An Amish Country Christmas

by Hubbard, Charlotte; King, Naomi

  The stairs creaked comfortably beneath their weight as they ascended, and again Jerusalem noted tidy rooms where the furnishings and quilts were old but well tended. Vernon’s bedroom set was another marvel carved from walnut, and she didn’t have to ask if he had fashioned it himself. She chose the room farthest down the hall from his, even though it was the smallest, knowing Abner and the aunts would be well aware of where she slept. The bright-colored crazy quilt on the twin bed appealed to her, as did the dormer ceilings and the trio of windows with simple valances made of calico that coordinated with the quilt.

  “Feels real homey in here,” she remarked as Vernon brought in her suitcase.

  He chuckled under his breath. “If I took the notion to come calling in the night, a twin bed would still be large enough, you know. You could sleep out in the loft of the barn, and I’d be there if I thought you’d welcome me. In our youth, bundling was still an accepted practice, after all.”

  Her eyes widened. Bundling was a form of courtship where young folks slipped between the sheets fully clothed, usually in the girl’s bedroom. “Not in our house it wasn’t!” she clarified. “But then, with so many of us kids at home, we doubled and tripled up on bedrooms. Come time we were old enough to court, we found other places to go.”

  “And I can imagine you were driven home from many a Singing by many an eager young man,” Vernon said. “You and Nazareth probably had a lot of secrets to keep for each other when you were girls growing up.”

  Jerusalem let out a short laugh. “We attended the Singings, for sure and for certain, because all of us Hooley kids loved to sing and socialize. But more often than not, Nazareth and I went with older sisters and then drove home by ourselves when they got rides with their fellas.” She paused, choosing words she hoped wouldn’t sound prideful or vain. “Nazareth and I were the sharpest pencils in the pack, ya see . . . and we’ve always figured the boys couldn’t handle the way we ciphered so fast and won the spelling bees and took over classes on days the teacher was sick.”

  Vernon considered this, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Since I didn’t know you then—and since it’s been oh, at least forty years since you and I were scholars—I’m not intimidated by your intelligence, Jerusalem. The older I get, the more I value companions of either gender who converse well and who feel confident about their places in God’s creation. It’s all about attitude.”

  “And I’ve got plenty of that, for sure and for certain!”

  “What do you say I take you down a peg or two over the Scrabble board?” he teased. “Aunt Nettie and Aunt Florence would love to watch you challenge me, because they get tired of losing.”

  “Bring it on!” Jerusalem replied. “We three hens can keep a rooster in his place, no doubt about that. And humility’s something everybody—especially bishops—need to work on.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Vernon hitched his Percheron to an enclosed buggy, his whistled tune echoed in the dim barn. Even though the early-morning clouds hung low in the sky, promising snow by afternoon, he felt lighthearted and extremely optimistic. For the past couple of days, Jerusalem had regaled his aunts with tales of her family in Lancaster County and her nephews in Willow Ridge. Abner had even told him, privately, that this woman would make a wonderful wife for him and a welcome addition to their family.

  Jerusalem said her goodbyes and thank-you’s to Nettie, Florence, and his nephew, and then the two of them were headed back to Willow Ridge as the sun painted a pale pink line at the far horizon. The north wind whipped at the buggy, but even so Vernon felt a cozy glow as they started down the road. While the sleigh was a wonderful vehicle for dashing through the snow, with bells jingling merrily, this enclosed vehicle was warmer and felt more conducive to the conversation he hoped to have while they spent a couple of hours on the road.

  “We’ll take a different route, so you can get a look at our little town,��� he remarked as Samson clip-clopped along the cleared county blacktop. “Up here on the left, you’ll see the Cedar Creek Mercantile, where Sam Lambright keeps us supplied with everything you could possibly want,” he remarked. “Sam’s mother runs the greenhouse beside his store, and his sister Abby has her sewing business in the mercantile’s loft. Across the road is Graber’s Custom Carriages, where James refurbished my sleigh.”

  “Nice-lookin’ places,” Jerusalem said as she peered out her window. “Looks like we’ve got sheep in these barns, and a dairy herd over yonder.”

