The Amish Christmas Candle

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

  His sister’s eyes reflected immediate recollection when she glanced back and forth between them. “The girl you gave a lift home the other day?”

  Lydia waved a friendly hand. “That’s me.”

  John made his way back to his task at hand. “Hannah, would you give Lydia one of our fresh cinnamon rolls and a drink while I finish up?” Before Hannah could say anything, he added, “Whatever she wants is on the house.”

  While he scooped hot rolls from a baking pan and placed them under the front counter, he took in the light conversation that went on between Hannah and Lydia.

  “How’s your ankle?”

  Lydia’s voice bubbled with happiness. “Much better; thanks for asking. I lost my footing while trying to balance my box of homemade candles when I was walking home from the Christmas Fair and . . .”

  She pointed to the floor with her finger. “There I was on the road. Boom!”

  Both girls laughed. John wasn’t sure why, but deduced it must be the way Lydia had said boom. Her voice dipped as if she’d taken a sudden dive.

  The dialogue between the girls kept moving while he made several trips back and forth to the kitchen. He tried to focus his efforts on the rolls as he transferred each individual pastry from the metal sheets on wheels to the plastic covered area visible to customers.

  “The Christmas spirit is certainly in the air!” Lydia shoved out a happy sigh. “I just love all of the greenery in the shops. And the scented candles.”

  She closed her eyes a moment and breathed in. “There’s something about the ambience that makes everyone happy.”

  The light bell above the door sounded as two women entered. While Hannah attended to them, Lydia stood. “I’ll get out of your way,” she said in an apologetic tone. “You’re busy. Thanks for the delicious treats!”

  Before she could leave, John stepped quickly to her table. “I’m ready for a break. Want to chat over another lemonade?”

  “But you’re busy . . .”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “I’m glad to sit down a minute.”

  Lydia began pouring out with excitement the project she’d started for her sister and the background behind it.

  “I admire you, Lydia.”

  Lydia parted her lips in surprise.

  “I really do. You love challenges. And you’re diving right into something you’ve never been interested in. That takes a special person to try something new.”

  “It will be the most precious gift I could ever give her.”

  “And what about the Christmas blessing you were trying to figure out?”

  Before she could say anything, he leaned forward and smiled with interest. “Did you decide on one?”

  * * *

  Lydia’s gaze met John’s. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  While he placed a coaster under his coffee, she imagined working in this shop all day, surrounded by the enticing smell of home-baked pastries. She wondered if she’d be able to resist the strong temptation to sample each dessert.

  From her peripheral vision, she took in the vast array underneath the plastic. There were baked yeast rolls. Croissants. Sugar cookies with pastel-colored icing. Whole loaves of bread. Rye. Wheat. White.

  In the background, she could hear a light sound of the oven vents. The soothing sound of Christmas music played over the speaker. And she glimpsed loaves of bread through the transparent part of the doors.

  “I’ve been giving your situation a lot of thought, trying to think of what role I can play in helping you.”

  She drew in an excited breath and met his gaze as she pushed it out. “And I’ve come up with the perfect idea. For both of us.”

  “What?”

  She leaned forward to emphasize her point. “Don’t you see? I’ve decided my Christmas goal. And you’ve given it to me.”

  His brows narrowed. She couldn’t believe he didn’t get what she was saying, so she stated her aim as they held each other’s gazes. “My goal is to help you with your cinnamon roll drive.”

  John’s eyes lit up. Lydia noted a halo that danced around the pupils.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  She leaned forward. “Say that it’s a great idea, and that you’ll let me be a part of it.”

  A long silence ensued while Lydia watched John sip from a paper cup that touted the words King’s Bakery. When he didn’t respond, she started a new subject. Perhaps he needed to get used to the idea of her playing a role in the drive. After all, for years, it had been a family project.

  She smiled a little, knowing that he’d let her help with the drive. Her instincts were usually right on. And they were telling her that she’d get to contribute in some way.

  “I wasn’t kidding the other day when I told you that your rolls couldn’t be matched. And by the way, thanks again for the ride.” She glanced at the rolls under the plastic covering. “And for the roll.”

  “You’re welcome. As far as giving you a lift, I’m glad to have helped.” He grinned with his lips sealed. “But don’t you think you have things turned around?”

  She raised a curious brow.

  “I’m really the one who should be thanking you.”

  Her mouth opened as she studied him with curiosity.

  “Your mother’s dinner was more than payback.”

  They shared a laugh.

  The tone of his voice suddenly bordered on serious. “Lydia, I want you to know that when I told you my concerns about this year’s drive, I wasn’t complaining. It’s important to me that you know that.”

  “Of course, I’m aware of that.”

  “And I think it’s sweet that you’d like to help.” He paused to lift his shoulders in a gentle shrug. “I can’t believe that helping with our family drive will be your blessing this year.”

  He paused and lowered the pitch of his voice. “What can I say?” Before she could respond, he replied to his own question in an emotional pitch that was barely more than a whisper.

  “I’m flattered.”

