Christmas in Apple Ridge

by Cindy Woodsmall

  It was several minutes before she could say more, but Jonah waited.

  “The longer we were engaged, the more things Henry didn’t like about my life. He wanted to control my every thought, every feeling. Accused me of caring too much for my family. He especially resented my feelings for Lizzy and my Daed. He demanded I give up the store. At first I avoided family gatherings, worked fewer hours—anything that might make him feel more at ease. No matter what I changed for him, it wasn’t enough. His complaining turned into yelling. Then he started getting rough with me—nothing huge, just quiet ways of leaving bruises on my arms. A day or two later he’d be the Henry I fell for … warm, endearing, funny. He said he knew he needed to change, and if I’d help him, he would. But the closer we got to our wedding, the worse he became. I could see only misery ahead. I wanted to remain loyal, but I couldn’t marry him. I grew more distant, indifferent, and when I no longer cared whether he needed me or if I was being selfish, I told him I was done. And I didn’t care what it did to him.”

  She turned to face Jonah and drew a deep breath. “He wasn’t from Apple Ridge, but he was staying with one of his uncles when I went to see him. It had been pouring rain for days. We stood on the porch, and I told him I couldn’t marry him. At first he was kind and understanding, trying to convince me to change my mind. Then he grew angry and began threatening me. He lifted me off my feet and banged my back against the side of the house, demanding”—she looked Jonah straight in the eye—“demanding I marry him. I broke free and ran for my buggy. He chased me, begging me not to leave him, swearing he’d change. But I told him it was too late. He threatened to spread lies, said he’d break my Daed’s heart and ruin my business and …” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Suddenly I could see that his problems were deeper than insecurity and uncontrollable anger. He needed real help, but I just wanted out. As I climbed into the buggy, he … he jerked me out and then dropped me. I slid through the muck in the yard. When he grabbed me off the ground, I kicked and lashed out with all my strength. I … I guess I caught him off guard, because he went down to his knees in pain.” She rubbed her eyes. “Dear God, forgive me. While he was still down, I said horrid things one person should never say to another.” She closed her eyes. “And while he screamed promises from the mud, I left.”

  “And Henry?”

  “The next day he was found downstream—dead, drowned. Before daylight his uncle brought me the news, and I went to where they’d found him. I knelt in the rain, holding him, with no way to change the past. The muddy, frothy water roaring nearby was unusually powerful from the previous days of rain. When the police arrived, I told them about our fight. One of the officers said they’d need to investigate but that I should protect Henry’s family and my own by keeping the argument and the breakup to myself. It didn’t take long for them to verify that Henry was still alive when I left him and that I was home when he came up missing. Another officer, a detective, I think, said he’d found a spot on the creek bank where it looked as if it had caved under Henry’s feet. There were claw marks in the mud nearby that showed where Henry had tried to get ashore, so they didn’t believe foul play or suicide was the cause. But they told me again that it wouldn’t help anyone to share what Henry was really like or the hurt he was feeling when he died. I understood it would hurt everyone I loved to learn the truth. And I kept thinking if I’d been more loyal, been the kind of person who’d stand by my fiancé no matter what, then he wouldn’t be dead.”

  “Beth, you’re blaming you for protecting yourself. Can’t you see that?”

  “I should have seen his problems sooner. When his issues were serious, I should have been strong enough to help him. But as I stood at Henry’s grave site the day he was buried, covered in bruises no one would ever see, I knew it didn’t matter what I should have done, only what I would do. Make sure never to let it happen again.”

  “You question your loyalty, but didn’t his proposal come with an unspoken promise of love and protection?”

  She didn’t answer. The logical part of her understood that, but the hardness that she felt inside didn’t yield to reason. “None of that matters now. I try to do what’s right. Try to respond to those around me like before Henry’s death, but it’s not the same.”

  He dumped a spoonful of sugar and one of powered cream into a mug. “And ever since, you hide from your future behind black.” He stirred the coffee. “Henry had problems, the kind we almost never hear of among the Amish. But you did the right thing not marrying him.” He walked to where she stood and held out the mug to her. “The right thing, Beth.”

