Sarah's Christmas Miracle

SARAH’S

CHRISTMAS

MIRACLE

M
ARY
E
LLIS

HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

EUGENE, OREGON

Scripture verses are taken from the
Holy Bible,
New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, IL 60189 USA. All rights reserved.

Cover by Garborg Design Works, Savage, Minnesota

Cover photo © Chris Garborg

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Baked Apples and Christmas Cake recipes come from
The Homestyle Amish Kitchen Cookbook,
Georgia Varozza, general editor.

SARAH’S CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

Copyright © 2010 by Mary Ellis

Published by Harvest House Publishers

Eugene, Oregon 97402

www.harvesthousepublishers.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Ellis, Mary

Sarah’s Christmas miracle / Mary Ellis.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-7369-2968-4 (pbk.)

1. Amish—Fiction. 2. Christmas stories. I. Title.

PS3626.E36S27 2010

813'.6—dc22

2010012425

All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 / BP-SK / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Contents

O
NE

T
WO

T
HREE

F
OUR

F
IVE

S
IX

S
EVEN

E
IGHT

N
INE

T
EN

E
LEVEN

T
WELVE

T
HIRTEEN

F
OURTEEN

F
IFTEEN

C
HRISTMAS
S
UGAR
C
OOKIES

B
AKED
A
PPLES

C
HRISTMAS
C
AKE

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

O
THER
B
OOKS BY
M
ARY
E
LLIS

A
MISH
R
EADER.COM

O
NE

The Day Before Thanksgiving

W
hy can’t things remain the same?

As the sun rose over the eastern hills, the rolling, deep purple meadows glistened from a thousand sparkling prisms as sunlight refracted in the morning dew. Dawn was a magical time of day. Sarah Beachy shuffled her feet through shredded cornstalks as though she had all the time in the world. Fiery red and gold leaves swirled along the lane that separated their land from the neighbor’s property. On her left stood the tidy white house and outbuildings of home—farmland that had been in her family for seven generations. The fenced pastures and rolling croplands stretched as far as the eye could see. On her right was her employer’s business, Country Pleasures—a charming bed-and-breakfast on the county road. Two different worlds, but both dear to her heart.

Englischers
came from all over Ohio to sleep on goose down pillows under handmade Amish quilts in antique four-poster beds. They ate hearty gourmet breakfasts in the luxurious dining room before setting out to visit Amish country. The community of Plain folk had drawn tourists for decades to the quilt shops, farmers’ markets, and furniture galleries of Holmes, Wayne, and Tuscarawas counties. Except for the danger from increased traffic, the Amish had adjusted to their newfound popularity while holding steadfast to their Christian faith and simple lifestyle.

Sarah enjoyed the best of both worlds. The farm where she lived with her parents and two sisters was within walking distance of the inn where she prepared breakfast, washed linens, and tidied rooms in between guests six days a week.
Englischers
weren’t the only ones who were curious. Sarah loved hearing their strange accents, seeing their colorful combinations of clothes, and listening to breakfast chitchat about the bargains they had found at the flea market. And, because she usually finished work by eleven, the rest of her day stretched before her like a box of wrapped chocolate—each hour to be opened and savored at leisure.

“Sarah Beachy!” A voice broke through her trance. “Stop dawdling! I need you
today
!” Mrs. Pratt stood with both hands planted on her hips, yelling from the upstairs porch.

Although still too far away to judge facial expressions, she knew the innkeeper wasn’t really angry. A kinder, gentler soul would be impossible to find. But she picked up her skirt regardless and ran the rest of the way—an unusual occurrence now that she had reached the dignified age of nineteen.

“You’re not strolling woodland paths hand in hand with Adam. I need you to start an omelet while I fix fruit and oatmeal for the vegetarians and country fried steak for the men. I think the youngsters would enjoy Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes.” Mrs. Pratt’s voice trailed off as she reentered the hallway, allowing the screen door to slam behind her.

Sarah smiled as she climbed the steps to the back door.
Strolling with Adam
…She thought she might do a little of that tomorrow after the big turkey dinner. The entire Troyer family had been invited to share the meal with the Beachys. Besides filling every chair around the ten-foot table in the kitchen, they would need to set up additional tables in the living room and enclosed porch. But as
mamm
planned to roast one turkey today and another tomorrow, there would be no shortage of food. Sarah hurried to wash up and put on her apron. When she turned from the sink, Mrs. Pratt held an upraised wooden spoon. “Are you going to smack me with that?” Sarah asked, trying not to grin.

“What?” Mrs. Pratt looked confused. “No, no. I’m trying to get a saucepan from the hook. Why Roy thought I needed this silly ceiling rack for pots and pans is a mystery to me. And I have no idea where my step stool is.” At five-foot-nothing, Lee Ann Pratt needed her stool on a regular basis.

At five-foot-ten, Sarah almost never did. “Let me help.” She stood on tiptoes and easily caught the handle of the sought-after pot.

“Thank you, dear girl. I’m so glad I hired someone tall.” Mrs. Pratt bustled to the counter where cinnamon rolls were cooling on a wire rack. “Ready for the glaze,” she announced, poking at one roll. “Please start an omelet for eight and get out some orange juice. We’ll have to make do with frozen since there’s no time to squeeze, but I’ve already sliced fresh pears and a pineapple for fruit cups.”

Back and forth the women buzzed around the room, like hummingbirds under the influence of fermented nectar. Sarah performed her duties with far less stress but no less efficiency. After all, keeping the inn filled to capacity with paying guests wasn’t her personal worry.