The Amish Veronica Series #1

Wherever You Go, There You Are

by Stephanie Schwartz

Worry Ends Where Faith Begins by Stphanie Schwartz

Veronica has survived every Amish wife’s worst fears. Having decided to close her heart to any further hurt, she attempts to completely discourage any would-be suitors. Her journey to healing eventually takes her to uncharted territory. Finally, her faith restored, she risks being open to love and is blessed beyond her wildest dreams.




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Release Date: April 9, 2024
Genre: Amish Romance

~ A White Satin Romance ~


Chapter One

The house was tidy. It was immaculate, to tell the truth. It had to be. This new venture was beyond anything in Veronica’s wildest dreams. A suitor, no less, not that she wanted one. She had tried her darndest to dissuade him for months. Yes, she had tried. Valiantly. Every trick in the book that she could think of actually. All her worst qualities, faults, vices, and shortcomings had been listed, plus a few extra thrown in for good measure. But he would not budge.

Veronica surveyed the kitchen. Sunshine poured through the open windows and a soft breeze rippled the blue curtains. A crisp blue checkered tablecloth covered the old oak table. Lilacs spilled over the rim of the blue-green antique Mason jar in the center of the table. A basket of fragrant rolls next to the flowers was sitting by a small crock of fresh butter with a butter knife standing upright in the center. A cut glass dish sat close by filled with thick spicy apple butter.

Across from the right side of the table was the wood stove. How many meals have I made on that old black iron workhorse? A thousand? Ten thousand? she silently wondered. A gray stoneware jar sat on the top of the stove’s warming oven, the sourdough starter bubbling away out of any drafts. A blue enameled covered Dutch oven was sitting toward the back of the stovetop, the potato soup with rivvels on a low simmer now that the coals in the firebox had died down. Her attention was drawn to the steaming brownbag apple pie sitting on a quilted hot pad on the dry sink, to cool, its fragrance ever so slightly permeating the air. 

Why forever now? Veronica thought to herself as she stood barefoot, leaning against the kitchen doorway, scanning the room once again to see if she’d missed anything. Her plum-colored dress washed only yesterday was certainly flattering, though it spoke of conservatism. Gentle pleats on the sleeve caps and matching cape, not too fitted, did not deter one from thinking this is a modest woman, dressed as Amish women have dressed for scores of years. Her kapp was already pinned in place over her thick auburn hairs pulled tight into a low bun at the back of her neck, should her company arrive at any time; a spritz of hairspray ensuring every one of her hairs would remain in place.

I am thirty-five years old, for goodness’ sake. It’s hard to believe that I once had everything I’d always wanted or prayed for or wished for, chust a mere seven years ago now. Maybe I wasn’t grateful enough, took Gott’s blessings for granted. I chust don’t understand....

Perhaps there was nothing to understand. Life throws all sorts of things our way, most unexpected. It is unfair. Much of life appears unfair, but then we have our families and our church to see us through. Some say “you want to make Gott laugh? You tell Him your plans.”

Ya right, Veronica agreed with her thoughts on the subject. She headed for the back door and decided to sit on the porch swing for a spell while she waited. 

She looked out over the yard. A few items flapped on the lines there, the wet sheets snapping back at the wind could be heard from where she was sitting. The vegetable garden just about ready to start harvesting. The first radishes were peeking up out of the soil; carrots and lettuce not far behind. She’d set out the little seedlings for the rest of it only two weeks ago and they were looking quite hearty already. Delicate flower buds were just popping out on the green bean bushes. Tiny soft pink flowers on the pea pod vines nodded as if in agreement with the breeze on their trellis. Even little baby eggplants appearing to look up at the sun, though soon enough they’d be too heavy and hang straight back down growing fat and turning a shiny dark purple, almost black. Honeybees were frantically trying to pollinate it all in time while the buds were just opening, but before they’d wilt and fall off.

Just then she remembered her little inspirational calendar that always sat on her dresser. Some pithy quote for each day of the year. It offered a moment of reflection before the busy day began. This morning was no different. Its message for the day was puzzling, though. Perhaps it really was meant just for her. Just for today.