  “That’s the Ropp place. One of Rudy’s boys has a machinery repair business, and the other one’s getting into cage-free chickens and eggs that sell to some of the more upscale English markets hereabouts.”

  “Jah, seems like folks can’t be satisfied with plain old white eggs and white chickens these days. Just like Ira and Luke are havin’ the farmers around Willow Ridge grow specialty grains for their new mill.”

  As they turned onto the main highway, Vernon eased Samson closer to the shoulder and let the horse settle into his own pace. His thoughts whirled like dry leaves caught in the wind . . . should he propose during this ride? He’d told Jerusalem many times he wanted her for his wife, but he’d held off popping the question . . . had kept the words “I love you” reserved for just the right moment, so she wouldn’t think he was careless about tossing such an important phrase around.

  Vernon considered how best to bring up the subject . . . ran various lead-ins through his mind, rearranging the words and turns of phrase as he did when he was planning key points for a Sunday sermon. Words had always come easily to him, yet he recalled going through this same agitation, this same sense of urgency, so many years ago when Dorothea had been seated beside him in a courting buggy. He thanked God that he’d gained some experience and a keener understanding of females over time, because Jerusalem wouldn’t jump as eagerly at the chance to marry as young girls did. She, too, had lived a full life and he sensed she could continue quite contentedly as a single woman . . . except that with her sister planning to marry Tom Hostetler, her world was about to undergo a major change. Vernon smiled. His longtime friend had unwittingly done him a huge favor, falling for Nazareth Hooley!

  Finally he felt confident that God would give him the right words, and that the Lord would also open Jerusalem’s mind and heart to love him as much as he adored her. He ran his thumbs over the smooth leather traces, getting his nerve up . . .

  But when he noticed that Jerusalem was still gazing out her side window, with her jaw tight and her lips pressed into a thin line, Vernon swallowed his big question. Was that a tear trickling down her cheek?

  He’d never learned how best to handle a crying woman. So many things could be going through Jerusalem’s mind . . . something he’d said or done—or not said or done. Or she could be worried about something totally unrelated to these past several days he’d spent with her. She’d seemed to enjoy his aunts’ company . . . had fit into the family dynamic better than he’d dared to hope.

  So he would tread carefully, delicately. Just the sight of that single tear on this special woman’s face tore Vernon up inside, and he reminded himself to remain as calm and observant and patient as he’d ever been with Dorothea, Nettie, or Florence. Older women cried for different reasons than young girls did, if indeed they could pinpoint a reason.

  He reached for Jerusalem’s hand, realizing that she’d remained beside the door rather than scooting toward the center of the seat, where she’d ridden during their sleigh rides. Not a good sign. “I’ve been lost in my own thoughts, and it seems you’ve become upset,” he whispered. “How may I help you, dear heart? What’s on your mind?”

  Jerusalem let out a shuddery sigh.

  Vernon shifted slightly closer to her, holding the reins in one hand while he kept his other one on hers. He hoped to clear up this situation quickly, or it would be a very long ride to Willow Ridge. But he remained quiet, sensing that her sniffles . . . the loud blowing of her nose, were her ways of gathering her thoughts. Jerusalem
wasn’t the type to cry over piddling matters, so she deserved his patience.

  “I . . . I had a wonderful-gut visit at your place, Vernon,” she began in an unsteady voice.

  He nodded, knowing the other shoe would only drop if he didn’t force it to. “I’m glad you came, too. That took some courage, knowing what my intentions were . . . what they are.”

  Jerusalem cleared her throat. She was still looking away from him but not moving her hand from under his. “You’ve got a couple of dear aunts, Vernon. I admire the way ya gave them and Abner a home . . .”

  Again Vernon waited, refraining from a reply. Her sigh sounded so despondent that he closed his eyes, hoping the rosy future he’d been dreaming of wasn’t about to vanish like the wisps of breath coming from Samson’s nostrils.

  “. . . but you’ve got so much stuff—so many memories of Dorothea—in your house, I’m not sure there’s room for me.”

