Molly leaned closer until her nose nearly touched his.
“Pete,” she murmured, “you’re mad at yourself for going up onto that slippery roof. And you’re ticked off because being laid up wasn’t in your plans, and because you’re a lousy patient. You’re suffering debilitating pain, and nobody else seems to know how bad you’ve got it. And on top of that,” she added, widening her eyes at him, “Detweiler’s recovering, ready to move into his new house—and he came here on Monday to do your work. And you didn’t want his help. Am I right?”
Pete blinked. Molly had nailed it—but he didn’t want to admit that. She’d read his thoughts and distilled them into a challenge—because wasn’t she always after him to step up and do better?
“So?” he blurted.
Her green, green eyes weren’t letting him off the hook. “So,” she replied, “take a message from the angels you missed out on at the Christmas Eve program. Billy Jay’s not here to say it, so I will—fear not, Shetler. You’ll get through this, and you will be climbing ladders and building stuff again. I’m sticking with you. It’ll work out, I promise.”
Pete blinked. How could Molly promise such a thing when nobody knew how long—
Hasn’t Molly always been right? Hasn’t she always seen through my bluster to the core issues? I could do worse than trust this woman. She seems to believe in me.
It was more than he could comprehend. He was worn out from haggling, so he gave in. For the moment.
“Okay, let’s go to the sofa. Then I want my surprise—for breakfast, even if it’s a dessert,” he added firmly. “After that, we’ll see whether this conversation’s worth continuing.”
“Oh, I’ll keep you talking, Shetler,” she said as she pushed his chair forward. “And I won’t listen to any more of your pouting, because that’s behind you now—and because I’m too bossy and insensitive to put up with it.”
Well, she had that part right, didn’t she?
When they got to the front room, Molly patiently guided him out of the wheelchair and onto the sofa. She was a strong woman, in many ways, but nobody—not even Dr. Douthit—could predict how well he would come out of his physical ordeal. Because he wanted her surprise, however, he behaved himself.
“Okay, I’m dressed and groomed and the meds are working,” he said as he carefully sat down. “What’d you bring me?”
Molly’s smile teased at something deep inside him. Back in the day, when he’d worked at the pet food factory and spent his time mostly among English, her looks wouldn’t have turned his head. Now, however, Pete couldn’t resist her down-to-earth appeal—and the way she returned his gaze rather than turning away.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” she replied as she started toward the kitchen. “Don’t go away, now!”
Pete wanted to spring up from the couch and make her pay for that remark—and wasn’t that thought an improvement over his morning’s whining? And where had that negative attitude come from? When had he sunk so low that he could only predict the most dire of circumstances for himself?
Molly might be the best pain medication yet. But I can’t tell her that.
Riley pushed his head under Pete’s hand, refusing to be ignored. As Pete savored the thick silkiness of the animal’s coat, he realized he’d even been shortchanging his poor dog lately. In his book, only the most despicable man would do that.
“I’ve been a big meanie, Riley,” he murmured, looking into his dog’s adoring eyes. “Someday we’ll get back to horsing around again and having fun, okay? But meanwhile, will you stick with me?”
Riley let out a conversational moan, blessing Pete with a tongue-lolling grin.
“Yeah, you’re just saying that because Molly’s coming with a pan of something,” Pete teased the retriever. “When she’s got food, you like her best, ain’t so?”
The dog’s immediate woof made Molly laugh out loud as she approached the sofa. “Riley always likes me best,” she countered. She sat down at Pete’s left, careful not to bump his sling. “Here—a spoon for you, and a spoon for me.”
Pete inhaled the vaguely sweet aroma that had preceded her to the couch, feeling as happy as a kid at Christmas. “Noodle pudding! You made me a pan of noodle pudding. Wow, Moll, this is the best surprise—”
“No, I made everyone a pan of noodle pudding,” she corrected him. “Do you really think I’d let you eat it all just because it’s Christmas and you’re crippled, Shetler?”
He gaped at her, his spoon poised above the glass pan she held between them on a red and green pot holder.
