The Amish Christmas Candle

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

  “I remember,” Yost said, trying not to squirm. He knew what she was going to say.

  She rolled her eyes in his direction. “Do you vaguely remember that you were supposed to come with me?”

  She tried to act like she didn’t really care, but the pain buried deep behind her eyes took his breath away. He’d hurt her, and he’d known it for thirty-five years. He’d simply talked himself out of feeling guilty.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Bitsy. We were both in rumschpringe, but I knew if I ran away to Green Bay, I’d break my mamm’s heart. When the time came, I couldn’t do it. It must have been terrifying for you, getting on that bus and going to Green Bay all by yourself.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t know anything, Yost Weaver. I’ve done a lot harder things than riding the bus by myself. I sneaked out of the house that night, but you never showed up at the crossroads like we’d agreed.”

  He studied his boots. “I figured you’d go without me.”

  She grunted her displeasure. “I waited an hour in the rain and missed the first bus. I walked to the station—in the rain, mind you—and caught the next bus in the morning. I didn’t need you, but I trusted you. You could have at least come and told me face-to-face that you weren’t going to get on that bus. I would have understood, but for you to leave me high and dry—or wet—was pretty cowardly.”

  “I suppose it was.”

  She gave him the look she usually reserved for Levi when he acted too big for his britches. “The two most important men in my life had let me down by the time I’d turned eighteen. How long do you think it took me before I could trust a man again? Except for Gotte, of course.” She laid the earring in her lap, stretched her legs out in front of her, and leaned back on her hands. “Come to think of it, I don’t know that I do.”

  Yost widened his eyes. “You don’t trust any man?”

  She cracked a reluctant smile. “Okay. I’ll admit that’s a lot to lay at your door. It’s not all your fault, or even mostly your fault, but for goodness’ sake, Yost, if you had shown up that night, I wouldn’t have had to carry around this nasty grudge that has festered for thirty-five years.”

  “It’s not right to hold a grudge,” he said, at a loss for any words of comfort.

  She sent a frown in his direction. “If you haven’t noticed, I have a little problem with forgiveness.”

  He swallowed hard. “Did I break your heart?”

  She laughed so forcefully, she snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re too cautious for my taste. I didn’t love you, but I trusted you.”

  She couldn’t have known how those words stung. It was true. They hadn’t loved each other then, but for sure and certain he loved her now. Yost wanted to sink into the floor. It had only taken him three or four months to talk himself out of feeling guilty for leaving Bitsy waiting for him. He’d justified his actions by telling himself that Bitsy was the wicked one and that he’d been wise to just leave her by the side of the road so she wouldn’t have a chance to drag him to hell with her. After he’d talked himself out of any responsibility for his own actions on that night, he had barely given Bitsy a second thought for thirty-five years.

  Now she was all he could think about.

  Suddenly, that thirty-five-year-old decision became the worst one of his life.

  “Bitsy, I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry. I was young, and as the time got closer, I knew I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t leave my family. I didn’t want to leave the church. Green Bay was too far away and too big. I was afraid I’d get robbed or beat up or murdered.”

  Bitsy cocked an eyebrow. “Murdered?”

  “I heard horror stories about the big city. I didn’t show up at our meeting place because I was afraid you’d either cry or yell at me.”

  She pursed her lips to stifle a smile. “I would have yelled at you.”

  He pinned her with a serious gaze that compelled her to pay attention. “I’m sorry, Bitsy. I should have been a better friend. I tried to justify myself, but I was wrong. Please forgive me.”

  To his delight, Bitsy turned her smile loose. It lit up the old hunter’s cabin like springtime. “I’ve waited thirty-five years to hear you say that.”

  “I should have apologized a long time ago.”

  “Not the apology. I’ve waited thirty-five years for you to admit you were wrong.”

  He chuckled as relief swept over him. “Was it worth waiting for ?”

  “I suppose. I would have liked an apology that day, but then I wouldn’t have been mad enough to spend my food money on these earrings, so it was probably a blessing that you waited so long.” She picked up the earring from her lap and handed it to him. “Since I bought this with you in mind, I think you should keep it, just to remind yourself about what you said.”

