Miriam's Heart. Emma Miller

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Love comes from a pure heart and a

       good conscience and a sincere faith.

      —1 Timothy 1:5

      For the lost Prince of Persia

       and the blessings he has brought to our family

      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

      Epilogue

      Letter to Reader

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      Kent County, Delaware—Early Autumn

      “Whoa, easy, Blackie!” Miriam cried as the black horse slipped and nearly fell. The iron-wheeled wagon swayed ominously. Blackie’s teammate, Molly, stood patiently until the gelding recovered his footing.

      Miriam let out a sigh of relief as her racing pulse returned to normal. She’d been driving teams since she was six, but Blackie was young and had a lot to learn. Gripping the leathers firmly in her small hands, Miriam guided the horses along the muddy farm lane that ran between her family’s orchard and the creek. The bank on her right was steep, the water higher than normal due to heavy rain earlier in the week.

      “Not far now,” she soothed. Thank the Lord for Molly. The dapple-gray mare might have been past her prime, but she could always be counted on to do her job without any fuss. The wagon was piled high with bales of hay, and Miriam didn’t want to lose any off the back.

      Haying was one of the few tasks the Yoder girls and their mother hadn’t done on their farm since Dat’s death two years ago. Instead, they traded the use of pasture land with Uncle Reuben for his extra hay. He paid an English farmer to cut and bale the timothy and clover. All Miriam had to do was haul the sweet-smelling bales home. Today, she was in a hurry. The sky suggested there was more rain coming out of the west and she had to get the hay stacked in the barn before the skies opened up. Not that she minded. In fact, she liked this kind of work: the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, the smell of the timothy, the feel of the reins in her hands.

      If Mam and Dat had had sons instead of seven daughters, Miriam supposed she’d have been confined to working in the house and garden like most Amish girls. But she’d always been different, the girl people called a tomboy, and she preferred outside chores. Despite her modest dress and Amish kapp, Miriam loved being in the fields in any weather and had a real knack with livestock. It might have been sinful pride, but when it came to farming, she secretly considered herself a match for any young man in the county.

      It had been her father who’d taught her all she knew about planting and harvesting and rotating the crops. Her earliest memory was of riding on his wide shoulders as he drove the cows into the barn for milking. Since his death, she’d tried to fill his shoes, but his absence had left a great hole in their family and in her heart.

      Miriam’s mother had taken over the teaching position at the Seven Poplars Amish school and all of Miriam’s unmarried sisters pitched in on the farm. It wasn’t easy, but they managed to keep the large homestead going, tending the animals, planting and harvesting crops and helping the less fortunate. All too soon, Miriam knew it would be harder. With Ruth marrying in November and going to live in the new house she and Eli were building on the far end of the property, there would be one less pair of hands to help.

      Blackie’s startled snort and laid back ears yanked Miriam from her daydreaming. “Easy, boy. What’s wrong?” She quickly scanned the lane she’d been following that ran along a small creek. There wasn’t anything to frighten him, nothing but a weathered black stick lying between the wagon ruts.

      But the gelding didn’t settle down. Instead, he stiffened, let out a shrill whinny and reared up in the traces, as the muddy branch came alive, raised its head, hissed threateningly and slithered directly toward Blackie.

      Snake! Miriam shuddered as she came to her feet and fought to gain control of the terrified horses. She hated snakes. And this black snake was huge.

      Blackie reared again, pawed the air and threw himself sideways, crashing into the mare and sending both animals and the hay wagon tumbling off the road and down the bank. A wagon wheel cracked and Miriam jumped free before she was caught in the tangle of thrashing horses, leather harnesses, wood and hay bales.

      She landed in the road, nearly on top of the snake. Both horses were whinnying frantically, but for long seconds, Miriam lay sprawled in the mud, the wind knocked out of her. The black snake slithered across her wrist, making its escape and she squealed with disgust, and rolled away from it. Vaguely, she heard someone shouting her name, but all she could think of was her horses.

      Charley Byler was halfway across the field from the Yoders’ barn when he saw the black horse rear up in its traces. He dropped his lunch pail and broke into a run as the team and wagon toppled off the side of the lane into the creek.

      He was a fast runner. He usually won the races at community picnics and frolics, but he wasn’t fast enough to reach Miriam before she’d climbed up off the road and disappeared over the