The Photograph (Paperback)Beverly Lewis
Why would a devout girl have her picture taken?
He studied the picture more closely, finding it curious that the young woman looked so boldly into the camera while wearing a white prayer Kapp shaped like a heart--the characteristic head covering for the Lancaster County Old Order Amish.
When her sister Lily disappears only months after their widowed mother's passing, Eva Esch fears she has been wooed away from the People. Yet Lily's disappearance isn't Eva's only concern: She and her sisters must relocate once their older brother takes over the family farmhouse. Then Jed Stutzman, an Amish buggy maker from Ohio, shows up in Eden Valley with a photo of a Plain young woman. Eva feels powerfully drawn to the charming stranger--but the woman in the forbidden photograph is no stranger at all. . . .
About the Author
Beverly Lewis, born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, has more than 17 million books in print. Her stories have been published in eleven languages and have regularly appeared on numerous bestseller lists, including the New York Times and USA Today. Beverly and her husband, David, live in Colorado, where they enjoy hiking, biking, making music, and spending time with their family.
Size140 x 216 mm
Number of Pages320 pp
PublisherBaker Book House
EDEN VALLEY, 1980
TRUTH BE TOLD, I was taught never to feel sorry for myself.
“Nothin’ helpful comes from pity,” Mamma often said, expecting me
and my siblings to be grateful and cheerful, no matter what came
our way. I confess to missing her and Dat terribly as we continue
life without them. Yet I’ve scarcely time to dwell on the past. My
youngest sister, Lily, has caused me no small amount of concern
since our widowed mother succumbed to pneumonia last winter.
I recall one of those frosty January days when I stepped into
Mamma’s bedroom and saw her standing with eighteen-year-old
Lily near the sunlit window. Our mother was swathed all in white
from head to foot and had somehow managed to pull herself up
from her sickbed to don her best organdy Kapp, matted hair all
strubblich beneath. She was talking quietly to Lily, her untied
bathrobe hanging from her frail shoulders.
“Just look at those critter tracks in the new snow.” Mamma
pointed out the window, then turned to face Lily, still not noticing
me. “My dear girl, be ever so careful what tracks you make, and
where they might lead those who follow.”
It wasn’t new, this sort of talk from our mother. But this time,
Lily’s lower lip quivered, and she looked with sad eyes through
the windowpane, saying nary a word.
Little did she or any of us know that precious Mamma would
leave this old world behind just three short weeks later. Leaving
Lily for me to look after, trying diligently to keep her on the
straight and narrow path.