An Amish Country Christmas

by Hubbard, Charlotte; King, Naomi

  At the bang of the back kitchen door, she exchanged a glance with her sister. Then she stood tall, watching for the young women to enter the front room. A few moments later she could hear cabinets and drawers being opened.

  “It’s these dishes I’m wanting,” one of them said. “And the towels I embroidered for Mamm’s birthday when I was thirteen.”

  “And what about these gut tablecloths?” the other one asked. “And these bone china cups and saucers? Mamm told us those were tucked away in her bride’s chest, so she surely intended for us to have them.”

  “Jah, it’s a sure thing Dat won’t be using them.”

  “He’s probably forgotten she had them. And why should his girlfriend get them?”

  When Nazareth saw sharp words puckering Jerusalem’s face, she signaled for silence with a finger atop her lips. Apparently Tom’s daughters didn’t realize anyone was in the house, and she could use that to her advantage. Very quietly Nazareth crossed the front room, praying for God’s guidance. It wasn’t as if the girls were stealing, but she thought Tom ought to know about their intentions.

  When she got to the doorway, she leaned against it. Jerusalem remained a few steps behind her, attuned to her thought process as she had always been, at home and in the schoolrooms where they’d taught. “Gut morning, girls,” she said sweetly. “What a nice surprise, that you’ve come to see your dat. Shall I fetch him from the barn?”

  As Tom’s daughters whirled around, a glass pitcher flew from Sarah’s hands and shattered on the floor. “Ach! We just stopped by to—”

  “You’re still here, are you?” Lavinia challenged. “Now that Dat’s the bishop, I’d think you would be more mindful of appearances than to—”

  “And speakin’ of appearances,” came Tom’s voice from the mudroom. He stopped in the doorway rather than dirty the kitchen floor with his wet, mucky boots. “It would appear to me that ya came to ransack the place. Without so much as a how-do-ya-do for your dat. Do ya know how low that makes me feel? Your mamm raised ya better than that.”

  While Nazareth’s heart ached for this man in his smeared barn coat and careworn stocking cap, he was an answer to her prayers. Better for Tom to handle this situation. His daughters would only resent her more if she presumed to put them in their place, in the home where they had grown up.

  Sarah clasped her hands in front of her. “We . . . well, now that Mamm’s passed, we wanted a few of her things. To remember her by.”

  “Girl things,” Lavinia clarified. “Dishes and what-not that don’t mean anything to you.”

  Tom’s eyebrows rose. “Ya think I see it that way? Ya think I don’t have some memories worth hangin’ onto?”

  The silence made Nazareth aware of how fast her pulse was pounding. This wasn’t a place she enjoyed, being caught in the crossfire of hurt feelings. But these emotions were going to boil over sooner or later, so it was best that they all address the situation now, while everyone was in the same room.

  Sarah bowed her head. “We didn’t mean to get grabby, or—”

  “We didn’t figure your new friend—or whatever you call her—would want Mamm’s stuff, anyway,” Lavinia retorted.

  “I call her Nazareth,” Tom replied in a low voice. Slowly, deliberately, he removed his stocking cap and then hung his coat on the nearest wall peg. Bracing himself against the doorframe, he carefully removed his boots so they would drip in the mudroom. “And if ya can’t show Nazareth the respect she deserves, leave now. And don’t come back.”

  Oh, but that statement made the whole house hold its breath. While Nazareth felt gratified by Tom’s loyalty to her, it wasn’t a victory that would encourage his daughters to befriend her. But it was his house. And she understood that he was drawing a line, as far as what he would tolerate from his kids.

  Sarah glanced at Nazareth and then murmured, “We should’ve asked you before we started taking things from the cupboards. I’m sorry, Dat. Lavinia wanted to come—”

  “Me?” her younger sister demanded. “You’re the one who started talking about all the dinners we used to have, and the special dishes Mamm used then, and—”

  “And I understand why ya feel that way,” Nazareth interrupted quietly. “When our mamm passed, the five of us girls each got to choose something we wanted from the house before our oldest brother moved into it with his wife. To this day, I cherish her sewing basket, thimbles, and the scissors she used to make our clothes.”

