Pockets of Peace

By Laurie Stroup Smith

Five years after an unexpected pregnancy forces Lydia Byler to make difficult decisions, she is offered a job helping Birdie Miller manage her bed and breakfast in Pinecraft. Single, shunned, and desperate for a fresh start, Lydia agrees to relocate and reunites with the handsome Wesley Hochstetler.

Wesley has only ever had eyes for Lydia. Though their paths have crossed many times over the years, they never discussed the possibility of spending forever together. When she moves to town, he believes it’s God’s will for them to pursue a romantic relationship. But he doesn’t know about her pregnancy or the adoption that followed.

Inspired by a letter from the child’s adoptive parents, Lydia sews a pocket quilt for the boy. She learns he and his family will soon visit Pinecraft, and the burden of her secret becomes too much to bear. The truth comes to light, straining her bond with Wesley.

• Language: English
• Publisher: vinspirepublishing
• Release date: May 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005452551

Book preview

Pockets of Peace

Five years after an unexpected pregnancy forces Lydia Byler to make difficult decisions, she is offered a job helping Birdie Miller manage her bed and breakfast in Pinecraft. Single, shunned, and desperate for a fresh start, Lydia agrees to relocate and reunites with the handsome Wesley Hochstetler.

Wesley has only ever had eyes for Lydia. Though their paths have crossed many times over the years, they never discussed the possibility of spending forever together. When she moves to town, he believes it’s God’s will for them to pursue a romantic relationship. But he doesn’t know about her pregnancy or the adoption that followed.

Inspired by a letter from the child’s adoptive parents, Lydia sews a pocket quilt for the boy. She learns he and his family will soon visit Pinecraft, and the burden of her secret becomes too much to bear. The truth comes to light, straining her bond with Wesley.

Praise for Pockets of Peace

My favorite of the Pocket Quilts books so far. Fans of Amish fiction will love this well-written story of faith, hope, and healing. ~ Mindy Steele, Best-selling author of An Amish Flower Farm and Christmas Grace

Pockets of Peace is a wonderful story of love, forgiveness, and new beginnings. Fans of Amish fiction won’t want to miss this third installment of Laurie Stroup Smith’s Pocket Quilt Series. ~ Susan Lantz Simpson, USA Today Bestselling Author, Plainly Maryland Series, Amish of Southern Maryland Romances Series, mish Christmas Miracles Collection, More Amish Christmas Miracles

Pockets of Peace

Book 3 in the Pocket Quilt Series

Laurie Stroup Smith

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Copyright

Copyright ©2022 Laurie Stroup Smith

Cover Art copyright ©2022 Elaina Lee/For the Muse Designs

Formatting and Interior Design by Woven Red Author Services

First Edition

Printed and bound in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact Vinspire Publishing, LLC, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

All characters in this work are purely fictional and have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

ISBN: 978-1-7363662-7-1

Published by Vinspire Publishing, LLC

Dedication

For Mom, with love.

In memory of my mother-in-law, Nancy. You are forever in our hearts.

Mother’s love is peace. It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved. ~ Erich Fromm

Epigraph

Let your light shine. ~ Matthew 5:16

Chapter One

Lydia Byler peeked over her shoulder into the empty shop. Her cell phone rang a third time. The name on the screen produced a smile.

Wesley Hochstetler— She relaxed into the chair and propped her swollen feet on the edge of an open desk drawer—feet so swollen she had to replace her favorite Skechers with a pair of flip flops. You’re late.

I know. Sorry. Got held up on the job site. And then the line at Yoder’s stretched clear ’round the corner.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Sounds about right. What kind of pie did you have?

Banana cream.

Disgusting. She scrunched her nose, suppressing a wave of nausea. That’s the worst pie on their menu.

You know it’s my favorite, but I’m not gonna waste time arguing about pie with a pretty girl.

Her cheeks warmed. Now that’s what I like to hear. Do you have a busy afternoon?

We have another install in an hour. I’ll be fabricating stone slabs all day tomorrow. He groaned. It’s supposed to be hot.

The crystal-blue Gulf waters and sugary-sand beaches of Siesta Key drifted to mind. She could almost smell sunscreen as she pulled her cardigan sleeves over her forearms. Wish I was there. I could use some Florida sun. It’s gloomy and downright chilly here.

Ah, yes. Fall in Ohio. I should come visit. Keep you warm.

No! She bolted upright and rose to her feet. Her head swirled. She gripped the desk to remain steady. I mean, of course, I’d love that, but you don’t have many vacation days. You’ll spend most of your time on the road.

