Bright Christmas: an Amish love story (Redeeming Romance Series)

by Susan Rohrer

  Leanne groaned. It figured that Hope’s absentee roommate would have one of those clock radio alarms, the kind that were practically impossible to figure out how to mute. The pre-dawn D.J. needed to dial it back, too. For a New Yorker, the guy was maddeningly perky.

  No one had ever accused Leanne of being a morning person. All during her growing up years, coaxing herself to push aside the warm covers and crawl out of bed had always been something of a battle. Now that she was sleeping for two, it was that much worse. First, there was that ever so delightful impulse to hurl just as soon as the day dawned. Next came the random kidney kicking. Had to be a boy. No girl could punt like that.

  The bigger she’d gotten, the harder it was to get comfortable enough to sleep a wink at all. No matter which way she turned, something ached. There was no shutting her mind down either. It kept reminding her how little time she had left to sleep. Yeah, that helped. Then—wouldn’t you know it—just after she’d finally managed to nod off, there was Dobie D.J., squawking his cock-a-doodle-doos.

  Her parents were always up with the birds. That was a gene she sure hadn’t gotten. She missed them something awful. No point thinking about that. She stared at her phone, then back up at the ceiling. No way she could face them. Not with her belly the size of a hot air balloon.

  Shame pummeled her. She tossed it away, but it came flying right back, like a boomerang. It taunted her constantly with its na-na-nas, calling her every ugly name in the book. The only way to shut it up was to sleep. As if that ever happened. Truth be told, she’d hardly slept at all the night before on the Café Troubadour’s freezing cold pantry floor. She closed her eyes again. At least she could soak in the warmth of the quilt and the softness of the pillow. Even the futon wasn’t half bad.

  A knock sounded at the door. That had to be Hope.

  Moan.

  Hope knocked again, this time a little louder. “Are you up?”

  Leanne relished a last moment of comfort before throwing the covers back. “Not exactly, but I’m getting there.”

  Hope’s voice carried through the door. “There’s a terry robe of mine in the closet you can borrow.”

  “Thanks. Like it’ll fit over this spare tire I’ve got goin’.” As much as her lower back smarted, Leanne forced herself to sit up. She yawned groggily, and then rose to her swollen feet. The apartment smelled of fresh-brewed coffee, no doubt the caffeinated kind that she wasn’t supposed to drink. Nothing about having this kid was easy. Absolutely nothing.

  Leanne opened the door and shuffled into the kitchen. Hope was already up and dressed, hustling about, a whirlwind of energy, despite the early hour. It wasn’t easy to know how to behave in someone else’s home, but Hope seemed to make nothing of it. Maybe she shouldn’t either.

  Before Leanne even had time to mention her growling stomach, Hope flung open the refrigerator door and pulled out a pitcher of orange juice. “I know you’re eating for two, Leanne, so help yourself to whatever you want,” she offered. “Although that cream cheese in there is kind of dicey. Fine line between cheese and all out fungus, you know? I should toss that.” Hope reached in and grabbed the cream cheese. She left the door open for Leanne.

  Amidst the dairy, produce, and juices, Leanne spotted a gallon pickle jar, three quarters filled with coins. “That’s where you keep your tips?”

  Hope took a swallow of coffee. “Cold, hard cash. It’s not like I can go to the bank every day, so I just toss it in there till it’s full. I figure anybody who’s desperate enough to forage for food while they’re robbing me needs it way more than I do.”

  Leanne poured herself a glass of juice. It was hard not to envy Hope. For starters, Hope wasn’t pregnant. She was also kind of pretty. Hope had one of those annoyingly sunny personalities. She really could light up a room. With her talent, she probably filled that pickle jar to bursting with change every single week. “Wish I could sing like you,” Leanne muttered. “Then maybe Frank would let me wait tables, make some tips of my own. Can’t hardly keep up, with what he pays me to wash dishes.”

  “Speaking of which, aren’t you coming?”

