Chasing Paradise
By Cindy Patterson
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Chasing Paradise
A
Paradise
Novel
CINDY PATTERSON
Chasing Paradise Copyright © 2017 by Cindy Patterson.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version, NIV Version
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact; www.cindypattersonbks.com
Book and Cover design by Sarahbooks and Cindy Patterson
Editor: April Gardner
ISBN: 978-1541326378
First Edition: January 2017
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
Dedication
In Loving Memory
Irene Turco
September 12, 1925-August 4, 2014
You never had the chance to read my work
but you are always in my heart as I write each story.
One
R
achel Adams shoved the last suitcase into the trunk knowing things would never be the same. Palm leaves rustled against the wind as if waving goodbye. The familiar sound had never been important.
Until today.
There would be no palm trees where they were headed. Paradise, Pennsylvania, over a thousand miles away. Right in the middle of Amish Country. Population 1,269. She disguised her anger with a wounded laugh. Something she had mastered in the last year.
Briny air swept through the window and across her face. She'd expected today to be hard, but the heavy feeling in her chest was suffocating. How could they be going through with this? There would be nothing there for them.
The reason they had to go.
After traveling hundreds of miles, Rachel pulled her tangled hair into a messy knot and turned to her mom. “I can’t believe someone else is moving into our house—into my room.”
“I know it’s hard. Your dad …” Her mom paused, her voice no less forlorn and tight than it had been for months. “We shared thousands of memories in that house.
Rachel bit back words desperate for escape. She wanted to stay in Florida with her friends—her daddy.
Trees blurred as Florida grew farther from reach.
Mom placed a hand on Rachel’s leg. “We'll go back soon for a visit.”
When she glanced at Mom’s tear-streaked face, remorse crept over her like thousands of piercing needles. Mom had no choice. Beverly Adams could no longer survive in Pensacola, Florida. Not without him.
It didn’t matter that Rachel had cried for weeks. Somehow, someway, she had to accept it. “It feels cooler already.”
Rachel expected a simple upturn of Mom’s lips, but instead, full-blown laughter burst through the tense silence. “It does. Things will be different. Better.” She patted Rachel’s leg. “Oh, I completely forgot. I found a novel you might enjoy reading. It’s in my bag behind you.”
Rachel reached for the book in the tote. The black buggy on the cover stared mockingly at her. The title, Shunned.
Yeah right, Mom.
Rachel ran her fingers over the title, silent fears choking her. What if the girls at the new school shunned her? What if she spent her entire senior year miserable and alone? What if being this far away from her daddy made her forget him?
Paul Fischer milked Molly while his uncle removed a layer of sodden hay from the stall.
They worked in amiable silence until Uncle Abram propped an arm against his rake. “This is a favorite time of year for planting, but also the busiest, ain't so?”
Paul removed the vacuum from the cow. “I suppose you're right.”
“We could use your help more around here.” His uncle tugged on his tangled beard. “How’s the business coming along?”
“Gut.”
Paul couldn’t be completely honest. His uncle didn’t care for his choice of work or the fact that he worked long hours among the Englischers.
“Eighteen years old and still not planning for the future. It’s a waste of time dibble dabbling with this wood building nonsense. You might as well farm here with me and Troy.” Uncle Abram heaved a frustrated breath and trudged from the barn.
There was nothing Paul could say. His uncle had never cared for his choices.
Paul finished milking Molly, filled the stalls with fresh hay, then walked to the front porch. He sat on the swing and gave it a hard shove to set it in motion.
Deep down he knew what could happen if things didn’t change—losing his construction business.
For weeks, work had been slower than usual.
His youngest cousin wandered out the front door and took a seat on the swing next to him, her lips puckered in a frown. “Did Daed get on you about farming again?”
He didn’t feel like talking about it, but it wouldn't hurt to have her pray. The words to one of his favorite Bible verses filled his mind. Where two or more are gathered together in my name, there I am also.
“Ach, it isn’t his fault. Things have been slow in the business, and I'm worried. You could pray about it too, ain’t so?”
“Jah, of course, I will.”
His cousin weaved her arm beneath his. “Everything will work out fine. God is good, jah? Come on, let’s eat. Mamm made fried chicken.” Mary had always been more like a sister than a cousin, and an even better friend. With a playful smile, she jumped off the swing, throwing him in a lurch. She was right, of course. Everything would work out.
Paul lifted his heart to God right there on the swing under the cloudless blue sky. He would trust God whether He decided to close his business or not.
Rachel opened the novel and read the first few lines.
