After the wedding of her cousin Naomi, knitter Anna, a widow, finds herself missing love and the closeness of a husband. She feels a special connection with her grandmother as they both struggle to go on with life. Is Anna on the verge of finding happiness when she realizes John Esh is interested in her? Love begins to warm Anna’s heart, but will  she be so afraid of losing someone that she gives up the second chance that God has provided? The possibility of new beginnings arrives with the Spring, but Anna may not be ready. Barbara Cameron has a heart for writing about the spiritual values and simple joys of the Amish. She is the best-selling author of more than 40 fiction and nonfiction books, three nationally televised movies, and the winner of the first Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award. Her books have been nominated for Carol Awards and the Inspirational Reader s Choice Award from RWA s Faith, Hope, and Love chapter. Barbara resides in Jacksonville, Florida. Heart In Hand Stitches in Time Series By Barbara Cameron Abingdon Press Copyright © 2013 Barbara Cameron All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4267-1434-4 CHAPTER 1 It felt like dawn would never come. When Anna first realized that it was going to be one ofthose nights ... one of those awful nights that felt like it wouldnever end ... she reached for the book she'd been readingand read for a while with the help of the battery lamp on thebedside table. Reading didn't help. Knitting didn't, either, and knittingalways relaxed her. Reaching for her robe, Anna pushed herfeet into her slippers and padded downstairs to the kitchen.There was no need for a light for she knew her way from allthe dozens—no, hundreds—of nights she'd gone downstairsin the dark. Even before the first time she stepped inside this house sheknew it like the back of her hand. She and Samuel had drawnthe plans, spent hours talking about how he and his brotherswere going to build it. As soon as the house was finished, he'dstarted crafting furniture for it. The final piece he'd made wasa cradle for the baby he hoped they'd have soon. His sudden illness stopped him in his tracks. Leukemia,said the doctor. One day it seemed he was an agile monkeyclimbing up the frame of a barn he and other men were raisingand just a few days later he could barely get out of bed andshe'd joked he'd turned into an old man. She'd insisted that he see a doctor, and reluctantly, he'ddone so. Six months later he was gone, and she'd shut the door tothe room with the tiny crib. She buried her dreams the day sheburied Samuel. She filled the teakettle and set it on the stove to heat. Howmany cups of tea have I drunk in the middle of the night? shewondered as she reached for a cup and the box of chamomiletea bags. Before Samuel had died, she'd heard about the seven stagesof grief. She'd been naïve. You didn't go through them oneby one in order. Sometimes you walked—faltered—throughthem in no certain order. Sometimes they ganged up on youwhen you least expected them. And sometimes—it felt like too many times—no oneseemed to understand. She couldn't blame them. The only way she got throughthe first month, the first year, was to put on a brave face andpretend she was getting through it. There was no way shecould get through it otherwise—she'd shatter into a thousandpieces that no one would be able to put back together again. Humpty Dumpty , she thought wryly. Then she frowned,wishing that she hadn't thought of the childhood story. Aclosed door didn't keep out the memory of the tiny crib thatlay behind it. The teakettle's whistle broke into her musing, its sound sosharp and shrill that she put her hands over her ears to blockit while she got up to take it off the flame. She poured the hotwater over the tea bag and took the mug back to the kitchentable and sat there, dipping the bag in and out of the water. Finally, she pulled the bag out and set it on the saucer.Sighing, she massaged her scalp and wondered if she shouldtake an aspirin to stop the pain. Then she flicked her hairbehind her shoulders and hunched over the cup. In a minute,she'd get up and get the aspirin. Her mind might be awake, buther body felt tired and full of lead. As she trudged back up the stairs a few minutes later, sheheard something—it sounded like a laugh, a high, excited onethat went rushing past her and up the stairs. She watched,tired, leaning against the wall as she saw herself, lifting thehem of her nightgown so she wouldn't trip, Samuel reachingfor her as she flew up the stairs to their room. She blinked, not sure if she was dreaming or seeing a ghostof the two of them, so young and in love, so unaware thatanything bad could touch them. When she reached her room, no one was there. Climbingback into bed, she pulled the quilt around her shoulders andlay on her side facing the uncurtained window. The weddingquilt that her cousins Naomi and Mary Katherine and hergrandmother had sewn for her and Samuel lay wrapped inmu