Hope Crossing…where Ada’s House stands as a haven for weary souls looking for kindness, faith, and second chances.   The Hope of Refuge Two very different women are pulled by their strongest desires. Deborah Mast joined the Amish church and longs to marry her fiancé, but he is changing. Cara Moore is forced to look into a life that was meant to be hers. Will Ada’s House help them realize their hearts’ desires or will it force them to accept what life has done to each of them?   The Bridge of Peace Living out her passion for teaching, Lena Kauffman’s work is suddenly interrupted by a series of pranks and accidents targeted toward her and her students. When tragedy strikes her dear friend Grey Graber’s family on school property, the school board begins to blame her for the trouble. As grief and confusion take their toll on Grey and Lena’s friendship, they are both forced to face a new reality that may offer the peace and love they each long for.   The Harvest of Grace Fleeing a terrible mistake, Sylvia Fisher dedicates herself to saving the failing Blank farm. When prodigal son Aaron returns, he is surprised by this unusual farmhand who opposes all his plans. Will Aaron and Sylvia’s unflinching efforts toward opposite futures mask the bigger picture—a path to forgiveness, grace, and the promise of love?   This three-in-one collection includes the entirety of the best-selling Ada’s House trilogy, now at a new low price! Cindy Woodsmall is a New York Times and CBA best-selling author of fifteen works of fiction and one work of nonfiction. Her connection with the Amish community has been widely featured in national media outlets. Cindy and her husband reside near the foothills of the North Georgia Mountains in their now-empty nest. The Hope of Refuge , Book 1 Prologue “Mama, can you tell me yet?” Cara held her favorite toy, stroking the small plastic horse as if it might respond to her  tender touch.The brown ridges, designed to look like fur, had long ago faded to tan. Mama held the well-worn steering wheel in silence while she drove dirt roads Cara had never seen before. Dust flew in through the open windows and clung to Cara’s sweaty face, and the vinyl seat was hot to the touch when she laid her hand against it.Mama pressed the brake pedal, slowing the car to a near stop as they crossed another bridge with a roof over it. A covered bridge,Mama called it.The bumpiness of the wooden planks jarred Cara, making her bounce like she was riding a cardboard box down a set of stairs. Mama reached across the seat and ran her hand down the back of Cara’s head, probably trying to smooth out one of her cowlicks. No matter how short Mama cut her hair, she said the unrulymop always won the battle. “We’re going to visit a…a friend of mine. She’s Amish.” She placed her index finger on her lips. “I need you to do as the mother of Jesus did when it came to precious events. She treasured them in her heart and pondered them. I know you love our diary, and since you turned eight, you’ve been determined to write entries about everything, but you can’t— not this time. No drawing pictures or writing about any part of this trip. And you can’t ever tell your father, okay?” Sunlight bore down on them again as they drove out of the covered bridge. Cara searched the fields for horses. “Are we going to your hiding place?” Cara had a hiding place, one her mother had built for her inside the wall of the attic.They had tea parties in there sometimes when there was money for tea bags and sugar. And when Daddy needed quiet, her mother would silently whisk her to that secret room. If her mama didn’t return for her by nightfall, she’d sleep in there, only sneaking out for a minute if she needed to go to the bathroom. Mama nodded. “I told you every girl needs a fun place she can get away to for a while, right?” Cara nodded. “Well, this is mine. We’ll stay for a couple of days, and if you like it, maybe we’ll move here one day—just us girls.” Cara wondered if Mama was so tired of the bill collectors hounding her and Daddy that she was thinking of sneaking away and not even telling him where she was going. The familiar feeling returned—that feeling of her insides being Jell-O on a whirlybird ride. She clutched her toy horse even tighter and looked out the window, imagining herself on a stallion galloping into a world where food was free and her parents were happy. After they topped another hill, her mother slowed the vehicle and pulled into a driveway. Mama turned off the car. “Look at this place, Cara. That old white clapboard house has looked the same since I was a child.” The shutters hung crooked and didn’t havemuch paint left on them. “It’s really small, and it looks like ghosts live here.” Her mama laughed. “It’s called a Daadi Haus , which means it’s just for grandparents once their children are grown. It only has a small kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. This one has been here for many years. You’re right—it