Brush of Angel's Wings Read online

  Acclaim for

  The Promise of an Angel

  “First-time novelist Reid taps into two fan bases—Amish fiction and angel tales—in this lovely story that seamlessly blends both worlds. Reid has written a fine novel that provides, as its series title claims, a bit of ‘heaven on earth.’”

  —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

  “The Promise of an Angel is a fantastic read! This page-turner kept me up late at night as this unique and refreshing story unfolded. Fast-paced and with an ending that brought a happy tear to my eye, fans of Amish fiction are going to love this first novel in the Heaven on Earth series by debut author Ruth Reid.”

  —BETH WISEMAN, BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF SEEK

  ME WITH ALL YOUR HEART ANDPLAIN PROPOSAL

  “Ruth Reid’s The Promise of an Angel is a beautiful story of faith, hope, and second chances. It will captivate fans of Amish fiction and readers who love an endearing romance.”

  —AMY CLIPSTON, BEST-SELLING AUTHOR

  OF THE KAUFFMAN AMISH BAKERY SERIES

  “Ruth Reid captivates with a powerful new voice and vision.”

  —KELLY LONG, BEST-SELLING AUTHOR OF

  SARAH’S GARDEN AND LILLY’S WEDDING QUILT

  Brush of

  Angel’s Wings

  Brush of

  Angel’s Wings

  A Heaven on Earth Novel

  Ruth Reid

  © 2012 by Ruth Reid

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Scripture quotations are taken from THE NEW KING JAMES VERSION. © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Reid, Ruth, 1963-

  Brush of angel’s wings / Ruth Reid.

  p. cm. -- (A heaven on Earth novel; 2)

  ISBN 978-1-59554-789-7 (trade paper)

  1. Amish--Fiction. 2. Michigan--Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3618.E5475B78 2012

  813’.6--dc23

  2011051932

  Printed in the United States of America

  12 13 14 15 16 17 QG 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To my husband, Dan, and our three children, Lexie,

  Danny, and Sarah. I’m blessed to be surrounded by

  your love and support.

  Contents

  Pennsylvania Dutch Glossary

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  Reading Group Guide

  About the Author

  Pennsylvania Dutch Glossary

  ach: oh

  aemen: amen

  aenti: aunt

  againish: stubborn, strong-willed

  Ausbund: Amish hymnal used in worship services

  babrag boi: rhubarb crisp

  bauch shmartzlich: stomach pain

  blabbermauls: blabbermouths

  boppli: baby

  bruder: brother

  bu: boy

  Budget: Amish newspaper

  daed: dad

  denki: thank you

  dokta: doctor

  doplich: awkward

  Englisch or Englisher: a non-Amish person

  fraa: wife

  geh: go

  grossdaadi haus: grandfather’s house

  gut mariye: good morning

  guder nacht: good night

  gut: good

  haus: house

  hinkle: chicken

  hohchmoot: pride

  jah: yes

  kaffi: coffee

  kapp: a prayer covering worn by the women

  kumm: come/came

  leddich: unmarried

  lieb: love

  Loblied: praise song

  mamm: mom

  mammi: grandmother

  mariye: morning

  maydel: girl

  mei: my

  meiya: tomorrow

  nacht: night

  narrisch: crazy

  nau: now

  nay: no

  nett: not

  onkel: uncle

  Ordnung: the written and unwritten rules of the Amish

  Pennsylvania Deitsch: the language most commonly used by the Amish

  redd-up: clean up

  rumschpringe: running-around period that begins when an Amish youth turns seventeen years old and ends when the young person is baptized into the Amish faith

  schnitzboi: split moon apple pie

  schul: school

  sohn: son

  vass iss gut: what is good

  wundebaar: wonderful

  yummasetti: traditional Amish dish using hamburger, egg noodles, and cheese as the main ingredients

  Chapter One

  Rachel Hartzler wove through the wedding crowd, then dashed toward the line of parked buggies. Now that her sister Iva’s wedding ceremony had ended, Rachel needed to rush home and help with the meal preparations. It wouldn’t be long before the throng of wedding guests migrated from her aenti’s house to her parents’ home to continue celebrating.

  She hitched her horse in haste, hoping to avoid the guests and their comments. Several had already mentioned that she would be the next Hartzler married. The last Hartzler, she’d inwardly corrected. She wasn’t holding her breath. Marriage wasn’t around the corner for her. At age twenty, well past the prime time to court, she had yet to be offered a ride home after one of the youth singings. Lately she’d been praying about becoming a teacher. A good job for a maydel.

  Rachel climbed into the buggy and fastened the canvas leg covering over her lap. Despite the clear sky and sun overhead, Michigan’s early spring wind produced a teeth-chattering chill.

