The Amish Christmas Secret

by Vannetta Chapman

  And that he was not willing to do.

  He knew firsthand that such knowledge only brought trouble.

  If he couldn’t lie, and he couldn’t tell the truth, he’d have to just stay silent on certain subjects.

  Samuel had given up waiting for an answer. He reached down and pulled up a rotten board. “Doesn’t seem right, though—your paying for my half.”

  He tossed the board onto the pile on the ground, turned to Daniel and smiled. “While I don’t have any extra money lying around to help with the cost of materials, I do have two sons who are hard workers.”

  “Oh, I don’t—”

  “I’d come myself, but I told my bruder I’d help at his place. My boys—Clyde and David—are gut workers. They’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning. Assuming you were planning on working on it again tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be working on it.”

  “Gut!” Samuel pushed his hat down on his head and stood to go. He’d made it back to the ladder and started down when he stopped and called out again. “Almost forgot that Sarah sent me over to invite you to Sunday dinner.”

  Daniel managed to stifle a groan.

  “I can see by your expression that you’re wanting to say no, but that probably wouldn’t be wise. She’d just show up on your doorstep with a basket of food. From the looks of your porch, she might fall through if she attempted to knock on your door.”

  “I was planning to get to that next.”

  “No man can do nothing and no man can do everything.”

  Daniel had no idea how to answer that, so he shrugged.

  “We usually eat at noon on off-Sundays.” With a nod, Samuel Schwartz disappeared below the roofline, only to pop back up again. “Why did the police arrest the turkey?”

  “I have no idea. Why did the police arrest the turkey?”

  “They suspected it of fowl play!”

  Daniel could hear Becca’s father laughing to himself as he walked toward his horse and buggy.

  The horse was a chestnut gelding. Even as far away as he was, Daniel could see gray around his eyes and muzzle. He guessed the horse’s age at fifteen or older, and he wondered why Samuel hadn’t purchased a newer one. But then the man had said that he had nine kinder and no extra money. Daniel couldn’t help but smile when Samuel pulled a piece of carrot out of his pocket and fed it to the horse before climbing back up in the buggy.

  The buggy itself looked to be in as bad a shape as Daniel’s—the rear driver’s side had been dented in, and there was a long scrape down the passenger side, as well. Did they have another newer horse and buggy? There was no way the entire Schwartz family would all fit in the one Samuel was driving, so the family must have another. Otherwise, how would they get to church meetings?

  None of which was his problem.

  He wasn’t going to get involved with the Schwartz family. He’d tried helping folks before, and every single time the situation had ended up worse than when he’d first become involved.

  Nein.

  He wouldn’t be repeating that mistake here in Shipshewana.

  Hadn’t he come here to start over and put all of his past, including his newfound wealth—especially his newfound wealth—behind him?

  Daniel turned his attention back to the roof, wishing with all his might he could finish it before Becca’s brothers showed up to help.

  * * *

  It turned out that Clyde and David were excellent workers. They had their father’s good nature but weren’t as chatty as their older sister. Clyde was eighteen and worked on an Englisch farm three days a week. David was sixteen and thrilled not to be going back to school. He was happy to do anything that didn’t involve a textbook. “For now I help my dat, but I’m hoping to find a real job this winter.”

  Both boys were tall and thin like their father.

  They’d arrived as the sun was breaking the horizon Friday morning. Unfortunately they weren’t alone. Becca was with them. At first he was afraid she planned to stay and help, but she put his mind to rest with a wave of her hand. “I’m not good on ladders.”

  “Ya. Remember the time you fell out of the tree house?” Clyde nudged David. “Thinking of one of her business plans and missed the last two steps. Had to walk in one of those boots for a month.”

  Becca turned away from her bruders and toward Daniel, thrusting a large basket in his hands.

  “What’s this?”

  “Lunch—thick homemade bread and peanut butter spread, some oatmeal cookies and a large jug of raspberry-flavored tea. Mamm sent extra for you. Said you couldn’t possibly have time to cook with all that needed to be done here.”

  Daniel felt guilty taking their food, but he couldn’t think of a reason to turn it down that they’d accept.

  “Tell her thanks.”

  “You can tell her yourself, when you come for dinner Sunday.”

  He closed his eyes and tried to think of a reason why he couldn’t accept the invitation, which only caused Becca to laugh.

  “I was surprised when Dat said you’d be there, knowing how much you like your privacy...”

  “It was a goal when I moved here.”

  “And how you’ve avoided meeting my entire family...”

  “Avoid is a strong word, since I’ve been here less than a week.”

  “But there you have it. You can look forward to an excellent meal, my dat’s jokes, and answering everyone’s questions about why you moved to Shipshe.”

  She was definitely antagonizing him, and she was doing it on purpose. It was time he shifted the attention away from himself, so he stepped closer to her and said, “Maybe I’ll hear more Becca stories. Tell me again how you fell out of the tree house.”

