The Amish Christmas Candle

by Long, Kelly; Beckstrand, Jennifer; Baker, Lisa Jones

  Levi set Leonard Nimoy on the window seat next to Farrah Fawcett, who seemed very offended at the invasion of her privacy. “For sure and certain I can.”

  “Okay, then. Fetch a block of beeswax from the shelf in the storage room. Your dawdi will have to help you.”

  “Why?”

  Bitsy made a point of not looking in Yost’s direction. “They’re heavy. He might as well make gute use of those muscles.”

  Levi and Yost went into the storage room, and Levi came out carrying a beautiful orange-yellow block of beeswax that Bitsy had rendered a few months ago. “I’m strong enough,” Levi said. “Dawdi didn’t even have to help.”

  Bitsy shrugged. What did she care if she got to see Yost’s muscles in action or not? “Okay, then. Don’t get too big for your britches.”

  Levi ran his finger along the smooth top of the wax. “It looks like an orange cake.”

  “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Beeswax orange is my favorite color. But don’t eat it or you’ll throw up.” She retrieved her sturdy grill turner from the drawer and handed it to Levi. “Use this spatula to break the sheet of wax into smaller pieces that will fit into the saucepan. Do you know what a double boiler is?”

  “Nae.”

  Yost leaned against the counter to watch as if he were supervising the entire operation. His presence was slightly annoying and, for some unexplainable reason, more than a little unnerving. She tried not to scowl at him. Why should Yost Weaver fer-hoodle her? She didn’t care one whit about him or his piercing blue eyes or the little bit of gray that mixed with the chestnut brown of his horseshoe beard.

  Levi cut the wax into smaller pieces while Bitsy readied the double boiler on the stove.

  Yost sneaked up behind her, like a cat on the prowl. Bitsy tensed when he got close. She didn’t like cats. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “A double boiler,” she snapped, as if his question irritated her. She pressed her lips together and tried to soften her tone. “You heat up the water in the bottom and put the bowl on top. The wax melts but doesn’t burn.” She forgot one of the burners was out and tried to turn it on. When it didn’t light, she groaned and switched to the back burner.

  She clenched her teeth when Yost leaned over her shoulder and she smelled leather and strong soap. “Is it broken?”

  “Jah. Josiah, one of my nephews-in-law, tried to fix it with duct tape and nearly burned the house down.”

  Yost chuckled and pointed to the duct-taped sofa. “Josiah fixed your couch, I see.”

  Bitsy grunted her displeasure. “And my porch. And my kitchen chair. He was desperately in love with Rose and I didn’t want to discourage him, so I let him fix anything he wanted to. I suppose it’s what I get for being so nice.”

  Yost put his finger on the burner cap and wiggled it back and forth. “I can fix your stove.”

  “Without duct tape?”

  He nodded. “I’m very handy. I plumbed my whole house myself, including pipes underneath the floor for heat.”

  “But is there any chance of my house exploding?”

  “Not a chance,” Yost said, blooming into a smile that would have persuaded her to agree to almost anything.

  She held her breath and tried to act her own, grumpy self. Yost need never know that his smile had some sort of power over her. “Okay. You can fix my stove, but after Levi and I make candles.”

  She showed Levi how to put the candle molds together with rubber bands and hang wicks over the molds. They melted the wax and used a turkey baster to transfer the wax to the molds. Levi dripped wax everywhere, but Bitsy could see he was trying to be careful so she didn’t scold him. She would make him clean it up when it cooled, and if she had to go back and clean it again when he left, she hadn’t expected anything different when she offered Levi a share of the candle business.

  When they finished pouring wax into the molds, she directed Levi to scrape the rest of the soft wax back onto the block of hard beeswax to use another day. They cleaned up the mess, with Yost insisting that he wash the dishes. He didn’t do it well, but at least he was willing to help. It was like pulling teeth to get her nephew-in-law Luke to help. Bitsy used to be a dental hygienist, but she’d never liked pulling teeth.

  “That was fun,” Levi said, drying his grimy hands on one of Bitsy’s good towels. She made a mental note to pull out the rags for next time.

