“Jonah.” A tall, gray-haired man stepped onto the porch, and relief that she could stop stammering flooded her. “Will your guests be staying for lunch? We have plenty.”
Jonah looked at her. “You’re welcome to stay.”
“I really need to load up some of your carvings so I can be on my way. Hopefully, I’ll be able to talk Omar into letting us carry them in our dry goods store.”
Jonah nodded and turned to the man on the porch. “Daadi, this is Elizabeth Hertzler from Apple Ridge, Pennsylvania. She owns a store there. Elizabeth … Beth, this is my grandfather, Jonah Kinsinger.”
The man descended the steps. “Apple Ridge?” He said the name thoughtfully, and she realized he was trying to think of any Amish he might know from the area. She wanted to avoid that conversation before her letter-writing plan was ruined.
“It’s so good to meet you. Your grandson has quite a skill for carving.”
The older Jonah smiled broadly. “Can’t say he’s ever set his hand to anything he didn’t become remarkable at.”
Jonah smiled. “The favoritism thing I mentioned earlier? Uh, it runs in the family.”
Lizzy chuckled. “I really do need to get going.”
“Ya, Pete said you kept to a schedule.” He turned to his grandfather. “Tell Mammi I’ll be in shortly. I need to help Beth load up a few carvings.”
Her plan was destined to fail. She knew that. But if it worked for a week or two, that might be enough time for Jonah and his wisdom about loss and dealing with it to reach inside Beth and make a difference. That was what Lizzy wanted most of all—and she was willing to suffer Beth’s anger over it.
And if Beth were ever free from all that held her heart captive, she might actually see the man who was standing here.
The clip-clop of a horse and buggy on the road filtered through the open window of Beth’s office. She’d moved the wringer washer outside that morning so she could both wash and hang the laundry before being stuck in this tiny room all day. Now she sat at her desk, shuffling endless amounts of paperwork. Buying-and-selling trips were much more fun than this, but since so many Amish could no longer make a living farming, many depended on her to sell their handcrafted products. She loved being a source of help for her people, but it required her to be behind this desk a lot.
Sitting back, she studied the details of the carving. For the tenth time that hour, she ran her fingers over the tracery. How could anyone make such intricate cuts into a block of wood?
When someone knocked on the door, she came to herself and returned her focus to her work. “Kumm rei.”
Her aunt opened the door, holding up a stack of letters.
“Denki.” Beth pointed to a tray on her desk.
Lizzy placed them in the holder. “Jonah Kinsinger wrote a letter.” She took the top envelope off the stack and held it out.
“For me?” Beth stared at the envelope. The bishop hadn’t budged on giving them permission. “He’s probably wondering what Omar has decided. I don’t know what to say to him. I can’t do anything to help him sell his work. I did my best to convince Omar. You even gave it some effort.”
“I didn’t just give it some effort.” Lizzy pointed the letter at her, wagging it as if it were her index finger. “I went to see Jonah as you asked. I brought some of his work back. And then I showed the pieces to Omar and talked to him about it, just the same as you did.”
“I tried to convince him. You straddled the fence.”
“He’s our head, the top church leader over several districts. Is it our place to try to change his mind and heart? Shouldn’t that be left in God’s hands? We presented our request, and he doesn’t feel he can allow such a thing, at least not yet.”
“Omar closed the door, so that’s the end of it? It’s over?”
“He’s a good man, Beth. Always has been. I believe if we’re all praying, God will side with whoever’s right, and Omar is the kind of person who will hear Him. Now rest in that, and answer Jonah.”
“I don’t have anything but bad news to share with Jonah.”
“That’s ridiculous. At what point did you become so negative? You have friendship to offer along with your love of his work. I’d say that’s not all bad news.” Lizzy held the envelope out to her again.
Looking at her aunt’s face, she couldn’t help but smile. “Denki.”
“Gern Gschehne.”
Laughing at the sassy way Lizzy chose to tell her she was welcome, Beth watched as she closed the door.
Maybe her aunt was right. She did have friendship to offer. And maybe the old man just needed a friend.
She slid her finger under the seal and realized it was already open. Either it had never been closed properly, or her aunt had already read it. Although either of them opened whatever store mail came in, it wasn’t like Lizzy to open Beth’s personal mail. But, after all, Jonah Kinsinger was a business relationship.
