Read the book: «Amish Triplets For Christmas»

Chapter One

Hannah Lantz rose from her desk, smoothed her skirt and forced her pale, delicate features into a smile. She didn’t want the little ones to know how distraught she was that she would no longer be their teacher once harvest season ended. Positioning herself in the doorway, she waited to greet the scholars, as school-aged children were known, when they climbed the stairs of the two-room schoolhouse where she herself had been taught as a child.

Doris Hooley, the statuesque redheaded teacher who taught the upper-grade classes, stood on the landing, fanning herself with her hand. “It’s so hot today, you probably wish Bishop Amos and the school board decided to combine your class with mine immediately instead of waiting until late October.”

“Neh,” Hannah replied, thinking about how desperately she and her grandfather needed the income she earned as a teacher. “I’m grateful they extended my position a little longer. It’s been a blessing to teach for the past eleven years, and I’m truly going to miss the scholars.”

“Jah,” Doris agreed. “Such a shame so many young women from Willow Creek left when they married men from bigger towns in Lancaster County. Otherwise, enrollment wouldn’t have dwindled. Not that I blame them. Willow Creek isn’t exactly overflowing with suitable bachelors. That’s why I’m so eager to meet John Plank’s nephew from Ohio. Not only is he a wealthy widower, but I’ve heard he’s over six feet tall!”

Hannah cringed at her remarks. Thirty-six-year-old Doris never exercised much discretion about her desire to be married, a trait that eventually earned her the nickname of “Desperate Doris” within their small Pennsylvania district. As an unmarried woman of twenty-nine years herself, Hannah thought the term was mean-spirited, although if pressed, she had to admit it was fitting in Doris’s case.

“I believe John’s nephew is coming here to help with the harvest—not to meet a bride,” Hannah contradicted as a cluster of children trod barefoot across the yard, swinging small coolers in their hands.

“That kind of pessimistic attitude is why you’re still unmarried,” Doris retorted, craning her neck to spy the first buggies rolling down the lane. “It isn’t every day the Lord brings an eligible man to Willow Creek, and I, for one, intend to show him how wilkom he is here.”

Hannah gave her slender shoulders a little shrug. “I intend to show his kinner how wilkom they are,” she emphasized. “It can be difficult for young ones to start school in a new place. Besides, if it weren’t for their increasing the size of my class, there would have been no need for the school board to keep me on. You could have managed the rest of my scholars yourself.”

As the children approached, Hannah considered whether Doris was right. Was she being pessimistic about the prospect of marriage? Or was she merely accepting God’s provision for her life? After all, she’d scarcely had any suitors when she was a teenager; her grandfather had seen to that. So what was the likelihood she’d find love in their diminishing district now, at this age?

Even if she did meet someone she wished to marry, her grandfather was incapable of living alone and too stubborn to move out of his house. She couldn’t leave him, nor could she imagine any man being willing to live as her husband under her grandfather’s roof and rule.

To her, it seemed only realistic to accept that no matter how much she may have yearned for it, her life wasn’t meant to include the love of a husband. And she had come to believe God wanted her to be content with teaching other people’s children rather than to be bitter about not having children of her own.

In any case, she figured she had more urgent priorities than pursuing a stranger who was only visiting their community—like figuring out what she’d do to support her grandfather and herself once her teaching position ended.

She shook her head to rid her mind of worrisome thoughts. The Lord will provide, she reminded herself. When Eli and Caleb Lapp said good-morning, a genuine smile replaced Hannah’s forced one.

“Guder mariye,” she returned their greeting enthusiastically as they clambered up the steps.

After all the older students were accounted for, Doris sighed. “I guess the wealthy widower isn’t showing up today after all. Perhaps tomorrow.”

She ducked into the building while Hannah waited for the final student to disembark her buggy. It was Abigail Stolzfus, daughter of Jacob Stolzfus, one of the few men Hannah had briefly walked out with when they were younger. But when he proposed to her almost nine years ago, she’d refused his offer.

“One day, your pretty face will turn to stone,” he had taunted. “You’ll end up a desperate spinster schoolmarm like Doris Hooley.”

She knew Jacob’s feelings had been hurt when he’d made those remarks, and she had long since forgiven his momentary cruelty. But this morning, she was surprised by how clearly his words rang fresh in her mind. Watching Jacob’s daughter, Abigail, skip along the path to the schoolhouse, Hannah couldn’t help but imagine what her life might have been like if she—instead of Miriam Troyer—had married him.

