The Christmas Courtship by Emma Miller

Author:Emma Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2019-08-08T15:30:49+00:00

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The smokehouse was Phoebe’s favorite outbuilding on the Miller farm. Maybe it was because her family had never had one, or maybe it was because it was another representation of the abundance here in Hickory Grove. Growing up, she remembered often going to bed hungry, not just for physical sustenance, but emotional, as well. Benjamin and Rosemary not only fed their children’s bodies, but also their souls.

One foot in the door, Phoebe was overcome by the rich smells of smoked shad, salted and sugar-cured hams, and, of course, the smoked hams that hung in rows from the dark beams overhead. Feeding a large family necessitated forethought and planning. And despite the two propane-powered freezers in Benjamin and Rosemary’s cellar, the smokehouse provided a good deal of the meat served on the table year-round.

“Joshua?” she called, her eyes adjusting to the dim light that seeped through tiny windows high on two walls and covered in brown paper to protect the meats from the sunlight.

“Hey, Phoebe. Right here.”

She spotted him standing on a stool.

He stretched his arm to remove a cord that held up a hefty side of smoked bacon. “It’s nice to see you. I wasn’t expecting—” When he made eye contact with her, he went quiet. “What’s wrong?” he asked, coming down off the stool, the side of bacon dangling from his hand on a thick cord.

Phoebe just stood there, trying not to cry but not doing a good job of it. The letter from her mother was crumpled in her cold hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed by her tears. “I didn’t know what to do...who to come to.”

He set the bacon down on a makeshift table built from plywood and two sawhorses. “What is it?”

She pressed her lips together. “My son,” was all she could manage.

His handsome face immediately washed with concern. “Is John-John all right?”

“Yes, fine. Not hurt or sick. But—” Her hand shaking, she handed him the letter.

Joshua took it from her hand. He was wearing a plain gray Englisher sweatshirt that had a hood, and no hat. She could see it stuffed in the front pocket. Rosemary had cut all of the men’s hair the previous night. He looked younger than twenty-three with the boyish haircut and his face shaved cleanly. But she didn’t see him as a boy; if she’d had any question as to whether he was mature enough to take on the responsibilities of a husband and father, the last two weeks had dispelled that. The better she got to know him, the more she realized he was actually quite mature for a single man his age.

“The letter is from my mother,” she explained.

“You want me to read it?”

She nodded, not trusting she could tell him the contents without sobbing on his shoulder. Because right now, she desperately wanted to feel his strong arms around her.

He smoothed out the letter and began to read.

Phoebe hugged herself, watching him.

It only took a moment before he looked up at her. “He can’t do this, Phoebe.

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