  “And I got the clock our dat gave Mamm when they got engaged,” Jerusalem said reverently. “It’s been in every bedroom I’ve slept in since she passed, even though I’ve moved hundreds of miles and several times these past few months.”

  Sarah smiled a little. Lavinia’s shoulders relaxed. They both sighed and looked at their father again.

  Tom cleared his throat. “What was it Jesus said? ‘Ask and you shall receive? Knock, and the door shall be opened?’ ” he remarked. “And me, I’m just askin’ for a little consideration. I hate to think that your resentment towards Naz . . . your grief over your mamm’s passing, has driven ya to come bargin’ in like thieves.”

  Sarah sighed. “Jah, we know better, Dat. I’m sorry for the way we’ve upset you.”

  “Me, too,” Lavinia echoed. Then she cleared her throat. “May we please have a few of our mother’s things?”

  Tom looked around at the opened cabinets and drawers before letting his gaze settle on Nazareth. “I’d be pleased if we could all have our dinner together, around this table I gave your mamm when we married. And then, whatever either of ya cares to have, I’ll help ya pack it up real gut so nothing breaks.”

  “Anything?” Lavinia blurted. “As much as we want?”

  Tom’s lips quirked. “That’s the offer, jah. If ya fill up your rig, or ya want furniture, we’ll load up my wagon. As many times as it takes.”

  “Oh, Dat, denki for understanding!” Lavinia grinned and then swiped at a tear.

  “We really didn’t mean to come on like a couple of prickly pears,” Sarah said. Then she gazed at Nazareth and held out her hand. “It’ll take us a while to get used to somebody else living in this house with Dat, but . . . well, we hope you can be patient with us, Nazareth.”

  Nazareth’s heart slipped up into her throat as she gripped Sarah’s hand. “Patience is somethin’ we can all use more of. We’ve all got changes to make and habits that’ll take some gettin’ used to,” she murmured. “Jerusalem and I would be pleased to put dinner on while you girls and your dat figure out what you’ll be takin’.”

  “Something smells really gut,” Lavinia admitted with a grin. “For a minute I thought we must be in the wrong house, finding fresh bread on the counter and a ham in the oven. It’s a relief to know Dat doesn’t have to cook anymore.”

  Tom laughed out loud. “I know what you’re really meanin’ to say, Vinny. You’re amazed I haven’t burned down the house or gotten food poisoning.”

  As the girls chuckled and turned back toward a cabinet they had opened, Tom stepped over to slip his arm around Nazareth’s shoulders. “See there? You’re a lifesaver in more ways than I can count, Naz,” he whispered. “Denki for takin’ this so well. I think we’re over the hump now.”

  “I hope so,” she replied. As she steered him playfully into the front room to have a word, Jerusalem took the hint and went to the oven to check the ham.

  “Are ya really so ready to give up whatever your girls want to take, Tom?” Nazareth asked quietly. “You have your memories, too. And if they clear out all your dishes, or big pieces of furniture, or—”

  He kissed her quickly. “It’s only stuff, Naz. If havin’ their mamm’s things makes them happy—makes them feel better about me gettin’ hitched again—they can clean out the whole place.”

  “Jah?” Nazareth considered this for a moment. “After the way your kids have acted, and the way they’ve talked to ya recently, I’m a little surprised at your . . . generosity.”

  Shrugging, he glanced into
the kitchen. When he saw that everyone there was occupied, he kissed her again. “Maybe a little bird’s been talkin’ to me. Maybe I have a houseful of things I don’t really see anymore, and if I clear them away, why—you and I can pick out new pieces to start our new life.”

  Oh, but she knew that little bird’s name! Nazareth kept her remarks to herself, however, because once again she was amazed at how the pieces of her future seemed to be falling into place like a jigsaw puzzle . . . God’s plan working out even more beautifully than she’d anticipated.

  “You’re a wonderful-gut man, Tom. And I love ya,” she whispered.