“Let’s eat out of this corner,” Molly continued, tapping the noodle concoction with her spoon. “Then I’ll cut around it before your uncle and mammi take some—so they don’t catch your cooties.”
Spurred on by her teasing, Pete dug deep into the pudding, right in the middle of the pan. He closed his eyes to better enjoy the unbeatable combination of soft noodles and buttery-sweet cottage cheese filling with raisins and a hint of orange. He could do much worse than marry a woman who surprised him with food he loved and who could haul him up out of his well of self-pity . . .
So be nice to her. Make her happy. Why should she expect anything less? And what can I give Molly Helfing that she is not expecting?
When he opened his eyes, she was sticking a big spoonful of the dessert into her mouth. It was a rare opportunity to say something when she couldn’t make a comeback.
“I’m sorry I was such a crank this morning—and acting so pathetic,” Pete said softly.
“You are pathetic,” she retorted around her mouthful of pudding. “I only came here last night and made your favorite dessert because I felt sorry for you.”
“High time,” he shot back. Maybe it was the meds, but Pete felt buoyant and light. “I’m going to suffer the life of a henpecked, browbeaten husband if I fall for your sweet talk, Moll.”
“Too late. You already have.”
He sighed to himself. She was right, of course. And he was feeling so good about it that he couldn’t resist upping the game a bit. “You’d be kind of cute if you had some hair, Helfing.”
When she blinked, Pete realized his over-the-top remark might’ve hurt her feelings. She’d shaved her head when Marietta’s hair had fallen out during her chemo treatments—how many Amish women would’ve sacrificed their mane of thick, brown hair and defied the no-haircutting rule to support a suffering sister?
Molly swallowed her pudding, her gaze unwavering. “You’d be kind of cute if you’d cut yours once in a while, Shetler,” she stated. “You look like a girl. Maybe I should lend you one of my kapps.”
Maybe she was reading his mind—knew exactly what he intended to do when he let his spoon drop—and she would get her revenge. But Pete’s longtime curiosity got the better of him anyway. Her kapp strings were dangling down her back, loose and free; when would he ever have a better opportunity?
He reached over and slipped his fingers beneath her crisp, white head covering to rumple her hair . . . the short, feathery-soft, exquisitely thick, warm, brown hair that he’d never dared to touch before.
Molly’s mouth dropped open. She was speechless! And while she was holding the pan of pudding and her spoon, she couldn’t strike back, could she?
Driven by his need to demonstrate how he felt without letting chatter get in the way, Pete made his move. With his hand still beneath her kapp, he cupped her head. Despite the prickle of pain that shot through his bad arm, he leaned close to kiss her.
When their mouths met, he forgot about his injuries. Molly kissed him briefly and then broke away—but only so she could set aside the pan of noodle pudding and her spoon. Turning carefully so she wouldn’t jostle him, she resumed their kissing the way he’d often imagined she would in his sweetest dreams. With her arm lightly slung across him and her hand at his jaw, she met his lips with hers to begin the age-old courtship ritual that felt so vibrant and exciting.
Pete lost track of everything except the way their lips
and tongues moved together so effortlessly, so perfectly. He was vaguely aware of Riley’s collar tags jingling against glass, but what did that matter when he finally had Molly right where he wanted her? She tasted sweet and responsive, and he made the kiss last as long as possible.
When he finally eased away, he whispered, “I love you, Molly. When I’ve gotten rid of this cast and sling, can we—can we get married?”
Molly’s eyes resembled green plates. “I, um, well—jah, Pete! Jah, I love you, too,” she blurted. “I was just too stubborn to say so until you said it first.”
Pete suddenly felt twenty feet tall and invincible. He hadn’t planned to propose, but the words had slipped out—and she’d said yes! If this unconventional, strong-willed woman had so quickly agreed to be his wife, his life had just taken a huge leap forward, hadn’t it?
“Of course, that means you will be taking your physical therapy and getting back to work,” she reminded him gently.
“Can’t have you thinking I’m weak and whiny like—like some girl, can I?”