  “That I was wrong?”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep, satisfied breath. “Jah. That you were wrong. I’ll never tire of hearing that.”

  Yost smiled and closed his fingers around the earring, pushing aside his doubts that a godly Amish man shouldn’t own an earring. He could take it home and stuff it in the back of his underwear drawer.

  He drew his brows together. His underwear and Bitsy’s earring should never come in contact with each other. It didn’t seem proper. He’d put it in the cookie jar.

  Yost would have liked to sit in the rickety hunter’s cabin until it blew over, gazing at one-earringed Bitsy and listening to the low, inviting silkiness of her voice, but Levi needed to get home for dinner and Yost needed to get home and make a plan.

  They put out the fire and roughly swept the cake crumbs from the floor. The mice would eat the rest. There would always be mice, no matter how many Billy Idol killed. Yost took up the basket with Farrah Fawcett, and Bitsy carried the cake container. They went outside and watched as Levi and the three cats climbed down from their tree. The cats seemed to be happy to return to the warmth of the basket, and now that he knew his parents loved him, Levi seemed eager to get home to see them.

  Yost’s heart started hopping the minute he climbed into the sleigh. Would Bitsy notice if he took Levi home first? Probably. Did it matter? He hoped not. His heart could have been one of those bouncy balls, ricocheting around his chest, pounding on his ribs. He thought he might be sick, but now that the idea was in his head, there was no way of prying it loose. Bitsy wasn’t mad at him. She probably liked him, and he was in love enough to make a fool of himself. But, what would the bishop say? Yost didn’t have the time or the desire to stop to ask him. It would be worth the risk, even if he had to repent later.

  He drove the sleigh to Levi’s house first. Levi and Bitsy made a plan for more candle making the next day so Levi’s mamm could have her own candle. Once they said goodbye to Levi, Yost scooted as close to Bitsy as he dared without making her suspicious. He snapped the reins and got Rocky moving.

  When they arrived at Bitsy’s house, he carried the basket of cats inside and set it on the floor next to the window seat. Then he stood up straight, shuffling his feet and looking at the floor trying to think of something to do with his empty hands. He would have liked to waste no time taking Bitsy in his arms and kissing her, but he’d never kissed a girl who hadn’t been expecting it. How did a person go about doing it when it was a total surprise?

  Bitsy set the cake container on the butcher-block island, regarded Yost with a critical eye, and folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, then. I’d say you’ve overstayed your welcome. Denki for the sleigh ride. We will see you tomorrow.”

  He felt like a fourth grader, chasing girls around the playground hoping to catch and kiss one. His pulse vibrated against his ears as a wave of nausea ebbed and flowed in his stomach. Love could be very unpleasant. His feet felt like a pair of anvils as he took four steps toward her. “I . . . well, Bitsy.”

  She narrowed her eyes and pressed her full pink lips together. She suspected something. He glanced behind him. Her shotgun stood by the door, ready t
o put a hole in his head if he did this wrong—well, two hundred holes in his head. Buckshot was nothing to be casual about. Oh, sis yuscht! Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He’d taken kissing for granted for too many years, and now it was as if he’d never kissed anyone in his life.

  Couldn’t he just come right out and ask her?

  Nae. Nae.

  Nae!

  That would be a disaster.

  She’d already invited him to leave. Maybe he could stall for time until he figured out what to do. “Could I use your bathroom?” he said.

  If anything, her posture stiffened. “Okay.”

  Nae. The bathroom was a terrible excuse. He needed to quit hemming and hawing and act. Now. Certain she could hear his heart drumming against his ribs, he sidled closer and slid his arms around her waist. If he went slowly enough, maybe she’d have time to get used to the idea before he actually did it. That seemed a reasonable plan.

  She leaned back and away from him and lifted her brows as if she was exasperated beyond endurance. Was that a gute thing? Maybe she was annoyed he hadn’t kissed her sooner. Maybe she wanted him to ask. Maybe she was worried about what the bishop would say. That didn’t seem likely, but he could never be sure with Bitsy.

