An Amish Second Christmas

by Beth Wiseman

  Once she’d even seen two Amish buggies parked in front of a burning building while the volunteers joined the others in their work. She guessed that was why so many Amish bachelors were here. Supporting this silent auction would make the volunteer fire department a reality, and they’d have a chance to join in the adventurous, risky work.

  Entering the kitchen, Esther placed her pie on the counter with the others and then quickly pulled off her jacket. She’d only been in the West Kootenai area for two months, helping her cousin to prepare for her new addition, but she’d also spent a lot of time in the bakery at the store. Once word got out about Esther’s baking skills, Annie, the owner of the Kraft and Grocery, had come to Hannah’s house for a visit—her long, blond ponytail swishing as she talked. Cousin Hannah and her husband, Matthew, had agreed to share Esther with her until the boppli was born. Esther enjoyed the early morning hours when she was able to bake. She loved listening to others share about their lives, and she was always quick to help with the less popular chores, such as shoveling the walk or getting wood for the fire before the customers turned too much of their attention to her.

  “I’m so glad that the community agreed to try this new fund-raising event.” Jenny Avery, one of the bakers, removed her soiled apron and threw on a new one. The apron was white with red polka dots and a heart-shaped top. The pockets were green with tiny red reindeer. She tied the back and bustled around the kitchen, checking out the pies that all the women had dropped off. Jenny didn’t get into the bakery until midmorning, after her daughter, Kenzie, was at school, so Esther hadn’t gotten to know her too well. The Englisher was a single mom and the five-year-old spent every afternoon at the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery while her mom worked.

  “Does anyone want to help with the place cards while I finish up the dining room?” Jenny asked.

  “I will,” Esther said. She had spoken without thinking and now she was kicking herself for having offered to do something so visible.

  “Of course you will.” Jenny cast her a warm smile. Heat rose to Esther’s cheeks.

  “I can always count on you . . . and I’m pretty sure we’re all going to lock the doors if you ever even mention returning to Ohio.”

  Esther looked to her apron and then to her shoe, hoping they’d turn their attention on someone else next. She didn’t want to argue with them about staying. Her plan was to come for the winter and early spring to help Hannah and then to return home. As wonderful as this place was, she felt too exposed here. It was easier to hide among hundreds of other Amish than to be the new person whom everyone noticed. To be noticed was to be evaluated. And in a small community it was harder to find a place to slip away alone.

  Esther created small place cards with the names of each pie: apple, banana cream, blackberry, huckleberry, buttermilk, and vanilla crumb.

  “Would you like me to put the baker’s name on the card too?” Esther asked.

  “No!” The word shot from Jenny’s lips. “That would take the fun out of it.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

  Esther forced a smile, knowing the back of her neck was growing red under Jenny’s gaze. She colored too easily.

  “Take the fun out of it?” Esther was going to ask what that meant when the scraping of a chair leg across the floor interrupted Esther’s words. Jenny’s little daughter, Kenzie, was pushing a chair over to a miniature table that one of the bachelors had made a few weeks ago. Jenny’s face had glowed when Ammon brought it into the store. Kenzie had danced a little jig upon seeing it because now she had her own table to do her homework and crafts on.

  Jenny hummed as she hung up the damp dish towel on the towel rack. The window above the kitchen sink was cracked open slightly and a cool breeze filtered in. A chorus of men’s voices filled the air. Even more bachelors were making their way to the store. Butterflies danced in Esther’s stomach, but she quickly pushed them away. As many times as she’d been interested in a young man, she’d never had the interest returned. How could she when her twin sister was one of the most outgoing women in Sugarcreek?

  Their Englisch neighbor Pearl Stevens often told her the quickest way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She’d believed that was true during her growing-up years, but during her rumspringa, it was Violet who was always given buggy rides after the youth singings. And it was Violet who was unpacking her things at her new home with her husband, and it was Esther who was in West Kootenai, Montana, caring for their cousin’s boppli and making pies in her free time. She was happy for Violet, and making good pies could fill a person’s stomach, but they wouldn’t guarantee a lasting friendship.

