An Amish Second Christmas

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  Her touch was all it took for Atley to take over the kiss, and he slipped his hands over her cheeks, his fingers warming the back of her neck. His mouth moved over hers—no longer the fumbling boy finding his way. He was now a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and she could feel the tremble of his self-control.

  She pulled back, and he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes shut and his breath coming fast.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. That kiss had been all her fault, and it was wrong on every level. She still didn’t know why she’d done it.

  His eyes opened, and he smiled faintly. “If we’re to be friends, there can’t be any more of that.”

  “No. There can’t be—”

  And then he moved close again, slowly and confidently, and his warm lips covered hers once more.

  * * *

  Atley slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her in close against his chest, his heart hammering so hard in his ears that he couldn’t seem to think. She’d kissed him the first time, but this was his turn. If they were to regret it later, then let him have something worth regretting on his own conscience. He kissed her slowly, deliberately, and with all that longing that was pent up inside of him. He just wanted to hold her close, feel her heart beating fast against him, feel her skin against his starved fingertips.

  There were good reasons not to be kissing Magdalena, but right now with his lips on hers, with her hands moving up his biceps toward his shoulders, he had no idea what those reasons were.

  He’d missed her so much over the last five years. No woman could match up to her in the way she made his heart speed up. No other girl could catch his eye quite like Maggie had. There was something about her that intoxicated him and didn’t let go.

  He pulled back and smiled ruefully down at her.

  “What were we saying?” he breathed.

  “That we shouldn’t do that . . . ” Her whisper was ragged, and he longed to kiss her some more, let the minutes drag by while he could forget about everything else around them. He’d guiltily dreamed of this over the years, Maggie slipping into his slumbering mind, and he’d wake up feeling as guilty as if he’d really kissed her.

  Coming here was supposed to stop the dreams, stop whatever part of his heart was still hooked on her. But instead of being the cure, she was the fever. She only made him worse.

  “Right,” he said, letting go of her. He sucked in a breath, then took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

  Maggie blinked up at him, and suddenly tears welled in her eyes. He stared at her in confusion, and he was filled with remorse. What had he just done? Reopening those old feelings was a mistake—they both knew it—but the last thing he’d wanted to do was hurt her. He’d thought she’d been equally in this....

  “Maggie—” He put his hat back on his head and reached a hand toward hers.

  “Stop it.” She stepped away, wiping the tears from under her eyes with the flat of her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought . . . I thought you wanted—” He winced. “I was wrong.”

  “I’m not blaming you,” she said. “But we have to stop. No more of that.”

  “I know.” He met her gaze, misery worming up within his chest. “It was a mistake. It feels too much like old times—”

  “This is nothing like old times,” she said bitterly. “Back then, I honestly thought we had a future. Back then, you stopped at my fingertips.”

  He wasn’t the kind of man who toyed with a woman in a barn. He was honest, honorable. He’d been doing the right thing for years now, and a few days spent on the farm next to Maggie Lapp and all of his personal resolve seemed to be seep out from under him.

  “I meant it when I said I wanted to be friends,” he said quietly.

  “Do you really think that’s possible?” she retorted.

  “We could try.” He smiled coaxingly. “I’ll write you letters. You can write me back as Miss Amish. I like her too much to let her fade away.”

  “Do you think that can last?” she asked, shaking her head.

  “Why not?” he countered.

  “You’ll get married. Is your wife going to be perfectly satisfied with you writing to me? Is she going to find these games amusing?”

  “I’m not being unfaithful to anyone,” he said irritably.

  “There is no wife, Maggie.”

  “There will be. And in order to be a good husband, you will write me one last letter informing me of the date of your wedding, and then you will go silent. As you should. We aren’t kinner anymore. We know how this goes.”

  The barn door rattled and Atley’s gaze whipped over his shoulder. They both took a step back, that manila envelope on a bale of hay between them. The door opened, and Noah Lapp stepped inside, a lantern held high. He paused in the doorway.

