Now, she understood, that was her past. Today she was new, with hope and promise for tomorrow. She wanted to stop fear from ruling her. She’d begun that process, but she imagined it would take a while to find all the places where splinters still hid.
The only thing truly missing from her life was the pleasure of writing to Jonah. She might write him one day, but she needed to sort through her thoughts, problems, and emotions on her own first. She was rebuilding herself—a better self.
Her rebuilding work wasn’t the only thing keeping her from writing to him. Since he’d been pulled into her life through trickery, she hesitated to reach out to him. Still, she should touch base with him. She might discover that he was waiting for her to contact him as he’d said before she left his home, or she might find that after he thought everything over, he’d changed his mind about her.
There was only one way to find out.
Jonah finished applying another coat of lacquer to the sleigh, then set the brush in a can of turpentine. He’d realized he’d been doing the same thing with the sleigh that Beth had been doing by wearing black—not letting go of the past nor truly entering the future.
In spite of all the work he’d done to the sleigh, including taking it to the blacksmith’s and having the runners reworked, it wasn’t finished yet. But it would be, and he’d give it to Beth as a Christmas present. He hadn’t yet figured out how he’d get it there. Even if the snow was perfect and he were willing to drive it, which he wasn’t, it couldn’t be driven all the way to Apple Ridge, Pennsylvania. But he still had time to figure it out. With each new coat of paint or lacquer, he prayed for Beth.
He walked to the mailbox, hoping the carrier had already run. Four weeks had passed without a word from her, but he kept checking. He’d asked that none of his family get his mail for him. Otherwise, after he checked the box, he had to check with his sister-in-law and grandmother to see if either of them had picked up his mail. Until Beth, he appreciated them bringing the mail in.
The dreary early-December sky spat the first sleet of the season. It wouldn’t amount to much, not right after Thanksgiving like this. He’d been using his time to help at his family’s lumberyard, to work on the sleigh, and to fill orders for Gabe. It felt good and right to use his carving skills again, but he had questions for Beth, legitimate business ones, and he couldn’t call her. He’d told her he wouldn’t reach out, and he wouldn’t. She had to make the first move. If his grandmother’s prayers were as powerful as he believed, and if Beth was truly the one for him, as he believed, then he’d just have to wait.
He opened his mailbox, seeing a couple of envelopes stuck between junk mail advertisements. Closing the box with his elbow, he flipped through the letters. Energy shot through him at the sight of Beth’s handwriting. He tore the envelope open.
Dear Jonah,
I hope this letter finds you well. I’m holding my own, having gone through—as you call them—several surgeries. The physical therapy isn’t nearly as bad as I thought. My Daed and I have had a lot of long talks. Omar, our bishop, is a kind and gentle man, who comes by my office two afternoons a week. He was one of Henry’s uncles here in Apple Ridge. He thought he’d seen shadows of Henry’s darker side, but he kept hoping he was mistaken.
Omar’s counsel and understanding have been deep and helpful. I carry my past with a sense of peace and faith in God’s mercy toward both Henry and myself.
How you stepped into my darkness, bringing a light no one else could, I’ll never know. But I want to thank you.
I spoke with Gabe, who said he talked to you last week but that you had a few questions he couldn’t answer. Please feel free to call the store at any time.
Gratefully yours,
Beth
As pleased as he was for permission to contact her, she sounded formal and professional. He should expect no less, he supposed. She’d been as injured in her relationship with Henry as Jonah had in the sleigh accident, only his injuries had not been hidden nor left to fester. Teams of skilled professionals, along with his family, openly addressed each issue month after month, year after year, until he was as healed as he’d ever get.
Sliding the letter into his pants pocket, Jonah walked toward the barn. This was what he’d been hoping for, an invitation to call her. He saddled his horse and headed for Pete’s. After arriving he talked with his friend briefly, then lifted the receiver to call Beth. As he dialed her number, hope worked its way through him.
