The Amish Christmas Sleigh

by Kelly Long

  “Well now, that oughta be easy enough—I’ll get word to Mr. Ellis at the bottom of the mountain and see if he’d be willing ta drive—ya know he’s always willin’—and you jest gather up some toys and go.” Tim yawned.

  “What’ll I take?”

  Tim snorted. “Ya got a workshop full of toys—take anything.”

  “No, these children are very ill. It’ll have to be special.”

  “Ah, boy, here we go. You’re gonna kill yerself tryin’ to make jest the right toys in three days. Ya can’t do it with all your holiday orders.”

  Sebastian grinned at his friend. “I can—if I don’t sleep. . . .”

  Tim just shook his grizzled head. “Ya know what yer doin’, don’t ya, boy?”

  “What?”

  “Yer avoidin’ that little woman in yer cabin there.”

  Sebastian looked up in surprise. “What do you know about Kate?”

  “Enough to know she’s a fine figure of a gal.” Tim crossed his arms and winked, and Sebastian felt himself flush against his will.

  “See.” Tim laughed. “You knows it, too . . . besides that, Seb, I’ve knowed you long enuf to know that ye’re lonely inside.”

  Sebastian frowned. “I thought you said I was just woman-hungry?”

  “Well, now, old Tim might not always hit it on the head the first time, but I nails it on the second . . . and I says ye’re lonely. Ain’t no way to live, boy.”

  “I’m fine with my life,” Sebastian muttered but had to avoid Tim’s knowing eyes.

  Kate watched Sebastian enter and hang up his coat and hat. He appeared to be preoccupied, but her obvious sound of distress when he began to cross the clean kitchen floor in his large, wet boots must have penetrated because he stopped, then slipped the boots off with a smile.

  She was pleased to see his smile grow as he took in the bright, cheery kitchen with its coffee cans of geraniums she’d brought from home on the windowsills. Then he looked down at the small but well-laid table, and she felt her pleasure increase when he practically smacked his lips.

  “Everything looks wunderbaar, Kate! Especially the cookies . . . are they molasses?”

  She nodded, surprised when he slid out a chair and held it, obviously waiting for her to sit down. She did so hesitantly, unsure of the propriety of a hauskeeper eating with her employer, but Sebastian seemed to have no such qualms.

  “You forgot to set two places,” he pointed out, going to the dish drainer and grabbing a clean plate and silverware and setting them before her.

  “I—I thought maybe . . .” she began.

  He sat down opposite her, and the chair creaked under his big frame. “You thought that you’re here to serve me?” he asked with a boyish grin. “Not quite the same as working for me, I’m afraid. We’re together in this”—he waved a hand in the air—“not-so-messy haus of a cabin.”

  “Danki,” she whispered, barely able to contain her pleasure at his words.

  She watched him bow his head for a moment of silent grace and hurriedly did the same, not wanting to be caught staring.

  Thank You for this man, Gott. Help me to be able to help him indeed....

  She lifted her head and found that he did the same. Then he looked at her with a dark, arched brow.

  “May I try the cookies first?”

  She almost giggled at the seriousness of his expression. “Of course, I always eat meat-loaf sandwiches for dessert.”

  “Great,” he said, then took a large bite of one of the cookies she’d whipped up as an afterthought. She’d have to remember his fondness for sweets....

  While they ate, she listened as he told her about the letter from Dr. McCully, and Kate was struck by a sudden inspiration. “Ach, may I go and help you?” she asked, then cast her eyes down at her plate demurely, not wanting him to think she was deliberately seeking his company. But then she lifted her chin, opting for truth. “I think I might enjoy going, because when Ben was in the hospital, I had rather a good time with the children. They need cheering up.”

  “That would be an answer to prayer, Kate. . . . I’m worried I’ll be no gut dealing with really ill kids. But what about Ben?”

  She smiled. “He was invited to the Masts’ for a taffy pull on Saturday and then to stay overnacht, so I was going to spend the day cleaning . . . I mean, cleaning my cabin, but I’d much rather give you a hand.”