  “Geh on, Ginger.” She tapped the reins. The horse obeyed and the buggy lurched forward. Once on the main road, she gave the horse a free head. The mare, feeling her morning oats, picked up the pace. A retired harness racer, Ginger ran faster than any of the other horses in her father’s stock.

  As a steady clopping of hooves from behind them grew louder, Ginger must have sensed co
mpetition approaching and her pace automatically increased. Rachel dismissed the fleeting notion to rein in the mare. After all, the icy winter had kept them both off the roads. With only a thin layer of slush on the pavement, it wouldn’t hurt to let the horse burn her energy.

  She glanced out the window opening at an approaching buggy. Shaded inside, the male driver’s identity wasn’t visible. His sorrel gelding came alongside her, nostrils flaring from the quick pace. The horse didn’t have the zest to pass, despite his driver’s calls to go faster.

  It had been a long time since her last race. A flash of pride spurted through her veins. Ginger could win without an ounce more energy. But strategy was important.

  Rachel caught a glimpse of how close the other buggy’s wheel was to hers. Too close. Any connection would tangle them both into a heap. A good excuse to move faster. She clucked her tongue and Ginger happily obeyed. Her heart rate increased to match the faster clopping of Ginger’s hooves. The brisk air burned Rachel’s cheeks and a chill traveled down the back of her neck. She’d never gone so fast.

  The stiff breeze caught her winter bonnet and slipped it off her head, saved from blowing away only by the loosely tied strings around her neck. Her flimsy prayer kapp flapped as a few of the pins holding the head covering in place loosened. She shifted the reins to one hand and used her free hand to grasp the strings of her kapp.

  A few of her aentis had skipped the ceremony to prepare the meal, so she certainly didn’t want to arrive home with her hair askew and her covering in disarray. Buggy racing was only something that happened between the boys, and even then the elders did not always overlook their boyish pranks.

  The last buggy race she’d won caused some undesirable attention. She shouldn’t want to risk spoiling her sister’s wedding festivities just to prove she could handle a fast horse. Still, the excitement surging inside spurred her on. She would pull back on Ginger and drop her speed when they reached the bend on Northland Drive where the dirt road leading to the farm came into view. Continuing the race around the corner wouldn’t be wise.

  “Get over, there’s a—” The man’s muffled yell was swallowed by a blaring horn.

  Rachel stuck her head out the side opening. A semitruck driver laid on the horn again as he sped past. The truck’s draft pushed Ginger off the road and onto the dirt shoulder. The shuddering buggy wheel dipped into a large hole. Rachel slid across the seat and slammed hard against the door. Another jolt lifted her off the bench and hurled her toward the window. Something solid thudded against the side of her buggy and kept her from catapulting out.

  She clambered to get back into position and held the reins tightly in her hands. She leaned back and pulled steadily on Ginger’s reins. “Come on, girl, whoa!” she shouted, her voice shrill with fear. Finally, the horse stopped. She held her hand over her ribs and inhaled a few quick breaths. Her muscles quivered, but she didn’t dare release her grasp on the reins, not with Ginger pawing at the ground.

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she whispered, “Denki, God. You spared mei life.”

  “You got that right.”

  She jumped, startled by the appearance of the man and the harshness in his tone. She opened her eyes to come face-to-face with Jordan Engles.

  “You nearly killed both of us.” He cocked his head to gain full view of the inside of her buggy, narrowing his mossy-green eyes.

  “I did? You were certainly intent on racing.” She bit her tongue to keep from adding, And you lost.

  He rubbed his neck while cranking it side to side. His expression relaxed and he cleared his throat. “Are you okay?” The edginess was gone from his voice.

  Reality of the near accident sank in and rendered her speechless. She couldn’t offer more than a mere nod. She rubbed her sweaty hands against the folds of her dress. Her palms, raw from the leather reins rubbing them, burned.

  He squatted in front of the wheel, poked around a bit, then rose. “You’ve damaged the wheelbase.”

  Ach, her father wouldn’t be pleased with the news. “I heard a loud thud. What did I hit?”

  “Other than a hole? Nothing.”

  Before she had a chance to respond, he opened the door and made a short jerk of his head. “Get out. I’ll drive you.”

  She flipped off the leg covering and lowered herself to the ground. Ginger lunged forward and the buggy shifted. Rachel jumped back inside, scrambled over the seat, and set the brake. Something she should’ve remembered the moment the buggy stopped.

  “Take it easy,” Jordan said.

  Not knowing if he meant her or the horse, she moved with caution. With the buggy on the edge of the ditch, and his unwillingness to stand aside, there wasn’t much space to step out.

  When she did, her arm brushed against his chest. She followed the hooks and eyes on his dark vest to his thick neck and snugfitting collarless shirt. Then she lifted her eyes and focused on the dimple indenting the center of his chin.