  Becca pressed her fingers to her lips, but a laugh still escaped. “You’re pretty intent on keeping the focus off yourself, but that won’t work with me. Maybe you’ll have better luck with my parents.”

  She sashayed away before he could come up with a good retort. Becca Schwartz was free-spirited, excessively energetic, and irritating. She seemed bent on pulling him out of his shell. Well, good luck with that. He happened to like the shell he’d built around himself.

  Then he looked up and saw Clyde and David waiting on top of his barn’s roof. So much for being alone.

  He’d removed a good bit of the roof the day before. Working together, the three of them were able to finish pulling off the rest of it in a couple of hours, and they started laying new cross boards before lunch. They were eating underneath the maple tree when Clyde asked him about the horse. “She’s a beauty. What’s her name?”

  “Constance.”

  “Gut name,” David said. “Our horse should be named Lazy.”

  David and Clyde laughed at that, though neither seemed particularly upset about the old horse or the condition of their buggy.

  “We only have the one, but since it’s all we’ve ever had we’re used to it,” Clyde said.

  David mentioned riding his bike most places. “It’s a problem if the weather turns bad, but we make it work.”

  To say they were good-natured was an understatement.

  Daniel tried to remember a time when he’d been as content as Becca’s bruders seemed to be, but he couldn’t. Which proved that money didn’t solve every problem. If it did, he’d be the happiest man in town.

  If it did, he wouldn’t have needed to move.

  By the time the sun had begun to set, they’d repaired all of the rotted sections and begun hammering on shingles.

  “Should be able to finish this tomorrow.” David swiped at the sweat running down the back of his neck.

  “Good thing, too, since rain is coming next week.”

  “Wouldn’t want Constance in the rain.”

  “She’s going to love her new digs.”

  Daniel tried to tell them that t
hey’d done enough, that they didn’t need to return the next day, but David and Clyde only smiled and said they’d see him in the morning.

  Daniel was so tired that his legs felt like lead and his arms actually ached. He’d turned thirty the previous spring. He didn’t consider himself old, but he also hadn’t replaced a roof in a long time. The truth was that if he hadn’t had David and Clyde helping, it would have taken him much longer. Clyde scampered up and down the ladder like a well-trained monkey, and David toted stacks of shingles as if they weighed nothing.

  It had been a long day, a gut day, and Daniel was satisfied with what they’d managed to accomplish.

  He cared for Constance, then went to the back porch and made a supper of instant oatmeal, coffee and toast—all done over an old camp stove. He forced himself to boil more water and wash up before collapsing into his sleeping bag. The bag was rated to twenty degrees, and the evening’s temperature was nowhere near that. Lying there on his back porch, looking out at the stars, Daniel was in many ways happier than he’d been in a long time.

  The quiet of the evening felt like a blessing poured over his soul.

  The air was clean and crisp, and he felt as if he could breathe again for the first time in a long time.

  But his mind insisted on tossing around questions for which he had no answer.

  How did Becca’s family cope with so little?

  What was behind her insatiable curiosity about his past?

  Why did the Schwartz family seem so satisfied—even in their poverty?

  He thought of what Samuel had said. No man can do nothing and no man can do everything. He wasn’t sure he understood it exactly, though the words had the ring of truth to them. He fetched his backpack and pulled out the notebook he often wrote in. Copying down the line, he studied it for a moment, then sighed, closed the book and stored it back in his bag.

  As he tossed and turned, his mind returned again and again to his neighbors.

  What was he going to do about pretty Becca Schwartz, who found an excuse to visit the barn every day?

  And how was he going to maintain a distance between himself and the rest of the community, between himself and his neighbors? Because above all else, Daniel was determined to live a private life. He didn’t want to develop friendships that would cause more heartache, and he certainly didn’t want anyone attempting to fix him up with one of the local girls.

  Dating and friendship were fine for other people.

  But Daniel had learned firsthand that they wouldn’t work for him. Friends would learn of his money, and then they would expect him to help—which he was only too happy to do. The problem was that when money became part of the equation, friendships took on a false tone. Too soon, strangers would be showing up at his place asking for a handout. Reporters would come by wanting to write about the Amish millionaire.

  There was no end to it.

  There was no peace in it.

  He was better off alone, which was the way he planned to stay. His attempts to date since receiving his inheritance had been disastrous. Nein. He was better off without the heartbreak, even if it meant he occasionally felt lonely. He tossed onto his left side, his hip digging into the porch floor and a part of him wondering if he could sneak a new mattress into the house.

  Becca Schwartz would notice.

  She’d probably tell him he’d paid too much for it.

  He almost laughed aloud at that. She was a spunky one. He’d give her that. The little that he’d seen of her had convinced him she was a hard worker, and it wasn’t because she wanted to buy a new handbag or an Englisch phone. No, all Becca had mentioned when she was talking about her problem with Carl-the-bad-tempered-rooster was earning money for Clyde to purchase a buggy or her desire to buy the twins new coats. She cared about her family, that was for sure and certain.

