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Goodness! Emilie had no idea little ones managed to figure out such things.

  Sara leaned over to add in a confidential tone, “Mama says the boy and girl animals have to be married first though.”

  Emilie almost swallowed her tongue whole. “Indeed they do. Your mother is a very wise woman.” She stuffed an egg salad sandwich in her mouth before she burst out laughing. Moments later, her composure regained, she winked at Beth. “Any Saturday you need me to watch Sara for you, I’m game. The child is nothing if not entertaining.”

  Beth’s eyebrows lifted. “Do you mean that? Really mean it?”

  “Sure.” I do, don’t I? I’d need an instruction manual of some kind, but … “Sure, I’d be delighted.”

  Beth exhaled, a look of joy dancing across her freckled face. “What an answer to prayer, Em! Drew is in Philadelphia at a trade show all week and must stay through late Saturday night for some fancy awards banquet. He begged me to drive down on Saturday and join him, but I thought … well, we don’t have family in the area, and—”

  Emilie saw where this was leading. “So. You want me to baby-sit Sara for you on Saturday?”

  “Yes! That would be such a blessing, especially if Sara could come to your place, like a big girl on her own special trip.”

  Sara bounced up and down in her seat, waving her sandwich. “Hooray, hooray! I get to go to Auntie Em’s!”

  “But, Em—” Beth studied her for a moment—“she’d need to spend Saturday night, too. We’re driving home Sunday morning in time for church and would meet you two there. Are you sure? I told Drew there was no way, but … if you’re certain you can handle it …”

  Emilie folded her paper towel and placed it on the table with a decisive pat. “Call the man and tell him he has a date with his expectant wife, who definitely needs a night out.” Gulping down a rising tide of anxiety at the thought of this first in her life—twenty-four hours with a small child under her roof—she smiled confidently. “Sara and I will have a smashing time, won’t we, sweetie?”

  When Sara arrived four days later with her miniature purple suitcase in hand, the first thing that broke was one of Emilie’s cherished teacups. Thinking a little girl would enjoy a tea party with her favorite stuffed bear, Emilie had arranged a picture-perfect table of hot tea and sweet treats to greet Sara when she walked in the door Saturday morning.

  In her enthusiasm to reach for a cookie, Sara bumped the fragile china cup, toppling it over the edge of the table where it landed on the unforgiving hardwood floor.

  “Ohhh!” The child’s face started to crinkle.

  “Not a problem. Don’t you worry,” Emilie assured her, hastening to sweep things up, ashamed of the thin veil of tears that appeared out of nowhere. Honestly, Em! It’s a silly teacup.

  One of four she’d ordered from England.

  Now there were three.

  Convincing herself it didn’t matter one iota, Emilie smiled brightly at her charge. “What would you like to do next?”

  Sara’s eyes twinkled. “I brought my big doll clothes.”

  “And a big doll, I suppose?”

  “Nope.” Sara shook her head. “These dresses are for Olive.” She jumped up from the table, sending the china clattering, and ran into the living room. “Here, Olive! Here, kitty-kitty!”

  Jonas paced around the construction site, ticking off the growing list of major tasks yet to be completed.

  Twenty-seven days to the grand opening.

  It tied a knot in his stomach to think of it.

  You’ve been down this road a hundred times, Fielding. Relax. Things always looked darkest right before the heavens opened and the sun shone down on a finished project.

  This one, though, had taken an unexpected turn. Last-minute design changes always slowed things down. Still, they were good changes. His bigger, better clubhouse was coming together nicely. Seventeen holes were completed with only one left to finish. Sure, Phillip Nuss whined about that one. Golf architects were artists, with a keen sense of how they wanted the course to look and the temperament to insist on it.

  Jonas had worn down the man’s resistance with the only two carrots he had to offer him: money and publicity. Fact was, they would all benefit from this one: the architect, the course itself, the borough, and, of course, Emilie.

  She was the reason behind it all.