Reschedule your trip then.

She placed a hand on her belly and the heel of a tiny foot nudged her palm. "I’d love to see you, but I had to cancel. We’ve been so busy here at the store. Customers coming in for fire pits and rakes. And the holiday rush will be here before we know it. She cringed; the lie thick on her tongue as she walked down the hallway into the furniture shop’s storefront. She straightened the stack of wood stain color guides on the counter. The faint scent of varnish and shellac hung in the air, causing the headache that ailed her all morning to intensify. Maybe my daed will approve time off for spring break."

He should. And I think he should name you Byler Hardware’s employee of the month.

"Jah." She feigned excitement and prayed her voice didn’t sound as fake to him as her response did to her own ears. The forced smile returned as she wrestled to brighten this sudden change in her mood. She couldn’t think about her father, his recent heart attack, or her contribution to his physical decline. Not while she was on the phone with Wesley.

Silence stretched, leaving her alone with her spiraling thoughts.

I miss you. His husky whisper sent shivers down her spine.

And I miss you. Grateful he couldn’t see her face or her growing form, she exhaled and prayed for forgiveness.

You and I could be great together. We could have something mighty special.

Maybe if we lived closer.

Maybe someday. For now, I’ll take what I can get. Let it be known I think long-distance relationships are for the birds.

Noted. she giggled. I’d better get going.

Me too. Now don’t you go batting those long eyelashes at the farm boys, ya hear?

You know I only have eyes for you. A sharp pain stabbed her in the ribs, and she grabbed her side.

Same time next week?

I’m already looking forward to it. Wincing, she ended the call.

Calvin approached from the storeroom, wearing a distressed pair of jeans and a heather gray sweatshirt splattered with Minwax—Jacobean wood stain if she had to guess. The customers’ favorite.

The boss handed her a manila folder. File these order forms when you get a chance, would ya? She nodded as he grabbed the keys to his truck. Backing out the front door, he continued, I’ll be back in a few. Gotta run over to the school. The wife asked me to bring her some Tylenol.

You can count on me. She, too, could use something to take the edge off the headache she couldn’t seem to shake.

I know. And that’s why I like having you around.

She rubbed her swollen belly. That’s quite a compliment, but my current situation has not exactly made life easy for you or your family.

I beg to differ. You’re quite an asset around here.

"Well, jah, but—"

We make decisions every day—some good and some not so good—and we face the consequences. Your dad may be my best friend, so some might say I’m biased. He shook his head, pointed his finger, and peered at her from beneath the brim of his ball cap. You’re a good egg. No doubt about it. Don’t you believe otherwise.

His image blurred. "Danke."

Better not get tears on those invoices. You’ll smear the ink. He shot her a sideways smile and waved. I’m outta here. When Aaron gets back from his lunch break, will you ask him to start sanding the Weavers’ crib?

Of course.

Lydia wiped her eyes with a tissue from a box on the desk and eased into the chair. She opened the filing cabinet drawer and skimmed the first order form in the file. Joshua and Anna Weaver, her best friend’s in-laws, had chosen the Boulder Creek crib and a matching dresser, fashioned from reclaimed barn wood and stained Prairie Gray. A beautiful choice. One she could have made under different circumstances.

Calvin and Aaron would have the furniture ready in plenty of time since her due date wasn’t for eight more weeks. The baby kicked as if he could read her thoughts.

Cans rustled in the workroom, indicating Aaron’s return.

She rubbed her belly and lowered her voice. "I know, little guy. You are a gift from Gott. Single and shunned, she could barely make it on her own. If not for Calvin’s generosity, she would live at the Holmes County women’s shelter. The tears returned as she once again wrestled with reality: she was unfit and unprepared for motherhood. You deserve better than I can give you. Asking Joshua and Anna to be your parents was the easiest decision I have ever made."

Her friends had endured more than their share of heartbreak. How many times had she witnessed Anna’s sadness on a Sunday morning whenever someone mentioned God’s will or God’s plan? Aside from multiple miscarriages, how many times had they set their hopes on an adoption that only then failed to become reality? Placing her baby with them would be a blessing to everyone.

She dried her cheeks with the back of her hand and finished filing the order forms, pausing twice to blow her nose.

Once composed, she delivered Calvin’s message to Aaron and returned to the office. The door creaked as her boss entered, holding a Monster cookie from the Mast family’s bakery. He broke off a chunk and popped it in his mouth before placing the package on her desk calendar.