  She resisted the urge to ruffle Levi’s sandy-brown hair. He seemed like the kind of boy who would want to be treated like a man. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest and made a show of surveying the full candle molds and the clean kitchen. “Your dat would be pleased with the fine job you did. Would you like to make a candle for your mamm next time?”

  Levi gave her a crooked grin. “Okay.”

  “Well, then. No more lollygagging. It’s time for you to muck out Queenie’s stall.”

  Levi groaned and dragged his feet across the floor but didn’t seem all that put out about it.

  Bitsy wouldn’t let him get away with even that little childishness. “I can’t abide a whiner, Levi Weaver. You’ll find the shovel and pitchfork hanging on the wall of the barn. Put down clean straw for my horse.”

  Levi closed his mouth, squared his shoulders, and put on his coat and hat. He marched out the door, seemingly determined to take his medicine like a man. Bitsy turned to see Yost gazing at her with a strange look in his eye. A thread of liquid chocolate made its way up Bitsy’s spine. She wanted to throw something at him. What did he think he was up to, getting under her skin like that?

  “Denki for caring about my grandson,” he said.

  Well.

  Yost Weaver had never approved of her. She hadn’t expected him to be grateful.

  “He’s lonely and only wants for a little bit of attention.” She cleared her throat and frowned persistently. “And a bath. Have you talked to him about hygiene? He needs it, especially coming up on puberty.”

  A shocked laugh burst from Yost’s mouth. “I’ve never heard anyone say ‘puberty’ out loud.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little awkward to talk about?”

  His expression pulled a smile out of her. “Nae. If we don’t talk about it, the children will grow up stinky. It’s got to be said.”

  He chuckled and gave her that melted chocolate smile again. “There’s nobody quite like you, Bitsy Kiem.”

  “Ach, vell. I’m sure the bishop is very grateful there’s only one of me.”

  Yost stared at her for a second too long then cleared his throat and lost his smile. “That is why I ask that when Levi comes to your house, you don’t wear earrings or tattoos or fingernail polish and that you do not pray out loud. I’m only thinking of my grandson.”

  “You’re afraid I’m a bad influence on him.”

  “I’m sorry. For sure and certain I don’t mean to offend you.”

  Bitsy folded her arms and eyed Yost like he’d just said something very dumm, which he had. “Yost, I would never do anything to hurt your grandson. Do you believe that?”

  He leaned back and propped his hands against the counter. “I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose, but children are like sponges. They see and soak up everything. He likes you. He shouldn’t look favorably on a woman with purple hair.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because coloring your hair is worldly and fancy.”

  “Martha Glick colors her hair. Treva Yutzy colors her hair. Even old Susie Borntreger dyes her hair, and her husband was bishop for thirty years.”

  Yost’s brows inched together. “She does not.”

  Bitsy had to laugh at the look of utter disbelief on Yost’s face. “Jah, she does.”

  His mouth fell open. “Susie Borntreger . . . are you sure?”

  “Seventy-five-year-old women do not have shiny, jet-black hair, especially when it was brown twenty years ago. And Suvilla Hoover lets her roots go too long. If it’s wrong to color your hair, then you’ll have to admonish
at least five other women in the gmayna.”

  Yost seemed to have been struck dumb. Unfortunately, only momentarily. “Black is better than purple.” His lips twitched as if he wasn’t sure he should smile and surrender the argument.

  Bitsy let out a long I’m-barely-putting-up-with-you sigh and marched to her bookshelf. “You said that coloring my hair was a fancy thing to do. You didn’t say only certain colors are acceptable.” She pulled her well-worn Bible from the shelf, went back to the kitchen, and shoved the book toward Yost. “Show me.”

  “Show you what?”

  “Show me in the Bible where it says I’m not allowed to color my hair.”

  He glanced at her doubtfully before opening the book and leafing through its pages, almost as if he believed he’d find it. He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from between Lamentations and Ezekiel. “Lose some money?”

  She grabbed the bill from him and slid it back between the pages. “I don’t believe in banks.”

  “So you keep your money in a Bible?”

  “No thief is going to steal a Bible.”

  He must have decided it was okay to smile. “Unless he knows that’s where you keep your money.”