After pulling out the letter and unfolding it, Beth wondered if he’d written the letter himself or if he’d dictated it to someone, because the printing seemed awfully neat for an elderly man. Then again, each word seemed as perfectly chiseled as his woodwork.
BETH,
IT’S BEEN ENCOURAGING TO KNOW THAT MY CARVING CAUGHT YOUR EYE AND THAT YOU HOPE TO SELL IT IN YOUR SHOP. IT’S BEEN QUITE A WHILE SINCE ANYONE SHOWED THIS KIND OF INTEREST.
MAYBE THAT’S WHY I’M NOT REALLY INTERESTED IN CARVING FOR MONEY, OR MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE THAT ONE WORK ABOUT WORE ME OUT.
I SPOTTED THE LOG A LITTLE LESS THAN TWO YEARS AGO WHILE RIDING BAREBACK THROUGH THE WOODS. THAT’S A GREAT PASTIME OF MINE. I LIKE GETTING OUT BY MYSELF. SOMETIMES I PACK A TENT AND A BIT OF FOOD AND MEANDER HUNDREDS OF ACRES FOR DAYS BEFORE RETURNING HOME.
THE MOMENT I SAW THAT FALLEN TREE, EVEN AT A DISTANCE, IT BURNED INTO MY MEMORY. BUT IT LAY IN A GORGE WITH NO EASY WAY TO GET IT OUT. THE LAND BELONGED TO A WIDOW WOMAN PETE KNOWS. SHE DOESN’T ALLOW CUTTING OF TIMBER ON HER LAND, EVEN WHEN IT’S A FALLEN TREE.
WELL, YOU CAN IMAGINE THAT I’D HAVE MUCH RATHER LEFT IT THERE THAN TRY TO PULL AN ENTIRE TREE UP THE SIDE OF AN OVERGROWN CRAG. SO I LEFT IT.
BUT AS THE MONTHS PASSED, I COULDN’T GET THE RICHNESS OF THAT PARTICULAR TREE OR THE POSSIBLE CARVINGS THAT COULD BE MADE FROM IT OUT OF MY MIND.
I VISITED THE WIDOW AND ASKED IF I COULD CUT THE LOG INTO SECTIONS, BUT HER HUSBAND NEVER WANTED ANYTHING CUT FROM THAT FOREST AREA, AND SHE HAD TO HONOR THAT.
FOR A SECOND TIME, I DECIDED TO LEAVE IT, BUT AS YOU CAN TELL FROM THE PIECE YOU FOUND AT PETE’S, DEAD WOOD HAS A STRONGER WILL THAN I DO.
SO WITH MY CANE IN HAND AND A ROPE OVER MY SHOULDER, I DESCENDED INTO THE CANYON IN HOPES OF BEING MIGHTIER IN MUSCLE THAN I AM IN WILL.
IT WASN’T TO BE—NOT THAT I ACTUALLY THOUGHT IT WOULD. BUT SOME THINGS IN LIFE ARE JUST THAT WAY. THEY DEMAND MORE OF YOU THAN YOU HAVE, AND EVEN KNOWING YOU’LL LOSE, YOU HAVE TO ATTEMPT IT ANYWAY. OR IS THAT JUST ME?
WELL, I NEED TO GO BEFORE SUPPER CATCHES FIRE … AGAIN.
JONAH
Beth paused, soaking up his humor and openness. The carving hadn’t caught her eye, as he’d said. It had snagged her heart. She should tell him that. He hadn’t told her how he got that log out of the forest. How odd to bargain with an old woman who would let him have the felled tree but wouldn’t let him cut it while it remained on her property. And Beth had to set him straight about the piece she’d brought home—she didn’t intend to sell it.
She read his letter again.
In spite of the freezing winds that continually circulated inside her, warmth spread across her chest. Her hidden guilt had isolated her in ways she’d never imagined possible, but the letter eased her loneliness a little, and she felt something besides regret and her sense of duty to those around her. Was it possible every hidden part of who she’d once been—her heart, passion, and ability to connect—had not been fully destroyed after all?
Then a memory returned, and she saw herself on bended knee in the pouring rain
.
For her part in Henry’s death, she should be too numb to want a new friendship. Her relationship with Henry had shown her things she hadn’t known about herself. She wasn’t good at loyalty, yet she knew without it friendship was simply heartache waiting to happen. If she were capable of true devotion, Henry would be alive. When he died, she’d vowed to remain single forever.