  He stopped to gaze up at the ominous gray sky and tightened his collar against a biting, wintry wind. Spring in a week, huh? I’ll believe it when I see it. Carefully treading around the freshly seeded ground toward a hardworking bunch of bricklayers, Jonas frowned when he realized they were packing up their gear.

  “What’s the story, guys?”

  One man shook his head. “Too cold for the mortar, boss.”

  “Yeah,” another added. “And the forecast for tomorrow looks worse.”

  “Forecast?” Jonas had been practically sleeping on the site; he hadn’t flipped on a television or radio in three or four days. “What are they calling for?”

  “Snow.” One by one, the men looked up at the heavy cloud cover. “Yup. A doozy for March. Six to twelve inches, they’re sayin’.”

  “What?” Jonas groaned and smacked his gloves against his legs. “But it’s almost spring!”

  Twenty

  The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another.

  HENRY VAN DYKE

  Emilie didn’t need to turn the radio on Sunday morning to know what she was looking at outside her kitchen window: snow.

  A wet March snow, perfect for sledding and snowmen.

  Not so perfect for a drive home from Philadelphia.

  It was still falling hard as she answered the phone on the first ring, knowing precisely who might be calling and why.

  She took a chance. “Hi, Beth.”

  “Em?” Beth’s voice on the other end was incredulous. “How’d you know it was me?”

  Emilie glanced out the window again, then winked at Sara, sitting at the table with jelly toast and scrambled eggs. “Oh, just a feeling I had. The several inches of white stuff on the ground helped.”

  Beth groaned. “We have snow here, too, but I was hoping it would be clear there. Honey, we may have a problem getting home this morning. We have two cars, of course, and Drew doesn’t want me driving in this weather. You know … with the baby and everything.”

  “Absolutely,” Emilie agreed and meant it. “When should I look for you? Any idea?” She listened while Beth consulted Drew who, from the sound of his gentle baritone in the background, must have been standing nearby.

  Finally, Beth came back on the line. “They’re expecting the snow to stop by about three o’clock, and the temperatures to start rising, which is good. No freezing rain or anything like that. In fact, they say we’ll be back up in the fifties by Wednesday. Isn’t this silly?”

  “That’s south-central Pennsylvania weather for you. Predictably unpredictable.”

  Beth paused. “Emilie, I’m so sorry. Guess I should have paid attention to the forecast, but I was so excited about being with Drew …”

  “Of course you were. Really, Sara and I are getting along very nicely. Aren’t we, sweetie?” She held the phone out for Sara who bounded over and grabbed the receiver, sticky fingers and all.

  “Hi, Mama! You okay?” Sara listened and nodded as though her mother could see her blond curls bobbing up and down. “I miss you, too, Mama. But Auntie Em and I are having lots of fun. We popped popcorn and watched The Lion King and made paper dolls and played Candyland. I won! Last night I got to sleep with Olive in the spare bedroom.” She giggled and whispered, “I rolled over on her once, but she didn’t scratch me or anything. Mama, can we get a cat?”

  Emilie chuckled. “Uh-oh. Better let me talk to your mother now.” Easing the phone out of Sara’s grasp, she gave the tiny hand a tender squeeze, then lifted the receiver back up. “Listen, I didn’t put her up to that cat business, Beth, I promise. Though anytime you want to borrow Olive, just say the w
ord.”

  “I’ll pass. Cat litter and pregnant women are not a good combo.”

  “Is that so?” Emilie smiled then checked her watch. “We’ve got just enough time to make the 10:30 service with clean faces. When should I expect you this evening? Six? That’s fine. No, really. See you then. Drive carefully, Beth. I’ll be praying.”

  Pray for me, too. She hung up the phone, making sure not a hint of apprehension showed on her face. Somehow she’d managed to entertain an outrageously active four-year-old girl for a whole day. Auntie Em was fresh out of tricks, though, and her house looked like a cyclone had torn through Toys Я Us and dumped the contents in her living room. And to think she’d once foolishly considered Beth a poor housekeeper!

  “We need to dress for church, Sara. Did you bring your pretty blue dress, the one with the flowers and bows?”

  Sara nodded, jumping up and heading for the stairs.