  He was searching the New Testament so earnestly she almost felt sorry for him. She gazed upward. “Dear Lord, please let Yost find something. Men get so downhearted when they’re proven wrong.”

  He looked up long enough to roll his eyes at her while he searched through the writings of Paul. “Here’s something,” he said, as if he’d already lost the argument. “But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her.”

  Bitsy couldn’t help but tease him. “But if a woman have long purple hair, it’s even better.”

  He let the Bible fall shut. “Okay. I’ll let you win that one for now. But what about the earrings and the tattoos?”

  She tilted her head to one side, causing her earrings to tinkle annoyingly. “It would do Levi good to experience another culture.”

  She was doing her best to be contrary, but to her surprise, Yost laughed. “Bitsy, you are not another culture.”

  “Of course I am.” She took the Bible from him and returned it carefully to the shelf. That was her propane money for the next three years.

  Yost didn’t seem convinced, although he looked slightly less inflexible. She grabbed his wrist and led him to the table, where she set the example and sat down. With a bewildered look on his face, he slid into the chair next to her.

  “Yost,” she said, propping her chin in her hand, “what do you think of my girls?”

  “Paul Glick says Lily cheated him out of some honey. His dat is a minister, so it’s not a light thing to disregard what he says.”

  Bitsy thought her head might explode. Paul Glick used to be Lily’s boyfriend, and he was still—and forever—bitter that Lily had jilted him. Paul was like a popcorn kernel stuck between Bitsy’s teeth—small, troublesome, and annoying beyond endurance.

  Yost’s brows inched together. “Regardless of what Paul says, I haven’t seen anything but that they are faithful, godly women who do much good. Lily and Dan work at his fater’s dairy, and Lily helps at every quilting bee and canning frolic in the neighborhood. Poppy has a heart for the downtrodden, and she seems to take very gute care of your parents. And no one who knows Rose would give her anything but the highest praise. She does many good works and never says a bad word about anybody. Josiah just drew the lot for minister in the district, so Gotte must certainly approve.”

  Bitsy nodded. “Do you think those girls raised themselves?”

  “Nae. I suppose not.”

  “Or maybe you think they turned out well in spite of me.”

  He sighed. “I’m willing to give credit where credit is due.”

  “They grew up exposed to my butterfly tattoos and my colorful hair and an occasional Van Halen song, and are still gute Amish girls. Very gute Amish girls.”

  “But what about the praying aloud, Bitsy? It’s prideful, plain and simple.”

  She grunted. “I don’t pray to be seen of men, Yost. I started talking to Gotte when everyone else failed me, and I haven’t stayed quiet since. Gotte has never abandoned me. He is the only one I can depend on. You can’t shut me up.”

  He stared at his hands, and a smile played at his lips. “That’s for sure and certain.”

  He jumped when she snatched his hand and squeezed it. “You try it.”

  “Try what?”

  “Praying out loud. It will do you gute.”

  He let out a shocked exclamation and shook his head hard enough to fan up a breeze. “Nae, Bitsy Kiem. I just as soon paint my fingernails.”

  “That can be arranged,” she said. His eyes got wider. That man had no sense of humor. She closed her eyes and squeezed his hand tighter. “Dear Heavenly Fater.” She opened one eye and nodded her encouragement. “Say it.”

  Yost pressed his lips together so tightly they turned white.

  She’d just have to show him how it was done. “Dear Heavenly Father, please bless my grandson Levi to know he is loved by all of us.” She opened her eyes to slits. Yost’s lips were still clamped shut, but his head was bowed. “Bless Levi’s mamm and dat with their quiver full of children that they won’t misplace any of them or forget their names. And help me—and by me I mean Yost—to be more open-minded and less arrogant, although as a man, I can’t very well help it.”

  “Oh, sis yuscht,” she heard him mutter.

  Bitsy stifled a giggle. “Please help me to be humble enough to see that Bitsy Kiem is always right, and denki for sending her like an angel from heaven into Levi’s life. Amen.” She opened her eyes and looked up.

  He gave her the stink eye.

  She let go of his hand and patted his arm. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Bitsy Kiem is always right?”

