An Amish Country Christmas

by Hubbard, Charlotte; King, Naomi

  A giggle escaped her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Tom’s lips sought hers, tentative and sweet, before he settled in for an unhurried exploration of her mouth. Nazareth followed his lead, wondering if she would pass out of this world from sheer delight. Years of lonely resignation to her fate as a maidel floated away and she was a young girl again, kissing a beau—except this felt so much better. She trusted Tom. Had none of those girlish doubts about his intentions or whether she dared to hope his feelings for her would last beyond this kiss, this moment.

  “Oh, Naz.” He tucked her head against his shoulder. “I’ve been waitin’ a long time for that. It was even better than I believed it would be.”

  Her heart thrummed with quiet joy. “Jah, it was, Tom.”

  He gazed at her with eyes as dark and warm as melted chocolate. “Be patient while things unfold these next weeks . . . maybe months,” he whispered. “I promise ya, we’ll be gettin’ back to this lovey-dovey stuff, because it’ll bring us a whole new life—better than what came before.”

  Nazareth flushed. “It’s not like I’ve had much of that, ya know.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” he teased. “You’re a natural, at bein’ a bishop’s wife and at bein’ my woman, too, Naz. Can ya hang on for me, til the time’s right?”

  A bishop’s wife . . . my woman, too. Oh, but her soul sang as she got warm all over. “It’s not like other fellas are bangin’ my door down,” she said with a laugh.

  “Their loss. Lucky for me I spotted ya even though I was lookin’ down too much, feelin’ the weight of Lettie’s leavin’ as somethin’ I might’ve brought on.”

  “Put that behind ya now. I can’t understand why any woman would forsake ya, Tom,” she replied.

  He kissed her again. Then, with a sigh, he glanced at the clock. “Got some cows in the barn that’ll be bawlin’ soon, wonderin’ where I am. The milkin’ sorta sets my schedule—”

  “And I want to help with it. Might come a time when ya get called away, a bishop seein’ to a member’s concerns, and I’ll need to see to your chores. Best if the cows get used to me bein’ around them, too.”

  Tom’s eyes widened with gratitude. “You’re like a miracle come into my life on the coattails of Christmas. Bless ya, Naz.”

  “Bless ya right back, Tom,” she whispered. “I hope to make your life a wonderful-gut place every single day, from here on out.”

  Chapter Eight

  “What a glorious day! The other three seasons are fine, but only a snowy winter’s afternoon shines this way,” Vernon proclaimed. “Geddap, Samson! Let’s show this special lady a fine time.”

  As the sleigh bells jingled to the rhythm of the horse’s trot, Jerusalem couldn’t quit grinning. The years she’d lived as a maidel with her sister, resigned to spending her days in the schoolhouse or with her women friends, faded away. Hiram Knepp’s dismissal of her feelings blew off with the whoosh of the wind as they pulled past the corner of Tom’s stable. For sure and for certain, Vernon Gingerich knew how to make a woman feel special.

  Was this bishop as wonderful as he seemed? Was he especially attracted to her, or did he enjoy every woman he met? As his huge black Percheron headed across the open pasture, Jerusalem warned herself not to lose her common sense or her heart, for the higher her pie-in-the-sky hopes rose, the farther they might fall.

  “Oh, but this is a sight,” she murmured, gesturing at the picture-postcard panorama. From this hilltop, they could see miles of glistening whiteness in every direction, punctuated by farmsteads with deep red barns, tall white homes, and their windbreaks of evergreens. Clusters of silos and sheds dotted the distant landscape, with a backdrop of blue sky so brilliant it made her squint. “Haven’t taken in such a perty view in a sleigh for more years than I care to count. Denki for this ride, Vernon.”

  “It’s my pleasure, dear heart. Anything that makes your eyes shine is worth my time.” He gave the horse its head and settled back in the dark red upholstered seat. “This sleigh belonged to my favorite uncle. I didn’t know it then, but when I had it refurbished, God must have been planning this outing with you. While I look for any excuse to drive it, occasions like this are meant to be shared, don’t you think?”

  Truth be told, Jerusalem couldn’t think. Dear heart, he’d called her... “You’ve got that right, Vernon. And it gives Tom and my sister a chance to talk for a while, too,” she replied. “My word, but he’s had a lot dumped in his lap this past week, what with Hiram gettin’ the boot and Lettie’s passin’.”