“Hertzlers’ Dry Goods.”
Her voice moved into the empty spaces of the last few weeks, filling him with contentment. “Hi, Beth. This is Jonah.”
“Hello, Jonah.” The sound of papers being shuffled came through the phone. “What can I do for you today?”
Not treat him like a client would be a start, but after she’d revealed her pain to him, he understood her defenses. She wasn’t in the same place he was. He knew what he wanted from this relationship. He’d waited so long for her. Years.
“You said I could contact you with any questions, and I have a good many.”
“You received my letter already?”
Deciding how much restraint to use, he leaned one forearm on the counter next to the cash register. “I’ve had it all of thirty minutes.”
She chuckled. “If I were your boss, I’d be furious at such a delay.”
He heard more warmth in her voice and felt confident that open honesty without pressuring her was welcome. “I needed time to saddle a horse and get to Pete’s. Not all of us have a phone on our desk … or even in our barn.”
“Get a faster horse.”
The touch of banter held the promise of all he knew they could be in time. “I like the horse I have, thank you.”
“I knew the contracts would be confusing. They’re written as separate agreements so you can choose which requests you wish to fill.”
Sensing that he should stick to business for now, he asked a few questions, and she answered. When he felt a nudge inside him to shift the conversation, he changed the topic. “So how are you doing, Beth?”
“Me? That’s been the topic of conversation too much lately. I even wrote you a letter about all the me stuff.”
“Yes you did, and I’m very thankful for that. So then tell me about your Thanksgiving and what’s happening with your store.”
She didn’t respond, and he wondered which she’d do—remain professionally distant or share some small part of herself with him. Either way they were making progress.
“Thanksgiving was really good. I think it’s the first time I’ve tasted a meal in ages.” She paused, possibly giving him a chance to talk, but he waited. “It feels like I’ve missed joy for far too long.” She drew a slow breath. “Mamm and Daed and I talked for hours. My Daed helped me make his favorite dessert. It seemed so odd to have a man in the kitchen actually cooking, but it healed something inside both of us. It’s crazy at the store right now, and it will be like running a race until we close at noon on Christmas Eve. How about you?”
“The actual work in the lumberyard itself is slow this time of year, but pricing jobs to clear timber off of land is fairly busy. People need money to get through the winter months, and we pay in advance. I had the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a very long time.” He paused, wondering if he should say what he wanted. He decided it might not be wise but to chance it anyway. “My family—they’re all great. But this Thanksgiving had a new hope … concerning us.”
She grew quiet again. “Ya, I … I felt those hopes too.”
Her quiet, restrained confession made him feel much like he had when he’d started building his cabin—full of promise but no strength against the elements just yet.
“About those contracts, Jonah.” She veered the conversation back to business. “Do you understand the requests concerning each cabin? The construction will take place in phases. The first phase includes the twenty cabins they want ready for occupants by May first.” “Gabe wants me to carve on the back of chairs,
the mantels, freestanding objects, cabinets, and something called Aeolian chimes.”
“Aeolian chimes are the same as wind chimes. The owners of the resort know Gabe, and they’re asking if you’ll do these things. You’re not obligated to do any more than you want, but the price they’re willing to pay is incredible. I have Amish craftsmen making the cabinets, tables, chairs. That part of the deal will work out whether you choose to carve designs on them or not. Your first job is to choose what you’re willing to carve, but once you decide, it has to be done for each cabin. The owners’ top choice is for you to do the backs of the chairs, the cabinet doors, and the mantels to match. They’re going for an upscale rustic look. It’ll be beautiful. They’d like to pick a base color for the fabric used in each cabin for things like kitchen chair cushions, couches, and throw pillows. I didn’t know if the color the interior decorator chose might affect what scenery you’d carve or not.”
“I don’t know either. I’ve never thought about it.”