Molly laughed, tugging on the hair over his ear. “I wouldn’t be kissing you—or marrying you—if you were anything like a girl, Shetler. But I have some bad news for you,” she added, her expression sobering suddenly.
Pete’s heart stopped. What could possibly interfere with the happiness they’d just promised each other? Just when his life had taken such a dramatic turn for the better, why would Molly want to drag him down again?
“What’s that?” he whispered doubtfully.
With her head, she gestured behind her. “Riley ate the rest of the noodle pudding,” she replied with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have set it on the couch, but I didn’t want to stop kissing you to grab the pan away from him.”
Pete exhaled, reminding himself that such a disappointment was at least fixable. When he looked at the golden retriever watching him and Molly with adoring brown eyes, he saw a few crumbles of cottage cheese filling clinging to Riley’s muzzle. The dog let out a woof, thumping his tail on the floor as though he thought the whole episode was pretty funny.
“Well, my dog’s happier than he’s been for days, and I’ve just gotten engaged—and we’re headed down the right road if you’d rather kiss me than fuss at Riley,” he said lightly. “It’s all gut, Moll—and we’re going to have ourselves a merry little Christmas today—and even more of one tomorrow, jah?”
Her giggle made his heart dance. “Jah, we are, Pete.”
Chapter 28
As she prepared their simple Christmas morning breakfast, Marietta felt twitchy. Glenn’s card was burning a hole in her apron pocket. She’d only read it once, very quickly, because she’d heard him, Reuben, and Billy Jay coming down the stairs shortly after she’d found it propped against the pan of coffee cake.
But his words were emblazoned upon her anxious heart.
. . . please don’t give up on me, okay? I love you with all my heart, Marietta, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that.
When the three fellows had greeted her as they passed through the kitchen on their way outside to shovel a path to the stable and tend the horses, she’d flashed them a fast smile. Then she’d focused on stirring the bowl of ruby-red cranberry, orange, and apple salad she’d made the day before, avoiding Glenn’s gaze as he and his family headed outside in their coats and stocking caps.
But she couldn’t avoid him forever. Glenn’s heartfelt message deserved a response . . . even if she wondered how she could possibly deliver it without breaking his poor, fragile heart. Again.
Because the Christmas Eve blizzard had blanketed the yard with several inches of fresh snow, Marietta figured she had about an hour to compose her thoughts and settle her nerves so she could respond to Glenn. After doing so much shoveling, the two men and Billy Jay would be hungry for more than coffee cake, so she opened the deep freeze. A ham steak would be a nice addition to their morning meal, and she also pulled out a package of cinnamon rolls. Her hands were trembling so badly that half a dozen other packages of food tumbled onto the mudroom floor.
Molly would be laughing at me and my nerves, telling me to believe in Glenn’s love instead of doubting my ability to meet his needs. It’s so odd not to have her here. For the first time in our lives, we’re not together on Christmas Day.
Marietta blinked back sudden tears. She chided herself for missing Molly, knowing that her sister and Pete would be laughing together and making the most of their day. Her twin would not be hanging back, reluctant to dive into the love she and the handsome blond carpenter had discovered—nor would Molly have any regrets about being separated from her sister on Christmas.
But Molly is fully a woman, with everything to offer a husband.
Levi’s laughter brought Marietta out of her woolgathering. She quickly put the fallen packages of food back into the deep freeze and returned to find the baby wiggling and shaking his rattle—maybe because a ray of morning sunshine had just beamed through the window, bathing him in its glow. What a blessing that he was such a happy child and so easily entertained by the simple pleasures of God’s world.
Marietta picked him up, calmed by his gurgling and the warm weight of him in her arms. She loved this wee boy fiercely, and her heart would ache for him when the Detweilers moved into their new home tomorrow. Yet the baby was a blatant reminder of why Glenn really shouldn’t marry her.
She sighed as she set Levi back in his basket so she could continue preparing their breakfast. She turned on the burner under the percolator so the coffee would be ready when the men came inside. When the ham steak was in a skillet to thaw and cook, she arranged the frozen cinnamon rolls on a pan, covered them with foil, and placed them in the warming oven.