  It didn’t matter. He wanted to kiss her so bad, his lips were likely to slide off his face. The time was now.

  He leaned in and puckered, half closing his eyes in a signal for her to get ready. When his lips were inches from their goal, she wedged her hand between his lips and hers.

  “Don’t kiss me,” she said, as if he’d insulted her intelligence—as if he’d spilled beeswax on the rug.

  Oy, anyhow. He let go of her and took one step back, clamping his lips shut as if the thought of kissing her hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Why . . . why not?”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  And that was it. His hopes deflated like a leaky bladder, and his heart thudded to the bottom of his chest. There was no one as blunt as Bitsy, and he’d never been put in his place quite so thoroughly before. “Ach. Okay. I’m sorry.”

  Bitsy expelled a long breath and looked up at the ceiling. “Dear Lord, I know Yost has been out of commission for a long time, but couldn’t you have given him a tiny bit of romantic imagination?” She propped her hands on her hips and regarded him with a critical eye. “First of all, you don’t talk about the bathroom right before you plan on kissing someone. That completely destroys the mood.”

  “Oh. Okay,” he said, squeezing the words out of his throat.

  “Second, you need to invite me out on the porch to look at the moon and tell me I’m beautiful, or at least pretend you think I’m beautiful. A woman likes to think a man is attracted to her for more than the money she’s got stuffed in her Bible.”

  Yost frowned. “It’s not even dark yet. How can I—”

  “And don’t apologize for trying to kiss someone. It makes you seem wishy-washy.”

  “I’m not wishy-washy.”

  “Then why don’t you just kiss me instead of trying to do a tap dance? Do you like me?”

  Yost was beginning to wonder if he did. He took off his hat and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “For goodness’ sake, Bitsy Kiem, I do like you, though heaven alone knows why.”

  “Then kiss me like you mean it. Or at least try.”

  Of course he meant it!

  His heart seemed to come back from the dead, leaping and galloping like a young stallion in the pasture. He seized Bitsy’s hand and pulled her outside to the porch. “There’s no moon,” he said, making the irritation evident in his voice, “and there isn’t enough money in four Bibles that could tempt me if I found you unpleasant. You are more than pretty, Bitsy Kiem. You are beautiful and godly and too stubborn for my own sanity, but I’m dying to kiss you because, as strange as it seems, I think I love you.”

  For probably the first time in thirty-five years, he’d surprised her. She opened her mouth but no words came out—just a small puff of air—probably all that was left of her smug confidence.

  He seized his opportunity. Wrapping his arms firmly around her, he lowered his head and kissed her . . . teeth. Ach, du lieva. Was he ever going to get it right? He relaxed his hold on her.

  Bitsy shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “You’re a stickler for the rules, Yost. I didn’t think you’d really do it. You should probably try again.”

  That was plenty of encouragement. He drew her close again and brought his lips down on hers. A thousand fireworks exploded in his head as their lips touched. Despite her hard exterior, Bitsy was as soft and as warm as one of her cinnamon rolls right from the oven. And just as sweet. His whole body pulsed with warmth as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Could he have guessed what ecstasy it was to have Bitsy Kiem, the woman who found fault with everything, to actually be inviting his kisses?

  He drew away, and she sighed, a dreamy, self-satisfied smile on her face. “Was that okay?”

  She lost her smile, huffed out a breath, and shook her head. “You never ask if a kiss was okay, Yost. You’ll know if it wasn’t because I’ll never let you kiss me again.”

  “But was it okay? I’d rather not guess.”

  She tapped her chin with her finger and looked up at the sky—too light to see the moon. “I’ve had worse.”

  How many men had she kissed? He didn’t think he wanted to know the answer. “So would you let me kiss you again sometime?”

  She got that mischievous look in her eye as a slow smile grew on her lips. “I said I’ve had worse. But I don’t think I’ve ever had any better.”

  Yost’s pulse resumed a breakneck pace as he chuckled and pulled her close again. “You enjoy making me squirm, don’t you?”