  “How could it be right if I carry Henry’s blood on my hands?”

  “The only blood on you—whether his or yours—is what he spilled every time he hurt you.”

  His words sliced through the lies she couldn’t find freedom from, leaving her staggering at the revelation that someone else knew her secret—and didn’t find her guilty. “I … I need to go.”

  “Then take a few sips while I get something I want you to have.”

  She took the cup. Her chest ached from the tears, but she was glad to have finally told someone. She drew the warm mug to her lips and drank. The flavor was both customary and keenly rare.

  Like the man himself.

  Breathing in the aroma, she couldn’t imagine what he’d used or done differently to make it so delicious.

  He came back into the room with a letter in hand. “It’s the one I wrote to you after I came to the hayride. I mean every word, if you can manage to hear it.”

  She kept both hands wrapped around her mug. “No more, Jonah. It’s too much, and I can’t take it. Lizzy shouldn’t have thrown us together. I just gave you every reason you need to let me go.” She held the drink out to him.

  He took the cup, but with his index and middle finger of that same hand, he continued to hold the letter out to her. “Take the letter. Mostly it says what I’ve already said here today, but you’ll be able to hear it better when you’ve had more time to adjust to who you’ve really been writing to. Just tell me you’ll read it, and I’ll let you be. I hope to hear from you, though.”

  “You won’t.”

  In spite of her assurance, she eased the letter from his fingers before she turned and left.

  Beth and Gloria rode home in silence, the joy of the business deal gone. Despite Beth’s anger with Lizzy, Jonah’s voice continued to work its way through her, as if they stood in the same room. His letter tormented her, begging to be read, but she left it sealed.

  After one stop for food and gas, they continued on. She hadn’t eaten, and between pondering what Jonah had said and thinking about how ridiculously wrong Lizzy was to have pulled such a stunt, she couldn’t manage to hold a conversation with Gloria.

  The hum of the tires against the pavement continued mile after mile, and her emotions finally began to settle. The lull of the van slowly overtook Beth’s anxiety, and she grew drowsy. As sleep eased over her, sleigh bells rang, and children’s laughter echoed. Darkness filled every corner of where she stood. It matched her clothing. It matched who she’d become, and she couldn’t see a way out. The tinkling sound of bells and laughter came from a place ahead of her.

  Feeling her way through the darkness, she walked and walked. Her palms bumped against a heavy wooden door, but it swung open easily, and she stepped onto a snow-covered field. The moon glistened on the white backdrop. A man appeared in front of her. A beautiful sleigh held several children of various ages—how many she couldn’t tell. The man’s hand stretched toward her, but she refused. He motioned for her, unable to cross some unseen barrier.

  She knew this place. Fear jolted through her.

  Demanding her body to wake, she slowly became aware of the car seat beneath her, but the sound of sleigh bells continued. Willing herself to breathe deeply and become fully conscious, she seemed to be awake several long moments before the jingling faded.

  Beth sat up, watching the silhouettes of night pass
by until Gloria pulled into Lizzy’s driveway. Even though it was past midnight, going to her aunt’s house after a trip was the routine, one Beth couldn’t avoid or Lizzy would come to her. That would be especially true since Gloria had called Lizzy after they’d left Gabe’s to say they were going to Jonah Kinsinger’s.

  Beth wished she knew how to share the mix of anger and humiliation circling inside her, plus the confusing situation Lizzy had heaped on her.

  Gloria stopped the van.

  Beth gathered her things. “I don’t know what all you report back to Daed, but this situation with Jonah is personal, and I’m twenty-six.”

  “One day I’d like to understand how you had such a row with a man you’d never met before, two of ’em, in fact, but I won’t say a word to anyone.” Gloria looked at her. “You okay?”

  “I’m not sure,” Beth mumbled, wishing she knew the answer. “Do you believe people need surgery and physical therapy for emotional or soul wounds?”