But Jonah was old, and he would never need to test her endurance for commitment. She trusted that as an Amish man, he had plenty of family and friends who possessed strengths he could rely on. Surely even she could give what little he was asking for.
She opened a drawer and pulled out her best stationery.
On his back porch Jonah sipped a cup of coffee, watching as the first rays of daylight illuminated the canopy of leaves on the massive oaks. The deep greens of summer foliage carried the first hints of changing to gold, yellow, and red. Each year the sight begged him to watch endlessly. The colors of summer slowly faded, allowing the true color of the leaf to shine through. And then one day he’d wake to find their color had grown no brighter, and soon the radiant golds, reds, and yellows would tinge with brown, bringing with it a different type of beauty.
The front door slammed, and someone stomped through his home like a horse, vibrating the house. Jonah angled his head toward his left shoulder. “Coffee’s on the stove.”
“I have a wife who makes mine, and she does a right good job.” His brother walked through the french doors and onto the porch with a cup of Jonah’s steaming coffee. “But I thought I’d make sure yours weren’t poison.”
“Ya, just in case I rise early every day to brew toxins for myself.”
Amos sipped the drink and made a face. “Broken buggy wheels, I think it might be dangerous to drink this stuff.”
He took a seat in the rocker, and it moaned under the weight of him. At six foot seven inches, his brother was one of the largest men Jonah had ever known. He had the hands of a giant and a heart to match.
“I don’t get it.” Amos motioned toward the field. “It’s a bunch of trees with leaves.”
Jonah laughed. “And yet you join me and insult my coffee nearly every morning.” Mist rose from the bottom land along the foot of the mountain until the top edge of the fog disappeared into the surrounding air as if it’d never existed. The early morning sun would soon burn off the remaining vapor. In spite of the birds chanting loudly, the morning seemed to hold on to a peaceful quietness.
Amos finished drinking most of his coffee before tossing the drips off the porch. “My gut can’t take too much of that stuff.” He placed his hands on the arms of the rocker and pushed himself up. “We got work to do. Oh, wait.” He dug into his pants pocket. “Speaking of my wife, she checked your mailbox yesterday.”
Jonah took the letter.
“It’s from a girl.” Amos’s teasing grin didn’t hide the seriousness in his eyes.
Jonah read the return address. “No, it’s from Elizabeth Hertzler. You saw her in my driveway about a month ago.”
“She was a nice-looking woman but a little older than I’d hoped you’d find.”
His brother had shared his opinion for two reasons—to voice his concern and to let Jonah know he supported whatever he wanted. “Go gather eggs for Mammi and Daadi while I read my letter.”
Amos left, whistling as he tromped through the house. Jonah ripped open the top of the envelope and pulled out the parchment-looking paper.
Dear Jonah,
It was so nice to receive your letter. It’s been a very long time since I enjoyed anything as much as I enjoyed reading about your life. I can understand the desire to camp out in the forest—although I’ll admit the idea of sleeping in a tent sounds dreadful, and a forest has too many creepy-crawlies for my taste.
Jonah laughed out loud, and the wind running through the leaves made it seem like the oaks joined him. Her truthfulness by itself kept him chuckling. He hoped Beth could see the majesty of the great outdoors. He refocused on the letter.
It’s past midnight as I sit alone in my office. The minutes began ticking by hours ago, and I continue to wrestle with what to share and what to keep to myself. Your carving sits on my desk, and the smoky flame from my grandmother’s kerosene lamp casts its glow over your artwork, causing the faces to change as the fire burns unsteadily. And the longer I sit here, the more I want to write what I’m thinking.
I’m glad you shared with me about finding the piece of wood and how you fought with whether to drag it out of the gorge or not. Your carving did not catch my eye as much as it snagged my heart. That log would not let you forget it, and your carving does much the same to me.
I must dare to be boldly open, so I can tell you that your work causes me to dream. Parts of the dreams are disturbing, but I’d forgotten what it feels like to be stirred by life.
I find it a little troubling to think a lifeless object can awaken one’s soul, but your work has done that for me. I feel hope once again, and although I don’t deserve it, I’m grateful for it. From the moment I saw this piece at Pete’s, I never intended to sell it.
You didn’t tell me how you got the tree out of the canyon and back to your shop.
