A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection

by Lauralee Bliss

  Christmas would soon be here, and he wanted happy memories of their first Christmas together.

  Chapter 7

  The cow was fine, and Glory’s secret was safe with Sadie. After a quick cup of kaffi to warm up, Sadie was off to her own home. Glory wandered into the front room, which opened onto a large dining room. She had been to church services in the Grabill home before, so she could easily imagine how the benches would be arranged. With his father and brother, Marlin was moving furniture to the perimeter of the rooms. The floor space was barely cleared before Marianne attacked it with a broom. A bucket and rags stood as sentinels, awaiting their orders.

  “Shall I help you?” Glory asked. There would be another broom in the kitchen.

  Marianne looked up and smiled. “No need. We mopped day before yesterday, so I will only need to scrub the worst spots.”

  “I can do that.”

  “No need.” Marianne jabbed the broom into a corner and whisked out the lurking dirt.

  I must not be very good at offering help. Glory stepped out of Marianne’s way.

  Marlin brushed his hands together. “Come on, John. We should put some fresh straw down in the stable.”

  “I can help,” Glory said.

  “With the straw?” John asked, blinking.

  “Why not? I used to help my daed with barn work.”

  The brothers looked at each other.

  “We have a system,” John said.

  A system that worked with two people. That is what John meant. Glory searched Marlin’s face but found no encouragement. But he did come close to her.

  “You should take care,” he said.

  Take care to what?

  “I could at least keep you company,” Glory said.

  Marlin shook his head, and the gesture stabbed her.

  “You do not want me to come,” she said.

  “It is not that,” Marlin said. “You were ill yesterday. Take care to recover.”

  The door from the kitchen swung open, and Magdalena emerged.

  “Good,” she said. “You are all still here. Remember Lyddie’s program at three o’clock. Do not be late.”

  “No, Mamm, we will not forget,” John said, nudging his brother’s elbow. “Let’s go.”

  Marianne was on her knees, scrubbing furiously and efficiently along a length of floor where the family’s feet often fell on the way to the front stairwell. Glory’s eyes went from Marianne to the front window. The pair of brothers sped toward the stable at a pace Glory could not have kept up with, but from the angle of Marlin’s head Glory knew he was laughing heartily. Were they still teasing about putz, or did they have another favorite topic Glory knew nothing about?

  “Gloria,” Magdalena said.

  Glory turned.

  “I suppose all your life people have told you that you have the perfect name for Christmas.”

  Glory nodded. “I was named for my father’s grandmother, who was born on Christmas Day.”

  “Come with me,” Magdalena said, turning back toward the kitchen.

  Glory followed.

  “You and I are going to bake cookies,” Magdalena said.

  Glory’s heart lifted. She was adept at baked goods.

  “Not just any cookies,” Magdalena said. “Glory Divine cookies.”

  “I have never heard of them.” Was her mother-in-law making up a cookie name to make Glory feel better? It was not necessary. She did not seek pity.

  Magdalena took a large mixing bowl from a shelf. “I do not have a written recipe. You will have to pay close attention.”

  “Are they really called Glory Divine?”

  “I guess we can call them whatever we like. I think it is the extra butter that goes into them. My aenti used to make them and said it was like biting into glory divine.”

  Glory laughed.

  “I used to surprise my children with them on Christmas morning, but I have never shown the maedel how to make them. Would you like to be the first to learn?”

  Glory sucked in air. “Are you sure?” What would the girls think when they discovered Magdalena had taught Glory first?

  “When Marlin said he wanted to marry you, I knew I had been keeping this secret for this moment.”

  Glory’s throat thickened.

  “Let’s begin,” Magdalena said. “Four cups of flour.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “We should have come earlier,” Marianne said as Marlin guided the buggy toward the white, square schoolhouse that afternoon.

  “They would not have let us in if we had,” John said. “They only set up for the Christmas program after the lessons are finished.”

  Marlin remembered. It was as if each teacher left an instruction sheet for the one who followed. The last school day before Christmas must have its share of genuine teaching—even exams—before welcoming families for the program. He parked the buggy and set the brake. John, on the bench beside him, jumped down and offered a hand to their mamm and then to Marianne. When Daed had emerged, Marlin waited for Glory to fold the lap quilt that warmed her on the brief journey, and cradled her elbow while she climbed out from the back of the buggy.

  “Are you feeling well?” he murmured.

  “Well enough, considering,” she said.

  “Considering what?”

  But Glory gave no answer. Instead, Marianne called to them. “Kumme. Let’s not stand out in the cold longer than we have to.”

  “Take my arm,” Marlin said to Glory. “Just in case.” If she felt as wobbly as she did yesterday, an ice patch was sure to get the best of her.

  Inside, the schoolhouse looked much as it did every year. This was Lyddie’s last year in school. The next time Marlin attended a Christmas program might be several years from now, perhaps when Leroy’s eldest had begun school. In addition to the desks, folding chairs offered seating, though many more people would cram into the school than the number of chairs could accommodate. The teacher’s desk was pushed out of the way to create a stage area. Decorations were more elaborate than any of the Amish families would put up, but more than half the scholars in the school were English children accustomed to trees and greenery and ornaments and red and gold ribbons and brightly colored gift packages.