Granted, she never felt anything other than a sisterly fondness for Jacob, so a marriage to him would have been one of convenience only, which was unacceptable to her, even if her grandfather had permitted it. But might it have been preferable to being on the brink of poverty, as she was now? Thinking about it, she could feel the muscles in her neck tighten and her pulse race.

She chided herself to guard her thoughts against discontentment; otherwise, it would be her heart, not her face, that turned to stone. God had brought her through greater trials than losing her classroom. She trusted He must have something else in store for her now, too.

She reached out and patted Abigail on the shoulder, smiling reflexively when the child grinned up at her and presented a jar of strawberry preserves.

“Denki, Abigail. You know I have a weakness for strawberries!” she exclaimed, bending toward the girl. “Did you help your mamm make this?”

“Jah,” Abigail replied. “I picked the berries, too.”

“I will savor it with my sweet bread.”

As the girl continued toward her desk, Hannah reached to shut the door behind her.

“Don’t!” a deep voice commanded.

Startled, Hannah whirled around to find a tall sandy-haired man holding the door ajar with his boot. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the door frame, and she immediately released the handle as if she’d touched a hot stove.

* * *

“Excuse us,” Sawyer Plank apologized in a softer tone. He stepped aside, revealing three towheaded children who each looked to be about seven years old. “Sarah, Samuel and Simon are to begin school today.”

He watched the fear melt from the woman’s expression as she surveyed the triplets. “Wilkom. I’m Hannah Lantz,” she said, as much to them as to him.

“Guder mariye,” the three children chorused.

“I’m Sawyer Plank,” he explained. “Nephew of John Plank.”

“Of course.” She nodded, tipping her chin upward to look at him. He couldn’t help but notice something sorrowful about her intensely blue eyes, despite her cheerful tone. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“I apologize for being late,” Sawyer said. Then, so quietly as to be a whisper, he confided, “I had to fix Sarah’s hair myself, and it took longer than I expected.”

Hannah narrowed her eyes quizzically.

“I’m afraid my hands are better suited for making cabinets than for arranging a young girl’s hair.” He held out his rough, square hands, palms up, as if to present proof.

Hannah’s eyes darted from them to Sarah’s crooked part. “You’ve done well,” she commented graciously, although he noticed she was biting her lip. “Sarah, please take a seat next to Abigail Stolzfus, at the front of the class. Samuel and Simon, you may sit at the empty desks near the window.”

Sawyer thrust a small paper bag that was straining at the seams in Hannah’s direction. “It’s their lunch,” he explained, still speaking in a low tone so as not to be heard by the children.

“My onkel made it because, as you may know, my ant is deceased, so I’m not sure what the lunch consists of. Ordinarily my youngest sister, Gertrude, takes care of such things in Ohio. She would have accompanied us here, too, but shortly before my onkel broke his leg, it was nearing time for my eldest sister, Kathryn, to deliver her bobbel, so Gertrude traveled to Indiana to keep her household running smoothly.”

Although he was usually a private man of few words, Sawyer couldn’t seem to stop himself from rambling to the petite, dark-haired teacher whose eyes were so blue they nearly matched the shade of violet dress she wore beneath her apron.

“I’m not much of a farmer, but as soon as I heard John needed help, I put my foreman in charge of the shop,” he continued, neglecting to add that the timing couldn’t have been worse, since he had just lost one of his carpenters to an Englisch competitor who constantly threatened to put Sawyer out of business. “The kinner and I immediately set out for Pennsylvania. We only arrived on Saturday evening.”

He was quiet as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

“It was gut of you to come help your onkel during harvest season,” Hannah commented. “If there’s nothing else, I will see to it the kinner divide the lunch evenly between them.”

Sawyer sensed he was being dismissed, and he was only too relieved for the opportunity to end the conversation. “I won’t be late picking them up,” he muttered as he turned to leave.

Once he was in his buggy, he flicked the reins with one hand and simultaneously slapped his knee in disgust with the other. What was wrong with him, babbling on about Sarah’s hair and his work as a cabinetmaker? No doubt Hannah Lantz thought he was vain as well as tardy.

He hadn’t meant to sound boastful about dropping everything in Blue Hill in order to help his uncle, either. John was family and family helped each other, no matter what. Just like when John came to Ohio and kept the shop running smoothly after Sawyer’s mother and father died six years earlier, and again when he lost his beloved wife, Eliza, three years later. It was an honor—not a burden—to assist his uncle now. He only wished Gertrude hadn’t gone to Indiana, so the children could have stayed in Ohio with her. Sarah had had nightmares ever since Gertrude left, and the boys had grown so thin without her cooking.