  He lifted his water glass and seemed to consider the clear liquid inside. “I appreciate so much who you are, Kate,” he said quietly. “You are kind and generous, you’re a great cook, and you have . . . an incredible tolerance of my messes.”

  She felt herself blush and had to look away again but not before she watched him drink deeply of his water with merriment shining in his light blue eyes.

  As the days passed leading up to Saturday, Sebastian found himself working hard, but he was also energized from within by Kate’s own hard work, turning his messy cabin into a pleasant home.

  She’d somehow conquered his bedroom, and now he slept on freshly washed and ironed sheets that smelled of mountain mint. His shirts were pressed and hung on several new pegs that she’d installed. And he had even caught her dusting his dresser, which had glasses and cups on it from nighttime milk and cookies that never had made it back to the sink.

  “What are you doing?” he’d asked, having to avert his gaze from the sight of her full bosom pressed against a stack of cups. He’d reached to take them from her, his fingers accidentally grazing the side of her breast. If she’d noticed, he couldn’t tell, but his own hand tingled with warmth, and he’d had the unholy desire to see her in her night shift, with her full figure only lightly clad.

  “You have a lot of cups,” she’d remarked as he’d dumped the lot in the sink.

  He’d turned around to face her, reaching down to tenderly tuck a loose strand of brown hair back behind her kapp. “And you”—he tapped her pert nose with a quick finger—“do not have to wash them.”

  She’d bustled him out of the way. “Ach, jah, I do, Sebastian Christner. I’m your hauskeeper!”

  And he’d had the sudden, distinct feeling for a moment that it would be wonderful if she could be more....

  CHAPTER 7

  On Saturday, Kate sat in the back of Mr. Ellis’s station wagon, keeping only half an ear on the conversation going on in the front seat between Sebastian and their friendly Englisch driver. She was instead studying the note Sebastian had passed back to her from Dr. McCully, detailing the names and ages of the three patients on the small Coudersport cancer unit.

  Kate wished she’d been able to gather a few small gifts of her own to bring, but she hadn’t had time on such short notice. Though, she mused, now that Sebastian had paid her weekly wages, she supposed she could have gone to Ben Kauffman’s store and found something. She smiled a bit to herself when she remembered her surprise the day before at finding the envelope with her name written on it in an abominable scrawl and discovering her pay. Despite all that Sebastian had to do, he still hadn’t forgotten her or the importance of her salary.

  She leaned back, enjoying the movement of the car, and soon enough they turned onto the winding road that led to the hospital.

  “I’ll head down to the cafeteria,” Mr. Ellis told them as they left the car. “They’ve got great vanilla pudding down there.”

  Sebastian laughed and Kate smiled. She noticed that Sebastian carried a bulky gray sack with him and realized it must be the presents.

  They parted ways with Mr. Ellis, and then she followed Sebastian through a maze of corridors until they came to a large set of double doors labeled PEDIATRIC ONCOLOGY UNIT.

  “This is it, I guess,” Sebastian said, seeming hesitant, but then all trace of reticence seemed to disappear as they entered the unit.

  “First stop,” Sebastian said, smiling at her as they paused before a closed door. Kate consulted the list . . . Jonathan, age three.

  Sebastian was about to knock when the door opened and an exhausted-l
ooking man came out. “Hello, I’m Jonathan’s father. He’s finally sleeping. It was a long night.”

  “Well then, can you give this to him when he wakes?” Sebastian asked, reaching in the sack and handing over a baby blue–wrapped gift with strange hippos and ribbons on it.

  “Thank you.” The father smiled tiredly. “I surely will.”

  Sebastian nodded, and Kate followed him down the hall, wondering if all the children might be feeling too poorly to receive any gifts.

  They entered the next room, where a television on the wall was blaring out noise. The occupant of the bed wore black sleep pants and a black T-shirt with baseball cap pulled low over green eyes that glared at them defiantly. This was sixteen-year-old Steven, and that he was angry with life was easy for Kate to see.

  Sebastian switched off the TV and then went to lean a hip against the end of the bed.

  “What do you want?” the teenager asked with a scowl.