  At least her pie would bring a smile to someone’s lips today.

  The aroma of fresh-baked pies mingled with the scent of baked bread as Ammon entered the restaurant. Voices rose and fell from the kitchen, women busy in conversation. Some bachelors had already huddled up by the door, as if afraid to step any farther into the establishment until the start of the silent auction. They eyed Ammon as he dared to move past them. One of the bachelors shook his head as if giving Ammon a silent warning, but Ammon paid him no heed.

  The West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery was part store, part gift shop, and part restaurant. Made of logs, it looked like a building from the Old West. Even the store shelves were crafted from rough lumber.

  It wasn’t until he heard someone clearing his throat from the other side of the front counter that Ammon realized the front counter clerk, Edgar, sat there eyeing them all. The older Englisch man glanced up and offered him a smile.

  “You know the silent auction doesn’t start for thirty minutes yet,” Edgar said.

  “Oh, I know, sir.” Ammon removed his stocking cap and tried to comb down his hair with his fingers. From the humor in Edgar’s eyes, Ammon knew he wasn’t doing a good job.

  “I just came to see if the women needed help with anything. Taking out trash? Setting up tables . . .” He didn’t admit that it was easier doing something—anything—other than sitting next to Mem reading or holding a one-sided conversation.

  Edgar smiled. “I do suppose those pretty young women might need some help.”

  Ammon nodded, but he wasn’t going to explain that the last thing he’d allow himself to do was catch the eye of a young maedel. Montana wasn’t a place to farm, and he wasn’t interested in changing careers and becoming a logger. Their farm back in Missouri was more than a job—it was a lifestyle. He felt as if he was an extension of God’s hand as he helped to grow food that nourished his community. He felt God’s pleasure when his body ached from hard work, and dreamed of someday having sons to work by his side, in the simple ways of his ancestors. It was a lifestyle that his heart ached for.

  “All right then . . . they might need help moving tables,” Edgar said. Ammon was sure Edgar didn’t believe him, but he let him pass with a nod. Ammon strolled into the kitchen, and as he did, the women’s voices stopped. They eyed him with suspicion and the woman standing closest to him moved her pie around to her back so quickly he worried it would topple from her hands. All of them wore cooking aprons over their Amish dresses. Most aprons were white, and a few were gray, nearly all of them with flour or splatters of ingredients on them. Only the Englisch woman’s apron was festive.

  “Ladies, I’m sorry to startle you. I just came early to see if you might need help.”

  “Help?” The Englisch baker stepped forward. She was young, no older than twenty-five. Her dark hair had a streak of hot pink, and it was pulled back into a ponytail. The name tag on her apron shirt read Jenny. “Oh, I’m sure you’d like to help with some of these pies—find out whose pie belongs to which woman.” She placed a hand on her hip and jutted it out. “But there is really no need for that type of help—”

  “Tha-that wasn’t my intention at all!” Ammon sputtered. He didn’t come to scope out the women or their pies. Instead of trying to explain, he pointed to the dining room area behind him. “But the tables . . . don’t you need help moving tables? Maybe I c
ould push some of the extra chairs out of the dining room to make room for the crowds?”

  “You’d do that?” Jenny asked.

  “Better than twiddling my thumbs. I get so tired of just sitting . . .” Ammon let his voice trail off. Did any of these women know about his mem? She had only been in the area a few days when she fell ill, and she hadn’t even made it to church yet. “I just like to help, that’s all.”

  Jenny nodded and showed him what tables to move. The women in the kitchen resumed their conversation.

  As Ammon lifted a large, heavy table, he considered what his mem would say if she knew about the silent auction and was able to talk. Like Polly, she’d be excited about this so-called date. Mem would encourage him not to hide his heart, not to worry about the “what coulds” and “why nots.” All his siblings had been married by his age. And even his youngest sister, Ilene, who was working as a schoolteacher back home in Missouri, was being courted. Ammon had no doubt that by Christmas they’d have their upcoming wedding published.