But he knew there was no sense focusing on the way he wished things were. In all these years, no amount of regret had ever brought his Eliza back. He trusted God’s timing and plans were always perfect, even if they were sometimes painful to endure. His duty was to accept the circumstances set before him.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to make a difficult situation better. As the horse clopped down the lane to his uncle’s farm, Sawyer devised a plan so he could spend as many hours as possible in the fields. If the weather and crops cooperated, he’d help finish harvesting in six weeks instead of eight or more, so his family could return to Ohio at the first opportunity.

* * *

As the children barreled outside for lunch hour, the paper bag Simon was carrying split down the middle, spilling the Planks’ unwrapped cheese and meat sandwiches onto the ground, so Hannah invited the children to join her for sweet bread inside the classroom. She marveled at how quickly they devoured the bread and preserves.

“Do you have such appetites in Ohio?” she inquired, aware the children seemed thinner than most.

“Ant Gertrude doesn’t bake bread like this,” Samuel said, his cheeks full. “She says it’s because her mamm died before she could learn her the best way to make it.”

“Before she could teach her,” Sarah corrected.

“Our mamm died, too,” offered Simon seriously. “She’s with the Lord.”

“As is my mamm,” Hannah murmured.

“Did your mamm teach you how to make bread before she died?” asked Samuel.

“Neh, but my groossmammi did. See? Gott always provides.”

“I wish I had a groossmammi to teach me.” Sarah sighed. “Daed said Groossmammi died when we were as little as chicks that didn’t even have their feathers yet.”

“I’m happy to share my bread with you,” Hannah told Sarah. “Eating it is better than baking it anyway. Now that you’re done, why don’t you go outside and play with the other kinner.”

Doris passed them as they exited. “What darling little things,” she remarked to Hannah. “They must be triplets.”

“Jah. Their names are Samuel, Sarah and Simon Plank,” Hannah replied.

“So you’ve met the wealthy widower?”

“He has a name, too. It’s Sawyer. We spoke briefly this morning.”

“What did you think of him?” wheedled Doris. “Give me your honest opinion.”

“Well, I didn’t have my tape measure with me, so I can’t confirm whether he’s over six feet tall,” Hannah answered evasively, although she knew exactly what Doris was getting at.

“Schnickelfritz!” Doris taunted. “I meant, what did you think of him as a potential suitor?”

“I didn’t think of him as a potential suitor,” Hannah emphasized. “I thought of him as the daed of my scholars, a nephew of John Plank and a guest in our district.”

“He’s not to your liking, then?” Doris persisted.

“I didn’t say that!” Hannah was too exasperated to elaborate.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to, as Eli opened the door at that moment, yawping, “Caleb got hit with a ball and it knocked his tooth out.”

Doris covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “You’ll have to handle it,” she directed Hannah. “You know that kind of thing makes me woozy.”

“Of course,” Hannah calmly agreed. “But you’ll need to get used to it soon, since kinner lose their baby teeth all the time. It’s all part of caring for ‘darling little things’ at that age.”

* * *

After they’d eaten lunch, John urged Sawyer to join him on the porch before returning to the fields.

“It’s never too hot or too late for coffee,” he said, hobbling toward him with a crutch under one arm and a mug sloshing precariously in his other hand.

Sawyer accepted the strong, hot drink. Brewing coffee appeared to be his uncle’s only culinary skill; from what Sawyer had tasted so far, the food he prepared was marginally palatable, although there was certainly a lot of it.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sawyer started. “I’d like to hire a young woman to watch the kinner after school. She can transport them home in the afternoon and cook our supper, as well.”

“Our meals don’t suit you?” joshed John.

“Jah, the food is ample and hearty,” he answered quickly, not wanting to insult his host. He launched into an earnest explanation. “But since you can’t get into and out of the buggy without an adult to assist you, it would be easier to have someone else pick them up from school in the afternoon. This way, my work will only be interrupted in the morning, not in the morning and afternoon both. If the woman I hire is going to care for the kinner in the afternoon, she may as well fix us supper, too.”

John chortled. “Trust me, Sawyer, I understand. The boys and I haven’t had a decent meal since my Lydia died five years ago. But they’re teenagers and they’ll eat anything. How did you get on without Gertrude these last few weeks in Ohio?”

“I hired their friend’s mamm to mind the kinner with her own while I was in the shop during the day, but evenings were chaotic,” Sawyer admitted. “You can guess what the cooking was like by how scrawny the kinner are.”