  “You asked me to help you. If you don’t like what I said, do it yourself next time.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “You needed it.” The look on his face made the laughter bubble up inside her. She couldn’t help herself. Amish men weren’t used to being teased or countermanded. It was a sign of Yost’s good nature and even temper that he laughed with her.

  Bitsy remembered herself and jumped to her feet. She had better things to do than sit and stare at Yost Weaver all day.

  What a complete waste of time.

  “Now that’s settled, you can make yourself useful and look at my stove.”

  “Nothing is settled, Bitsy. What about Levi?”

  “It will do him gute to make candles and muck out my barn, and you know it. Besides, he needs to understand that actions have consequences. I know you still want him to learn at least that one lesson. There’s no use arguing about it. I’ve made up my mind, and that’s all there is to say about it.”

  Yost leaned back in his chair and mulled that over for a few seconds. “The man is always supposed to have the last word.” He smiled when he said it, so she didn’t take offense, even though she wanted to.

  Bitsy pinned him with the stern look that she might have bestowed on Luke, her most aggravating nephew-in-law. “You have some ridiculous notions in that head of yours, Yost Weaver.”

  The man had a lot to learn. Maybe Levi wasn’t the only one who desperately needed what Bitsy Kiem had to teach.

  It was exhausting being so indispensable.

  Chapter 3

  Yost zig-zagged through the crowds looking for the table Bitsy said would be halfway down the second row, right next to the fudge display, and his heart did a somersault at the mere thought of Bitsy’s name.

  What was that about? He was well past being a teenager.

  They’d spent five days last week and four days this week getting ready for the community crafts bazaar. The bazaar gave local Englisch and Amish craftspeople a place to sell their wares to eager Christmas shoppers. Of course, the Amish didn’t think Christmas should be commercialized, so it wasn’t even
called a Christmas bazaar. But most shoppers got the idea.

  Levi and Bitsy, with a little help from Yost, had spent their time together pouring beeswax candles, trimming the wicks, and tying them up with cellophane and red ribbon. Yost had helped tie ribbons in between fixing Bitsy’s stove, her leaky faucet, her lopsided table, and the broken slat on her kitchen chair that her nephew-in-law Josiah had tried to mend with duct tape.

  They’d also spent a lot of time laughing because Bitsy liked to be stubborn and Yost liked to contradict her. She really was very pretty when she scowled at him.

  He thought he heard strains of “Silent Night” playing over the loud speaker, but it was too noisy to make out much of anything. Gaudy Christmas lights hung over almost every booth, even the Amish ones, as Amish and Englisch alike tried to attract the attention of buyers looking for Christmas gifts or decorations. The crowds were big, especially for Bienenstock, Wisconsin. Yost prayed that someone, anyone, would buy Levi’s candles.

  He caught sight of Bitsy’s green-tinted hair under her white kapp and curled one side of his mouth. Bitsy had colored her hair green because it was a Christmas color, and she said it would attract more buyers to their candle table. He flinched when he saw what looked like a plump red bug crawling up Bitsy’s neck. It turned out to be a tattoo of something Christmas-y, like a ribbon or a flower. Yost couldn’t be sure, and for sure and certain he wasn’t going to stare at Bitsy’s neck long enough to find out. He could only hope it was the temporary kind.

  Bitsy and Levi stood behind a folding table covered with a red tablecloth and stacked with beeswax candles, smiling at anyone who would make eye contact with them.

  Well. Levi was grinning from ear to ear. Bitsy was trying for a pleasant look on her face. Cheerfulness didn’t come easy to her, and she wasn’t one to pretend. Yost watched as an Englisch man approached the table and asked Levi a question. Levi’s smile got wider, if that were possible, and he picked up one of his candles to show the man. The Englischer pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed some money to Levi. Levi in turn gave the man a beehive shaped candle and a toothy grin.

  Yost melted like a July snowman. Any amount of hardship with Bitsy Kiem was worth that look on Levi’s face. Yost eyed Bitsy. Behind her persistent frown, her eyes were alight with something akin to pride—the gute kind of pride—no greater than if Levi had been her own grandson.