  Sitting up straight, she squared her shoulders in determination. Lifting her chin with a newfound excitement, she pushed herself up to her feet and locked gazes with his. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s start planning!”

  Chapter 3

  The following afternoon, Lydia sat opposite of John in the sitting area of King’s Bakery. Eager to plan the coming drive, she regarded him with enthusiasm as she pressed her palms on her hips and smiled with a combination of eagerness and confidence.

  Holding a pen between two fingers, she smiled a little. “Ready to get down to business?”

  John nodded. As she cleared her throat, Lydia winked at Hannah. She also offered a friendly wave to John’s brother, Peter, to whom she’d just recently been introduced.

  John’s lips curved in amusement. “Okay, Miss Schultz. Where to start?”

  Lydia crossed her legs at the ankles and leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking a lot.”

  The light in his eyes brightened a notch. “And what did you decide?”

  She smiled a little. Not at what he’d asked her. But at the silly roll of his eyes as he’d questioned her. “First of all, John, with this long list, you can’t expect to do it all alone. What are your thoughts . . . on asking for donations?”

  His brows drew together in a frown. In response, she uncrossed her legs. “I’m not talking about monetary donations. But don’t you think contributions of flour and powdered sugar would help? And butter’s so costly. Maybe the local stores and restaurants could pitch in?”

  After dropping his gaze to the table, he scooted his chair back and crossed his arms over his laps. Several heartbeats later, he narrowed his dark brows and strummed his fingers against the glass tabletop.

  As she took in his hands, she noticed a callus on his thumb. Of course, his hands wouldn’t be pretty. He not only worked in the bakery, but he’d mentioned in an earlier conversation that he handled most of the farm work for their family as well.

 
; When he stopped tapping, he straightened and looked at her. “I’ve never really considered donations.”

  She lifted a defensive hand. “Your bakery would still get the credit for the drive.”

  He grinned at the same time he shook his head. “I don’t care about that.”

  Lydia let out a deep sigh of realization.

  “Of course not. I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to imply . . .”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Forget it. Actually, the idea of others pitching in ingredients makes a lot of sense.” A few moments later, he smiled a little. “I like it.” He paused. “Have you considered how to go about doing this?”

  “I could pass around a sheet at church. We wouldn’t need much of an introduction. Everyone’s familiar with the drive. And our church . . .” She gave a casual lift of her shoulders. A breath of satisfaction followed. “I’m sure that they’d love nothing more than to be a part of this.”

  “And I could do the same with my church.” They regarded each other thoughtfully. As Lydia took in his expression, the strangest, yet most satisfying sensation filled her until she folded her hands over her chest.

  As they regarded each other, “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” floated tranquilly through the shop. But something had just happened that forced her to swallow with emotion. It was a sudden, unexpected realization. A silent admission of why she really wanted this drive to be a success. That very acknowledgment nearly took her breath away.

  The success of this year’s cinnamon roll drive was important for the people on the list. But deep down inside, Lydia realized that she wanted it to work for the kind, gentle man opposite her.

  She laid one hand on her lap and put the other hand on top. Her fingers shook. She almost laughed out loud. Because the feelings inside of her were to help someone she liked and respected. In fact, the Christmas blessing she wished for would benefit her as much as anyone.

  Because helping John King and the two siblings behind the counter brought her great joy.

  “I suppose doing some estimations wouldn’t be a bad idea. Do you have any idea how much of these ingredients we’ll need?”

  He got up to grab a small hand calculator. When he returned, he used the device, recording numbers on the lined paper in front of him. While she waited for him to add, Lydia focused on whatever she could think of to ease his burden. Her mother constantly served on church committees. Lydia tried to imagine what advice she might offer. Her mamma had coordinated huge family weddings . . . Lydia straightened as she snapped her fingers.

  John looked up from what he was doing.

  “I thought of something else.”

  “What?”

  She paused a moment. “Baking sheets. When Mamma does family weddings, she always has to borrow plates and dinnerware. And with this number of people needing the rolls, will we be able to bake all of them here in the shop? And are there enough baking sheets?”

  The flecks on his eyes brightened at her last question. “Have you ever thought of becoming a businesswoman?”

  She felt her cheeks warm. She looked down at her shoes to hide the color that she knew flooded her face. When she looked up, their gazes locked. Something about the way he regarded her caught her by surprise. For some reason, she couldn’t look away.

  She didn’t know John well. Yet, something between them compelled her to yearn to work with him on the drive. To root for his success. And deep down inside, she wasn’t sure that it was just for the needy.

  He cleared his throat, and she startled. “Lydia, are you all right?”

  “Oh!” She drew in a deep breath. “Sorry. I let my thoughts get away from me.”

  “We were talking about the number of cookie sheets.”

  “Of course.” Trying to disguise her embarrassment, she recalled her last question. “Are there enough?”

  “Let me do some more figuring.”

  As he focused on the numbers in front of him, Lydia turned to the tap on her shoulder.

  “Would you mind giving me a hand for a minute?”

  “Sure.” Lydia stood to follow Hannah to the large opened cardboard boxes.

