An Amish Country Christmas

by Hubbard, Charlotte; King, Naomi

  “A wise decision. Take all the time you need with that.” Vernon smiled at Nazareth and Jerusalem as they set out platters of golden-brown French toast, ham, bacon, and a big bowl of fried apples. “I’ll do my best to keep these ladies entertained.”

  “Puh!” Jerusalem teased. “You just want to be in the kitchen while we put that brisket in the oven and think toward the rest of our dinner.”

  “Will this involve cookies?” Vernon teased. “Until I’ve sampled every last kind you’ve baked, I haven’t done your handiwork justice.”

  Their laughter lightened the mood, and Nazareth looked up to find Tom gazing at her with gratitude in his eyes. She smiled back at him, and as they bowed in prayer over the food, she sensed that this difficult day would go much more smoothly because they were all together, bonded now by events that none of them had foreseen. What a difference time and friendship and God’s presence among them had made.

  “Mmmm . . .” Tom closed his eyes over the first huge bite of French toast he’d soaked in warm maple syrup. “Food for the body, and food for the soul. I’ll make it through this day now, for sure and for certain.”

  Nazareth sighed happily. Wasn’t it just the best thing, when her cooking made a difference in someone’s life?

  Vernon studied the assortment of cookies on the tray before him, enjoying the quandary of having too many choices—all of them good. “And what’s in this one?” he asked as he picked up a dark chocolate cookie covered in a swirl of cocoa frosting.

  Jerusalem chortled. “You tell me what it’s made of. Gotta earn your keep in this kitchen, Bishop. We don’t suffer slackers here while we’re cookin’.”

  Had there ever been a more delightful, outspoken woman than Jerusalem Hooley? As he bit in, the rich flavors of cocoa and buttercream frosting covered his tongue, along with . . . “Is that a marshmallow in there?”

  “You’re gut at this game, Vernon,” Nazareth said, not missing a beat as she peeled carrots at the sink. “Probably had a lot of experience at bein’ a cookie tester, I’d guess.”

  “Tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.” Vernon sat back in his chair to savor the moist treat in his hand, as well as the joy of watching two women who worked as a seamless team. “How do you suppose folks here in town will react to Lettie’s death? How have things been for Tom these past months after she left him?”

  “We’re the wrong ones to ask about that,” Jerusalem replied in a thoughtful tone. “She’d been gone for several months before we came here from Pennsylvania, so we’ve only known Preacher Tom as a fella livin’ alone.”

  “And he’s done fairly well at it, all things considered,” Nazareth added. “His girls come by to help with his laundry and cook things for him every now and again. I think it’s been a blessing that he’s had the Sweet Seasons Café close enough that he can eat a gut meal there most mornings, amongst friends.”

  “Jah, everyone in Willow Ridge looks after him.” Jerusalem’s brows knit together as she scrubbed potatoes. “Had to be a difficult situation for Tom, havin’ Lettie up and leave him with an English fellow. The way I’ve heard it, she took a suitcase and met him out by the road, and they drove off.”

  Vernon winced. Lettie had obviously been seeing that other man before she ran off . . . had left a marriage and a home—and a faith—that didn’t fulfill her anymore, after many years of living with Tom and keeping her dissatisfaction to herself. He felt badly that his longtime friend had been dealing with Hiram Knepp’s escalating arrogance at the same time. Yet Tom’s ability to cope with his loss and to keep serving his district affirmed how well suited he was to becoming a bishop.

  Vernon vowed to keep in touch, to visit Tom more often in the future. And didn’t he also have another incentive to come to Willow Ridge? He didn’t know nearly enough about Jerusalem, but he certainly wanted to. The widows of his district had been trying to capture his fancy with their baking and little gifts for years, but he’d had feelings for none of them.

  He groaned with the tangy goodness of a lemon sandwich cookie filled with buttercream and apricot jam. “I was certain that chocolate marshmallow cookie was my favorite, but now I’ve changed my mind again! This is sheer torture, sampling all these new treats.”

  Jerusalem grinned at him, looking girlish in her red bandanna. “We’re a couple of merciless, wicked temptresses, Nazareth and I. Might as well call us Delilah and Jezebel, ain’t so?”