  “There you are, Magdalena,” her father said, caution in his tone. “We started to worry when you didn’t come back. What are you doing out here, Atley?”

  “I forgot my gloves,” Atley said, holding them up as proof.

  There was a beat of silence.

  “Ah.” Noah came inside and the door banged shut behind him in a gust of wind. “Well, now you have them, I see. Maggie, your mamm is asking for you.”

  “Of course,” Maggie said quickly. “I’ll come right in.”

  Her father glanced between them once more, and Atley could only guess as to what he was thinking. The older man’s gaze moved down to the envelope on the bale of hay, and he stepped forward, picking it up. “What’s this, Maggie?”

  Maggie’s face paled, and she opened her mouth to reply. He couldn’t let her be found out . . . not like this. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Before she could say anything, Atley plucked the envelope from Noah’s hands with a forced smile. “Thank you. I’ll take that.”

  The lie that the envelope belonged to him was implied and it did tweak Atley’s conscience, but the look of relief on Maggie’s face was enough to make him feel better. This was hers, and the least he could do was help protect the last of her secret.

  “Atley, if it is your intention to court our daughter—” Noah began.

  “No, that’s not what’s happening here,” Atley said. “We’re old friends. That’s all.”

  The last thing he needed to do was mar her reputation any further.

  “I thank you for your help in patching up our barn,” Noah said, “but I won’t keep you from your family any longer. Give my best to the bishop.”

  There were volumes between the lines, and Atley nodded. If he wasn’t here to make an honest woman of Maggie, he needed to move along. He didn’t blame Noah a whit.

  “It was my pleasure,” Atley said. “I’ll pass along your greetings to my uncle.”

  Maggie stood silent, her glittering gaze following him.

  “Happy Christmas, Maggie,” he said.

  “Happy Christmas.” Her voice was wooden.

  And he nodded to Noah, then headed for the barn door.

  * * *

  That night, Atley shared a guest bedroom with his brother, who was sleeping in the middle of the double bed they were supposed to share. But Atley wasn’t ready to sleep yet. He’d hidden the envelope under his clothes in his suitcase, and now he pulled it out. Moonlight flooded through the window, illuminating the room just enough so that Atley could make out Maggie’s rounded handwriting.

  Abram moaned in his sleep, and Atley looked back at his brother, watching him until his soft snoring resumed. Then he pulled out the stack of papers, Maggie’s pages seemingly interspersed with the letters sent to her.

  He scanned the first few letters and her answers—some were common questions about the Amish life like why they wore the clothes they did or why they didn’t use cars. There were a couple of questions about parenting, and he smiled to see that her answer to both included a paddling. And then there was a letter from a girl asking about moving in with her boyfriend.

  Maggie’s answer filled a whole page, but a paragrap
h in the middle caught his eye:

  Hearts are not so easily mended as the youth seem to think. Once you have given everything of yourself to this young man, what will it do to you if he decides to move on to another girl and marry her? What will happen to your heart if he decides that you are not what he wants in a wife? These things happen, and while a young man is declaring his love for you, if he isn’t willing to commit at the same time, you should be wary. You must think pragmatically, too.

  He could hear her voice in those words, and he could hear her heart in them, too. She’d given him everything she could—within the bounds of decency, of course. She’d given him her heart, her trust, her promise to marry him. And he’d dashed it all....

  How deeply had he hurt her? Atley had tried to be fair. He’d written a letter right away so that she could move on to a man who wanted marriage. It wasn’t right to waste a woman’s time. He’d borne the agony of that choice alone, dreaming of her, thinking of her, unable to see any other girl except as in comparison to Magdalena. He hadn’t broken it off because his feelings had changed. He still loved her—he just didn’t think it would last in the face of a real marriage.

  Abram lay in the center of the bed, and he rolled, flinging an arm out. When it landed on the blanket, Abram roused, sat up halfway, and looked around.