  “You can try to have fun tonight,” Ammon mumbled to himself under his breath.

  Jenny paused and glanced over at him. Her hands were filled with salt and pepper shakers that she was putting into a plastic bin, freeing up the tables from clutter.

  Ammon offered a shy smile. “Oh, I was just saying it should be fun tonight. There’s nothing better than pie.”

  “Or beautiful single women,” Jenny commented, pausing to brush a strand of dark hair from her cheek. Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “Apple pie is my favorite, but I’ve never tasted a piece of homemade pie that I didn’t like,” he said, making it clear where his focus was.

  Jenny seemed disappointed that he wasn’t begging her to know whose pie was whose. Not that he knew the young women well enough to have a preference. He’d seen them at church, but he’d kept his distance, preferring to spend time with the men, asking if there were any odd jobs around their places that he could help with. He’d made a lot of friends that way.

  Sometimes at night he’d sit next to Mem’s bed and tell her about all he did. He had hopes that she could still understand him, even if she couldn’t respond.

  The tables were heavy, solid wood. It took great effort to lift and move them. He set the first table where Jenny indicated and then moved to the next one, telling himself he would get through this night just like he handled everything else in West Kootenai, by being the one others could count on.

  Tonight, Ammon would pay attention to who needed help—who needed a bid on her pie—and offer it. Since help—not his heart—was what Ammon had to offer, it didn’t matter whose pie he bid on. He just hoped that someone would return home that night with a happy heart.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Within a span of ten minutes, the tables had been arranged and the pies were set out—one on each table. Also on each table was a clipboard. The name of the pie was written down and clamped to the clipboard. A starting bid of five dollars was on every sheet. One newly sharpened yellow pencil was situated next to each bid sheet.

  Esther watched Jenny pace in the wide doorway between the kitchen, where the women were gathered, and the dining room, where the men were starting to filter in. Esther paused and focused on the bakers—all of them young. All of them single. Why hadn’t she realized that before?

  Jenny clapped her hands. “The doors are opening . . . Bakers, please stay out of the main dining room until the bidding is over in twenty minutes,” she called. “And whatever you do, don’t give any indication of which pie is yours.”

  “No indication?” Esther mumbled under her breath. “I don’t understand . . .”

  Eve Peachy, the redheaded woman who stood next to Esther, leaned forward. “Didn’t you know that it’s a silent bidding for a pie and a date?” Eve’s hair had been pulled back under her kapp, but a few red curls had escaped and framed her face. Her cheeks were bright. Her eyes sparkled. Eve sucked in a breath as the men continued to fill the dining room. “Whoever puts the highest bid down in the next twenty minutes wins the pie and the right to share it with the baker.”

  “Share it? When?”

  “Today . . . Didn’t you know what this was about?”

  Esther shook her head. She looked down at her dress and the flour and splatters of egg on her cooking apron. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to change before heading out. Then again, she’d assumed she would just be in the kitchen, watching from a safe distance. Or tucked away in some corner, like she always was.

  She’d never been a neat cook. She must have gotten that from her mother. Of course, her father and brothers never complained, and when it came to church socials, folks had come to know what her mother’s serving dishes looked like and hers were the first cleaned out.

  The men formed a line as they strode in, their usual playfulness gone. They walked between the tables of pies, examining each one.

  The women around her didn’t speak, but she sensed their nervous excitement.

  “I hope Amos spots my dish,” Eve said, leaning close. “I used the blue pie dish that my mem always uses at church gatherings . . . Is it too much to hope he’ll remember?”

  Eve watched as one of the bachelors spotted her blue dish. He had a stocky build and dark hair that nearly covered his ears. He hurried over to the paper next to the blue dish, wrote down a bid, and then turned and moved to the coffee that had been set up on a far table.

  Esther glanced over at Eve. Joy radiated from her face. The bachelor was indeed Amos.

