Brian's Choice
Books by Vannetta Chapman
THE PEBBLE CREEK AMISH
Book 1—A Promise for Miriam
Book 2—A Home for Lydia
Book 3—A Wedding for Julia
“Home to Pebble Creek” (free short story e-romance)
“Christmas at Pebble Creek” (free short story e-romance)
PLAIN AND SIMPLE MIRACLES
Anna’s Healing
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Scripture verses are taken from
The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide
The New American Standard Bible®, © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)
Cover by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota
Cover photos © chaoss / Shutterstock; S.Borisov / Shutterstock; iStockphoto / jonathansloane
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BRIAN’S CHOICE
Copyright © 2015 by Vannetta Chapman
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN 978-0-7369-6627-6 (eBook)
All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.
Dedication
For my friends in Chouteau, Oklahoma
CONTENTS
Books by Vannetta Chapman
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Anna’s Healing
Read More from Vannetta Chapman
About the Author
About the Publisher
Ready to Discover More?
Acknowledgments
This book is dedicated to the kind people—both Amish and Englisch—I met while researching in Chouteau, Oklahoma. They were welcoming and showed graciousness to me.
I would also like to thank my pre-readers: Dorsey, Donna, and Kristy. Their input, as usual, was valuable to me and to my writing process.
Many thanks to the fine folks at Harvest House Publishers for allowing me to set an entire series in this little community—and also for giving me leeway to explore some important issues we share across our faith.
The communities in Oklahoma are not large, but they offer a unique insight into the struggles and joys of farming and also of living the Plain life. If you find yourself near Tulsa, drive east on US-412 for forty minutes. You’ll be blessed by your journey.
And finally…“always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength…Love your neighbor as yourself.”
MARK 12:30-31
“I want you to be concerned about your next door neighbor. Do you know your next door neighbor?”
MOTHER TERESA
PROLOGUE
Big Sur, California
June
Brian Walker kept one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearshift. The Jaguar F-TYPE convertible purred like a lion, all energy and muscle and streamlined strength.
“Gun it.” Bridgette lowered her sunglasses to stare at him. “You know you can pass him.”
Highway 101 stretched in front of him, a dark line separating the forest and rock on his left from the Pacific Ocean on his right. He’d driven this section of road before many times, though never in a Jag that went from zero to sixty in four seconds. Top speed? One hundred eighty-six mph. Yes, he could pass the Suburban in front of him.
His parents had given him the sleek black Jag. At twenty-nine, he was a bit old for presents from Mom and Dad, but who in their right mind would turn down an eighty-thousand-dollar gift? Besides, he’d earned it. He was the first professor at Soluna University to achieve tenure before thirty. So far he’d put less than a hundred miles on the car. It was about time he broke it open.
And Bridgette? Well, she was one of several girls he spent time with—tanned, blond, and dangerous.
“Gun it, Brian. Show me what you’ve got.”
He wasn’t usually one to act on a dare, but the setting sun twinkling off the water combined with the breeze through his hair, her look, and the engine purring beneath his hand. Suddenly it wasn’t about Bridgette—whom he’d known for all of three weeks. It was all about him. The desire to use and control the power at his fingertips was simply too strong.
The Bixby Creek Bridge rolled out before him in the distance, beckoning. The oncoming lane was clear.
So he gunned it.
Ninety miles an hour.
One hundred.
One hundred ten.
They were flying, and the ride was smoother than a sailboat on a calm sea.
They passed the Suburban as if it were standing still.
He glanced over at Bridgette. She’d tossed her head back, exposing her neck, and even over the roar of the engine he could hear her laugh. Brian realized in that moment what a beautiful girl—what a striking woman—she was.
He took his eye off the road for two, maybe three seconds.
When he glanced back, sunlight was bouncing off a semi coming toward them.
The speedometer read one hundred twelve miles an hour.
Brian didn’t dare tap the brakes. Instead, he accelerated, bulleting past the delivery truck in front of the suburban. Not a problem for the Jag.
His mistake was in pulling over too soon. By that time, he was able to see the expression of the old-timer driving the big rig. The man was hollering, blaring his horn with one hand and clutching the wheel with the other. That struck him as almost funny—as if holding more tightly to a circular device could in some way affect its handling. Poor reasoning, but an understandable reaction.
The thought flitted through his mind in less than a second, as he was moving over, as the semi blew past. He safely maneuvered past the suburban and the delivery truck, but there was no chance he was going to avoid colliding with the Volkswagen bus.