  Gloria put the van in Park. “I never thought about it in those terms, but, yeah, I do.”

  “Jonah believes it. He thinks if I’d quit trying to hide long enough to face what’s killing me, I might find happiness again.” Beth paused. “If you held a secret, an awful one that would hurt everybody, would you tell your family or pastor?”

  Gloria ran her palm back and forth over the steering wheel. “I’ve known you for a long time, and I don’t want to say anything that would hurt you, but the truth is, if a secret was doing to me what it’s done to you, I’d tell. I guess you should ask yourself if holding on to the secret isn’t hurting people just as badly as telling them the truth.”

  Beth had thought she was sparing her family, Lizzy in particular. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “Isn’t it the same amount of pain either way? Only you’re doling it out little by little over a lifetime and allowing it into the future as well as the past.” Gloria pushed a button, turning on an overhead light. “How long will you punish yourself?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t see ever getting past it, really.”

  “Then why did Christ die?”

  Gloria’s words hit hard, and Beth wondered if somehow the answer she needed rested in that simple question. “I’ve asked Him to forgive me.”

  “With a tender spirit like yours, I’m sure that part came naturally. But if you continue to carry the guilt, it’s like what He did is not sufficient. As if you’re telling God that His gift of mercy is not powerful enough to help you forgive you.”

  “But I …” Beth fidgeted with the canvas carryall, unsure what word to use to complete the sentence.

  “Sinned? Blew it? Made a stupid mistake? Did something you can’t undo? It’s all covered.”

  It’s covered.

  The words entered Beth, echoing over and over again. She ached to be free of her past, but that wasn’t going to happen. Could she at least stop hating herself over it?

  She whispered a thank-you to Gloria and got out of the van. Lizzy stood on the porch, watching as Beth climbed the steps. With no words to express her feelings, Beth went inside without speaking.

  Lizzy closed the door behind them. The large open space of the kitchen and sitting area was warm and inviting. The fireplace roared with flames, and the air carried the aroma of stew and cornbread. Sometimes Beth didn’t know if Lizzy was her mother, aunt, sister, or best friend. In one way or another, she was each of those.

  “I’m sorry, Beth.”

  Beth turned and faced her aunt. “I don’t even know what to say. You had no right. But you knew that when you began this.”

  Lines of regret creased Lizzy’s face. “I … I just wanted to help, but Jonah’s right—I was wrong to trick you. Once I started, I couldn’t make myself tell you.”

  Beth threw her satchel onto the couch. “What you did was so much more cruel than just leaving me alone. I wrote personal things to him, Lizzy. The kind of stuff I’d never have told someone his age. Then I showed up at his place with no clue what I was walking into. Why would you do that to me?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “No.” Beth peeled off her jacket and tossed it across the arm of a chair. “The question is why, Lizzy. Not how do you feel about it.”

  Lizzy’s hands had an almost undetectable tremble as she gestured toward Beth. “You liked his work, and—”

  Beth stepped forward and placed her index finger against her aunt’s lips, shushing her. “Why?”

  Lizzy’s eyes filled with tears. “Because I was scared for you. You wouldn’t let me inside that dark place where you hide, and you refused to step outside of it. Because you think you want to be alone the rest of your life, and you don’t know what it’s like. Jonah’s work was the first thing to interest you in such a long time, and I grabbed on to it.” Lizzy broke into tears. “Because I thought he might make you feel something again, and I feared for your future more than I feared your anger.”

  The weight of Lizzy’s worries settled over Beth, and her aunt’s emotions tangled into so many of her own. Beth’s fears began when she realized the lines between trust and distrust, love and apathy, controlled anger and meanness were so thin a person could cross over with no effort at all.

  Feeling weary, she moved to the sofa. Lizzy melted into a nearby chair, and neither one spoke. The dancing flames in the hearth slowly faded, leaving mostly embers in their stead.

