“Naomi?” The call was plaintive and she pulled away to answer her fater.
“Jah, Daed?”
Gray was pleased that there was a slight quiver in her voice and was glad to know that she was at least shaken a bit, while he had to hold on to the doorframe to keep from touching her.
“I need socks!”
“Excuse me, sei se gut, Gray. I—I’ll be right back.”
He smiled and nodded, about all he was capable of doing in the state he was in. He knew that the evening held special promise.
* * *
Abner King’s haus was a sprawling place now that Joseph had added on to the original cabin to accommodate his growing family, and by the time Naomi and Gray had arrived, the haus was packed with members of the King family and their kinner. Naomi let Gray take her cloak and waited shyly until he hung up his coat. Then she turned in surprise to see that Gray wore a matching forest green shirt and she couldn’t contain her blush. In their Amisch community, usually only spouses or courting couples wore matching colors to social events so she had no idea what people would think.
“Let them think what they like,” Gray whispered to her cheerfully. “They might not be far off in their pondering.”
Naomi was still trying to figure out what his enigmatic words might mean when Priscilla came forward to greet them. “Matching colors? I’m not saying anything but here’s some punch for both of you. Your Aenti Beth and Ned and Ted are enjoying entertaining everyone with my fater-in-law and your daed.”
She glanced over to where the three older folks had holed up by the woodstove, telling stories to any and all who would listen and share their laughter. Children raced in between the longer legs of their elders and the skirts of the ladies, and Naomi had to laugh when Priscilla grabbed one little scallywag up, squirming, into her arms. He was one of Sarah and Edward King’s little buwes and his antics as he tried to escape his aenti’s hold were comical.
From there, Naomi and Gray were absorbed into the family circle to enjoy a buffet of baked ham, mashed potatoes, sweet corn, sweet potatoes, and more gingerbread cookies in multiple shapes than could be counted.
The evening went by too fast and Naomi could barely stop laughing and talking on the ride home when she noticed that Gray had grown quiet. “Is—is everything all right, Gray?”
“Hmm? Sure. It was a great time. The Kings are a wonderful family.”
Naomi felt that there was something wrong and immediately had to resist going down the familiar sled path of believing it had something to do with her or her being inadequate somehow. He must have realized how she felt because he turned to her then and smiled as he managed the sleigh. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. I was just thinking of what it would be like to have such a large family—kinner all over and a wife to cherish.”
Naomi spoke wistfully. “I know—I expect it would be such fun, especially at holidays and in the summer. Daed can get pretty boring sometimes as company. . . . Did—did you just call me sweetheart?” She savored the word, turning it over and back in her mind. “You say it so easily,” she went on when he didn’t immediately reply. “You say it to a lot of girls, don’t you?”
He sighed aloud and she could feel the tension radiating from his big frame. “I am what I’ve been, Naomi. A rake, a scoundrel—all the bad things you could think to hurl at my head—I’ve probably been and done those deeds. But you make me feel—different.”
“Is that good?”
“Oh, you have no idea how gut, Naomi Gish. I—think I could be brand-new with you—with how Derr Herr works through you . . . but again, I’m not exactly the kind of man a woman would—”
He broke off when Thorn floundered into a drift. “I’ll have to lead him out . . . I’ve got some straw in the back to make the way less slippery. I’ll be right back.”
But it took a good half hour to get the horse out and by then she knew their conversation had been lost to the icy nacht air . . .
Chapter 10
Gray wasn’t happy with himself as he waited at the usual bridge spot at midnight after the party. He felt like a cheat and knew that sometime soon he’d have to tell Naomi about the moonshine and even about girls like Iris Troyer, who thankfully, wasn’t a close friend of the King family and had not been at the party. He had no doubt that Iris would take great pleasure in wounding Naomi by telling her about their barn meetings and he wanted to avoid that if he could. He slowly realized that loving someone meant wanting more for them than you could ever imagine—the agape love that Gott spoke of in the Bible—selfless and patient.