For me? She raised her eyes to meet his. The room spun, and she squinted, fighting to focus. "Danke. How’d you know I was craving chocolate?"

The lines on his forehead deepened. You feeling okay, kid?

Her heart beat as if she’d consumed three cups of coffee. She swallowed the bile bubbling at the back of her throat.

Something’s not right…I feel— She hunched over the desk.

Calvin’s hands wrapped around her shoulders. She slumped against his strong frame. He lowered her to the floor and propped her legs on a box. Aaron, get in here!

Her breaths grew shallow. She closed her eyes against the stabbing pain below her ribs.

Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency? The voice sounded as if the person stood in a tunnel.

Calvin gripped her wrist, his first two fingers in position to take her pulse. I need an ambulance—Burkholder Furniture Restoration and Repair—out on 63. Please hurry.

She swallowed hard. C—call Joshua and Anna—

Chapter Two

Five Years Later

Lydia eyed the scar stretching across her belly like a clothesline tethered to her hips.

Where had the time gone?

Not too long ago, she worked alongside her friends in her father’s hardware store in Holmes County. Not too long ago, she ran with those same friends to volleyball games and singings. Not too long ago, she sneaked away from field parties and…she squeezed her eyes shut as if the motion could erase the poor decisions.

But now, on the fifth anniversary of that tragically beautiful day, she lay here in this bed that is not her own. With this scar. With this secret. With doubts swirling alongside desires.

She had to touch the thin pink line—the ridge of tissue beneath her fingertips, the once-tender muscles—to root her thoughts in the present. She pushed against the soft skin beneath her navel, numb to the tired question.

A salty breeze teased the eyelet curtains dressing the open window. The chirping of birds and the warming rays of the afternoon sun called her outdoors, but she declined the invitation by tossing the hem of her dress toward her socked feet. Folding her arms across her chest, she rolled onto her side to face the door—turning her back against the brightness of the day. Any attempt to push the past aside failed, and memories of home fought their way to the forefront of her mind.

She pictured her best friend Mariah on the day she and her husband welcomed their fourth child into the world. Little Micah had the same bright, blue eyes as his father and a gentle nature, which mirrored that of his mother.

If not for her best friend, Lydia would never have survived the heartache and loneliness of the past six years. How many times had Mariah traveled across the county to visit her at Calvin’s place? How often had she arranged for her parents to join them even though the bishop forbade their contact? How many hours had Mariah spent by her side through the emergency Cesarean section and her recovery from preeclampsia? These memories only brought along with them another wave of homesickness.

The Florida air filled her lungs. Lydia rolled over and blinked against the light streaming through the window. The invitation to help Mariah’s aunt Birdie manage the bed and breakfast in Pinecraft could not have come at a better time. She may have struggled to leave her parents and the friends who had stuck by her side despite the bishop’s warnings, but she wouldn’t miss the mess she had caused. This relocation to the small Sarasota neighborhood promised big opportunities for a brighter future. An obvious choice.

Had she made the right decisions for -the baby? For his father? For the Weavers?

What about Wesley?

Her eyelids grew heavy, and she chose not to fight the fatigue.

A knock at the door startled her to her feet. Coming. She adjusted her kapp and wiped the wrinkles from her dress before crossing the hardwood. Miss Birdie’s rosy face appeared as the door swung open. Dressed in a red-checked apron over a pale-blue dress, the woman lifted a letter from the basket hanging on the front of her walker.

This came for you, dear. Miss Birdie extended the envelope, which Lydia accepted. How are you feeling after the long trip? Can I get you anything—cinnamon roll, cup of hot tea?

Lydia shook her head. "Danke. I’m fine, but shouldn’t you have your legs up?"

The woman waved her hand. Pssh. You sound like my physical therapist and my niece. Though Mariah only stayed a few weeks, she grew quite fond of this place.

I know she did.

I do hope you’ll soon find the bed and breakfast feels like home. Have I given you enough time to get settled?

More than enough.

Good then. I am so grateful to you for dropping everything to come down here. She paused until Lydia lifted her eyes.

Instead of returning the sentiment, she cleared her throat, the words stuck on the back of her tongue. She should be grateful to Miss Birdie. She had jumped at the chance to drop everything, to escape, to take advantage of a fresh start in Pinecraft. Miss Birdie was the single soul in Florida who knew her secret, and the woman had sworn to keep her lips sealed.

A tiny bark echoed from somewhere down the hallway. Sunny needs a walk, and I could use your help preparing dinner for the guests.

"You are aware I’m a bit of a