  “Waneta?” Abram said groggily. He blinked his eyes open, then sighed and lay back down, rolling over so that his back was to Atley. But he didn’t slip back into those soft snores again. Instead, Abram lay still, obviously awake.

  Atley had been wrong to kiss Maggie. He’d been wrong to ask her to be his friend, to write him letters.... Not only was it cruel to her, but it was cruel to him, too. The wrong marriage was a lifetime of pain.

  And Atley wasn’t over her, after all.

  Chapter 5

  Christmas Eve, Maggie stood at the kitchen counter cutting out perfect circles of shortbread cookies and sliding them onto a cookie sheet. Her mind was on that envelope that Atley had taken with him last night. It was kind of him to protect it for her, but she needed it back. Would she have a chance to retrieve it before he left? She could only hope.

  The Lapp women had been baking all day, everything from bread and dinner rolls for the following evening to cookies, pies, and tarts. Naomi sat at the table forming little roses out of dough to top the dinner rolls, her two young kinner playing with blocks in the hallway, well out of harm’s way. Aunt Ruth stood by the stove, stirring a pot of thickening fruit so that it wouldn’t stick at the bottom.

  “Amos has a second cousin who was recently widowed,” Naomi said, glancing up at Maggie. “He’s older than you—about fifty—but he’s got a very profitable business in greenhouse vegetables. We were going to suggest he meet you.”

  “He’s fifty?” Maggie said, her voice tight.

  “Not that it matters,” Naomi said. “I don’t think Amos will do it, now.”

  “He won’t?” Mamm interjected. “This little matter will be swept away quickly enough. I’m sure we can still arrange a meeting—”

  “Amos’s family is very proper,” Naomi said primly.

  “Naomi, this is your sister’s future we’re talking about!” Mamm shot back.

  “I know,” Naomi replied. “And she should have been more careful. A girl like her should—”

  “I’m older than you are,” Maggie snapped.

  Naomi fell silent, and Maggie exchanged a look with her aunt. Ruth continued to stir. If an unmarried woman was still a “girl,” then so was Aunt Ruth, who was nearly sixty. Naomi might enjoy rubbing Maggie’s unmarried state in her face, but she wouldn’t do the same to their aunt. There were lines.

  “I read those columns,” Ruth said. “Did you, Naomi?”

  “I don’t recall,” Naomi said primly.

  “Don’t lie, now,” Maggie said. “You either read them, or you didn’t.”

  “I read them when I thought the author was a stranger to us, not my sister making a fool of herself!”

  Maggie bit back a retort. She was a fool, now? Apparently, everyone had read her replies to those letters, even her own sister.

  “They were well written,” Ruth said. “There were other communities reading them, too. I heard that some papers were sent all the way to Pennsylvania.”

  “As far as that!” Mamm said, then heaved a sigh. “Still, it isn’t proper. Whether she’s good at it or not.”

  “Maggie, do you want to meet this new widower?” Ruth asked pointedly.

  “No,” Maggie replied.

  “Now, Maggie—” Mamm started.

  “I don’t want to!” Maggie replied. “A man in his fifties with children my age, no doubt. And grandchildren. No, I don’t want that at all. I’d rather provide for myself.”

  “How?” Naomi asked, aghast.

  “I could teach school like Aunt Ruth,” Maggie replied. “Or I could start my own business. I won’t make enough off the quilts I make myself, but I could start some quilting classes in town. I’m sure the Englishers would gobble up a chance to sit with an Amish woman in a quilting circle.” The idea had only struck her now, but she liked it. “I could serve tea and a few of our baked goods, and I could teach them to stitch by hand. They could come back week after week and continue working on the quilt.... Or maybe something small for themselves so they can take it away with them after a few weeks. I could sell it as a package—two evenings a week for three weeks, or something like that. . . . ”

  “She’s the smart one,” Ruth said, shooting Mamm a grin.