Slamming on his brakes would be useless. He careened back over into the now empty opposite lane, and he nearly made it. But the rear fender of his Jag fishtailed, clipping the back of the Volkswagen. It was blue with a white top. Brian’s brain processed all of the details even as he realized the deadly dilemma they were in, he had put them in, all because of two wor
ds—“gun it.”
If he’d been driving the speed limit, the result would have been minimal. But he hadn’t been—he’d accelerated in order to avoid a collision. Metal screeched against metal. In his peripheral vision he saw the bus careen into the bridge railing. Almost immediately the delivery truck slammed into the Volkswagen, and then the suburban rammed the truck.
He didn’t have time to focus on them. He was tapping the brakes, turning the wheel, watching the bridge spin round and round until finally the Jag flipped. The car spun on its hood, collided into the bridge railing, and then ricocheted back to the other side. He heard Bridgette scream. The sound of glass shattering and airbags exploding filled his ears. He found himself staring through a shattered windshield up at an impossibly blue sky.
And then there was only darkness.
ONE
Cody’s Creek, Oklahoma
Three years later
Brian had a strong desire to give his 1982 Ford tractor a swift kick. Instead, he reached his hand farther down into the engine in the hope of finding what was wrong. Possibly mice had taken to eating the wires again, or perhaps they had decided to build a nest deep in his engine this time.
He’d closed his eyes and was completely focused on the components of the old tractor’s engine when he heard the clip-clop of a horse and buggy.
More than one horse and buggy.
He pulled out his hand, grabbed a rag he kept in his toolbox, and swiped at the sweat running down his face. Sweating always caused the scar along his hairline to itch, a small penance to pay the rest of his life. The tractor, though—having to deal with the tractor felt like sweet justice, cosmic revenge, God’s sense of humor. Maybe it was all three.
Looking up, he saw three buggies coming down his lane.
Bishop Levi Troyer led the pack. Any other time, Brian would have been happy to see him, but he had a feeling this was not going to be a social visit. The other two buggies suggested more serious matters.
He quickly ticked off the things he may have done wrong but couldn’t come up with anything. With harvest approaching, tractor problems, and a lack of money, Brian barely left his small farm except to go to church.
An overpowering urge to go inside and clean up caused him to look toward his house. Funny how such habits still plagued him. He’d first embraced the Amish lifestyle two years earlier and had been accepted into the church last month. Anyone looking at him wouldn’t suspect he’d spent his first twenty-nine years as an Englischer. Anyone who could smell him certainly wouldn’t think so.
Though their religious beliefs were as conservative as any New Order Amish community, their Ordnung was somewhat relaxed and allowed the use of tractors in the fields and even to drive to town. Buggies were still used for church meetings, weddings, and funerals. Brian had thought that hypocritical when he’d first arrived in the small community of Cody’s Creek, but after planting and harvesting his first crop, he’d understood it was a simple fact of necessity. The Oklahoma soil could not be farmed with horses unless you were able to replace those horses often.
He dropped the rag on top of the toolbox and strode toward Bishop Levi’s buggy. Levi had a tractor in his field like every other Amish family, but he insisted on using the buggy for all of his traveling. The older man lifted a hand in greeting as he pulled on the reins of his mare. By the time Brian reached him, he’d struggled out of the buggy and was reaching for his cane.
Bishop Levi. The man had been a safe haven in Brian’s personal storm. He’d been like a father to him. The bishop was older, with a solid white beard and a pronounced limp. He carried the cane in his left hand wherever he went. He reminded Brian of the lives he had destroyed.
An irresponsible driver hadn’t caused Levi’s injury. Moreover, Brian had lived with him an entire year, and he had never heard the man complain about what must have been a painful condition.
“How are you, Levi?”
“Gut. Danki. And you?”
“Fine except for the aggravations of modern technology.”
“Tractor giving you trouble?”
“Yes.” Brian nodded toward Joseph Byler and Luke Hershberger. Luke was a minister in their church and Joseph a deacon. “What’s this about?”
“Neighbors can’t stop by for a visit?” Levi popped the piece of gum he was chewing, and wound the mare’s reins to the front porch railing.
“They can but usually don’t in the middle of the day in August.” Sweat continued to trickle down Brian’s back. This impromptu meeting had to be about something he’d done wrong, and for all three of them to come it must be serious.