  “I like your real names much better. Did your parents catch any criticism for giving you names that drew attention to you?”

  Nazareth let out a short laugh. “Jah, the bishop mentioned it might be prideful—not keepin’ with the Old Ways, to name us for places of the Bible.”

  “But by the time all ten of us came along, each called Calvary, Canaan, Judea or such,” Jerusalem continued, “our names didn’t draw any more attention to one of us than to the others. And while I know of five Mary Hooleys, nobody ever mistakes me for another gal named Jerusalem.”

  Vernon laughed loudly. “That’s a fine way to look at it. God created each of us as a unique person, in His own image, so you ladies are yet another example of the Lord’s diverse nature.”

  “We’re no doubt a sign He’s got a sense of humor, too,” Jerusalem said with a firm nod of her head. “Always up to somethin’, we are.”

  “Usually it’s somethin’ worthwhile,” Nazareth chimed in as she placed the blue enamel roaster in the oven. “But every now and again we test people’s patience. Mostly when we express opinions and make decisions that wives would probably let their husbands handle.”

  Vernon considered this as he covered the tray so the cookies wouldn’t dry out. “We who live without a spouse must get by as best we can,” he said quietly. “Perhaps that’s why God brought the four of us together at this particular time. He knew Tom would need our support when he heard the news that lawyer’s letter contained . . . assistance from friends who have dealt with rumors and other people’s criticism while we’ve sincerely tried to follow God’s will for our singular lives.”

  Jerusalem turned, her hands clasped before her as her expression waxed pensive. “I like the way you think, Vernon,” she said. “While the Ordnung is a gut guide for livin’ our lives right, we each of us go through times when we answer to God alone . . . and our behavior won’t always fit the rules. Or at least other folks won’t believe it does.”

  He held her gaze, his heart beating strongly, steadily, as Jerusalem’s words sank in. Here was a woman of amazing faith and intelligence, whose insights went far deeper than most men’s. It is indeed providential that you’ve met her. Make the most of it.

  Vernon blinked. While he often communicated with God, this particular thought had come to him out of the blue, in a voice that was clearly not his own. It was a message he knew better than to ignore—not that he wanted to.

  “The plow blade is parked in the stable, you know, so what if I hitch Samson to it and we three could start clearing the lane?” he suggested. He looked out the kitchen window and smiled. “There! A couple of teams are already clearing the road. Probably other folks as eager to get out in the snow as we are.”

  He glanced out the back window then, but saw no sign of Tom coming from the dairy barn. “My Percheron loves nothing better than to be pulling a load, and he’s young enough to need that sort of exercise every day.”

  “We’re ready whenever you are,” Nazareth replied. “Dinner can cook itself now, while we go out and play!”

  What a joy it was to step outside into the bright sunshine, where a smooth, flawless blanket of diamonds covered the earth for as far as he could see. Cardinals called to each other from evergreens draped in frills of white. All the world seemed steeped in the season’s peace, and Vernon stood still for a moment, taking it all in.

  “Doesn’t get any pertier than this,” Jerusalem remarked as she stopped beside him. Her cheeks glowed with health, rosy from the cold weather, as she raised her face to the sunshine.

&n
bsp; Vernon fought the urge to kiss her, startled at this flare of desire. He reminded himself that there was a time and a place for such things . . . and silently rejoiced that he wanted them again. “Are we still taking that sleigh ride later today?” he asked when Nazareth went ahead to the barn.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Jerusalem met his eyes with an unwavering gaze.

  “Too bad there’s only one seat. No room for Tom and Nazareth to join us.”

  “Jah, I’m feelin’ real bad about that. We’ll just have to make do without them, ain’t so?” she teased softly.

  Vernon’s laughter bounced back from the side of the barn as he hugged her sturdy shoulders. “You’re a peach, Jerusalem.”

  “Would that be a pie, a cobbler, or a crisp?”

  He paused to gaze into her deep brown eyes . . . eyes that missed nothing. “Just a peach, sweet and perfect and ripe, the way God alone can create them. And I can’t wait for a taste.”

  She looked ready to cry, but then blinked away the mist. “Oh, Vernon . . . that’s the nicest thing any fella’s ever said to me.”