  Esther cleared her throat and forced a smile. “He must have placed a pretty good bid. Do you see how the other bachelors are walking right by and not even attempting to top it?”

  Eve placed her hands over her mouth, as if she’d just been given a gift.

  “Oh, I hope that’s the case. We’ve been friends for so long . . . over a year . . . but I didn’t dare hope . . .” She let her words trail off, and Esther noticed Eve’s cheeks brightening to a pretty shade of pink. Yet as Esther watched, it was Eve’s sister, Hope, that Amos kept glancing at.

  Amos must have known that the pie had come from the Peachys’ kitchen. But he’d guessed the wrong sister.

  The emotions came stronger than Esther expected. Her heart ached for Eve. Her eyes burned as if someone had blown cinnamon into them. Beside her, Eve smiled, staring at the bid sheet, eager to note her worth. When would she find out that Amos had eyes for the other Peachy daughter? Esther’s breaths escaped her as if someone had lassoed a rope around her chest and cinched tight. She, too, had been the sister who had hoped and dreamed for so many years, only to be disappointed.

  Esther watched Amos closely. He stared at Hope, who was standing just five feet away. She was talking about her quilting project with a friend and had no idea about the unspoken drama that was playing out around them.

  Some people were easy to love, she supposed. And some people longed for it and still came up wanting—like her. Like Eve.

  Esther placed a soft hand on Eve’s arm. “Would you like some coffee? I’ll get you some.”

  “Tea—just hot water and the tea bag if they have it . . .” A smile filled Eve’s face. “Oh, and as you’re passing by the table with my pie on it, can you check the bid sheet? I’m not sure if I can stand not knowing for another minute.”

  “I would,” Esther said, sighing, “but don’t you think I’d be giving something away?”

  “True, if you give too much attention to my bid sheet, then Amos might get confused and think it’s yours . . .”

  “Ja, of course.” Esther walked over to the table that held the hot drinks. She didn’t even have to look at her bid sheet.

  Even as she chatted with Eve, she’d watched from the corner of her eye, and not one person had placed a bid.

  Should she just leave now? She opened a hot cocoa packet and dumped it into a Styrofoam cup, adding hot water. Then she stirred it slowly with a plastic spoon. Remembering Eve’s request, she filled another cup
with hot water and added a single tea bag, letting the paper tag dangle from the side of the cup. Voices chattered around her. Even harder than being alone was being in a room full of people and feeling alone.

  Esther picked up the two cups and then turned just in time to see a man approaching her table. It was Ammon, the same man who’d come early to set up the tables. The one who’d also made the little table for Kenzie.

  She’d heard many people talking about him, and he’d greeted Esther once or twice. He’d arrived in West Kootenai the same week as her, but instead of hiding away, as she had done, Ammon had volunteered to help in the community.

  It seemed that every time someone came into the store, their voice would carry to the bakery section, and she’d hear another story about Ammon helping to chop and stack wood for a widow, or helping to patch a hole in the roof of the small Amish schoolhouse, or helping to pull an automobile out of a ditch with his brother-in-law’s team of horses.

  Esther’s stomach quivered with anxiety as Ammon stood there, gazing at her sheet. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and bit down gently. Should she approach Ammon to warn him that it was her pie? He no doubt wanted to spend the evening with a local woman. It was clear that even though he wasn’t from West Kootenai, he cared about the area—and the people. He was going to be so disappointed when he realized that the baker of the pie wasn’t from around these parts.

  Movement toward the kitchen caught her attention. Jenny was wagging a finger at her. Knowing Jenny would be thoroughly displeased if Esther gave herself away, Esther walked right back to Eve with the two cups in hand. Her footsteps quickened as she passed Ammon. Her gut tightened down, and it hurt so much that all she could think about was sitting down, being still. But out of all the people who could have bid on her sheet, deep down she was thankful that it was him. Ammon was a kind man. And friendly, she knew that to be true.