  Leanne leaned against the counter wearily as Hope rinsed her coffee cup. “Maybe I should call in sick.”

  Concern crossed Hope’s face. “Are you?”

  Leanne returned a chagrinned grimace. “Sick of being preggers. And I got five, six weeks left to go. Guess I should motivate.”

  Hope grabbed her keys and headed toward the front door. “All righty. See you there.”

  Leanne took a sip of juice. “Buy me some time with Frank, will ya?”

  “I’ll try. Lock up, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Hope hurried out and shut the door. But for Hope’s illusive cat, Smokey, who hadn’t yet made an appearance, Leanne found herself alone. Again.

  Flying solo was definitely the worst part of being pregnant. Sure, the baby was moving around inside her, but that did little to cut through the loneliness that running away to New York City had caused. She had a bazillion virtual friends on her networking sites, but she’d known better than to give herself away by contacting any of her actual friends or relatives. She told herself that, soon enough, she’d be out of this mountain of a mess. She’d be able to take the bus home, as if it had never happened.

  Leanne opened up the refrigerator again and surveyed its contents. Cooking eggs seemed like too much work, but a bag of bagels caught her eye. They were the cinnamon-raisin kind, like her mom always used to buy.

  As she reached for the bag, Leanne took another gander at all the coins in Hope’s pickle jar. Judging from the high concentration of quarters, she figured there had to be hundreds of dollars in there. What I couldn’t do with all that money. Guilt grabbed her by the tonsils. Hope had been so nice to her, the last thing she should ever let even enter her mind was touching a red cent of that money. Still, in the secrecy of her thoughts, she had to admit that it was tempting.

  Charity bore down to unscrew the lid from a canning jar. It was rusty and would need to be replaced, but the glass jar could be used again. Putting up preserves was an everyday job this time of year, so it was always nice to have Bethany there to help. Beyond the fruit to be peeled and processed, there were always the jars to be sterilized, filled, and labeled for market.

  As Charity checked the seal on their cooling preserves, she also kept an eye outside her kitchen window. Aaron and Isaac were in the yard, dutifully chopping and stacking hewn wood, but it was her father’s and grandfather’s return in their buggy that made her so restless. She’d hardly been able to think of another thing since they’d left to take her question before the church leadership. Now, here they were, back again.

  They would likely have a decision.

  Bethany joined her at the window. “How does he look to you?”

  Charity strained to interpret the expression on Dat’s face, even while he was still at a distance outside. “Hard to tell.” There were times she was so thankful for her brothers, and this was one of them. “Good. They’re helping Dat with the buggy. He’s coming this way.”

  As her father headed toward the house, Charity turned to Bethany. “He has an answer. He must. Bethany, you know I dearly love your company, but will you please go for a little while? He’ll only tell me in private.”

  Bethany wiped her hands. “But then you have to promise you’ll tell me.”

  Charity brushed Bethany’s shoulder. “Every word.”

  Satisfied, Bethany snatched a stack of jar labels, stuck them into her pocket and headed for the door. She reached it just as Dat swung it open.

  Dat removed his hat and hung it on its peg by the entry. “Leaving so early in the day, Bethany?”

  Bethany snatched her bonnet and tied her cape loosely at her throat. “To get more labels. I should have thought to bring more.” In a moment, Bethany was gone. She closed the door behind herself, leaving Charity alone with her father.

  Everything in Charity wanted burst with the question. Wha
t had happened? She focused her attention on her work as Dat took off his coat and hung it. It would not serve her to rush him.

  Finally, he turned. He approached the kitchen counter where she was working. “I suppose you would like to know what was said.”

  She rubbed her hands dry on her apron. “I would.”

  Nathan pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down, Daughter.”

  Obediently, Charity took a seat across from her father. He remained silent for a while, a thoughtful expression in his eyes.