  “Tom’s an exceptional soul. He’ll handle whatever life brings his way, and Nazareth’s company will be a timely blessing, as well.” When Vernon smiled, the lines around his blue eyes crinkled merrily. He scooted closer to her. “But it’s you I want to hear about, Jerusalem. Dozens of fine women have tried to catch my eye since my Dorothea died six years ago, but the moment I saw you it was spontaneous combustion. I sincerely hope you feel that same sort of . . . heat.”

  This man’s words were warming her, all right. Jerusalem glanced away from his earnest expression, telling herself to breathe—and not to fan her face with her hand. Was Vernon full of himself? Or was he cutting to the chase?

  “Think I told ya we sisters came to Missouri from Lancaster County, with nephews lookin’ to start fresh where land was affordable. On New Year’s Day, Ben married Miriam—the gal who owns the Sweet Seasons Café—and the younger two, Luke and Ira, have been buildin’ a gristmill on the riverbank.” She met his eyes again. “Nazareth and I like Willow Ridge so much we’ve not even considered going back East, even though our nephews would get along fine without us.”

  “Aunts are special people,” Vernon replied. “My aunts, Nettie and Florence, came to live with me after their homes washed away in the flood of Ninety-three, along with Florence’s son, Abner. I shudder to think how alone I would’ve been after my wife passed, without their company. We weren’t able to have children, you see.”

  “Ah. That makes it harder when ya get . . . to a certain age.”

  “Thank you for not calling me old,” he teased, elbowing her. “Right now I feel about twenty, no matter if my crow’s-feet and white hair indicate otherwise.”

  “Hah! I wouldn’t be twenty again,” Jerusalem countered. “Too many important life decisions need to be made at that age, when ya don’t know spit about anything. And it wasn’t like the fellas were poundin’ my door down back then.”

  She nipped her lip. Why had she revealed the fact that no one had been interested in her when she was of courting age?

  “Are they now? Pounding your door down, that is?”

  Jerusalem blinked and then swatted his arm playfully. “And what if they are? Or what if I’m a nag, or too set in my ways to change? Truth be told, I’m not sure I want to be trainin’ a fella to my way of thinkin’ at this stage of the game.”

  Vernon’s laughter rang around them, sounding as merry as the sleigh bells. “Maybe I’m just as comfortable in my rut as you are, my dear—not eager to upset my routine. But you know what they say about a rut. If you remain there, entrenching yourself, it eventually becomes your grave.”

  When he focused on her, unwavering and intense, Jerusalem couldn’t look away. “Well,” she murmured, “I for one don’t intend to die anytime soon.”

  “If you do, I’ll be a sorry . . . lonely man, Jerusalem.”

  Her mouth dropped open. How did this eloquent fellow keep answering her objections without a moment’s hesitation? “I . . . I don’t know what to say. And that hardly ever happens—just ask the folks who know me.”

  Chuckling, Vernon tugged on the reins. When the sleigh stopped, they sat in a hollow of the field, shielded by a row of spruce trees that whispered in the wind. Not a house was in sight. “Maybe you don’t need words,” he whispered. “Maybe you’d rather say it this way.”

  When his lips gently found hers, Jerusalem nearly fainted. Vernon eased away to look into her eyes, and then kissed her again with a sweet
thoroughness that made her soul sing. She recalled a few neighbor boys sneaking kisses back in the day, but nothing had ever made her feel so vibrant . . . so desirable. So needy.

  With a gasp she backed away. “This feels sinfully delicious. Maybe we shouldn’t be—”

  “Nonsense,” he murmured, cupping her face in his gloved hand. “God created men and women to be together, to please each other and to bless His name by bearing good fruit—whether it be by teaching young scholars or shepherding a flock of church members. Whatever abilities we develop from the gifts He’s given us are an offering to Him. Didn’t Jesus command us to love one another, after all?”

  There was no getting around that one, was there? “Jah, that He did. But when things get outta hand—”

  “I think we’ve got things well in hand, Jerusalem.” Vernon lightly placed his other palm on her cheek, framing her face as he gazed at her with a tenderness she’d never known. “And while it may be too soon to call this love, I hope you’ll at least give me the chance to explore that possibility. Life can be short, or life can be long. Either way, it’s best when shared with someone who matters. And you matter to me, Jerusalem.”

