Patricia Davids - The Christmas Quilt

Season of second chances...

Years ago, Rebecca Beachy kept her reasons for rejecting Gideon Troyer’s marriage proposal a secret. Then Gideon left their Amish community. Now, Rebecca crafts quilts to raise money to cure her blindness. She’s also busy guarding her heart against love.

Until Gideon returns, at risk of being shunned, to make the winning bid on one of her expensive quilts. Will the quilt—a patchwork of rediscovered love—bring Gideon and Rebecca back together again?

“You are a pilot?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes.”

Sadness settled over her. “I once knew a young Amish man who wanted to fly. Is it wonderful to soar above the earth like a bird?”

“It has its moments. What happened to him?”

She fought back tears. “The lure of the world pulled him away from our faith and he never came back.”

After a long pause, he asked, “Were the two of you close?”

“Ja, very close.” Why was she sharing this with a stranger? Perhaps, because in some odd way he reminded her of Gideon.

“Did you ever think about going with him?”

She smiled sadly. “I didn’t believe he would leave. For a long time I thought it was my fault, but I know now that it was not.”

Booker stepped closer. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because he vowed to live by the rules of our Amish faith. If he could turn his back on God, it was not because of me.”

PATRICIA DAVIDS

After thirty-five years as a nurse, Pat has hung up her stethoscope to become a full-time writer. She enjoys spending her new free time visiting her grandchildren, doing some long-overdue yard work and traveling to research her story locations. She resides in Wichita, Kansas. Pat always enjoys hearing from her readers. You can visit her on the web at www.patriciadavids.com.

Patricia Davids

The Christmas Quilt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.

—Isaiah 55:8–9

For my cousin Kay. Eternal rest, grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace.

Amen.

Contents

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

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“Booker, if you’re gonna die, at least have the decency to go home and do it there.”

Slumped over his desk, Gideon “Booker” Troyer kept his aching head pillowed on his forearms, but managed to cast a one-eyed glare at Craig Murphy, his friend and partner at Troyer Air Charter. “I’m fine.”

“And pigs can fly.” Craig advanced into Gideon’s office.

“If they pay cash I’ll fly them anywhere they want to go.” Gideon sat up. His less-than-witty comeback was followed by a ragged, painful cough. A bone-deep shiver shook his body.

Craig took a step back. “You’re spreading germs, man.”

“So leave.” Was a half hour of peace and quiet too much to ask? The drone of the television in the waiting area supplied just the right amount of white noise to let him drift off.

“You’re the one leaving—for home!”

“I can’t go anywhere until this next load of freight gets here. Then I’m taking it to Caribou.” Gideon barely recognized his raspy voice. He sounded almost as bad as he felt. Almost.

“If I was sick as a dog, you wouldn’t let me fly a kite, let alone your prize Cessna.”

It wasn’t like Gideon had a choice. Their business was finally showing a profit. A small one, but it was something to build on. He’d make today’s flight. If his austere Amish upbringing had taught him anything, it was the value of hard work. “I’ve got a contract to fulfill.”

Shaking his head, Craig said, “We’ve got a contract. I know you think you’re indispensable, Booker, but you’re not.”

The two men had known each other for six years, since their flight school days. It had been Craig who’d given Gideon his nickname on the first day of class. Gideon—Bible—the Book. Hence, Booker. Gideon had returned the favor a few weeks later when their trainer plane experienced mechanical trouble the first two times Craig took the controls. Craig was saddled with “Law” as in Murphy’s Law. If anything can go wrong, it will.

“Are you offering to take this run?” Gideon took a swig of lukewarm coffee from the black mug on the corner of his desk. It turned into razor blades sliding down his throat.

“Yes. Go home and get some rest.”

Gideon looked at him in surprise. “You mean that? I thought you had plans with Melody?”

“We’re sort of on the outs. Caribou in October will be warmer than the reception waiting for me the next time I see her.”

A woman’s voice from the other room said, “That’s because you’re a knucklehead.”

Craig rolled his eyes and raised his voice. “Stop giving people a piece of your mind, Roseanne. It’s almost gone.”

Gideon rose to his feet. The room spun wildly for a second before settling back into his cluttered office.

Craig put out a hand to steady him. “You’re grounded, buddy. Not another word.”

Gideon hated to admit it, but he was in no shape to be in a cockpit. “Thanks, Law. I owe you one.”

Craig leaned closer. “Roseanne is making me do it.”

Gideon cracked a grin. Their secretary’s powers of persuasion were legendary. She might look like someone’s cookie-baking grandmother with her gray hair pulled back in a bun, but she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Gideon promised.

Roseanne came around Craig with Gideon’s coat in her hands. “You will not come back for a week.”

Gideon scowled at her. “Tell me again who’s the boss here?”

Roseanne plopped her hands on her ample hips. “You two might own this business, but I run it. If I come down sick, we’re really in trouble. Who can handle the computer, the phone, the fax machine, invoices, accounts payable and the coffeepot all without leaving her chair?”

“You,” he and Craig said together.

Gideon smiled. “You’re indispensable, Roseanne.”

“And you’re sick. Get out of here and take this with you.” She held out a foam cup with a lid on it.

“What’s this?”

“Your favorite brand of blackcurrant tea. I’d send some chicken soup home with you, but I don’t have any here.”

Blackcurrant tea had been his mother’s surefire remedy for sore throats when he was growing up. He’d thought about sending her a box of this gourmet blend, but he knew she wouldn’t accept it. Not from the black sheep of the family. Gideon was the only one of her five children who’d left the Amish faith.