  Beth reached for Lizzy’s hand. “I forgive you, Lizzy.” She squeezed gently before letting go. “And I understand making poor choices and keeping secrets. Besides, I can’t honestly blame you. I’ve been a mess for so long.”

  “You’re just a little lost. Losing Henry was powerful hard on you. You’ll find love again. I know you will.”

  “Lizzy …” Beth’s chest ached with the truth. “I wasn’t in love with Henry, not by the time of the accident. We had quite a brawl about it hours before he died.”

  Her aunt’s eyes filled with shock and tears, but she remained outwardly calm. Beth had no doubt Lizzy would weep over the news when she let herself. Beth should have never tried to protect everyone. If she hadn’t, most of the pain of her failed relationship with Henry would be behind them.

  “I’m taking off work tomorrow. I need to tell Daed and Omar things I should have told them long ago.”

  A box of Christmas crafts sat on the other end of the couch. Beth moved the container to the floor, took off her shoes, and stretched out. She was worn out and should have gone home to sleep, but she and Lizzy needed each other tonight. “You didn’t start making Christmas cards as you planned.”

  Lizzy shrugged. “After Gloria called, I wasn’t in the mood to be creative. I still have six weeks to get them made and delivered.”

  Beth released a sigh she’d been holding since before Henry died. “I haven’t seen or felt Christmas in years. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it will ever come again.”

  Lizzy covered her with a blanket and sat on the coffee table next to her. “You’ll start enjoying Christmas again. I know it. Just look at the steps you’re taking.”

  “It’s taken me too long, and yet it’s not been nearly long enough.”

  “You weren’t ready sooner. But it has been long enough.” Lizzy took the straight pins out of Beth’s prayer Kapp and lifted it from her head. “How did things go between you and Jonah?”

  “Embarrassing. Awful. Awkward.” Beth closed her eyes and yawned. “Lizzy?”

  Her aunt kissed her forehead. “Ya?”

  Sleep pulled on her. “I don’t want to wear black anymore.”

  “I’ll loan you anything you want while we make you new clothes.”

  “I love you,” Beth mumbled as sleep took over. Even as sleigh bells began to jingle in her awaiting dream, she felt Lizzy tuck the blanket around her.

  “I know you do.”

  Inside Lizzy’s home Beth watched her family, awed at the power of love. The kitchen table had been extended to make room for the whole family. Sunday afternoon conversat
ions ran like threads through a homemade dress, each one helping to hold the family together. Her mother glanced at her and winked while feeding a grandbaby a spoonful of applesauce.

  Beth’s Daed placed a piece of pie in front of her and sat on the bench seat beside her. “How’d we do?”

  She ran her fork through the butternut squash pie and took a bite. “My part is perfect. Yours … not so much.”

  “But we blended our ingredients, Bethie girl.”

  “And mine is perfect.”

  He chuckled. “Then I guess my part isn’t good enough for me to help you make desserts later this week for our Thanksgiving meal.”

  “Oh, no. As a new cook, you have to help.” She squelched a giggle and leaned her shoulder into his. “You need the practice.”

  Two weeks ago she had sat down with him and the bishop and told them everything. It’d been the first time she’d seen tears in her father’s eyes. Since that day Beth and her family had been taking the first steps on a journey to find healing.

  Not long after meeting with Omar and her Daed, she’d returned to Henry’s grave one last time, a severing of ties of sorts. She’d gone there so many times since he’d died, not out of love and only partially out of guilt. Like so many other things, her reason for going was clearer now. During each visit she’d woven a rope that kept her tied to that cemetery.

  Whether intentional or not, Henry had begun a cycle of fear—fear of displeasing him and fear of his anger. Before the breakup she’d been anxious over ending the relationship and fearful of what he’d do, fearful of what their families and the community would think of her. Oddly, his death hadn’t stopped what he’d begun. Before she’d worn her first black dress, fear had splintered into a hundred pieces inside her, and each one turned into a painful ulcer. To keep anyone from touching those spots, she’d pulled away before they got a chance.