When Mom pulled off the interstate, Rachel glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Two hours had passed, and she was already on chapter ten. Mom pulled into a restaurant parking lot, and Rachel’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. Grabbing her bookmark, she placed it between the pages and climbed from the car.
Rachel slid into a booth across from her mom and ordered lunch, her mind still on the story. The diversion had replaced some of her hopelessness and kept her thoughts occupied.
Rachel dipped a fry in her ketchup. “Do the Amish really live as though the world’s not changing all around them?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve visited, but from what I remember they’re just as the author describes.” Mom buttered a biscuit. “I wish we would’ve visited more before …”
A heavy silence hung between them as they finished their meal, each lost in her own thoughts.
After four more hours of driving the next morning, the sign came into view. Welcome to Paradise.
“Where do they come up with these names?” Nothing about this move would ever feel like paradise. Acres of farmland, acres of nothing.
“There’s also Reading and Intercourse in the area.”
A weak smile settled on Rachel's lips. And I thought Bird in Hand was weird.
Fields of corn spread in every direction covered the vast landscape. Large houses with no shutters stood solitary in squares of white picket fences. Miles separated the homes. Sheep and cattle grazed, and horse-drawn buggies trotted along the narrow lane. A man with a thin, straggly beard drove one of them. He smiled and lifted his hand as they passed.
Rachel returned the gesture moments too late. “He waved. Did you see him?”
Her mom nodded, keeping her eyes trained on the road.
Did outsiders grow frustrated with the plain people? She couldn’t imagine a horse-drawn buggy making it in Florida. They slowed as they approached another. Two children sat in the back, their legs swinging, their bonnet strings flapping in the wind. Rachel waved, and the girls raised their hands before dropping them quickly.
Only moments later, Mom drove the car down a long path leading to a large farmhouse. Mom stopped, stretched out her arms, her hands in a tight grip on the steering wheel. “Here we are.”
Deep green grass covered part of the front yard, but the bushes were scrawny. They would be first to go. Evergreens dotting the land gave the house plenty of privacy. The house and two barns needed a coat of paint. A fixer upper. Exactly what Mom needed.
They climbed from the car, and Mom moved in the space next to her. “What do you think?”
“It has possibilities. It'll be a good project for you.” Rachel glanced toward the woods.
“Something for you to investigate.”
Rachel leaned against the car. “Yeah, after I get the blood flowing through my legs again.”
Mom took Rachel’s hand and pulled her forward. “Let’s check out the inside. It’ll take some getting used to, but I can just feel it ... we’re going to be happy here.”
The older home was something she’d never find in their neighborhood in Pensacola. A huge swing sat on the concrete porch. It would be the perfect spot for reading. Negative feelings stabbed through the barrier, fighting to escape. There’s probably nothing else to do here.
Mom unlocked the door, and they roamed the first few rooms. “I know it's completely different, but it'll be fun bringing this beautiful home back to life.”
Rachel ran her palm across the fireplace mantel, dark brown paint chipping around the corners. With a quick sweep across her shorts, she wiped the dirt from her fingers, but the grimy feeling of emptiness remained. “I'm going upstairs.”
“All right.” Mom's voice carried from the hallway. “I'll meet you up there in a few minutes.
Once on the second floor, Rachel entered a larger bathroom than she'd been expecting to find. The wallpaper’s orange and yellow pattern brightened the room but clashed with the green tub and toilet. Rachel cringed, picturing Mom’s reaction.
She wandered into the first bedroom on the right, an oversized room with a small closet. Her furniture was positioned exactly as it had been at home, thanks to the relocation crew. But this was nothing like her house. She sat on the bed, her gaze drifting across the dusty wood floor. How would she ever get used to this? Fighting back tears, she ran downstairs and out the front door. As soon as she grabbed her water bottle from the car, a buggy rolled by, the horse's hooves clicking against the pavement. The sinking feeling bottomed. This was really happening.
Rachel walked around to the backyard and stepped into the barn through its open double doors. The same doors that weren't open when they arrived. The scent of stale hay and old manure seeped from the closed space. An aged wooden rail wrapped around the interior. “Mom?”
“Rachel, you have to see this.” Mom leaned over the loft's rail. “This can be your space to do schoolwork, read, or to just get away from me.” Mom laughed.
Rachel climbed the ladder. “This is kind of cool.”
“I have some ideas to make it perfect for you, honey.”
Mom seemed happier already, but a barn loft wasn’t exactly Rachel's idea of a great addition to the house.