  She might as well have pitched a brick at him. Vernon’s chest felt like it was caving in, and he exhaled quickly. While he admired Jerusalem for her wit, her way with putting words together, he was now wishing she wasn’t quite so succinct. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  Jerusalem laughed sadly. “Jah, I do that to people sometimes. And I hate to burst your perty bubble, Vernon, because I was caught up in it, too,” she admitted. “Took me a while to figure out what wasn’t settin’ just right during my visit, but there it is. Your wife was a blessed woman, no doubt in my mind. But she might as well still be livin’ there in all those rooms. I—I’m sorry.”

  Vernon sighed, very near tears himself. “I . . . hadn’t thought about that, Jerusalem. But once again, you’re absolutely right about—”

  “Don’t be playin’ that little word game to humor me,” she murmured. “It’s gonna take more than words and gut intentions to fix this.”

  Jerusalem looked at him, then dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “I can’t expect ya to change your home or get rid of all those fine pieces ya made for Dorothea, on account of how ya poured so much love into them,” she continued in a rueful voice. “Wouldn’t be fair of me to ask that of any man, but . . . at our stage of the game, that’s how it’ll be with anybody we’ll meet, most likely.”

  Bless her, this woman had pointed up something that must be so obvious to everyone who entered his home, and yet he hadn’t seen it. Nettie, Florence, and Abner had moved into brand new rooms and they’d chosen new furnishings . . . made new quilts for their beds. Because they had lost everything they’d held dear in the flood, they were thankful to have a roof over their heads and grateful that he and Dorothea had made them welcome. While he knew widowers who had insisted their new wives accept the home and furnishings they provided, Vernon couldn’t expect Jerusalem to feel comfortable while surrounded by the mementos of his previous marriage . . . no matter how much he treasured them.

  “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he said quietly. “And no matter how disheartened I am, I truly appreciate your candor, Jerusalem.”

  She sighed. “Better to spell it all out now, rather than get hitched and have both of us be miserable.”

  Vernon patted her hand and then let go of it. Squeezed the reins as a way to deal with an anguish that took his breath away. Anything he might say at this point would sound like an excuse or a desperate plea for Jerusalem’s love, and that wasn’t a good foundation on which to build a lasting relationship.

  The next couple of hours went slowly, with only an occasional remark about the passing scenery, yet Vernon was grateful that Jerusalem didn’t fill the time with aimless chitchat. Her admission of discomfort further proved what a direct, solid woman she was. Far better that she had aired her true feelings rather than letting them fester. As various solutions to his problem whirled through his mind, Vernon came to terms with the fact that he would have to make some major changes if he wanted to marry this woman who had so quickly woven herself into his dreams, his heart . . . his soul.

  When they came within sight of the mill and its big wheel, he crossed the river bridge and pulled the rig to a stop on the side of the road. “I hope you’ll give Tom and Nazareth my best?”

  “Jah, I can do that.” She smiled at him. Her eyes were clear now, but sadness lingered on her face. “I won’t go on and on about why you’re not droppin’ in at Tom’s now, either.”

  Vernon shrugged. “I know good and well you’ll tell your sister everything—”

  “Not everything.” Jerusalem reached for his hand, reminding him yet again of how firm her grip was and what a hold she had on his heart. “Some things I keep to myself, to think about in quiet times. To smile about when nobody’s lookin’.”

  “May I stay in touch? I don’t intend to pester you, or—”

  “When have I ever had so many friends that I could turn one away?” she murmured. “I’d feel real bad if ya wanted nothin’ more to do with me, Vernon. But I’d understand that, too, after the way I’ve let ya down.”

  Quickly Vernon embraced her, overcome by her simple, heartfelt goodness. “You’ve not heard the last of me, Jerusalem. I don’t give up easily.”

  He kissed her soft cheek. Then he drove her to the mill entrance, carried her suitcase to the stoop, and felt extremely grateful that her tears had dried. He memorized Jerusalem’s kind smile, the sight of her waving from the door.

  And then Vernon drove home to Cedar Creek, a man facing a major mission, indeed.

  Two days later, as Jerusalem helped Nazareth remove the evergreen and candles that had adorned Tom’s mantel and windowsills for the holidays, her sister was still pecking at her. “Jerusalem, ya can’t tell me Vernon just up and decided he wasn’t crazy about ya,” Nazareth remarked. “It’s not like ya to be so quiet. Tom’s curious about it, too.”