Looking forward to hearing from you again,
Beth
“Jonah!” Amos hollered. “Daylight’s burning.”
Jonah folded the letter and shoved it and the envelope into his pocket. Beth’s voice on paper didn’t sound like she had in person. When here, she seemed nervous and scattered, but on paper she sounded serene and centered. After he finished at the sawmill for the day, he’d write to her again.
He set his mug on the railing, grabbed his cane, and walked around the side of the house. Her letter was an odd mix of thoughts and emotions. Even in its brevity it conveyed business, open admiration of his work, and hesitation to share the rawness she felt inside. Maybe that was why she sounded so different in her letter than at the farm.
He’d heard quite a few things inside that note, although he couldn’t identify them. As the day wore on and he cut fresh lumber and sold from the seasoned stacks, his thoughts returned to the letter. He read it two more times, trying to hear what she wasn’t saying. That was what his Urgrossdaddi Jonah used to say to him before he died—“If you hear what’s not being said, you’ll hear the heart of the matter.”
She’d written, “The minutes began ticking by hours ago, and I continue to wrestle with what to share and what to keep to myself.” Clearly, she’d struggled to break through the reluctance he saw when she’d visited. Maybe her inability to talk openly was why she’d asked for them to exchange letters. In person she’d been just another woman, but her letter seemed to have touched something inside him.
While Jonah drove the horse and buggy home after work, Amos cracked jokes. “Two snowmen were standing in a field. One says to the other, ‘Funny, I smell carrots too.’ ”
Cutting and loading lumber for twelve hours straight was exhausting, but Amos rarely seemed tired at the end of a day.
“You don’t always have to entertain me.”
In a rare moment of seriousness, Amos became still. “But when you laugh, I feel like I’ve done something to help ease …” He let the sentence drop and stared out the side of the rig.
His brother’s past recklessness couldn’t be changed. The incident that dogged Amos would never be wiped out, not even through endless moments of amusement. They both knew that. Jonah had forgiven him long before Amos could look him in the eye again, but Amos seemed to find his redemption through the friendship and loyalty he offered Jonah.
“Nothing needs to be eased, Amos.”
Amos scratched his face through his whiskers. “When I grow up, I want to be like you.”
Jonah chuckled. “You’re the oldest of the family, and even your young uns have given up on you growing up.”
“Well, aren’t you just full of good spirit today? So, you gonna write some of that charm and wit in a letter to that woman?”
Jonah
glanced from the road to his brother.
Amos shrugged. “I saw you reading it again at work. Clearly she has your attention.”
His brother’s statement forced Jonah to think about his emotions. He couldn’t deny he had some odd feelings about her. From the moment Pete had placed Beth’s business card in his hand and told him of her strong interest in his work, he’d felt a stirring within. And the pleasure of writing to her, sharing parts of himself that he’d not shared with anyone else, and the enjoyment of reading her letter again and again hinted at a possible connection with her. But in person she seemed more like a nervous chicken than an intriguing woman. He supposed that might fade with time.
“Jonah?”
“Maybe.”
He pulled into the driveway and let Amos off in front of his home before driving the rig under the overhang. After putting the horse in the pasture, he tossed feed into its trough.
Gazing across the field, he watched a flock of chimney swifts circle above the horizon. At sunset each day they made an odd twittering sound as more birds arrived. Each year, in late summer and early fall, this ritual took place until the flock nearly blackened the sky. Then one evening they wouldn’t show up, and he’d know they’d taken off for South America. They were usually gone by now, but perhaps the delay of fall weather had them remaining longer than usual.
Life’s mysteries could no more be understood than the thoughts of a flock of birds. The living was ruled by instincts and God-designed principles His creatures had little say over.
And desire.
He reached into his pocket, feeling the letter. Beth wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to reveal too much. Walking into his shop and to the old part of the building, he thought back to when he’d lost two fingers, full use of one leg, and more than a year of his life.
His siblings suffered nightmares and guilt, but thankfully, that was all. For the lives he’d managed to save, his loss was worth it. Would he have saved any of them had he known the price beforehand? He ran his palm across the dusty leather seat of the sleigh. When he was a teen, his parents had allowed him to decide the sleigh’s fate. He’d refused to get rid of it or to use it, so here it sat, making a grown woman think children were hiding under it. It hid things, all right, but childish games and laughter were not part of its secret.
Christmas in Apple Ridge Page 5