  “We’ve brought you a gift,” Sebastian said easily.

  “Take it back.”

  Kate watched helplessly as Steven leaned against the pillows and closed his eyes, but Sebastian seemed unaffected by the display of anger. He reached into his sack and pulled out a simple brown box, tied with a single green ribbon and adorned with a sprig of fresh pine.

  He set it on the foot of the bed, then motioned Kate into a nearby chair, where she went and sat, grateful to have something to do. She watched Sebastian casually walk to the window and look outside.

  “You here all alone?” Sebastian asked without turning.

  There was silence and then Kate saw Steven grimace. “Yeah, what’s it matter?”

  “Your dad ran off and your mom died of the same kind of cancer you have, right?” Sebastian murmured.

  Kate looked up in surprise while Steven struck the bed with a weak hand. “What have you been doing? Reading my life’s story?”

  Sebastian turned and came back to the bed. “I had a family once, too.”

  Kate listened, eager for any details about his life.

  “So?” Steven asked finally.

  “So . . . it makes Christmas suck when you’re alone, so stop the attitude and take the gift. I spent over fourteen hours working on it.”

  Steven sighed. “If it’ll get you outta the room, I’ll open it.” He heaved himself up in the bed and grabbed the box. Kate watched, pain lancing her heart for the young man when he ran a finger briefly over the pine.

  “That’s white pine,” Steven said, staring down at the box. “I worked YCC for a summer and learned all the trees before I got this . . . cancer.”

  “You’re right about the tree type,” Sebastian said, then glanced at Kate and winked. As if to reassure me, she thought warmly.

  She watched as Steven swallowed and carefully laid aside the fragrant pine, then undid the ribbon and opened the box. He stared down at the gift for so long that Kate wondered what was wrong until she saw the youth swipe away obvious tears with a rough hand.

  Steven set his jaw and stared up at Sebastian. “My old man got me one of these—right before he left. But it was cheap plastic, not wood like this. I smashed it to bits. Then later . . . well, later, I wished I hadn’t.”

  Sebastian nodded and Kate watched, amazed at the turn of emotion in the room over a small toy.

  “Give it a try,” Sebastian suggested and Kate saw Steven lift a compact wooden kaleidoscope up to point at the overhead hospital light. He turned the base of the toy and stared for long moments. Then he lowered it and held it carefully in his hands, and Kate realized that he had lost all the sixteen-year-old bravado and looked like an excited kid again.

  “How’d you do the colors by hand?” Steven asked.

  “Bits of broken glass,” Sebastian answered with an easy smile. “You see, I always think of kaleidoscopes as being a little bit like life and faith—you can take what’s broken and meld it together to bring about something new and whole, an ever-changing picture but an unchanging love of yourself and others.”

  Kate felt her eyes well with tears at the gentle, wise words, and Steven wiped away fresh tears, too.

  “I’ll think about it,” the boy said finally.

  “Good!” Sebastian laughed. “That’s all I can ask. Merry Christmas, Steven.”

  Sebastian stretched out a hand to Kate, and she rose from the chair. “A happy Christmas,” she murmured to Steven.

  He nodded, then mumbled a thank-you.

  When they went back into the hall and had gone a few doors down, Kate looked up at Sebastian. “You’re amazing,” she said simply, not knowing any other way to express how she felt about him. But to her surprise, a shadow of bleakness crossed his face and he shook his head.

  “Things aren’t always what they seem, Kate.”

  But she couldn’t suppress her happiness and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. “But sometimes they are.” She smiled.

  Kate was aware that he trod with even more silent steps into the room of the last patient. This must be Karen, age seven . . . she recalled from his note in the car. This time Kate saw a myriad of tubes and machines surrounding a frail, sleeping little girl. Her bald head was tucked against a young woman’s shoulder, who looked up with a weary smile as they entered.

  “Hi,” the woman whispered. “I’m Karen’s mom.”

  At her words, the child stirred and opened huge blue eyes to blink sleepily at them; then she sat straight up in bed. “Oh,” she cried excitedly. “Dr. McCully said there was a special present coming today if I was a very good girl, and I have been good, haven’t I, Mama?”