  “Waaait a minute, pixie.” Emilie scooped her up off the floor. “Not so fast with those sticky cheeks and fingers. Let’s visit the sink first, okay?”

  “Okay, Auntie Em.” Without preamble, Sara put a jelly-coated hand on each side of Emilie’s face and gave her a sweet, smacky kiss. “I love you, Em-ee-lee.”

  Oh, my. “I love you, too, baby.”

  Emilie drew the child against her chest, overcome with emotions she couldn’t even name. Is this how a mother feels? No. That feeling surely surpassed even this.

  But this was close. So close.

  I want this, Lord.

  The realization was terrifying. Foreign. And wonderful. She, who had never given mothering a second thought, at this moment longed to be a mother more than anything on earth.

  More tears threatened. Why now, Lord, when it seems impossible?

  Nothing is impossible with me.

  But this, Lord! At best, it seemed improbable. Even young Sara knew you didn’t get more stuffed animals unless you had a boy and girl and they were married besides.

  Maybe someday. Hugging the child a second time, Emilie carried her over to the sink, trying to concentrate on the simple task at hand when a complex array of feelings and desires swept over her like fresh snow on a late winter’s morning.

  Sara touched her cheek. “Are you crying, Auntie Em?”

  “Yes, I am.” She chuckled, wiping away both jelly and tears. “But these are happy tears, Sara, because I love you so much and because I am asking the Lord to give me a Sara someday.”

  Good heavens, she’d said it out loud!

  Emilie gulped. “Uh … but let’s not mention that to your Mama, okay? She’ll think I’m silly.”

  Sara sat still while she scrubbed her clean, then shook her head with conviction. “No, she won’t. Mama prays for you to be married and have babies.”

  “She does?” Emilie stopped in midscrub, not sure how she felt about that revelation. Honored and offended and thrilled and scared, all at once.

  “Yup.” Sara’s head was nodding now, as determinedly as it had shook back and forth moments earlier. “Yesterday she prayed, ‘Please let Jonas and Emilie realize how much they love each other. And if it be your will …’ ” Sara paused. “Mama always talks about will. Will who?”

  Emilie laughed through her tears. “God’s will is something we all seek. It means doing what he wants us to do.”

  Sara tipped her head. “So he will be happy?”

  “Yes, which means we will be, too.”

  “Oh.” Sara scrunched up her face, thinking. “Anyway, then Mama said, ‘If it be your will, may they get married someday and have a child as wonderful as our Sara. The end.’ ”

  Emilie’s eyes widened. “She said, the end?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What about, amen?”

  “Yeah, that’s it! Like they sing in church.” With that, Sara hopped down and ran toward the staircase singing the Moravian threefold choral amen at the top of her little lungs. “Aaa-men! Aaaa-men! Aaaaa-men!”

  Emilie watched Sara’s sturdy legs march up the steps, a prayer echoing in her heart. Amen, Lord. A husband. A child. If it’s your will.

  Could Jonas possibly be the one? Wasn’t he keeping secrets from her, purposely covering up the news about the possible Gemeinhaus discovery?

  She shook her head, staring out the window at the falling show, trying to sort things out. It just didn’t ring true, didn’t seem like the Jonas Fielding she knew at all.

  Ask him, Emilie.

  Well, why not? She knew the truth. If he pretended not to, she would have her answer. If he confessed and had a good reason to keep such an important secret … she might forgive him. Might.

  He would pay through the nose, of course.

  No more pets.

  Lots more kisses.

  And a shot at that historic quarter acre.

  Emilie grinned her way up the steps, humming a doxology all her own.

  Jonas was still singing the closing hymn from the early service when he left his adult Sunday school class and wandered onto Church Square.

  “Jesus makes my heart rejoice …” Truer words were never written. He’d come to the early service, since rumor had it that was the one Emilie was frequenting these days.

  Unfortunately, he’d gotten up early and slid through the snowy, uncleared streets for nothing. No Emilie at eight.

  Where is she, Lord?

  She’d stopped answering her phone, which made no sense at all. What if there were an emergency?

  There is an emergency.

