The Wonder of Your Love - By Beth Wiseman Page 0,46
to pay them all. Thanks to Katie Ann.
She didn’t recognize the envelope on the top of the pile addressed to Ivan, and she instantly wondered if it might have something to do with the mystery house. She ripped into it, but it was only an advertisement for landscaping supplies. Tossing it aside, she laid her head down on the table and wept. She wondered if the crying would ever stop. It had been months since Ivan’s death, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that he was never coming back. He was the only man she’d ever loved, and her life seemed pointless at the moment. She rubbed her belly, then cried even harder.
After a few minutes she forced herself to sit up and focus on the bills, reminding herself that things could be much worse. If it hadn’t been for Katie Ann’s generosity, Lucy wasn’t sure what she would have done. She still couldn’t get over the fact that Ivan’s wife had given her money—a substantial amount of money that would enable her to stay afloat until she found the house that she hoped existed. She was sure there had to be a house somewhere. Nothing pleased Ivan more than to surprise her, and that was the only explanation for why his money was gone from their account and there was a picture of a house and two keys in his cedar box.
She’d driven the countryside looking for the white house with black shutters, surrounded by a white picket fence, but she hadn’t found anything.
After taking a deep breath, she pulled the mortgage bill from the envelope. A mortgage she couldn’t afford on her own. She’d barely signed the check when someone knocked at the door, and she hurriedly swiped at her puffy eyes. It had been almost a week since she’d even put any makeup on.
She looked through the peephole to see a uniformed man, a cop. The last time a police officer showed up at her door, it was to tell her that Ivan was dead.
She eased the door open, no longer concerned about her puffy eyes or the tears now streaming down her cheeks. “Yes?” She sniffled, pushing back a strand of hair.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
She put her hand across her stomach. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what you’re doing here.”
“Lucy Turner?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m sorry, but this is a court summons.” He pushed an envelope toward her before he slowly turned and walked away.
She closed the door, sat back down at the table, and stared at the unopened envelope, wondering which credit card was suing her. Katie Ann’s gift hadn’t come in time, and she wondered how she was ever going to make it. She’d called a realtor the day before, and even though the woman said she thought she could sell the house quickly, Lucy knew she didn’t have enough equity to afford anything else—barely a small apartment to raise her child in.
She lowered her head and did something she rarely did.
She prayed. But no sooner had she asked God to help her than a sharp pain seared across her abdomen, and within minutes she felt her water break. Gasping, she rushed to the phone to call her boss at the café, her only real friend. As she dialed the number, another sharp pain almost brought her to her knees.
She knew it was way too early to be in labor. She didn’t know if God really existed, but if He did, this must be His punishment for her living with another woman’s husband.
KATIE ANN WAS thrilled to meet some of the Amish women in Alamosa, and as she browsed through the shop owned by an Amish widow, she felt a sense of hope. Maybe someday she could own a shop like this in Canaan, even if on a much smaller scale. She could make all kinds of handmade items— pot holders, lap quilts, soaps, dolls, and even jams and jellies.
Maybe her nephew David would put a few pieces of his furniture in her store. He’d recently acquired a furniture store in town, and he was a fine craftsman.
Katie Ann loved being a mother, but she couldn’t help but fantasize about providing goods for the few tourists who found their way to Canaan, and perhaps even for the local Englisch folks.
“How long have you lived in Alamosa?” Katie Ann picked up a business card holder with an Amish buggy etched on the front. Before the woman could answer, she asked, “Who made