  “Very good, love.”

  Sebastian was looking for a table or some place to set the gift when Karen yanked a sliding table over her lap despite the resulting beeps of the machines. “Here”—the little girl grinned—“I can open my present here.”

  Sebastian chuckled, a rich, full sound that made Kate smile.

  “All right, little one,” he said, approaching the bed. “But your present is special because it comes with a story.”

  “Here”—Karen’s mom rose—“please sit down.” She moved toward Kate. “I’d like to run to the cafeteria if you two wouldn’t mind sitting with her for a few minutes? Maybe the story would occupy her?”

  Kate smiled. “Ach, we’d love to. Please go and get some food or whatever you need.”

  Karen leaned her head over to receive her mom’s kiss, and then the woman slipped from the room.

  Sebastian pulled another chair near the bed and sat down, indicating that Kate should do the same.

  “A story?” Karen fairly bounced against the white sheets. “Oh, I love stories.”

  “Well,” Sebastian said. “Why not open the present first?” He reached into his sack and pulled out a rectangular-shaped package, gaily wrapped with teddy bears against a red background and bright ribbons twined about in gentle loops and swirls.

  “It’s wonderful,” Karen sighed, clapping her small hands. “I love teddies. I have mine right here. See? He does treatments with me.”

  Kate nodded at the well-loved bear and felt a lump rise in her throat at the child’s practical acceptance of her illness. But Sebastian smiled and put the package on the tray table.

  Karen made quick work of the ribbons and then the paper, opening the gift with an authentic excitement and joy that was thrilling to watch.

  Then Karen sucked in a breath of awe and Kate felt like doing the same when she saw what was inside.

  “Oh my,” Karen whispered.

  Kate stared in fascination at the perfect replica of a beautiful cutter sleigh painted a rich burgundy and well trimmed in satiny black. The runners of the sleigh gleamed, real wrought metal, again coated in black. Long, miniature leather reins ran to a perfectly carved wooden horse, painted in bright white. Its long tail and flowing mane were real horsehair. But perhaps the most amazing thing about the toy were the occupants of the sleigh itself—two carved wooden teddy bears, a bride and groom, sat on the rich velvet-cover
ed seat, each clothed in gorgeous Englisch wedding attire; fine satin and lace, a top hat and discreet veil. Mrs. Bear carried a flowing miniature bouquet of white Christmas roses that sparkled with some coating or glaze so that it shone like magic.

  It was the most beautiful toy Kate had ever seen, and she looked at Sebastian with a mixture of pride and wonder at his skill as an artisan.

  He ran a gentle finger down the length of the bride’s gown and leaned closer to the entranced child. “And now your story, sweet Karen.”

  Kate leaned forward the better to hear, when Karen suddenly touched the toy with reverent fingers, then turned to look at Sebastian with serious eyes.

  “You’re Santa Claus, aren’t you?” she whispered. “I mean, the real one.” Her gaze moved to Kate. “And you’re his wife? His helper? That’s why you both dress funny, isn’t it?”

  Kate caught her breath, not wanting to disillusion the child but unsure of what to say. She looked helplessly at Sebastian, who seemed perfectly calm.

  “Our time grows short, Karen,” he said. “And I must tell you your story before your mama returns. Are you ready to hear it?”

  Karen nodded once, apparently satisfied, then lifted the sleigh into her arms and leaned back against the pillows, holding the new toy close to her heart.

  Kate listened, as enthralled as Karen, to the soft-spoken story of the sleigh, and knew that she’d remember it for always.

  Though Mr. Ellis was more than happy to drive them anywhere, no car could make it up Ice Mountain in the winter. The snow-covered and ice-slicked roads made it impossible for car tires to gain traction, so Kate and Sebastian bid their Englisch friend good-bye and started on the mile hike upward through the snow and ice. Kate had made this trek several times over the years, and normally she would hurry her steps in order to get back home as soon as possible. But this time was different. She walked slower, her steps more purposefully measured. Despite the cold, she wanted to enjoy the journey with Sebastian by her side.