  “That’s what I’m livin’ for, Naz. You’re the best.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “That went better than I expected,” Jerusalem remarked as she and her sister looked out the window in the front room. Sarah and Lavinia’s rig was heading down the lane ahead of Tom, who drove a wagonload of bedroom furniture and other pieces his daughters wanted.

  “Jah, I was glad to see the girls loosenin’ up, invitin’ their dat to supper for his efforts today,” Nazareth replied. “It means he’ll be gettin’ back pretty late tonight, but I think he’s real pleased with how things turned out.”

  “Could be one of the girls will ask him to stay over. Would be gut for the whole family to talk about Lettie’s passin’, without us around. And I don’t think Tom sees as much of his grandkids as he’d like.” Jerusalem returned Tom’s wave as he passed in front of the house, and then she turned to look around the front room. “They left a few gaps along the walls, ain’t so?”

  Nazareth chuckled. “The way Tom was talkin’, he’d have let them have it all—lock, stock, and barrel. Told me he was fine with gettin’ everything new, to start fresh when I married him.”

  “Not many fellas would agree to that. You’re a lucky woman, Sister.”

  “Jah, and I know it, too.” She had a kitty-cat grin on her face, as though she knew something and wasn’t about to share it, either.

  This information put Jerusalem in a speculative mood: three days had gone by since she’d told Vernon her concerns about his house being full of Dorothea’s things . . . and maybe he’d decided he liked his life just as it was. If that was the way he wanted it, well, God had figured that into His plan for her and she’d go right on being a busy, useful woman, wouldn’t she?

  “So, you’re sure about milkin’ the cows while Tom’s away?” she asked Nazareth as the mantel clock chimed three times.

  “I’m gut with it, jah! Ya should’ve seen me learning how to do that, while ya were at Vernon’s place.” Nazareth’s grin showed her excitement about taking over Tom’s chores. “It’s been a long time since you and I did the milkin’, and we only had the four cows back then. Things are different when ya have to be ready for the truck to haul off all the milk.”

  Jerusalem chuckled as they put on barn coats and stocking caps. Her sister looked years younger and ever so happy . . . Jerusalem could only hope her own life would take such a turn with Vernon. But it was up to him. She’d said her piece.

  When the two of them stepped inside the dim barn, Jerusalem lit the lanterns while Nazareth went to the stanchions to set up for milking the cows. Jerusalem headed back to the corner where the goats were nestled in their straw, laughing when the four of them hurried toward her with excited bleats.

  Wasn’t it nice to know these dear creatures appreciated her? Jerusalem glanced over her shoulder. “So once ya hitch up with Tom, what’s to happen with our little buddies here?” she called out over the goats’ racket.

  Nazareth’s eyebrows rose. “I hadn’t thought about that. Seems a shame to split them up, especially since we’ve only got the one buck.”

  Jerusalem gave in to Pearl and Bessie’s demand, briskly rubbing their foreheads with her knuckles. “With three kids on the way, it might be best to wait and see what we end up with. We’ll figure it out.”

  She fetched a galvanized bucket and her little stool before tethering Pearl to begin her milking. It was a soothing job, sitting close to the warm goat, hearing the rhythmic splash of the milk as it hit the pail. By the time Jerusalem finished with Bessie and Matilda, she had enough to make a batch of goat cheese, which Tom loved—as did Vernon. Oh, how he’d raved over the grilled goat cheese sandwiches and macaroni and cheese casserole they’d made during his visit.

  Best to leave that subject alone. It’s his call as to how things go from here, she reminded herself. She saw that Nazareth was doing nicely at handling the cows, and because they were familiar with her sister, Jerusalem didn’t interrupt the flow by offering to help.

  “I’ll go in and put this milk on the stove. And I’ll start us some soup for supper,” she called across the barn.

  “Get the mail, why don’t ya? I suspect Tom forgot all about it, what with the girls showin’ up.”

  Jerusalem knuckle-rubbed the goats’ four heads one last time and then headed toward the road. She lifted her face to the last rays of sunlight, invigorated by the chill in the air . . . enjoying yet again the splendor of the surrounding pastureland blanketed in pristine white snow. Vernon’s place looked pretty in the winter, too, with the old white house, its stone chimney, and the sturdy red barns behind it. If nothing else, she’d made some scenic memories while she’d visited Cedar Creek.