“You need a full-time wife, not a part-time cook,” John ribbed him. “Someone who will keep you company, not just keep your house.”

“So I’ve been told,” Sawyer replied noncommittally. His uncle was only a few years older than he was, and they good-naturedly badgered each other like brothers. “I imagine you’ve been given the same advice yourself?”

“Jah, but I live in withering Willow Creek, not in thriving Blue Hill. Isn’t there a matchmaker who can pair you with one of the many unmarried women in your town?”

Chuckling self-consciously, Sawyer confessed, “After a dozen attempts, the matchmaker declared me a useless cause, much to Gertrude’s dismay.”

He’d found his lifetime match when he’d met Eliza, the love of his life and mother of his children. But rather than try to explain, he offered John the excuse he’d made so frequently he half believed it himself. “I can’t be distracted by a woman. I have a cabinetry shop to run, employees to oversee. Their livelihood depends on me, and business is tough. But Gertrude is at that age where her mind is filled with romantic notions about love and courting, probably more for herself than for me.”

“My sons are at that age, too,” John said. “It’s only natural.”

“Perhaps,” Sawyer agreed. But he wanted to protect his sister from the risk that came with loving someone so much that losing the person caused unimaginable grief. She was too young to experience that kind of pain.

Besides, as long as Gertrude lived with them, he didn’t have to worry about the children being raised without a female presence in the house. His sister tended to their every need, as much like their older sibling as their aunt.

Aloud he said, “I’ll arrange to hire someone as soon as possible. Do you have any recommendations?”

“Most of the women in Willow Creek are married with kinner and farms of their own, and they live too far from here to make transporting your kinner worth anyone’s while. Either that, or the younger meed need to watch their siblings,” John replied. “But Hannah Lantz, the schoolteacher, lives nearby and she’s unmarried. She’s very capable to boot.”

Sawyer suppressed the urge to balk. There was something about the winsome teacher that unsettled him, although perhaps it was only that he hadn’t gotten off on the right foot with her by showing up late to school.

“Are you sure she’s the only one?”

“Not unless you want Doris Hooley fawning over you.”

“Who’s she?”

“She’s the upper-grade schoolteacher. You haven’t met her yet?”

“Neh,” Sawyer answered. “Not yet.”

“Consider yourself fortunate.” John grinned. “I don’t know her well, but it’s rumored she can be very...attentive. Especially toward unmarried men.”

A woman’s amorous attention was the last thing Sawyer wanted. Deciding he’d present his employment proposition to Hannah that afternoon, he downed the last of his drink.

“If only I were half as strong as your coffee,” he joked, “the fields would be harvested in no time.”

But the work was so grueling that Sawyer lost track of time and returned to the schoolhouse nearly an hour after the rest of the students had departed. The boys were tossing a ball between them and Sarah was sitting on the steps, her head nestled against Hannah’s arm as Hannah read a book aloud to her.

When he hopped down from his buggy and started across the lawn, Hannah rose and the children raced in his direction.

“I told Sarah not to worry—there was a gut reason you were late,” Hannah said.

Her statement sounded more like a question, and whatever vulnerable quality he noticed in her face earlier was replaced by a different emotion. Anger, perhaps? Or was it merely annoyance? Whatever it was, Sawyer once again felt disarmed by the look in her eyes—which were rimmed with long, thick lashes—as if she could see right through him.

“Forgive my tardiness,” he apologized, without offering an explanation. He didn’t have a valid excuse, nor did he want to start rambling again. He needed to make a good impression if he wanted her to consider becoming a nanny to his children.

“I notice there’s another buggy in the yard,” he observed. “Is it yours?”

“It’s Doris Hooley’s,” she responded curtly. “She’s the upper-grade teacher.”

“In that case, may I offer you a ride home?”

* * *

“Denki, but neh. I have tasks to finish inside. Besides, it seems as if your horse trots slower than I can walk,” Hannah answered in a tone that was neither playful nor entirely serious. “Samuel, Simon and Sarah, I will see you in the morning, Gott willing.”

She turned on her heel, gathered her skirt and scurried back up the steps into the schoolhouse. Inside the classroom, she quickly gathered a sheaf of papers and stuffed them into her satchel.

She knew she hadn’t acted very charitably, but Sawyer Plank seemed an unreliable man, turning up late, twice in one day, without so much as an explanation or excuse for his second offense. Did he think because he was a wealthy business owner, common courtesies didn’t apply to him? Or perhaps in Ohio, folks didn’t honor their word, but in Willow Creek, people did what they said they were going to do. Not to mention, Sarah was fretting miserably that something terrible had happened to detain her father. It was very inconsiderate of him to keep them all waiting like that.

