Love Inspired November 2013 #2 by Emma Miller, Virginia Carmichael, Renee Andrews Read Free Book Online Page A

you’d let me speak,” Rebecca said, a saucy tone to her voice. “We weren’t the only Amish there. And it was Bishop Atlee’s wife who bought the lollipop for her. I could hardly take it back and offend the woman. I told Amelia that she couldn’t have it unless you approved, and then only after her supper. I didn’t allow her to go into the Fall Festival area with the straw maze, the rides and the face painting. I told her that those things were fancy, not plain.”
    â€œBut...” he began.
    Rebecca went on talking. “Amelia didn’t fuss when I told her no , and she helped me pick a basket of apples.” Rebecca flashed him a smile. “Three of those apples are baking with brown sugar in the oven. For after your evening meal or tomorrow’s breakfast.”
    Caleb ran a finger under his collar. He could feel heat creeping up his throat and his cheeks were suddenly warm. Once again this red-haired Yoder girl was making him feel foolish in his own house. “So she didn’t ride the toy train?”
    â€œA wagon, Dat.” Amelia tossed the orange beanbag into the air. “Rebecca said that we could...to pick pumpkins and apples.”
    â€œTo find the best ones,” Rebecca explained. “We had to go to the field, so we rode the tractor wagon. Otherwise we couldn’t have carried it all back.”
    â€œToo heavy!” Amelia exclaimed, catching hold of his hand and tugging him toward the stove. “And we made a stew—in a pumpkin! For supper!” Amelia bounced and twirled, coming perilously near the stove. He caught her around the waist and scooped her up out of danger as she chattered on without a pause for breath. “I helped, Dat. Rebecca let me help.”
    Caleb exhaled, definitely feeling outnumbered and outmatched. The good smells, he realized, were coming from the oven. A cast-iron skillet of golden-brown biscuits rested on the stovetop beside a saucepan of what could only be fresh applesauce. “Maybe I was too hasty,” he managed. “But the beanbags? The money I left in the sugar bowl was for groceries, not toys. The move from Idaho was expensive. I can’t afford to buy—”
    â€œI stitched up the beanbags at home last night.”
    Rebecca’s expression was innocent, but she couldn’t hide the light of amusement in her vivid blue eyes.
    â€œFrom scraps,” she continued. “And I stuffed them with horse corn. So they aren’t really bean bags.”
    â€œCorn bags!” Amelia giggled. “You have to play, Dat. It’s fun. You count, and you try to throw the bags into the coal-ander.”
    â€œColander.” Rebecca returned her attention to Caleb. “It’s educational. To teach the little ones to count in English. Mam has the same game at the school. The children love it.”
    Caleb’s mouth tightened, and he grunted a reluctant assent. “If the toy is made and not bought, I suppose—”
    â€œYou try, Dat,” Amelia urged. “Rebecca can do it. It’s really hard to get them in the coal...colander.” She pushed an orange bag into his hand. “And you have to count,” she added in Deitsch. “In English!”
    â€œI don’t have time to play with you now,” Caleb hedged. “The rabbits need—”
    â€œWe fed the bunnies,” Amelia said. “And gave them water.”
    â€œAnd fresh straw,” Rebecca added. She moved to the stove and poured a mug of coffee. “But maybe you’re tired after such a long day at the shop.” She raised a russet eyebrow. “Sugar and cream?”
    Caleb shook his head. “Black.”
    â€œMy father always liked his coffee black, too,” Rebecca murmured, “but I like mine with sugar and cream.” She held out the coffee. “I just made it fresh.”
    â€œPlease, Dat,” Amelia begged, tugging on his arm. “Just one