  When she opened the mailbox, she gaped. The lone envelope was addressed to her—and the familiar, precise handwriting made her heart skip into triple time. “Vernon,” she whispered as she snatched up the letter.

  As Jerusalem hurried toward the house, it was all she could do not to slosh the milk from her pail. She stepped into the mudroom, set the bucket on the floor, and then held the letter to her heart. Would this be the bishop’s farewell? Or had Vernon Gingerich found a way to accommodate her concerns? She closed her eyes . . . took a couple of deep breaths before carefully peeling away the envelope’s triangular flap.

  My dearest Jerusalem,

  I hope this finds you well, and I hope Tom hasn’t taken too long to deliver this to you. I thought you’d rather receive this privately than have your rambunctious nephews find it in their mailbox.

  Jerusalem laughed out loud. For sure and for certain, Ira and Luke would be teasing her to high Heaven if they saw her face right now. She breathed easier and continued reading.

  My aunts and Abner send you their best, and I’ll have you know they took your side completely when I mentioned your reservations about coming to live among Dorothea’s belongings. Please accept my apologies for being oblivious to the obvious: you are absolutely right, Jerusalem. Every room of this home reflects my wife’s tastes and probably felt like a shrine to her memory, the way you perceived it.

  Oh, but her pulse was pounding. Vernon was a kind and gentle man, but he didn’t say things unless he sincerely meant them. He knew better than to pander to her, too.

  I have devised a couple of options for you, if you would still consent to my courting you with matrimony in mind. I’m sure you’ll understand my desire to keep this home, which has been in my family for three generations, but I would consider building on a wing for the two of us—a love nest, if you will—so we could enjoy our privacy while sharing the main house with my family.

  Jerusalem paused, imagining how the picturesque old Gingerich home would look with a second extension, probably on the opposite end from where Abner and the aunts lived. Truth be told, she had thought their wing looked . . . patched on. Another extension would only detract further from the overall appearance of the place. But wasn’t it wonderful that Vernon would add on rooms just for the two of them?

  My other idea would be to completely empty the main rooms of the house, paint the walls whatever colors you prefer, put down new rugs, and begin our life together with furnishings of your own choosing. As Nettie and Florence have pointed out to me, the upholstered chairs and sofas are nearly threadbare, while the rugs and curtains are faded, as well. This idea has already inspired me to begin another project for you—and my
mind and hands are truly delighted to be crafting something else from fine wood. Thank you for being my inspiration, Jerusalem!

  I eagerly await your response, and you may call to discuss these ideas or to suggest your own, rather than write them to me, if you’d prefer. Whatever you decide, know that you are already a blessing from our dear Lord, and that the piece I’m making for you is intended as another gift rather than an enticement to marry me.

  Ever yours, dear Jerusalem,

  Vernon

  Oh, how her pulse raced—but her curiosity ran faster. The milk would be fine in the mudroom for a while longer, so she hurried outside again. Tom had a phone in the barn, for reaching his milk truck driver, and wasn’t this a situation of appropriate magnitude to warrant its use? After all, her very future had been dangled before her like a carrot in front of the proverbial donkey. Who was she to keep the bishop of Cedar Creek waiting?

  “What’s happened, Sister?” Nazareth called as she was leaving the barn. “Ya look like there’s an emergency—or a fire!”

  “Ya might say that, jah. Didn’t get our soup started. Sorry!”

  Jerusalem felt anything but sorry, however. She said a prayer of gratitude that Nazareth was heading for the house, still smiling as though she knew things. Once inside the barn, Jerusalem lit the lantern again and lifted the receiver of the old rotary phone. Vernon, too, had a phone in his barn, to help with Abner’s butchering business and to keep in touch with his preachers and church members . . . but what if he wasn’t there? Or what if Abner answered? She couldn’t blurt her questions into the answering machine—

  But her fingers had already dialed the numbers. Vernon’s phone was ringing . . . ringing . . .