  Again her mouth dropped open. She’d never had a man render her speechless . . . and it felt better than she had expected. After all, if she insisted on talking, Vernon wouldn’t have as much chance to kiss her again, the way he was now. Slowly, mesmerizing her with his mouth, he coaxed her closer . . . entreated her to open her heart and soul to him. Jerusalem let her head fall back against his arm. What would it be like to feel this shimmery, this giddy, every day of her life—every time this man kissed her?

  It was too soon to be thinking that way. But what if it might be a long-lost dream about to come true, if she gave it half a chance?

  Once again Jerusalem eased her lips from Vernon’s, and then she scooted a few inches away from him. “Maybe we’d ought to get on with our ride,” she suggested, and then she laughed. “That sounded like an old schoolteacher talkin’, ain’t so? If you’re thinkin’ to get serious about me, Vernon, you’ll have to deal with my tendency to call things like I see them, and then to . . . suggest improvements.”

  Vernon clapped the reins lightly on the horse’s back. “You can take the teacher away from her class, but you can’t take the class away from the teacher,” he teased as the sleigh began gliding across the snow again. “I knew from the moment we met that you’d be no man’s doormat, Jerusalem. And while I, as a bishop, believe wives should submit to their husbands, I also know that when a husband makes all the decisions—has all the power—a marriage can become badly out of balance.”

  Well, that sounds reasonable enough. Jerusalem focused on the exquisite beauty of the landscape and the way the black Percheron’s gait and strength were making this ride so wonderfully smooth. Better to listen rather than to talk sometimes, as men tended to reveal their true selves when she didn’t reply to every little thing . . . allowed them to fill in the blanks of their conversation.

  “My Dorothea was a quiet woman, but she had ways of making her wishes known,” Vernon continued. “Because we had no children, we were especially close. I adored making her laugh . . . making every day a blessing for her, the way she did for me. I miss doing that,” he reflected quietly. “I miss sharing my innermost thoughts as much as I miss sharing . . . my bed.”

  Jerusalem sat up straighter, her nerves a-jangle. Vernon’s voice was mellow and clear, riding the highs and lows of his emotions, which suggested that he was probably a compelling speaker on a Sunday morning. But this talk of sharing a bed . . . my word, how will I ever be comfortable taking off my clothes for a man, at my age?

  Vernon gazed at her until she figured she’d better look his way.

  “Please don’t think I’ll pressure you into having sex, Jerusalem,” he said without blinking an eye. “But it’s a pleasure I miss. Something I would dearly love to share with you someday—in the proper circumstances, of course.”

  Was he suggesting marriage or was he making a very bold pass? Jerusalem’s thoughts raced. She’d had such a ready answer for his teasing remarks over the Scrabble board, but being out here alone with him, talking about physical relations . . . private pleasures she knew nothing about while he’d taken them for granted most of his life . . .

  “You’re very quiet, Jerusalem.”

  She cleared her throat primly. “I don’t make a habit of expressing opinions on topics I know . . . nothing about.”

  Vernon’s eyes widened as he realized what she was saying. “I’ve offended you,” he whispered. “You and I have so many things in common that, well—I’ve been crass and thoughtless, and I beg your forgiveness, Jerusalem. I’m sorry.”

  She heard true contrition in his voice. A man’s admission that he’d been thoughtless came about as often as snow in July, so Vernon Gingerich was indeed a rare fellow. “Apology accepted. You’re easy to forgive.”

  He drove in silence for a few moments, which made Jerusalem fear she’d turned his crank the wrong direction. But then, if it bothered him that she’d lived as an honorable woman, it was better to know that now than later.

  “Let me say this,” he ventured in his low, steady voice. “If it’s a matter of inexperience making you nervous, we can remedy that. If the idea of having sex repels you, or you have no interest in trying it, that’s a different story.”

  Jerusalem sank her fingers into the sleigh’s upholstered seat, mostly to get a grip on how she should answer that. Truth be told, having a man want her in that way was making her thrum all over, even if she feared doing something stupid when the time came to try what he was suggesting. “This old dog still has a few tricks in her,” she murmured. “Just a matter of how the trainer approaches her and . . . what sort of enticement and reward he offers, once he’s got her attention.”