  “It’s my favorite pastime. I live to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. And you, Yost, are too comfortable in your notions of how things should be. The Englisch call it a comfort zone, and you’ve been living there entirely too long.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about, and he didn’t care. He just wanted another kiss. “I simply adore you, Bitsy Kiem.”

  “I think you could grow on me,” she said, still that mildly exasperated curve to her lips.

  He leaned in and kissed her again, this time making sure he didn’t get her teeth. Despite all the fuss she had made, the kiss was gentle and sweet, and he could have stayed locked to her lips for an hour, even though that seemed very impractical.

  The kiss wasn’t nearly long enough, but Bitsy sort of nudged away from him, leaving him breathless and more than a little ferhoodled. “Now you’ve really overstayed your welcome.” She tilted her head and looked to be resisting the urge to smile. “But you can come back tomorrow, if you like. During school.”

  He nearly swallowed his tongue. She wanted him to come back without Levi? Would they need a chaperone? He’d never discussed rules of dating for widowers with the bishop before, and he’d never been one to live dangerously. Oy anyhow, letting himself fall in love with Bitsy was dangerous enough.

  All he knew was that spending uninterrupted time with Bitsy would be more exciting than standing up in the sleigh and waving his arms around—with probably the same result. Behaving irresponsibly always had consequences. No doubt spending time alone would lead to no good, but all he could think about was the rush of happiness he felt when he kissed her and the joy he felt in just being with her.

  Everything would be all right. All Bitsy needed was a loving hand to help her become the godly Amish woman he knew she could become. He couldn’t very well guide her steps if he never spent any time with her. This was all part of the plan, though he’d only just realized it.

  “Don’t look so concerned,” Bitsy said. “The Amish used to do bed courtship. I can’t imagine the bishop would object to you coming over to fix my refrigerator.”

  “Is it broken?”

  “Nae, but I can make arrangements.” She pumped her eyebrows up and down and made him chuckle. Then she shoo
k her head and squinted in his direction. “If the bishop can’t trust two adults to behave themselves, I don’t know that he can trust anybody.”

  “But we did just kiss. Twice.”

  She gave him the look she sometimes gave Farrah Fawcett when she refused dry cat food. “Stuff and nonsense. A little kissing never hurt anybody. And I don’t know about you, but I feel twenty years younger than I did ten minutes ago.”

  “Ach, vell. That is true.”

  He stood staring at her for a few more seconds before she sighed, snapped one of his suspenders, and opened her front door. “Goodbye, Yost Weaver. We’ll see you at noon for supper. Bring your Bible if you want to have an argument. I can’t risk losing any money.”

  With a no-nonsense frown on her face, she stepped inside the house and promptly shut the door.

  Ach, he’d bring his Bible for sure and certain. Bitsy had no chance against his superior knowledge of the Scriptures. He would convince her of the error of her ways. Yost wanted a spring wedding, and he’d settle for no one but Bitsy Kiem as his wife.

  A reformed and improved Bitsy Kiem.

  They’d be engaged before New Year’s.

  Chapter 5

  Bitsy caught herself humming “Love Shack” by the B-52s and growled loudly. If there was one thing she couldn’t abide, it was unbounded cheerfulness, even in herself. Cheerful people were annoying, as a general rule, and she wanted no part of it, no matter how happy she was or how much Yost Weaver seemed to creep into her brain and stay there. She couldn’t shake him, no matter how many times she sang “Total Eclipse of the Heart” to herself. Maybe she should try “All By Myself.” Celine Dion always made her cry.

  It wouldn’t have mattered. She’d cleaned the litter box, scrubbed two toilets, wiped the grease out of the bottom of her oven, and she still felt like doing the moonwalk around her kitchen. Maybe she should paint her fingernails black, shave one side of her head, and slouch. Those girls with black lipstick, nose rings, and bad haircuts seemed so miserable.

  It had been almost two weeks since the first time Yost had kissed her, and he’d been to her house nearly every day since. How could she help but be insufferably sunny?