Joseph and Luke joined them after they had secured their own rigs. Joseph owned the dry goods store in Cody’s Creek. He’d been one of the early supporters of Brian joining the community. He was older by a good twenty years. Gray fought with the black in his beard, but he had the energy of a much younger man. All of his children and grandchildren kept him young at heart, or so he’d claimed.
Luke, on the other hand, had always struck Brian as a difficult person. In his previous life he would have called the man a sour old codger, though that was an uncharitable thought. No community was perfect, Englisch or Amish. Still, he was someone Brian was wary of.
“There’s something we need to talk to you about.” Luke waved toward the front door. “Perhaps we can go inside?”
“Sure.” Brian would have rather sat on the front porch, but because there were no chairs out there, inside was a better option. He had a dining table with seating for six. That had seemed a ridiculous luxury when he first moved in, but when he’d purchased the thirty-five-acre farm, the house had come with a few basic pieces of furniture.
Once they were settled around the table, Levi popped his gum again and leveled his gaze at Brian. “It looks as if we are in need of a schoolteacher, and the first person who came to mind was you.”
TWO
“But I’m not a teacher, not anymore.” Brian squirmed on his seat. If anything, inside the house was hotter than outside. He had all the windows open, but there wasn’t so much as a breeze stirring the air.
“Ya, but you were.” Joseph crossed his arms and leaned back. “No doubt all that you learned in your previous life is still in here.” He tapped his head and smiled.
Luke cleared his throat. It was an irritating habit he had, possibly to bring attention to himself. Another uncharitable thought. Brian sighed inwardly. He seemed to be full of them today, but then Luke had a way of bringing out the worst in him.
He realized suddenly that Luke reminded him of his father—arrogant and blunt. No wonder he didn’t like the man.
“You have been a member of our congregation only a month, and we do not wish to do anything which may cause you to slide back into your old lifestyle—”
“I have no intention of sliding anywhere.”
“And yet it happens.” Luke tapped the table. “Still, you are a member of this community, and it seems that perhaps you could be a help in this situation.”
“Because I was a professor?” Brian’s voice rose in disagreement.
“Because you have taught in a classroom before.”
“A classroom of adults.”
“If pupils are willing to learn, the age shouldn’t matter.” Joseph placed his thumbs under his suspenders and studied him.
Levi again popped his gum. More than once Brian had watched him have bubble-blowing contests with his grandchildren. Levi was a gem, and if enjoying life in this community meant Brian had to put up with the likes of Luke Hershberger, so be it.
He’d put up with worse in his previous life. He’d been worse in his previous life.
Levi crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Last year’s teacher won’t be available. We just found out, and school starts on Monday.”
“Why—”
“Not something I’m willing to share. We’re looking for a proper replacement, but it isn’t likely we’ll find one before the first of the year.”
>
Brian nodded. He wasn’t surprised Levi wouldn’t share specifics. Personally, he couldn’t remember the woman’s name from the year before. He’d attended the Christmas presentation, but that was the first time he’d ever been in the schoolhouse. It wasn’t as if he had children of his own. There had never been a reason for him to take an interest in the school or what happened there.
“Maybe you don’t understand what I did in California.”
“You worked at a university.” Joseph combed his fingers through his beard. “Big, fancy school. This should be easy.”
“No. It won’t be easy. I taught adults. I lectured.” When the three men only stared at him, he added, “I didn’t even grade papers. I had an assistant who did that.”
A picture of Bridgette flashed through his mind, but he pushed it away. Now was not the time to wallow in the regrets of his past.
“We have an assistant,” Luke said. “New girl. Her name’s Katie Smucker.”
Brian was sure the look on his face confirmed he was not following this conversation.
“She’s JoAnna Lapp’s little schweschder,” Joseph explained. “Never taught before, but she thinks she’d like to give it a try. Their parents live in Ohio, but Katie rode the bus down in time for the start of school.”
“You want me to teach elementary school with an assistant who has never stepped inside a school before?”
“Nein,” Levi said. “Katie grew up in an Amish school, Brian. She’ll be a big help to you, and she isn’t as young as most of our assistants. I’m sure she will be more mature and focused on the task at hand.”
Joseph sat back in his chair, causing the wood to creek. “In truth, we found only one other person who could start this late in the year—a Mennonite woman who requires a higher salary than we’re able to offer.”
“So we need you.” Levi looked pleased with himself. “And it’s not as if the farming thing is feeling natural.”