  For a moment there was only the jingle of the sleigh bells and the whish of the sleigh’s runners cutting through the snow. Then Vernon’s chuckle got louder and the seat vibrated with his mirth.

  He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “What a gem you are, Jerusalem. Absolutely priceless. If—when—the time comes for your training, I’ll be sure to have plenty of treats on hand. Lavish praise works well, too. And repetition.”

  “Do it again and again until you do it correctly,” Jerusalem agreed, fighting a smile. “A school teacher’s way to instill knowledge of any topic, ain’t so?”

  “You’re absolutely right, Jerusalem.”

  She laughed out loud, no longer nervous. “Commit that to memory, Vernon. Ya just said four of the most important words in the English language.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Jerusalem!” he proclaimed. When a fellow in the yard they were passing waved at them, they returned the greeting. “There! I’ve even got a witness.”

  “Jah, that’s Henry Zook, the storekeeper. We just gave him somethin’ real interesting to report to his wife, Lydia, ain’t so?”

  As Vernon directed his horse to turn down the next road, Jerusalem felt light and playful. Truth be told, the two of them had covered some important topics . . . and in her maidel’s heart, she was pleased—flattered—that Vernon was interested in her as a woman. She’d given up on the dream of becoming a wife, yet that subject shimmered around them like the tiny snowflakes that sparkled in the wind. When the Percheron started down Tom’s long lane, two bundled-up figures coming from the dairy barn waved at them.

  “See there? We managed to miss the afternoon milking,” Vernon teased. He pulled the sleigh to a halt several yards from the house. “What would you say to going home with me, Jerusalem? I’m staying to help Tom with the Sunday service and the Member’s Meeting, but I would dearly love your company for the ride back to Cedar Creek . . . and so you could meet my family.”

  Too soon! her thoughts cried out. And yet, hadn’t they been working their way around to this subject all along? Wasn’t a visit to his home a logical step in a relationship that had blown them along like a winter wi
nd? “I—I’ll certainly consider that, Vernon,” she replied. “And you’ll be meetin’ up with my nephews while you’re here, no doubt.”

  “I’d love to. I passed the mill on my way into town, and I sense your nephews have some interesting things to tell about their new business,” he said. His blue eyes sparkled when he gazed into hers. “I won’t kiss you right now, because Tom and Nazareth are watching, but when the next opportunity presents itself . . .”

  Jerusalem giggled. “I suspect we’ll get pretty gut at makin’ opportunities.”

  Chapter Nine

  When she’d pulled on her flannel nightgown, Nazareth sat on the edge of the double bed beside Jerusalem to brush out her hair. All their lives they had shared a room, and this nightly ritual brought their busy days to a satisfying close before they slipped between the sheets to sleep. Knowing that their voices might carry to where Tom and Vernon still sat chatting downstairs, she leaned close to her sister. “So did ya have a gut time on that sleigh ride? Couldn’t tell if your cheeks were rosy from the cold or from spoonin’ with Vernon.”

  “Puh! From what I could tell, you and Tom did your share of spoonin’, too, Sister,” Jerusalem teased as she let her hair spill down over her shoulder. “It’s a wonder ya didn’t get dinner all over your dress for gawkin’ at him instead of payin’ attention to your food.”

  Nazareth chuckled. Years had passed since either of them had experienced such romantic opportunities with a man, so she wasn’t surprised that her older sister had changed the subject a wee bit. “And what if we did? It’s not like Tom and I met just yesterday—or the day before—after all.”

  Jerusalem raised an eyebrow as she pulled the brush through her hip-length hair. “Are ya sayin’ I’m jumpin’ the gun with Vernon? He’s the one who started makin’ flirty noises the moment he came in the door.”

  “Not for me to judge,” Nazareth replied quietly. It was difficult to keep a schoolgirl grin off her face, recalling her afternoon on the love seat with Tom. “I’m glad to see ya lookin’ so happy, is all. Vernon’s a mighty nice fella and he seems sincere about his feelin’s for ya. Not at all the sort of man Hiram Knepp is.”