  He needed to see her, and soon.

  To know she was okay. Nah, that wasn’t the problem. He needed to know she still cared about him. That was the crux of it. Know she still thought about him twenty-four hours a day like he thought about her, despite Carter’s Run’s attempts to steal his every waking hour.

  Was she jealous of the golf course, of his work? Uh-uh. That wasn’t like Em. She loved her work, too.

  Had she found another man? No way. Who else would give her five pets in five weeks?

  Was she ill? Homesick for North Carolina? Suffering from cabin fever without a car?

  He ran his hands through his hair—or what was left of it after yesterday’s buzz through the barbershop—and looked around the snow-covered square, fretting again about how this cold weather bit into his precious construction time.

  That’s when he saw her.

  Emilie. Walking slowly along the sidewalk, hand-in-hand with a child, bending over to talk to …

  Sara?

  What was Emilie doing with Sara? And where was Beth?

  It gave him the perfect excuse to walk up to her. Ask about Beth, say hello to Sara. Look in Emilie’s eyes, just to see what he would find there, just to know. I gotta know, Lord.

  He moved in their direction, marveling at how natural Emilie looked, taking smaller than usual steps, laughing as she walked through the snow with a precious little girl by her side.

  Someday, our little girl.

  The thought hit him like a two-by-four, knocking him senseless.

  He stopped to catch his breath, to pull himself together, even as everything inside him flew apart.

  This was what he wanted.

  To be a husband. A husband to Emilie.

  To be a father. The father of their children.

  In thirty-six years, he had never really considered the possibility. Marriage, maybe, but fatherhood? To be the man a child looked up to more than any other man on earth? To be a role model? A hero? To be willing to give up your life for your child?

  Oh, Father. To be like you.

  It wasn’t possible.

  Nothing is impossible with me.

  This could tax the limits, though.

  Except there are no limits, son.

  Jonas wasn’t sure it was possible to put one foot in front of the other, so stunned was he with the realization that he not only wanted to be a parent, but he needed to be one.

  To honor his own father.

  To prove to himself that
, with God’s help, he could live up to his father’s memory—or at least try. And in trying, let go of the guilt of his father’s death, which had lurked in the darkest place in his heart for two dozen years.

  You knew that, Lord. All along.

  I knew. I love you, Jonas.

  He was almost shaking with joy. With Emilie—and the Lord—he could let go of that guilt forever.

  He could. He would.

  It was gone. Yes! It was gone already.

  “Emilie!” His voice rang out across the snow, sending heads turning at every corner.

  She looked up. Her smile was tentative, but it was there.

  It’s there, Lord.

  Her smile grew as he hurried toward her, slipping and sliding across the wet snow, almost falling, then catching himself with a wild wave of his arms, wanting only to be near her.

  Emilie bent down when he got within earshot. “Sara, I think someone wants to speak to you in the worst way.”

  Sara stuck out her lower lip. “No way. Men don’t wanna talk to kids. They wanna talk to ladies.”

  Jonas managed to stop without falling, then he and Emilie both laughed, blushed, and trained their eyes on Sara, not daring to look at one another.

  “Kids sure are honest,” he said, watching Emilie’s face out of the corner of his eye.

  “They certainly are. Fun too.” She caught his gaze and they both looked up, relieved to have made that first connection.

  He looked around. “Where’s Beth? Or Drew?”

  “Stuck in the snow in Philadelphia.” Emilie tugged on Sara’s wool cap affectionately. “I’ve been baby-sitting this weekend.”

  “No kidding.” Is she kidding? Emilie, a baby-sitter?

  He tried hard not to look shocked even though he was shocked, right down to his practically bare scalp.

  As though reading his thoughts, Emilie’s gaze moved in that direction. “My, my. Did the barber charge by the inch?”

  Jonas shrugged, embarrassed that she didn’t seem to like it. “He got a little carried away, I guess.”

  “No, not at all.” She wasn’t smiling, but her eyes were. “I like it. It makes you look very … masculine.”

  He shivered. It had nothing to do with the cold. “Oh, yeah?”