  The freckled girl looked up at Lydia and smiled a little. “I’m so happy you’re here with us!”

  Lydia beamed. “It’s a blessing knowing you and your brother. I can’t wait to meet the rest of your family!”

  As they organized paper bags of flour on the shelves, Hannah turned to Lydia. “Lydia, what’s your favorite part about Christmas?”

  As the old, familiar tune of “Joy to the World” played over the speaker, Lydia pushed a loose tendril of hair that had escaped her kapp. As she thought of a response, she ran her hands over the front of her apron and clasped her hands together in front of her.

  Inside, her heart smiled. In many ways, her current environment was a sharp contrast to her home. She wasn’t accustomed to hearing music; the Amish certainly loved hymns. At home, they sang them in Pennsylvania Dutch a cappella.

  And she and Mamma often sang hymns while riding in the buggy. They spent a lot of time going from place to place, since many of their friends lived ten or so miles away.

  Of course, there were no radios. So singing helped to pass the time. Not to mention, some of Lydia’s favorite moments had taken place singing in the buggy with her sister and mamma.

  On other occasions, they sang them in English. In her own home, of course, there were no Christmas carols floating through the house via radio or television, but she rather enjoyed the music. The songs she knew by heart made the Christmas season come alive.

  The bright sun coming in through one of the windows lightened John’s dark brown hair a shade. The soft, beautiful hue reminded Lydia of leaves on their oak trees in the fall after they’d turned beautiful colors.

  In her long dress and apron, she breathed in the pleasant, woodsy aroma of fresh pine branches and pushed out a deep breath. She looked at the stacked white boxes of different sizes behind the countertop. She couldn’t actually see the tops, but knew that they said King’s Bakery in gold.

  Hannah wiped her hands together and smiled a little. “Thanks for your help, Lydia.”

  Lydia returned to her chair, and Hannah joined her and John. At the nearby table, Peter worked on a hand calculator. In front of her, Lydia tallied the list of flour and powdered sugar that she estimated members of her church would volunteer.

  When she glanced up from the papers in front of her, John had slipped on reading glasses. As he jotted something down, she took advantage of the time he had his attention to the paper to observe him. Of course, she was fully aware of what he looked like. But the glasses provided different insight into the man who had offered a friendly ride in his car.

  And she realized at that moment that there was much, much more to John King than met the eye. And she yearned to know every detail about the kind, generous Mennonite.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, Lydia glanced out of their living room’s front window as she observed the candles lining the window sills. Since yesterday’s visit at his bakery, her focus had been to help the Kings make their cinnamon roll drive a great success. In fact, she had given her Christmas goal so much thought, she couldn’t bear the thought of her parents not allowing her to be a part of it.

  And she knew, without a doubt, that she needed their approval. She hadn’t talked to them about it yet, but planned to give them the heads-up so they could think on it before John got to the house later today. They’d discussed asking permission.

  She looked out of the large window that provided a grand view of the front yard and the long stretch of drive leading to the blacktop road. She took in the familiar surroundings and smiled a little.

  A buggy headed north. She could clearly see the horse, but was unable to make out who was inside of the black carriage.

  Without warning, her sister popped into her mind and Lydia automatically lowered her gaze to the lone red candle in front of her.

  It was the decoration
she and Anna had made together last Christmas. Together, they’d decided to use it for this year’s special Christmas dream.

  That in itself made this particular candle extra special. Every December, before Anna had wed, they’d continued the homemade candle tradition. And each year, something unique and special would occur while they made them.

  While they’d done this particular one, they’d gotten news that their eldest cousin had finally gotten pregnant. Of course, even though her family consisted only of her parents and sister, Lydia had a large number of relatives.

  Her mother was one of eight sisters, and her father, the youngest of ten siblings. Between the Shultz and Troyer clans, it appeared that no one had had difficulty conceiving a child. Except for Leah.

  In her late thirties, she was, by their family’s standards, a bit old to give birth. But after years of trying for a family, her dream was finally coming true.

  With an affectionate hand, Lydia touched the cinnamon-scented red wax. As she breathed in its aroma, she closed her eyes and pushed out a deep, satisfied breath. Anna, I know you’d approve of my Christmas dream. I consider meeting John King a great blessing. Not only do I admire and respect him and his family for all they’ve done for our community over the years, but talking with him has helped me to decide this year’s Christmas goal. And without you, Anna, coming up with that blessing has been all too difficult.

  She stopped what she was doing and stepped into the kitchen where Mamma removed a pot roast from the oven. After careful consideration, Lydia decided to broach her mother with the subject.

  “Mamma, remember John?”

  Her mamma offered a quick nod and continued what she was doing. “Of course. What a nice young man. Their family is well thought of.”

  “Mamma, you know all about the cinnamon roll drive the King family does every year.”

  “Of course. We talked about it briefly when he had dinner with us.”

  After a brief pause, Lydia went on. “It’s a family thing. Everyone pitches in.”

  While her mother wiped the countertop around the oversized baking dish, she offered a nod of agreement.