  Jerusalem smiled to herself. It had taken great restraint, but she had kept the juicy details about her Cedar Creek visit to herself. And indeed, she had mentally replayed many of the lovely moments she’d spent with Vernon, and she could smile now instead of weeping about what she’d walked away from. “Not much to tell,” she hedged. “I figured out—”

  “Puh! This is me you’re talkin’ to, and Tom’ll be muckin’ out the barn for a while,” her sister insisted. “I’m keepin’ after ya for my own reasons, ya know. If you’re seein’ things, about why gettin’ hitched at our age isn’t a gut idea, maybe you’d better point them out to me. Maybe I’ve leaped before I looked, when it comes to fallin’ for Tom.”

  Jerusalem paused with the dust rag halfway across the windowsill they’d just cleared. “Well, since ya put it that way . . . I, um, told Vernon I couldn’t move into a house that was full of furniture he’d made for his first wife,” she stated. “Don’t get me wrong, it was all beautiful and any woman would be glad to have it, I suppose. But to me, it felt like his Dorothea still lived there, and she’d always be lookin’ over my shoulder.”

  Nazareth’s eyebrows flew up. She gazed around Tom’s front room, a pensive expression on her face. “Well, isn’t that the way of it, when ya hitch up with a fella who’s been married?” she asked quietly. “It’s not like we’ve got roomfuls of our own things to move into a man’s home, after all. Just the linens and what-not we packed into our bride’s chests as girls.”

  Sighing, Jerusalem wiped down the rest of the windowsill. “Maybe most gals could accept that—and if you’re happy here in Tom’s home, that’s what matters,” she added emphatically. “But it just wasn’t workin’ for me. I hurt Vernon’s feelings, tellin’ him my concerns, but at least I didn’t keep him guessin’ about why I was so uncomfortable.”

  She paused, figuring she might as well get the rest of it off her chest and be done with it. “You and I have spent all our lives under somebody else’s roof, Nazareth. After the folks passed, when Jericho took us into his dawdi haus, that’s what we expected, as maidel sisters. And here in Willow Ridge,” she went on in a rising voice, “the nephews and the Lantz family have looked after us whenever we weren’t
stayin’ at Hiram’s, helpin’ with his youngest kids.”

  “And we’ve been ever grateful—and helpful—to all those who’ve welcomed us,” Nazareth pointed out.

  “Jah, that’s true. But if I’m finally gonna get a home of my own . . . I want it to feel like my place, with my man,” she murmured. “Am I makin’ sense? Or did I throw a horse-apple pie in Vernon’s face for selfish, petty reasons?”

  Nazareth gazed at Jerusalem as though seeing her for the first time. “Ya know, I never thought of it that way,” she finally admitted. “And I want ya to be happy, Sister. I’ll stop gnawin’ on this bone now. I’ll let you and Vernon figure it out.”

  Jerusalem grabbed her in a hug. “Denki for understandin’, Nazareth. I wish you and Tom all the best, too, ya know.”

  For a moment they held each other, realizing how their lives would change momentously when one or both of them married. Then Nazareth cleared her throat. “Looks like we’ve got company. Better brace yourself for whatever Sarah and Lavinia have to say.”

  Glancing out the window at the approaching rig, Jerusalem shrugged. “We’re just here helpin’ Tom. What are they gonna do about that?” she asked. “It’s not like they’ve come over to take down the greenery and candles they didn’t care enough to put out for their dat.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nazareth squared her shoulders. Carefully, lovingly, she wrapped the old newspaper pieces around the glass candle holders before packing them back into the box they’d probably been stored in for twenty years. While she didn’t relish having words with Tom’s daughters, Sarah and Lavinia were a part of his life, and they wouldn’t disappear . . . the way his wife had. That thought made her determined to be a peacemaker, to smooth the girls’ ruffled feathers for Tom’s sake. He didn’t let on, but he didn’t like being at odds with his children. Even if he hadn’t become the new bishop of Willow Ridge, concerned about living as an example to his district, he would want to be a good dat. A loving father, the way God was.