Thorn grew restless and Gray gauged that it was time and slid off the horse to take up the satchels and move forward toward the bridge. He’d grown accustomed to the shadows in the area and reached to place the moonshine carefully in its regular spot, prepared to take the money, which was usually delivered in its own oil cloth wrapping.
He felt around in the dark but couldn’t locate any parcel. He sighed in frustration and decided to take the risk of lighting a candle. His heart had begun to pound and he half expected to see a state trooper waiting for him in the dark, but instead there was a fairly large gray wooden box.
He wondered who would take the time to nail their payment shut in a box and moved to try to open it.
“I’ll need a crow bar,” he muttered aloud, extinguishing the candle.
The box was also heavy and he decided to leave the liquor and get a rope around the crate. He used Thorn to drag the box a safe distance from the drop area, and then he managed to pry it open with his knife. He lit a second candle and stared into the box.
He could find no rational explanation for what he saw and knew he’d have some strange explaining to do with Bud. . . .
* * *
Naomi paced the confines of her bedroom, idly brushing out her hair, then stopping every few steps to consider the very real fact that Gray seemed to like to kiss her. It felt miraculous, but then, so did the feelings she had when she looked at him. It wasn’t only his good looks; nee, there was something else that played upon her heart and mind and made her think of kinner and laughter and a willingness to share hurt and sorrow with him as well—throughout all of life . . . All of life . . . A life of love . . . The thoughts held wonder, and her bare toes found a crack in the hardwood floor and she jumped—simply for the fun of it. She landed softly and was about to continue her play when a thud from the vicinity of the candle shop seemed to echo back to her.
She immediately put her brush on the dresser and crept from her room. She could hear her fater snoring on the couch and moved toward the long burgundy curtain. She never locked the door to the shop—she couldn’t really because it closed with a simple latch. Now, from the sound of it, someone was definitely fooling with the door. She gathered her courage and muttered a prayer under her breath, then thrust the curtain aside.
“Gray,” she exclaimed as she recognized his tall shape in the gloom.
“Sorry, Naomi. I hoped to leave before waking you.”
She lit a candle and moved to his side. “What are you doing out here at this hour?”
Then she noticed the open crate on the floor and got down on her knees to peer into the box. “Bayberries! Pounds of them,” she cried. “Wherever did you get them?”
She looked up at him and they both seemed to realize at the same time that she was wearing only a flannel nacht gown, and her hair was spread about her like a brown curtain, spilling over his boots. He caught her beneath the elbow and pulled her to her feet next to him, and she shivered with excitement and the cold that radiated off his heavy black coat....
* * *
He took the candle from her and placed it in a holder on the counter. Then he pulled her up close against him. “You’re cold,” he murmured as he bent to smell the fresh rose scent of her hair.
“And you sent for bayberries for that man’s order—Gabe.”
Gray shook his head and nuzzled her neck. “Nee, the bayberries were simply—provided. I can’t
explain it any other way.” Dear Gott, how I want to hold her like this forever; feel her wax and wane, her belly full of my child, knowing her peace . . . But she was cold and he decided he’d lost his wits out in the blowing snow.
He began to put her from him when she made a soft feminine sound of protest that he couldn’t resist. He bent his back and pulled her against him once more with his left arm, wanting her closeness even through the thick layers of wool that separated them. He found her mouth, and, for the first time, he traced the line of her closed lips with his tongue tip and she moaned softly in response. He wanted to take, taste, drink of her but, in her innocence she didn’t know what to do and this chided him more than any rebuke.
He let her go then and had to steady her as she bobbled on uncertain legs.
“Why did you stop?” she asked in a small voice. “Was I—did I do it wrong?”
“Nee,” he said hoarsely. “It was perfect, but I can’t take advantage of you in your nacht dress and with your hair down as only your husband should see one day.”