  “High time, too.” He let out a long sigh and then cleared his throat purposefully. “Shall we get Samson hooked to that plow? If we loiter out here much longer, your sister will be doing all the work.”

  Jerusalem chuckled. “No, when she sees we’re not comin’ right in, she’ll either fetch us—or she’ll slip out the other door toward the dairy barn where Tom is. Nazareth’s not one to go hitchin’ up horses she’s not familiar with, especially when they’re the size of your Samson.”

  “He’s a big boy,” Vernon agreed as he slid the barn door on its track. “Spirited, but smart about when to run and when not to.”

  Jerusalem chuckled. “And wouldn’t most of us be better off if we used the same kind of smarts?”

  Yes, some of us do indeed want to gallop full speed ahead rather than taking things in their own good time.

  They walked through the dim, musky barn past Tom’s horses. Then Vernon chatted with Samson, stroking his muscled neck as the tall black Percheron acclimated himself to the two women. The sisters took turns saying admiring things to him, reaching out their palms so the gelding could nuzzle them.

  “Ready to take on a big job, Samson?” Vernon asked as he slipped the harness tracings over the horse’s head. “I’ve told these ladies what a fine, dependable fellow you are, so I know you’ll rise to the challenge.”

  Samson nickered, stomping eagerly. Nazareth opened the door so Vernon could let the Percheron step outside into the area he and Tom had cleared earlier. The plow had a platform with wheels, where the driver stood. Behind that, two wooden beams with blades slanted in a vee would throw the snow to either side. When he had hitched the plow to the horse, Vernon stepped up onto the platform and pulled out of the stable. The ladies shut the door and then scrambled to sit sideways on each side of the plow, putting their legs up on the wooden beams. There was barely enough room for their backsides, but he knew better than to mention that.

  “Something tells me this kind of ride was easier when you were kids,” he teased.

  “You’re sayin’ we’re not kids now?” Jerusalem shot back.

  “Jah, deep as this snow is,” Nazareth piped up, “you’ll be mighty glad for all our weight back here.”

  Vernon chuckled. “Let me know if you want to get off. I don’t want anybody getting hurt,” he said. “Let’s go, Samson!”

  The Percheron stepped proudly into the curve of the lane, where the snow was a foot deep—even taller where the wind had whipped it into peaked drifts. With steady strength, Samson slowly dragged the plow between the banks of higher snow that marked where the lane had been cleared before. Vernon relaxed, letting his fine horse do its job. He smiled at the chatter the sisters passed back and forth behind him. It felt good to be working outdoors on this sparkling day, and he was happy to be moving this snow so they could get out to the road—and so the tanker truck could come for Tom’s milk.

  They were about two-thirds of the way down the lane when Tom hollered from behind them. “Hey, wait for me! I’m supposed to be helpin’ with this job.”

  “Whoa, Samson.” Vernon turned to see Tom jogging to catch up to them. The platform wasn’t wide enough for two men to stand on, so he wondered if he should step aside. Maybe Tom would feel better doing some physical work after making those difficult phone calls . . .

  “Tom, my backside’s tellin’ me I’ve done enough horsin’ around,” Jerusalem said as she stood up in the cleared lane. “Probably room for you to stand here in the point of this plow while we sisters go shovel out the doorways of the house.”

  Tom frowned. “I never intended for you girls to be doin’ the heavy liftin’ while I just ride around—”

  “Preacher Tom!” a male voice called out.

  “We’ve got our lane cleared, and this section of the blacktop, so we’ll help with yours now,” another fellow added.

  The four of them looked toward the road, where two plows similar to Tom’s were pulling up at the end of the lane. Each vehicle was being driven by a dark-haired young man in a stocking cap who was waving eagerly, standing closely behind a bonneted girl.

  “Bram and Nate Kanagy! Gut mornin’ to ya,” Tom replied. “I see you’ve got your fiancées along to help.”

  “Jah, can’t get them back to Cedar Creek yet, what with all this snow.”

  Vernon studied their young faces more closely. Women all looked alike with their hair and ears covered by close-fitting black bonnets. “Mary and Martha Coblentz! Happy New Year, girls—and congratulations are in order, too?”