As Marietta prepared Levi’s next bottle of goat’s milk, she spotted Billy Jay through the window, lobbing a snowball at his father. Glenn’s laughter—and the way he pitched a snowball back at his son—was a sure sign he was recovering from his grief and living in the moment again. It struck her how handsome he was when he laughed.
And that only makes it more difficult to turn him down. But it really is for the best.
Smiling wistfully at Levi, Marietta poured milk for Billy Jay and got out mugs for the adults’ coffee. In only three weeks, it had become a normal part of her day to include these extra efforts for the Detweilers—and she suspected it would take months to forget how easily that family had filled her heart with unexpected love. Already she ached with the idea that Glenn would surely write her off and search for someone else after he’d settled into his beautiful new home.
When she heard the two men and Billy Jay enter the mudroom to remove their wraps and boots, Marietta braced herself. She was hoping for a private moment with Glenn, yet those were rare—and a seven-year-old’s Christmas excitement might make her intentions even more difficult to carry out.
“Marietta! Marietta!” the boy called out as he ran up and threw his arms around her waist. “Dat says our new house is full of stuff now. Is that true?”
Her eyebrows rose as she looked from the boy to his father. Glenn’s subtle nod encouraged her to continue. “Jah, it is,” she replied, chuckling despite her inner tension. “What did he tell you about that?”
“Did Santa Claus bring it?”
At that, Marietta’s mouth dropped open. She placed her hands gently on his shoulders. “No, the families in our church put everything in place as a surprise for you and Levi and your dat and your dawdi,” she replied. “Santa’s an English tradition we Plain folks don’t believe in—because he’s only make-believe. Today we celebrate Jesus’ birthday, jah?”
Undaunted, Billy Jay grinned up at her. The gap in the front of his mouth made him even more adorable, and she couldn’t resist brushing his dark, straight-cut bangs with her fingers. She tried not to remind herself that her chances of doing that would soon be very limited.
“English folks can believe in Jesus and Santa both,” he pointed out hopefully. “And Santa brings lots of presents to gut gi
rls and boys—the Christmas songs those folks sing are all about decorated trees and Santa in his sleigh up on the housetops.”
Marietta thought for a moment, wondering how to nip Billy Jay’s fascination with Santa in the bud without being needlessly harsh. “When you came downstairs this morning, did you see a Christmas tree with presents underneath it, or stockings full of gifts hanging at the fireplace? Or did you hear anyone tromping around on the roof last night before he came down the chimney?”
“No, but there’s presents out in the front room!”
“And those are from me and your dat and Marietta and Molly,” Reuben put in as he sat at the table to put on his slippers. “If Santa had intended to come, he would’ve already been here—but he didn’t. And besides,” he added with a gentle smile, “do you think a fat man could really get down a chimney or drive reindeer across the sky?”
“Santa’s fun to think about, but he’s only a story,” Glenn put in firmly. “What we should focus on is telling every one of our friends denki for all the wonderful-gut gifts they brought to our new house. With friends like we have, who needs Santa? And with a Lord and Savior like Jesus caring for us every day of the year—all through our lives and beyond them—who needs to believe in anyone else?”
A wave of sheer admiration went through Marietta’s soul. Fine father that he was, Glenn had set his son straight about where his allegiance should lie without chastising him for his little-boy fantasies.
“Your dat got it exactly right,” she murmured as she gazed into Billy Jay’s big brown eyes. “How about if you fellows wash up and we’ll have our breakfast? Then it’ll be time to open the gift I picked out for you.”
* * *
All during the meal Glenn was on pins and needles. Marietta had found his card, but she wasn’t giving him a clue about her reaction to his declaration of love. Such a private topic wasn’t meant to be discussed at the breakfast table, however, so he tried to be patient as they ate their ham, coffee cake, sweet rolls, and cranberry salad. When he offered to help her clean up the kitchen, hoping for time alone with her, his dat and Billy Jay both jumped in on that offer, as well.
Christmas Comes to Morning Star Page 25