“Well, there are a couple of ways we can work this. You can create the carvings, and the interior decorator can choose a color that coordinates with whatever scenery you chose, or you can choose a color from a scheme first. I wrote the contracts so you had the freedom of choice, not the decorator.”
“What’s your favorite color, Beth?”
“It’s not black, okay?”
“Better than okay. So what is it, and why?”
The conversation unwound like a spool of thread, magically sewing pieces of their lives together in the process. As the hours passed, she occasionally put him on hold while she tended to store business. He didn’t want to end the conversation, so he waited. Although most Amish avoided phones except for business, no one would object to their talking like this.
Each time she came back on the line, they seemed to be in a better place than before. He could hear people come into her office and ask questions. When she left the office a couple of times to help, with each beat, each movement, he understood more of who she was.
The physical distance between their two lives still nagged at him. Her roots were deeply planted in Apple Ridge. The community relied on her, and she adored her family and her work. He was part of a family-owned business that had been passed down for generations, and he was needed. Jonah, three of his brothers, and his Daed each had a specific job, and it took all of them to keep the mill profitable. He’d built more than just his dream cabin on acreage his grandfather had given him—on the very spot Jonah cherished most of all. He’d made a home for himself.
By the time he and Beth hung up, Jonah realized that for all they’d worked through to get to this point, they still faced a huge issue. He needed a solution.
It had been dark for hours when he finally walked into Pete’s kitchen.
“I guess if you stay on the phone long enough, I gotta cook the meal.” Pete chuckled and pointed to the plate of food on the back of the stove.
Jonah turned a chair around and straddled it. “I got a problem, Pete.”
“Women’ll do that to a man.” The old bachelor winked.
Forty years ago Pete had come close to marrying, but for reasons he wouldn’t talk about, it never took place. He grabbed the plate of food and a fork and set it in front of Jonah.
Jonah took a bite of mashed potatoes. “Ya, but this one’s worth it.”
“Well, you know what I always say about problems.”
“Start at desire and work from there.”
“Yep. So bottom line, no fantasy nonsense, what do you want?”
“Beth Hertzler to be my wife.” As soon as he said it, he got a bad feeling in his gut. “Scratch that. I’d like to be the husband of Beth Hertzler.”
“Don’t see the difference.”
“In one scenario she’s mine. In the other I’m hers.”
“Still lost here.”
“You’ll have to trust me. I think I know the solution. Thanks.”
Pete scratched his head, looking confused. “Anytime. Are you gonna tell me?”
“I need to move to Pennsylvania and be her husband, not have her move here to be my wife.”
“That’s a lot to give up for a woman. I don’t recommend it.”
Jonah shrugged. “If she’ll have me, my mind’s made up. I just don’t know how I’ll leave the business.”
Beth held the phone to her ear, feeling the customary war between caution and desire. Silence lay between her and Jonah like newly fallen snow, and she struggled to find the right words. Her store closed Thursday at noon for Christmas Eve, and Jonah wanted to see her.
Part of her longed to go to Ohio and spend time with him as he’d asked. The rest of her wanted to slow everything down to a pace she didn’t find so scary—something more like the laziness of sunset in midsummer rather than nightfall in winter.
Over the last three weeks he’d sent long, deeply moving letters, and he’d called her most evenings after the store was closed. He’d carved her the most beautiful set of ink pens she’d ever seen in her life, and he’d sent a year’s supply of refill cartridges with them.
The more she got to know him, the more she knew she was falling in love. How could she not? If he were only half of who she believed he was, he’d still deserve to steal her heart. She hoped her heart was worthy. Even in the letter he’d given her at his home, he’d written things as deep and personal as she had written to him before she knew who he was. And she knew he truly was the man she’d thought him to be through his letters.
Lillian Petersheim walked into the office with a small stack of twenty-dollar bills in her hand and closed the door behind her.
“Hang on, Jonah.” Beth held out her hand for the cash and counted it. “What do you need?”
“Ones and fives.”