  “There was no small discussion,” he started. “There are those, like your grandfather and me. We have our fears yet. But the church has no restrictions about what a young person is allowed to do on Rumspringa. Even if it comes to sin.” Dat laced his fingers loosely and rested them on the table. “The bishop said that putting up boundaries conflicts with what Rumspringa is about. True enough, most stay here for singings and such. It is not encouraged, but still, he said that if a young person wants to go out among the Englishers for a while, no one should get in the way. Then, a free choice can be made between the English way of life and ours.”

  Charity measured her words. “So there would be no limits, even when it comes to traveling to see a shunned person, out in the English world.”

  Thoughtfully, her father sat back. “Caleb Beachey had a mind for that.”

  “And Opa?”

  Dat paused, his brow lightly knitted. “We Amish shun many things the English world accepts, things we pray you will not choose, even when you have the chance.”

  Charity searched Dat’s face. “And so...?”

  He ran his fingers through his graying beard. “So, they have left it to me.”

  “I see.” Never once had Charity known Dat to go against the most conservative suggestions of their leadership. What she hadn’t expected was that they would have put the decision back into his lap. Something in her hesitated. Should she inquire further? She straightened in her seat and gathered her resolve. “Have you made a decision?”

  Dat’s chest filled and emptied. Like always, his face exuded authority. “I have two conditions for you. There is no time that my sister misses us like Christmas. That is when you would be most likely to get her to come back with you, now-once. If I give you my blessing to go, would you promise to be home by Christmas?”

  Charity heart skipped a beat. “Oh, Dat... I could never miss Christmas with you. I could be back in time to make Christmas dinner, with Aunt Hope here to help me.”

  Dat’s face still looked so sober. “Ja, well... I pray that she will. Now, I am also concerned that you not go alone. The city is a dangerous place.”

  She could scarcely believe it. He was going to let her go. She couldn’t help bubbling over. “Bethany would come. She’s still on Rumspringa. She’s seen the city. We could ride the train together.”

  Her father raised a patient hand. “I know that Bethany is your dearest friend, but I am of a mind that you go with someone else.”

  “Oh?”

  “I have spoken to Daniel.”

  Charity felt her mouth drop. She put a hand to her upturned lips. “Daniel. Is he willing?”

  Dat nodded, a hint of a smile forming. “If you are.”

  Once Dat made a decision, he was not one to dawdle about setting matters into motion. As Charity cleaned up from lunch, she watched outside the kitchen window. Indeed, Dat had gotten her brothers to help him bring the horse and buggy out from the barn once again. He strode across the yard toward the house.

  Dat didn’t make much of things. He didn’t announce his plans in advance. That wasn’t his nature. He simply opened the kitchen door and asked her to put on her cape and bonnet. They would be going into town, that very afternoon, to make arrangements for her trip.

  Little was said as they traversed the road into town. Her father preferred it that way. In a way, she did, too. It gave her time to think and pray about all that was unfolding.

  A car horn tooted twice from behind them. Jarred, Charity craned around to check. “I suppose they want to pass.”

  Dat held his ground. “We give way to the Englishers in their world. They should do as much in ours.” A few seconds later, he guided their buggy off to the right. Dat was like that. He’d say something, and then in time, he’d think better of it. It was one of the things she admired about him.

  Charity watched in silence as the automobile zoomed past. A boy in the rear seat turned back and waved. Before she knew it he had raised a camera. Instinctively, she drew up her apron to cover her face till the car was well out of sight. The challenges of venturing into the English world were always there. She would have to be prepared.

  Before Charity knew it, they were seated across from a travel agent in town. She tried her best not to stare. Still, there were some things she couldn’t help but notice. The woman’s hair was bobbed quite short, framing darkly painted eyes. Burgundy lipstick encircled impossibly white teeth. Freshly polished nails danced across the computer keyboard, clicking with every stroke. Charity took it all in, then reminded herself not to judge the woman. Like a cool breeze, a thought wafted over her. Was this what her Aunt Hope would look like after so many years in the city?

  Dat did most of the talking. He bought two roundtrip train tickets to New York City’s Penn Station. Charity’s eyes widened when he scheduled their departure for the third of December.

  Tomorrow.

