Holiday of Hope: An Amish Christmas Wedding Story

By Kelly Irvin

An Amish Christmas Wedding story from bestselling author Kelly Irvin.

Henry Lufkin is one of four bachelors who lived in the West Kootenai, Montana, cabins that were destroyed by wildfires. He’s the only one of them who hasn’t since married, but he likes his solitude. Then an old friend asks him to care for his son, and Henry has to share his small cabin and his life with bewildered and rebellious ten-year-old Tommy. When the child encounters trouble at school, Henry reaches out to Tommy’s teacher. Leesa Yoder never expected to find herself single and teaching sixteen young scholars, and she certainly didn’t anticipate an inexperienced bachelor telling her how to do her job. Amid the flying sparks, can Henry and Leesa see that there might be hope and love in this unexpected situation?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zondervan
• Release date: Oct 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9780310361442

Kelly Irvin

Kelly Irvin is a bestselling, award-winning author of over thirty novels and stories. A retired public relations professional, Kelly lives with her husband, Tim, in San Antonio. They have two children, four grandchildren, and two ornery cats. Visit her online at KellyIrvin.com; Instagram: @kelly_irvin; Facebook: @Kelly.Irvin.Author; X: @Kelly_S_Irvin.

Book preview

title page

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Contents

Dedication

Epigraph

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

Discussion Questions

Glossary

About the Author

Copyright

Dedication

To my son Nicholas, whose classroom antics provided fodder for Tommy’s story. You’ve always marched to the beat of your own drum and I love you for it.

Epigraph

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort,  who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.  For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ.

2

Corinthians

1:3-5

NIV

1

Henry Lufkin never could have imagined this.

He stared down at the boy. A scowl on his freckled face, his arms crossed, the boy stared back.

The letter said his name was Tommy—as if Henry wouldn’t know the name of his best friend’s only child. It also said he was ten. Time had flown by so quickly. Tommy was scrawny and looked younger. In fact, he looked like a skinny, bedraggled runt. His dishwater-blond hair needed cutting, and his faded denim pants were too short.

The boy himself had said nothing so far.

They were standing outside the Libby Amtrak train station on this first day of September with its cool breeze and sunshine, not talking, mostly taking turns staring at their boots and the passing cars. The air reeked of diesel, burnt oil, and too many people. It had only been a few hours, but Henry already missed the clean, fresh scent of pine on a breeze wafting from the mountains in Montana’s Kootenai National Forest.

Only Dodger, Henry’s aging mutt-hound, spoke—if his cheerful barks and enthusiastic tail thumping could be called speaking. Dodger liked trains, and he liked little boys.

His forehead furled in fine wrinkles, Tommy yanked his fisted hands up to his chest as if afraid Dodger would bite his fingers. What boy didn’t like dogs?

You agreed to do this. The little angel sitting on Henry’s shoulder whispered in his ear. So get on with it.

What do you know about raising a child? A widower taking care of an orphan—ha! This has disaster written all over it. That guy was on his other shoulder—a being Henry suspected was of a different persuasion. You’re perfectly happy living the solitary life in the most beautiful place in the world.

Sometimes a man had no choice. When asked to step up, he stepped up. Henry stuck out his hand. "I’m Henry. The hund is Dodger. He won’t bite you. He likes you."

Tommy eyed Henry’s hand with a sullen expression. He sniffed. Finally, he offered his own. His fingers were sticky, and he had dirt under his fingernails. I know who you are.

His hand dropped and inched toward Dodger’s head. Dodger nudged it with an excited yip. Tommy backed away.

Maybe he’d never had a dog. Every boy should have a dog. How was the trip?

The man in the seat next to me snored. The boy’s soft Kentucky drawl roused the usual nostalgic yearning in Henry. He hadn’t been home in four years. Tommy likely had never been farther than a few miles from Munsford in his short life. ’Bout broke my eardrum.

"I’m sorry about your aenti Anna Mae."

Tommy’s shoulders hunched. He ducked his head.

Maybe they should talk about this when they’d had time to get to know each other better. Are you hungry?

I could eat, I guess. The boy’s feigned indifference didn’t match the way he stared hungrily at the grease-stained bag Henry held up. It’s been a stretch since I ate the sandwiches Doris made me.

Doris was the woman who kept Tommy after Anna Mae died until he could be sent to live with Henry. Tommy talked like a small adult. The story told in the letter lent credence to the fact that Tommy’s life had forced him to grow up quicker than most.

I got us some burgers and fries. And those little fried cinnamon apple pies. I like pie. We’ll eat them in the van. Henry waved toward Calvin Little’s pristine blue minivan. Don’t forget your backpack. It’s an hour’s drive to Kootenai.

What kind of word is Kootenai? Tommy grabbed a battered gray suitcase and hefted his backpack onto his shoulder. Does it mean something?

It’s Indian. One of the tribes here is called Kootenai. It’s also the language they speak. Or used to speak. Only a few do now.

The suitcase bumped along the sidewalk as Tommy scrambled to keep up with Henry’s long legs. He forced himself to slow down. From now on, he would have to think about another person’s well-being. Was the boy hungry? Was he tired? Sick? Did he need clothes? What about school? School started on Monday. And then there would be rumspringa and girls and baptism.

What had Henry done to himself?

Can I ask you another question?

Did all kids ask this many questions? Henry’s beloved quiet evenings filled only with crackling flames in the fireplace during winter and birds chattering outside his open windows in summer disappeared into a murky future filled with endless jawing.

At least Tommy would be in school during the day. The teacher would know how to deal with this new scholar.

Henry slid open the van door and stepped back so Dodger could hop in. Anything.

"Did you ever get a new fraa?"

Almost anything. The boy knew about his first wife. The thought that he and Anna Mae had talked about Henry’s loss stung. It was private. No one’s business. "After my first fraa died, I never thought about marrying again."

Everybody dies.

Tommy had reason to feel that way. The idea wasn’t foreign to Henry either. I reckon.

"Are you my daed?"

"What? Nee. Nee."

Tommy dropped his suitcase on the curb with a thump. Then what am I doing here?

"Josiah was your daed. You know that."

Tommy’s mother died in childbirth. Josiah died of leukemia five years later, leaving Tommy in the care of Josiah’s only sister, a teacher who never married. Now she was gone, taken by some kind of cancer.

What was God’s plan for Tommy in all of this? Somehow it involved Henry. In God’s time they would both see how their lives fit together. In the meantime it was anyone’s guess.

Then what am I doing here? Tommy’s plaintive voice rose. Why couldn’t I stay with my friends Elias or Moses?

Both families had offered to take him. Plain folks were like that. What was one more mouth to feed? Because this is what your father wanted. Why, Henry had no idea. The letter from Josiah’s sister had arrived the previous week. When Henry called to speak to her, she had already passed. Tommy’s one remaining family member was gone. It’s getting late. You’ve been on the road since yesterday and probably want a good night’s sleep before church tomorrow.

I’m not going to church.

One leg up to climb in the van, Henry paused. What?

"I don’t believe