Beth went to the safe.
Jonah had been in the area on lumberyard business last weekend—pricing the clearing of timber from nearby land—and he and his brother had dropped by the store. Unfortunately she’d missed his visit. She and Gloria had gone into Lancaster to handle a supply-and-demand issue that needed Beth’s attention firsthand.
It still struck her as odd—and heartwarming—that he didn’t seem the least bit frustrated about not seeing her. Instead, he seemed to enjoy staying for dinner at Lizzy’s. Her aunt sent word to Beth’s parents, and they came over as well and spent the whole evening getting to know Beth’s carver. Her easygoing Daed grilled Jonah and came to the conclusion he really liked him. That reassured her, but on occasion Beth still found doubt and fear lurking inside her.
She passed the bills to Lillian and picked up the receiver. “You still there?”
“Yep,” Jonah replied. “In Ohio. And the question on the table is, will you join me here for Christmas?”
Silence reigned, but she was no longer surprised by his willingness to wait for her to find a voice for her thoughts. She wasn’t sure she was ready to meet his family. That would shift their relationship from friendship into expectations of marriage.
If they lived in the same area, they could see each other on Christmas or any other day without anyone thinking much about it. More than likely they’d ride home together after singings; at other times he’d bring his rig to the edge of her property so she could slip off to meet him without anyone knowing. If Jonah lived close, they’d have the same friends and would have gathered for games at rotating houses, no matter what the season. That’s the way courtships usually worked, allowing singles the opportunity to socialize without it meaning a declaration to marry. But when a young woman traveled four hours on Christmas Eve to see a man, it would cling to the family members like molasses—making everything it touched sticky and altering its flavor.
“Beth.” Jonah’s assuring voice finally broke the stillness. “If you’re not at ease about this, we’ll visit another time.”
She’d expected him to pick up on her reluctance. He seemed to know her well, which only strengthened people’s ability to hide their true self and manipulate others, did
n’t it? She cringed at the distrust that still crept from a hiding place and tried to rule her.
Regardless of her issues, it hurt to imagine how he must feel, knowing she wasn’t returning the invitation. “I … I’m sorry, Jonah.”
“Not a problem. But it’s an open invitation.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not if it takes a decade. Well … let’s make that half a decade.”
And as she said good-bye, she recognized another piece of her hesitation. She’d have to give up the business she helped build, and she didn’t know if they’d ever find a solution she could live with.
Beth helped the last customer to her car, her arms full of packages. She closed the trunk and refused the tip the lady offered.
Snow swirled through the air, dulling visibility as the woman’s red taillights faded into the distance. Beth couldn’t remember the last time it snowed during Christmas. She buttoned her woolen coat. The glow from Lizzy’s house across the street—kerosene lanterns, gas pole lamps, and the fireplace—shone clearly against the gray and white of the snowy midday.
For days her longing for Jonah had increased during every lull, and now that the store was closed for Christmas, the rest of the holiday would be one long roar of silence.
An hour ago she’d given the sales help their bonuses and sent them home. They wouldn’t return until the store opened on Monday. Lizzy hadn’t come in at all that day. She and Beth’s Mamm were busy baking the Christmas Eve meal for most of the Hertzler clan.
As Beth stood watching Lizzy’s home, she noticed Omar’s carriage. His horse wasn’t attached to the rig, indicating he hadn’t stopped for a quick visit. Clearly he intended to spend hours at Lizzy’s with Beth’s family. And it dawned on her what she should have known months ago—her aunt and the bishop were more than friends.
Darkness and freezing temperatures surrounded Beth as fear of life and love tried to tighten its grip again. At thirty-eight years old her aunt had the courage to open her heart to a man who’d once been happily married, who, as bishop, bore a heavy responsibility before God, and who had a grown family and grandchildren. She guessed that he was eight years older than Lizzy. The whole situation sounded very scary to Beth.
Christmas in Apple Ridge Page 13