  “Bishop?” one of the Coblentz twins exclaimed, while her sister leaned forward to gawk at him. “What’re you doing in Willow Ridge, Vernon?”

  Vernon laughed, as amazed by this coincidental meeting as they were. “Even bishops must stay put when the snow closes the roads,” he replied cheerfully. “Awfully nice of you to come over and help Tom with the plowing.”

  “Jah, you kids might as well come on in and warm up with us,” Nazareth offered. “I was just ready to make a batch of cocoa—”

  “And we’ve got lots of cookies to share while we hear your gut news about gettin’ engaged,” Jerusalem went on.

  One of the Kanagy boys gaped. “Oh, my! I thought you were two other fellas—”

  “Jerusalem and Nazareth?” his brother exclaimed. “You got snowed in at Preacher Tom’s, too?”

  “We were helpin’ with a get-together for Tom and three bishops from hereabouts,” Nazareth explained.

  “And tendin’ our goats, because Tom’s been nice enough to keep them for us,” Jerusalem went on without a moment’s pause. “The time and the snowstorm got away from us while we were feedin’ everyone yesterday.”

  Vernon watched the four young people’s expressions, almost laughing out loud: they had their own ideas about four single—old—people being snowed in at Preacher Tom’s. And while the polite thing would be to come inside for a visit, the two boys obviously had other ideas of how to spend this time with Mary and Martha. When he was their age, he’d felt the same way.

  “We told our folks we’d be getting on home today,” one of the girls began.

  “On account of how we’ve been here since New Year’s Eve,” her sister finished. “Mamm and Dat are mighty excited about the farm Nate and Bram just bought, between here and Cedar Creek.”

  “And Dat’s drawn up the plans for our house there, too!”

  “Jah, you boys have been makin’ a lot of hay over the holidays,” Tom remarked.

  “You’ve got that right,” the taller of the two boys replied. Then he looked around. “Do you want us to come on down your lane with a plow? It would mean you’d have to turn that big Percheron around—”

  “Oh, Samson’s trained to back up with the best of them,” Vernon replied. “But he’d rather use that same effort to go forward and finish his job. If you’d like to come on in once we’ve plowed to the road, though, we�
�d love to visit. Won’t take us but another ten minutes or so.”

  “And if you’ve gotta get those girls home,” Tom said, “we understand that, too. We’ve got no place to go, so we’re in no hurry to get there.”

  The four young people laughed, looking politely relieved. “Denki for the invite,” the younger Kanagy boy said, “but maybe we’d best catch up with you later. Mamm was figurin’ on us for dinner before we head out with the twins.”

  “That’s the way it should be then,” Jerusalem replied. “Give your folks our best, boys.”

  “And girls, I look forward to hearing all about your plans when I’m back in Cedar Creek,” Vernon added. “Drive safely on the snowy roads, now. I’d much rather preach at your wedding than at your funeral.”

  Chapter Six

  As Tom sat at the table, he savored the succulent beef brisket and vegetables . . . the way Nazareth looked especially pretty in a dress of peacock blue, while her sister’s dress brought to mind a butterscotch drop. He thanked God for their laughter, too, for it kept him from thinking too much about Lettie and the conversation he’d had with his son Pete.

  “I can just imagine what Leah and Daniel Kanagy must be thinking,” Jerusalem said with a chortle. “Their boys were mostly in a hurry to get home so they could tell about Nazareth and me bein’ snowed in with you two fellas.”

  “And wearin’ men’s clothes, too,” Nazareth added. “We gave those kids and their parents quite a lot to talk about!”

  Vernon smashed another potato on his plate and then spooned gravy over it. “The romance between my Coblentz girls and your Kanagy boys must’ve blown up in a hurry. Last I knew, Mary and Martha weren’t the least bit inclined to settle down.”

  “Ah, but then they met up with Bram and Nate.” Tom’s heart lightened. He took hope from the story that was unfolding for the young people in their two districts. “They’re doin’ well for themselves, too. Nate’s trainin’ horses, while Bram plans to start his own auction barn on that spread they bought a few days ago. Gut boys, both of them,” he remarked. “Your Martha and Mary’ll be startin’ up a bed and breakfast once their dat’s got the house built with a bunch of extra rooms for guests.”