He didn’t understand the way she lowered her head, as if in defeat, and then she was gone—scampering through the burgundy curtain, leaving him alone in the shadows . . .
* * *
Naomi had prayed during the nighttime and had determined to put aside the feelings she had for Gray even as she set about the preparations for creating the bayberry candle together.
He came into work quietly, while she was boiling the blue-gray berries in a large pot. “Are you making the candle for Gabe?” he asked in a subdued tone.
“Nee,” she replied briskly. “We’re going to make it together. I’m boiling the berries and if you come here, you can see that the heather-colored berries give off a pale green wax that floats to the surface.” She ran her skimmer across the top of the steaming kettle and lifted the bits of wax to show him.
He nodded, then put his much larger hand over hers gently so that they held the skimming spoon as one. “Naomi, about last nacht . . . I wanted to—I shouldn’t have—”
“I understand completely,” she lied, trying not to notice how nice his hand felt on hers, but then he moved away a bit and she had to refocus on the wax. “We’ll let it cool down and harden once more and then we can start on the candle itself.” She busied herself arranging some tapers while they waited and noticed that he simply stood, watching her.
Then she went back to the wax and wicking material. “We can each dip one part of the main candle.”
“So, the final product will be like a twisting together?” he asked.
“Jah—I thought it might be pretty, and bayberry burns very slowly so it should last for years if Gabe and whomever he gives it to only use it during the Christmas season.”
She couldn’t ignore how the scent of the bayberry wax, something like pine and blackberries blended together, filled the air and lifted her spirits. “It smells like Christmas,” she finally had to say.
She didn’t want to see his slow smile or the dimple in his cheek, but she couldn’t look away either.
“So it does.”
He stepped closer to where the vat of wax and berries was cooling and ran his finger over the surface of the warm wax. Without missing a beat, he turned to her and dabbed it on her cheek.
He moved back as if to consider the mark and she flicked her fingers in the wax, both surprising herself and splattering his burgundy shirt with fast-drying droplets of wax.
“Tit for tat.” He grinned and she felt herself blush when he caught her close against him.
“Gray,” she protested weakly, knowing she had no true desire to resist him.
“Praise Gott that you know how to play, sweet Naomi, but I want to play a bit too.” He put his mouth to her cheek, where the wax was, and licked around the small perimeter until she couldn’t think of anything but him and the heavy intent of his body.
She reached her arms around his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to receive his burning kiss, then remembered the wax and closed her eyes—wanting to forget about work and duty and promises and simply be alive with him. But, in the end, they created a twelve-inch-high candle with a flat bottom and flat top so that it stood upright on its own; a sturdy, entwined, beautiful work of art with two wicks . . .
* * *
He was haunted for the rest of the day by the remembrance of their work together. As he trudged home through the snow, he realized that Naomi was a woman, not only of character, but of creative energy, wit, and play. And he wanted to court her. But he had no idea if he could risk the asking.
“How’s the candle shop?”
Gray had been thinking so hard that he nearly ran full tilt into Bishop Umble, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere in the snow.
“Uh—the shop is gut. Really gut.”
“And how are you, Gray?” the Bishop asked with a benign smile.
Gray sighed. He had no desire to make social conversation but he also knew that the auld man was not simply asking about his health and the weather. Nee, the gut Bishop wanted a deeper answer and wouldn’t settle for less.
“I’m screwed up—to put it bluntly.”
The bishop nodded. “Why is that?”
Here we geh . . . the part where I bare my soul, or worse yet, don’t, but Bishop Umble still manages to make me think things are okay or something . . . “I am probably a mess because of my arm, the fact that my parents abandoned me—I made out with too many girls; I was running moonshine, and I want to court Naomi Gish.”
“But the latter is doubtful because of all the former?”
“Right.”
Bishop Umble smiled. “Well then, I have a radical solution.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell Naomi the truth.”