  “And her brain will keep her single,” Mamm retorted. “A man doesn’t want a woman with smarts. He wants a woman with a heart and an ability to cook.”

  “Some intelligence doesn’t hurt,” Ruth countered. “You don’t raise children, keep a home, can your own food, keep your own garden, and make some money on the side because you’re stupid. It takes a brain to run a home as well as anything else.”

  Mamm sighed. “Ruth, you’re not helping. She needs a man to marry, not a career option!”

  “She needs to be happy,” Ruth shot back.

  That was true—Maggie needed something to fill her heart, to use her skills, to keep her mind busy. But she also longed for a family of her own, and she simply couldn’t be a proper Amish woman writing columns for the paper—not without the bishop’s permission.

  “Are you happy, Aunt Ruth?” Naomi voiced the question, and the kitchen fell silent.

  Maggie shot her sister a scandalized glare, and for a moment she wasn’t sure if her aunt would even answer.

  “Yes, I think I am,” Ruth replied. “I’m happy enough.”

  “But wouldn’t you rather have gotten married?” Naomi pressed. “Looking back on it.”

  “I didn’t get the proposal,” Ruth replied. “And so I built a very satisfying life for myself teaching school. I taught all of you, didn’t I?”

  “Do you think Maggie should find an older widower?” Naomi pressed. “If you were to act as Miss Amish and give her some advice, what would it be?”

  Ruth sighed. “When Christmastime comes and you’re baking for your nieces and nephews instead of your own kinner, it isn’t easy.”

  Maggie stole a glance at her aunt, who continued to stir the pot on the stove. Her gaze had turned inward, though, and she pursed her lips. That was all she was going to say, it seemed, and Maggie understood her aunt’s intent. Nieces and nephews didn’t take the place of her own kinner. A brother’s home wasn’t home enough come Christmastime. Aunt Ruth had been passed over in her day, and she’d paid for it. Maggie would very likely pay the same dues.

  The problem was, Maggie didn’t want to be married off to whoever would have her. That was insulting, too. When she thought of wearing a wedding apron and taking those vows, the foggy man who materialized in her imagination had Atley’s dark, laughing eyes. It was silly—he didn’t want her, and she couldn’t have him, either. She didn’t need a willing man; she needed the right man, the one who wouldn’t be intimi
dated by her thoughts and ideas. A man who wouldn’t give her lectures for saying what she thought. She couldn’t muzzle herself, even for a husband.

  “Why doesn’t Aunt Ruth meet the widower?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes, why not?” Mamm turned to Naomi.

  There was silence for a moment, and then Ruth said, “It’s a little late for that.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Mamm replied. “You said yourself that this life you have isn’t quite enough.”

  “I’m set in my ways,” Ruth replied with a shrug. “I’ve gotten so used to doing what I want that I’m not sure I could stop. There comes a point of no return, and I’m afraid I’ve passed it.”

  Had Maggie passed her own point of no return? She’d tasted a freedom like none other—a whole audience of people who wanted to hear her advice. There was no undoing it.

  Naomi looked relieved that Ruth had turned down this newly available gentleman. Perhaps they’d promised him a young woman with tight skin and eager for more babies. That could be a strong lure for some men.

  “The Grabers have been helping us a great deal since the barn fire,” Mamm said, changing the subject. “We’ll send some baked goodies over to them today.”

  The Graber farm, where Atley was staying. This might be her chance to get her letters back.

  “I’ll bring a basket over,” Maggie said quickly. “It won’t take me long.”

  “Would you?” Mamm said with a relieved smile. “That would really help, Magdalena. Let me put one together. Leave those cookies. I’ll finish them.”

  In the kitchen window, candles nestled in fresh evergreen wreaths were already lit. It was Christmas Eve, and outside the house she could hear the clatter of a wagon and the laughter of the youth group. Naomi got to her feet and her little girls dashed to the window to look outside.