelve, with the way he treated her.

  “Well, they weren’t. And even if they would have been, we didn’t need help from a stranger.” He coughed into the kerchief.

  “He was Amish.” She bit her tongue. Abby knew how Jim felt about the Amish. He said their “zealous” religious ways were too much. But Abby’s mom had had a different view of them, so Abby decided not to form an opinion. There were enough other issues to deal with that affected her more directly than stirring that pot.

  He grunted. “That don’t make ’im perfect.”

  Abby looked out the window as they drove passed the sprawling fields where the Amish planted cotton and corn. She fingered the straw hat she’d found and stuck between the door and her seat. At first glance she wouldn’t have figured the stranger was Amish. He didn’t wear suspenders, and she didn’t see the hat until she walked back to the truck. But the dark clothes and slight German accent gave him away.

  She pictured Mose’s eyes. It was as if she was staring at her own. The light blue intensity of them had caught her attention the minute he looked at her. But she’d had guys stare at her that way before, and it never turned out well. Even if it had, Jim would make it difficult, claiming he was protecting her, but Abby knew it was to hide their hardships. Jim wouldn’t accept help from anyone, so that left just the two of them in their small world.

  Her thoughts switched to the filly. She still questioned how much money she’d spent and not told Jim about. Abby worked at a local school,
but it didn’t pay much. She’d saved some, but it was hers to spend. Her mother would have understood. A part of her felt guilty spending the money, knowing months would come that Jim would have trouble making ends meet, but riding gave her a sense of peace and reminded her of her mother. When her mom had found out she was sick, she’d given Abby the money she’d stashed away, just in case she needed it. She shared Abby’s passion to show horses, and she wanted her to continue riding after she was gone.

  The filly’s leg had to heal. That’s all there was to it. If it didn’t, everything Abby put into her dream would be lost.

  “Make an early dinner. I got things to do later tonight,” Jim informed her as they pulled up to the gate leading to their farm. They only grew what they and the horses they bred needed to live on.

  Jim had made a few bad business deals and lost his reputation as an honest seller. Abby used to cringe when she heard him telling potential buyers what they were getting, knowing it was fudged enough that even a horse person couldn’t tell the lie from the truth. That was about the time she quit calling him dad; they were on a first-name basis. It was too difficult to accept such a liar as her own flesh and blood.

  Their once-green pastures were dirt. Pigs, goats, and chickens took over the barnyard, with no pens to keep them in their specified areas. Ducks, turtles, and frogs used to inhabit a good-sized fishpond. She’d spent many summers fishing there, catching sun-fish. Now it was a marsh, infested with insects and whatever else grew in the muck and mire. It was as if when her mother died, the farm had too.

  “What are you sittin’ there for?” Abby snapped out of the memories and realized Jim was staring at her.

  She shut the door and stepped down onto the gravel road that led to their two-bedroom house. The quicker she got inside, the better chance he wouldn’t nag at her about something she’d done wrong or hadn’t done. Abby never knew what to expect from him. He sometimes went into fits for no good reason, so she kept to herself and got her chores done to avoid the outbreaks.

  She usually went straight to the kitchen to make supper, but she wanted to check on Ginger first. “I’ll be right in,” she told him, and went to the back of the trailer. He mumbled and walked to the house.