Gray stared at him, aghast. “I’d lose her or any chance with her.”
“Mmmm—maybe. But evil has no power against the truth. Remember that. Telling the truth is incredibly freeing but also liberating and the two are not always the same thing.”
“Uh huh . . .”
“Liberty is won,” the bishop mused. “But true freedom can only be found in the truth of Gott.” Gray considered this weighty thought and finally nodded with reluctance. “I’ll ask her fater if he’ll let me court her. He might say nee anyway.”
Bishop Umble clapped him on the shoulder. “The truth, sohn. Remember.”
“Right. The truth . . .”
Chapter 11
Naomi decided to set out early the next morning to cut some greenery for the shop windows. There was a fine nip in the air and snow blew lightly about her cheeks and nose, making her feel young and carefree. She drew her heavy pair of work shears from the sheath and bent to cut at the lower branches of a tall fir.
“Well, well . . .” a feminine voice purred nearby. “Who have we here?”
Naomi straightened abruptly, having thought herself alone in the woods so early in the day. She looked at Iris Troyer and blinked.
“Where’s Gray?” Iris asked with a smirk. “I would have thought he’d be with you just about every place you geh.”
“Why would you think that?”
The other girl’s eyes flashed, full of malice. “Word gets around. I heard you two wore matching colors to Abner King’s get-together.”
Naomi could not contain the flush that came to her cheeks but she kept her voice level. “So? I think I’d better get on and find some more greenery—if you’ll excuse me.” She turned to go but Iris’s words halted her steps.
“Has he kissed you?”
Naomi wet her lips and turned slowly back around. “It’s really none of your business—”
“Ach, but I think it is, Homely Naomi.”
The taunt straightened Naomi’s spine and she clutched the shears she held tighter. “What do you want, Iris?”
The other girl shrugged. “Not much . . . Did he use his tongue like he normally does? All hot and sweet? It’s really amazing how he can kiss—”
“That’s enough, Iris
.” Naomi heard the quiver in her own words and wanted to run.
“I suppose it is . . . Ach, but he told me all about you and we laughed together. Kissing the homely candle shop owner—just to make her holiday season perfect. It really is funny, don’t you think?”
Naomi whirled and gave in to the urge to move. She dropped the piece of greenery she held and ran back through the snow with Iris’s laughter echoing in her ears.
* * *
“You want to court my girl?” Bud Gish was still half asleep and Gray chafed at having to repeat himself again.
“Jah, I want to court Naomi.”
The two men were standing in the kitchen of the Gish cabin. Gray had waited as long as he could that dawn before trekking over to see Bud. He wanted to talk with the older man while Naomi was still asleep. Gray had thought a lot about the Bishop’s words the day before and knew he wanted to share with Naomi a chance for real peace and happiness through truth.
Bud scratched his right ear. “So, you ain’t runnin’ ’shine no more, but the candle shop cover caught you my little maedel . . . I don’t know what to say—”
“Well I do.” Naomi’s voice cracked like ice and Gray spun round to see her standing in the open kitchen doorway.
“Naomi, sei se gut, let me explain . . .” Gray began in desperation.
“Nee,” she snapped, her chest heaving. She pointed at him. “You—get out!”
Gray saw that there would be no reasoning with her in that moment and slowly stepped across the kitchen.
Bud spoke up lamely. “It was I who talked him into it, Naomi.”
Gray saw her brown eyes flash, then darken. “Well, that makes it all the worse.” She stiffly stepped aside and Gray slid past her, wondering if he was losing her forever.
* * *
The days dragged by and Naomi struggled to do her work at the candle shop. She missed Gray dreadfully but each time she thought of his kisses and kindness, Iris Troyer’s mocking words came back to haunt her. And then there was the moonshining. . . At the very least, she’d managed to kumme to peace with her fater when he’d sought to break the silence between them one morning in the kitchen.
The Amish Christmas Candle Page 5