  It seemed to him that the gut women were already taken, and the ones—like Becca—who were looking for a better life, he had no business becoming involved with. The last few years had taught him they were after his money and not interested in him as a person.

  No, the money he’d inherited had erected a wall between him and everyone else, and he didn’t know how to climb over or move around it.

  But he didn’t need to.

  He only needed peace and quiet to live out his own life.

  And if he had to pretend to be poor in order to do that, he was happy to do so.

  * * *

  Becca had been over to Daniel Glick’s place every day, and she’d yet to have a meaningful conversation with the man. He was plainly not interested in sharing any details about his life.

  Which was fine.

  She’d been brushed off before, and she didn’t take it personally. She did enjoy working on puzzles, though, and there was definitely a mystery surrounding Daniel. She meant to solve it. So she plied her bruders with questions, though they could tell her very little. You’d think they’d have paid more attention, working with the man for two full days.

  He slept on his back porch.

  He was using an old camping stove to cook on.

  He seemed to be every bit as poor as they were—though there was the horse. The horse was a beauty. How had he been able to afford it?

  Daniel had managed to avoid her when he was on the roof and she was in the pens. She’d relocated Carl inside the old barn and was attempting to introduce one of her hens to the rooster. All she’d accomplished was to receive a peck on her left ankle—directly below the borrowed kneepads. Carl had so traumatized Becca’s hen that the bird had lost a good bit of her feathers.

  She’d caught Daniel watching her as she’d shooed Carl back into the stall where she was now keeping him. She tossed a handful of feed at the rooster.

  “Tell me you’re not laughing at me, Daniel Glick.”

  Instead of answering, he’d simply tipped his hat and asked her bruder to grab more shingles.

  Yes, Daniel was avoiding her quite successfully, which was easy enough to do when he was on the roof of the barn. He wouldn’t get away so easily during the Sunday meal. There was little that Becca enjoyed more than solving the unsolvable. Her dat had once said she was worse than a hunting dog on point. In other words, there was no distracting her once she set her mind to a thing.

  Sunday arrived overcast and warm—a sure sign that the rain they’d been predicting would arrive the next day.

  Her mamm had invited Bishop Saul and the elderly neighbors whose farm sat just to their north—Irma and Joshua Bontrager. The Bontragers had grown children over in Goshen. They were always talking about selling their farm and moving to a Daddi Haus on their oldest son’s place, but so far, no For Sale sign had appeared on their property.

  The group was rounded out with Becca’s older schweschder, Abigail, Abigail’s husband, Aaron, and their two boys—William and Thomas.

  “You’re bigger this time.” Becca placed a hand against her schweschder’s stomach. “Tell him to move so I can feel it.”

  “Doesn’t work that way. Babies tend to move in the middle of the night.”

  “Stubborn—like both of your other boys.”

  “Stop saying that. It could be a girl this time.”

  “Uh-huh.” Becca turned back to the kitchen counter and resumed placing thick slices of ham on the platter.

  “Find out anything more about your new neighbor?”

  “Nein.”

  “But you have a theory.”

  “I have several, but I can’t prove any of them.”

  Abigail sat down at the table. She was putting peanut butter spread on the bread and slicing it into triangles for the kinder.

  “He could be undercover Amish.” Becca felt foolish suggesting such a thing, but hadn’t she read in the newspaper about an undercover drug agent posing as an Amish man? Or maybe she’d read it in a novel from the library. Regardle
ss, she was glad to discuss the mystery of Daniel Glick with someone.

  “Undercover? What does that mean?”

  “You know...someone who is Englisch, a city slicker, who is merely pretending to be Amish.”

  “Why would someone do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s trying to ferret out a drug dealer.”

  “We don’t have any drug dealers—at least none that I’m aware of. Though we did have that one boy selling his ADHD medicine at the local high school. I read about it in the paper last week. I don’t know what the world is coming to.”

  “But back to Daniel...”

  “I don’t think your new neighbor is a police officer—undercover or not. For one thing, if he was, he wouldn’t catch any criminals on his farm. You said yourself that he rarely leaves it, so...” Abigail let her sentence fade as she rearranged the sandwich quarters on the tray.

  “I suppose you’re right, but that doesn’t mean he’s simply a farmer.” Becca snapped her fingers. “He could be in the witness protection program.”

  “Witness to what? And why would he need protection?”

  “I don’t know.” Her friend Liza had a cell phone, one with access to the internet. They sometimes watched videos together—short silly things, but some of them had been about witnesses for high-profile trials being placed in federal custody in absurd places. “You have to admit that old farm would certainly be a gut place to hide someone.”

  Abigail proceeded to add slices of apple to the tray. “You said he was replacing his barn’s roof...”

  “Could be part of his cover story.”

  “And you mentioned that he was gut with the horse.”

  “Lots of people are gut with horses—cowboys from Texas or Colorado or Montana.”

  “You read too many novels.” Abigail sat back and rested her hand on her protruding stomach. “Also, he knew how to catch your rooster. I doubt a city slicker would know how to do something like that.”