  In the morning, she’d get on the first train with Daniel. There would be twenty-one days—three full weeks to persuade her Aunt Hope to return home with them on Christmas Eve.

  What an adventure was ahead of her. Never in her life had she known anyone in her family to take the train or even to visit the station. Trains were a modern-day convenience they’d never had need of before. But it was a very long way to New York City, much farther than could be managed by horse and buggy.

  Under his breath, Dat counted as he laid out cash to cover the charges. The agent rose and excused herself to get a receipt.

  Gratitude swelled in Charity. “Such a nice, long trip, Dat. Can you do without me so long?”

  Dat eased back into his chair. “When a tree has sunken its roots deep into a place, it cannot be uprooted overnight. The soil must be watered. It must be loosened, ever so gently, doncha know. That will take every bit of this time.”

  When the next day dawned, Bethany joined the Bright family on the train platform to see Charity and Daniel off for their trip. Bethany seemed almost as excited about it as she was. It was far from Charity’s purpose to explore the world. That might be what Rumspringa was about for Bethany, but not for Charity. What that flutter in her heart was, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was about going on this journey with Daniel. Maybe it was the thought that, soon, she would meet her Aunt Hope. Maybe it was both.

  Charity turned to her twin brothers. “Can you survive Dat’s cooking for a few weeks?”

  Aaron feigned distress. “If I have to.”

  “You could always learn yourselves,” Charity teased.

  “Just come home soon,” Isaac added.

  Bethany squeezed Charity tight, whispering, with an eye toward Daniel. “What I would not give to be in your place. But still, I am so happy for you. Promise to remember every tiny detail for me?”

  Charity grasped Bethany’s hands in hers. “Everything,” she promised. As she approached, Charity couldn’t help but overhear the words that passed between Daniel and her father.

  “You will bring her home to me safely,” Dat said. “By the twenty-fourth.”

  Daniel nodded. “You have my word.”

  Charity turned to Opa. It was easy to tell that, of all the family, her grandfather was the most uncomfortable in this contemporary setting. Though a few of their Old Order had slowly begun to embrace certain aspects of modern life, he stood firmly with Dat in support of the overwhelmingly conservative majority. She embraced him lovingly. “Aufweidersehen, Opa.”

  “I am not sure this is wise,” he murmured.

&
nbsp; Charity gazed into his troubled face. “Then pray for me, Opa. Pray that I will be strong.”

  “I will,” he assured. “I will not stop until I meet you here again.”

  Charity’s eyes filled as she turned to her father. “Dat...”

  With a soft smile, he took Aunt Hope’s unopened Christmas card from his coat pocket and handed it to Charity.

  She glanced at the card, and then kissed his cheek. “Thank you for trusting me with this. This is such a gift to me, Dat, but I hope it will end up being a gift to us all.”

  Dat nodded, his eyes intent. He took her in his arms. “Gott go with you.”

  A final boarding call sounded. The time had come. Charity and Daniel hurried toward the train. No sooner than they had stowed their bags and taken their seats, the doors closed and the train began to pull away.

  From her window, Charity could see them all. Bethany waved furiously. Aaron and Isaac were rapt at the wonder of the train. Dat stood straight, but for a consoling arm that he draped across Opa’s shoulders. It seemed that Opa was more than a little concerned to see her go. Deep in her heart, Charity made a promise. She would allay their fears. Soon, she would return to them, once and for all.

  five

  The strains of a Yuletide noel resounded within Manhattan’s Café Troubadour. Hope’s alto rang out in counterpoint to Myrna’s soulful mezzo-soprano.

  “I heard the bells on Christmas Day

  Their old familiar carols play,

  And wild and sweet,

  The words repeat

  Of peace on earth,

  Good will to men...”

  Seated at the piano on the café’s stage, Shep accompanied Myrna and Hope, his assistance dog curled at his feet. Shep never ceased to amaze Hope. What a wonder it was that, though blind all of his life, Shep’s fingers found their way across the keys with such artistry.