“We fear the future. We fear illness and the loss of security. We fear what people may say. We fear being different from the ‘herd.’ We walk the earth in fear! Needless fears keep us from living a full life in Christ.”

It was for sure one to ponder. She would remember it several more times that day.

The grass needed mowing. Time to move their picket and put the two sheep on this side of the house. From the huge maple in the center of the yard still hung the tire swing. Amos had put it up seven years ago now. She hadn’t the heart to take it down in all this time. Her thoughts wandered then.

We were blissfully happy, she thought to herself as she swung her feet back and forth, wondering again at life’s mysteries. Getting to know each other, going to singings in barns all over the district, taking out the sleigh and the horses in winter, gallivanting to wherever we got an invitation from friends. Fixing up his courting buggy. I’d sewn the fancy purple velvet upholstery for the bench while he installed the battery headlights and a few other bells and whistles. During rumschpringe, that time for ‘running around’ before joining church, youngie are allowed a few slips as far as the Ordnung is concerned, sort of like the grownups looking the other way, turning a blind eye. They certainly remember their own rumschpringe time, for sure.

Her thoughts continued as the swing rocked, back and forth, squeaking each time on its way back. A whole year we dated, together every minute we could manage. That summer I’d pack a picnic and Amos’d pick me up and we’d go to some deserted lake and swim in our clothes. They’d dry out still on our bodies by later in the day. It was such a wunderbar-gut time. Mamm would even bake some Whoopie pies to add to the basket, and all sorts. She made them all, those yummy gigantic cream-filled cookies. Pumpkin, oatmeal, chocolate, peppermint, peanut butter, or spice.

Although today Whoopie pies are closely associated with the Amish, their actual origins are in some dispute. Some say they came from Maine. Others that they were always a Pennsylvania Dutch invention. The name is supposed to have come from some little boy or girl discovering one in his or her lunch pail one day at school and shouting, “Whoopie!”

* * *

The letter had arrived months ago now, close to a year, truth be told. Hand addressed. Return address Canada. Who do I know in Canada? Veronica had asked herself at the time. Closing the mailbox, she brought the letter up to the front steps of the porch that wrapped itself around the whole house. Settling on the worn wooden top step with its pealing gray paint, she ripped open the letter.


Dear Veronica,

Greetings in our dear Lord’s Name!

It’s still chilly up here at night, but the wind is feeling warmer, promising spring is on the way.

It’s almost lambing season and we’ve already had two calves born. In a hurry they were, I guess. We’ll be seeing the last of the snow any day now.

Our bishop is related to the minister down near your district and came to see me a few weeks ago. He told me about the buggy accident your halsband had a few years back. First, I want to express my deepest sympathy to you. I know what you must be going through. I lost my own frau a little over three years ago now. You really never get over something like that, eh?


Veronica stopped reading and looked at the return address again. Henry Eicher. Milverton, Ontario, she read. Humph. No idea where that is, she told herself.She focused back on the letter again.

So, this bishop suggests I write to you. Get to know each other. Who knows what Gott might have planned?

Shaking her head, Veronica lay the letter down in her lap. Looking across the yard she noted that the sheep had cleaned off the grass and weeds from the north side of the house. Time to move their picket lines, she mused to herself. Picking up the letter once more she read on.

I am as clueless about all this as you probably are, but I am willing to consider meeting others again. I’m not a spring chicken for sure. I am forty years old. Not much to look at, either. I have a farm here that my bruder and I work. His family are in the big house now, and me and Rose are in the dawdi haus. Rose is almost three. Her mamm died from complications after giving birth to her. You are never prepared for something like that, eh? My parents helped me raise her as long as they were both around, and my bruder’s family helps out now too.

Veronica again put down the letter to think. Hm. So, does he chust want a mamm for his kinner, and a cook and housekeeper, or is he looking for a wife? Big difference there, buddy, she told herself. Boy am I cynical today, she chided herself. She finished reading the letter and carefully folded it up as she went back through the house, tossing it on the table. Stopping dead in her tracks at the bottom of the stairs she looked back at the letter where she’d left it. Then looking back at the wood stove, she pondered tossing it into the wood box there. Problem solved, she told herself. Maybe later when I make supper.


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