As Hannah picked up an eraser to clean the chalkboard, Doris sashayed into the room. Although she lived in the opposite direction, she had volunteered to bring Hannah home. Hannah suspected Doris wanted an excuse to dillydally until Sawyer arrived so she could size him up. But whatever the reason behind Doris’s gesture, Hannah was grateful for the transportation home on such a muggy afternoon.

“Where have the triplets gone?” Doris inquired. “I thought they were with you.”

“They just left with their daed.”

“Ach! I must have been in the washroom when he came to retrieve them,” Doris whined.

They were interrupted by a hesitant rapping at the door—Sawyer hadn’t left after all. He removed his hat and waited to be invited in. Hannah hoped he hadn’t heard their discussion.

“You may enter. I won’t bite.” Doris tee-heed. “I’m Doris Hooley.”

She was so tall her eyes were nearly even with Sawyer’s, and Hannah couldn’t help but notice she batted her lashes repeatedly.

“Guder nammidaag,” he replied courteously.

She tittered. “You remind me of a little boy on his first day of school, so nervous you forget to tell the class your name.”

Apparently unfazed by Doris’s brash remark, Sawyer straightened his shoulders and responded, “I am Sawyer Plank, nephew of John Plank, and I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to ask Hannah something concerning the kinner.”

“Of course,” Hannah agreed. Although she had no idea what he wanted to request of her, she felt strangely smug that Sawyer had sought her out in front of Doris. “What is it?”

“As you may have guessed, my work on the farm makes it inconvenient for me to pick up the kinner after school,” he began. He continued to explain he considered delivering the children to school to be a necessary interruption of his morning farmwork, but that he hoped to hire someone to transport them home and oversee them after school through the evening meal.

“She also would be expected to prepare a meal for all of us, but I would pay more than a fair wage. Of course, she would be invited to eat with us, as well.”

He hardly had spoken his last word when Doris suggested, “I’d be pleased to provide the kinner’s care. I have daily use of a buggy and horse and could readily bring them to the farm when school is over for the day. I think you’ll find I’m a fine cook, too.”

Sawyer opened his mouth and closed it twice before stammering, “I’m sorry, but you’ve misunderstood. I—I—”

“I believe he was offering the opportunity to me, since I’m the kinner’s teacher and they’ll be more familiar with me,” Hannah broke in. Despite her initial misgivings about Sawyer, she was absolutely certain this was the provision she’d been praying to receive. She didn’t give the matter a second thought before adding, “And I agree to do it.”

“I see,” Doris retorted in a frosty tone directed at Hannah. “Well, I’ll leave the two of you alone to discuss your arrangement further.”

“Denki. I will stop by your classroom as soon as I’m ready to leave,” Hannah confirmed.

Before exiting, Doris turned to Sawyer and brazenly hinted, “With Hannah watching the triplets, I hope you find you have time for socializing with your neighbors here in Willow Creek.”

* * *

No sooner had Doris flounced away than Hannah confessed, “I was being hasty. I shouldn’t have accepted your offer. I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t possibly help you.”

“Why not? If it’s a matter of salary, I assure you I’ll pay you plentifully and—”

“Neh, it isn’t that,” Hannah insisted. “It’s...my groossdaadi. I have a responsibility to him. I must keep our house, make our supper... He is old and deaf. He can’t manage on his own. And unlike Doris, I don’t have daily transportation. Our buggy is showing signs of wear and the horse is getting old, so we limit taking them out for essential trips only.”

Sawyer was quiet a moment, his eyes scanning her face. She looked as downcast as he felt.

“Suppose the kinner come home from school with you and stay until after supper? Would your groossdaadi object? I would collect them each evening. They could help you with your household chores and they wouldn’t make any—”

“Jah!” she interrupted, beaming. “I will have to ask Groossdaadi, but I don’t think he’ll object. I’ll need a few days to confirm it with him and make preparations. Perhaps I could begin next Monday?”

“Absolutely.” Sawyer grinned. “Now, would you please permit the kinner and me to give you a ride home? I’ll need to know where you live in order to pick them up on Monday.”

She hesitated before saying, “Denki, but Doris has already offered.”

“Are you certain?” he persisted.

Just then, a flash of lightning brightened the room and Hannah dropped the eraser she was holding, effectively halting their conversation. “I’m certain,” she stated. “You mustn’t keep your kinner waiting any longer. They’ve been so patient already.”