“When we go into town tomorrow, I’ll see if I can find a handyman to help me with some renovations.”
Rachel snatched her water bottle open and drew it to her lips, giving herself a moment to minimize the sting. “Already? We just got here. Besides, you decided to keep things simple, remember?” Rachel climbed down the ladder one step at a time, her gaze lingering on the upper mucky window until it was no longer in view. Everything needed a good cleaning. They didn't need a handyman. They needed Daddy.
“I promise I won’t overdo it.”
Rachel frowned. “It’s impossible for you to under do anything.”
“You can’t take away all my fun.”
“Sure, Mom, whatever you say. This place will definitely stand out when you’re done.” Maybe it would be easier to sell.
They stepped back inside the house, and Rachel ran upstairs to unpack, but there was no need to pull everything out yet. Her room needed to be painted first, and she would make sure she did that herself.
She pushed a box of winter clothes into the corner of the closet. There were only a few garments in there anyway. There hadn’t been much need for winter clothes in Florida. Plopping onto her unmade bed the movers had put together, she thought of something else.
It may actually snow.
Later that evening, Rachel helped her mom wipe down the kitchen appliances and scrub the floors, then she settled on the couch with Shunned. She read until her eyes grew heavy and the words on the page blurred together. “It’s getting late. I’m going to bed.”
“Good night, baby.” Her mom yawned. “I'm turning in too. We have a big day tomorrow.”
Rachel climbed the stairs, the wood floor cool against her bare feet. She settled into bed and snuggled under her lightweight comforter. This would be the first Saturday she wouldn’t be able to visit his grave. Daddy, please forgive me. I didn’t want to leave you. Mom just couldn’t handle it anymore. I miss you so much.
She grabbed her leather Bible from the night stand and clutched it to her chest, desperate for consolation. The gold lettering of her name had started to fade. She flipped to a random page and landed on Romans 15:13. May the God of hope fill you with joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. She searched the passage for a sense of connection, a feeling of hope, peace. There was nothing. After reading through the verse several times, she gave up.
What was she doing wrong?
Tears filled her eyes, and she draped the pillow across her chest to stifle the harsh cries seizing her until her energy waned.
Rachel shifted her face from the damp pillowcase and wiped away her tears. Her daddy would be so ashamed. Mama needed her support now more than ever. And Rachel had done nothing but fill her head and heart with negative thoughts from the time she found out they were moving. The least she could do was give the place a fair chance. After all, it would only be for one year. Her senior year wasn't all that important anyway.
She kept her Bible tucked close. Though it didn't satisfy her yearning to be back home in Florida, its nearness brought a much needed comfort. She meditated on that verse throughout the night and as the first light of dawn seeped into her room, her attitude softened.
Rachel dropped two pieces of bread in the toaster, and her mom handed her a bottle of unopened jelly.
“I guess we should’ve stopped for a few groceries yesterday.”
“This is fine. We’ll get a good lunch.” Rachel ripped the seal off the top. “There has to be a McDonald’s in this vast land of nothing.”
“You’re kidding, right? I was looking forward to something else. Anything else.”
“I would love a juicy Quarter Pounder.”
“Yeah, well you can eat all the hamburgers you want. Those days are over for me.”
“No, they're not.”
Dad's voice was as clear as if he were standing there. Beverly, are you ever going to start aging? Rachel's memories spun from one to another and wrapped her in pain-filled comfort as she swallowed the buttered toast with strawberry spread.
The taste of agony bittered the sweetness.
Rachel studied the houses of their neighbors as her mom drove into town. Fields of corn, soybeans, and wheat adorned miles and miles of property. The wilted gold swayed with the breeze like rows of thin, tired soldiers.
In one field, a horse-drawn gadget was being led by an Amish man. He turned just as they drew closer, revealing a full beard. Young girls played in the front yard of another home, their dresses spinning as they chased each other. An older lady crouched low over a vegetable garden.
Samantha would gasp in horror at the thought of digging in dirt. It made the prospect of starting a garden tempting, knowing how shocked her best friend would be.
If there was any hope of contentment, it was up to her to make that happen. Finding a job had to be top priority. She paused as they stepped onto the sidewalk in town. “I’m going to look around, do you mind?”
Mom gave a lopsided grin. “I guess it’s safe enough.”
“It's Amish Country. What could possibly happen to me here?”
“Plenty.” Mom searched the nearby stores. “Stay in this area. Let's meet here at noon, and we’ll get lunch.”
“Okay.”
As Rachel darted across the street, one thing became very clear. Regardless of the name, this would never be paradise.