  He grinned. “You think you can move aside now?”

  “I . . . uh . . .” If she could find a deeper hole, she’d bury herself.

  The entire incident left her stunned. But so did staring into his eyes.

  Looking more closely at him, she realized his teeth were clenched and he’d pinned his shoulder against the wheel. When she glanced at the soft ground, reality of the situation soaked in like a stale slice of bread sponging up milk. Her movement threatened the buggy’s stability.

  “Move away from the buggy.” He tossed his head, knocking the straw hat sideways on his head, revealing a thick mass of auburn waves.

  She inched passed him. Instead of waiting for him at his buggy, she went around to the other side to calm Ginger, who hadn’t stopped stomping the ground.

  “Easy, girl.” She glided her hand down the horse’s neck and along her back to the harness buckle. After releasing the straps, she freed the mare. Unbalanced, the buggy shifted.

  Jordan’s strained groan sounded like a growl.

  “Ach, I’m sorry.”

  She rushed back to the other side of the buggy as his boot slid over the mixture of gravel and slushy mud.

  His jaw squared, causing the veins in his thick neck to swell with pressure. “Stand back!”

  “You are not alone, child.” The ten-foot spread of Nathaniel’s unfurled wings engulfed Jordan under its protective canopy. Braced against the wheel, Jordan hadn’t realized his burden had been lifted. He still pressed, still struggled, laboring against what had already been done.

  Nathaniel covered Jordan’s hands and pushed the limp wheel onto stable ground.

  Standing mute, Jordan rubbed his hands together as though he recognized the source of the penetrating heat.

  “Acknowledge God in your heart,” Nathaniel whispered, spreading a warm breeze over Jordan’s face. Even Nathaniel’s gentle touch to his shoulder didn’t awaken Jordan’s spirit.

  The young man glanced up at the sky. His mouth clamped tight.

  Nathaniel’s wings retracted. His radiance dimmed as he moved away. He could do no more at present. He would return to the perimeter of the ethereal realm, where he watched over his charge. Until called again by God.

  Jordan bent his knee and touched the wooden rim. His heart hammered against his chest. He hadn’t enough strength to push the buggy onto safer ground, yet he saw the movement. He’d read how adrenaline can surge during a crisis. The idea seemed logical. He stood and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Rachel’s sharp breath broke his concentration. As he turned to look at her, his arm accidentally brushed against her shoulder.

  “Denki,” she said softly.

  If he hadn’t witnessed her racing the buggy, he never would have believed that this small-framed girl standing beside him could control a horse that strong and that fast. He’d barely held on to his gelding after the semi spooked him.

  Jordan opened his mouth to say something about her foolish driving on a major highway, but stopped when he saw her trembling lips.

 
; A gust of wind lifted her kapp, exposing long wisps of untamed hair. In the sunlight, her wheat-colored hair took on a reddish tinge. He froze, captivated by the shine.

  She spun away and attempted to straighten her head covering. An impossible task while she held the horse’s reins.

  Jordan came up beside her and took hold of the mare. “I’ll tie her to the back of my rig.”

  “Denki.” She kept her back to him and in a flash had the pins out and the kapp refastened.

  The mare held her head high, looking about her, while he lapped the leather strap through a metal ring and pulled it tight.

  Instead of climbing into the buggy, Rachel was frowning, staring off in the distance.

  “You do want a ride, don’t you?” he asked as he came up behind her.

  Rachel glanced at his extended hand and climbed into the buggy unassisted. Seated ramrod straight on the bench, she tucked her chin against her chest and closed her eyes, while her fingers fumbled to shove more stray strands of hair under her head covering.

  Her hair looked fine spilling out from the kapp. He would have told her so, but he didn’t dare add more tension to the situation. Apparently, riding in his buggy had put her on edge.

  Her dress wasn’t wrinkled, yet she repeatedly hand-ironed the folds on it.

  He realized he was staring at her while parked on the shoulder of a busy road. Not wise—for more than just safety reasons. He picked up the reins and released the brake.

  When the buggy jerked forward, she grasped the edge of the seat and peered straight ahead, offering a perfect profile of high cheekbones.

  “Where’s the bucket brigade?” he asked.

  She looked confused. “For what? A fire?”

  “You were running that horse hard. I figured there could only be one reason: a fire.” Her blue eyes sparkled like the reflective surface of his favorite fishing hole and appeared just as cold. “Where are you going?”

  She shifted on the seat. “I live up the road. We’re hosting a wedding for my sister.”

  “Are you Micah Hartzler’s daughter?”

  “Jah,” she acknowledged curtly, then faced forward.

  “I’ve been helping the Troyers close up their farm. They’re moving to Wiscon—you already know that, since Iva will be moving too.”