  “Where is Lyddie?” Magdalena asked.

  “There.” Marlin pointed to a far corner.

  “What is she bothered about?”

  Marlin fixed on his sister’s face. His mamm was right. Lyddie, in conversation with another girl, had clamped her lips and puffed her cheeks.

  “That must be Madeleine Madison,” Glory said.

  “How did you know?” Marlin said. Glory had never met Madeleine.

  Glory said, “You should go to her.”

  Marlin wove through the growing assembly toward his sister, who grew redder by the moment.

  “You only got the solo because the teacher feels sorry for you because you have to leave school.” Madeleine flipped wavy dark hair over a shoulder.

  “You do not know what you are talking about,” Lyddie countered. “You are jealous because you did not earn the solo.”

  Madeleine rolled her eyes. “You really have no idea how much she pities you.”

  “Girls,” Marlin said, a hand on each girl’s shoulder. “That is enough.”

  “Now you need your brother to rescue you,” Madeleine said.

  Marlin squeezed Lyddie’s shoulder harder. “Madeleine, you might want to say hello to your own parents before the program begins.”

  Madeleine huffed, but she left.

  “She has no idea of all the things I thought but did not say,” Lyddie said.

  “Take a deep breath,” Marlin said. “‘All is calm, all is bright.’ Remember?”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Glory watched her husband calm his sister, an ability that would bode well for their own children. Soothing tones. Gentle touches.

  If Glory mentioned Minnie Handelman, Marlin would remember her. In a one-room schoolhouse, all the scholars knew each othe
r regardless of grade differences. And if he thought about Minnie, he would understand how she recognized Madeleine. Wherever Minnie was now—perhaps married and living in the city she always thought she deserved—Glory was glad she was nowhere near the Grabill farm.

  Finally Marlin made his way back to her.

  “We should have made sure you got a seat,” he said.

  “I will be fine.” Glory spoke with more confidence than her knees felt after being on her feet baking most of the day, harboring her own secret while conspiring with her mother-in-law. She had the wall to lean on, and Marlin to reach for if needed.

  The form of the program was recognizable as well. Scholars took turns reciting portions of the story of Christ’s birth as given in the book of Luke. At times Glory’s lips moved silently with the familiar words. “She brought forth her firstborn son…the glory of the Lord shone round about them…good tidings of great joy…and they came with haste.”

  “The best gift you can give is simply called love,” one of the youngest scholars announced. Students recited poems, sang songs, invited the audience to join in singing “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and “Joy to the World.” Several older girls, decked in aprons and holding mixing bowls, presented a recipe for gratitude for the greatest gift of all, Christ Himself.

  Twelve children, each holding a tall red candle aflame, spoke lines of thankfulness that pointed to the Christ child as one by one they lined themselves up across the front of the room, leaving a space in the center.

  Into that space, Lyddie stepped, hands clasped in front of her as they had been when she rehearsed. Two parents assisted the teacher to turn down the lamps around the room until the candles glowed in darkness.

  Glory was holding her breath. The entire audience anticipated the dramatic climax to the program.

  When Lyddie’s mouth opened and the pristine, transparent, lyrical timbre lit the darkness, even restless babes in arms stilled to worship the Christ child.

  Chapter 8

  Supper was boisterous, as it always was. Marlin loved a loud, crowded meal. He had friends whose families ate in somber silence, as if food was all that mattered when the family came to the table. Marlin cared less about whether the biscuits were overcooked than about the joy that swelled when the Grabills were under one roof. When Josef and Leroy came with their wives and children, the kitchen table was crowded, but sitting shoulder to shoulder was a small price to pay for being drenched in family bonds.

  “Lyddie was the best part,” Marianne insisted.

  “All the children did well,” Mamm reminded her.

  “But Lyddie!” Marianne insisted. “All the practice brought reward.”

  “It is our Lord we want to honor,” Daed said.

  But Marlin saw the glow in his parents’ faces. It bordered on pride, which no one around the table that night would confess but was true nonetheless. Lyddie’s solo had been perfection, three lustrous stanzas of “Silent Night, Holy Night” that would shine through memory at future school programs.

  Slice by slice the roast disappeared. Leroy took the last potato and Josef the final biscuit just before Mamm shifted a chocolate cake from the counter to the table and Marianne exchanged dinner plates for cake plates. Every snippet of conversation strummed strings of joy in Marlin, resounding the program’s theme of gratitude.

  “Girls,” Mamm said at last, “I will leave you with the dishes while Daed and I take care of a few things.”

  Marlin grinned at his brothers. “I suspect we all have things we need to take care of tonight.”

  “I might just have to wander out to the barn.” Leroy winked.

  “And I am sure Leroy requires my assistance,” Josef said.

  “You will stay out of my barn.” Marlin glared across the table.

  “He will not even let me in,” John muttered. “Makes me work in the stable.”

  “The stable seems appropriate for the one working on the Nativity.” Marlin stood and pushed his chair under the table. “Tomorrow night all will be revealed.”

  He paced into the living room, where his parents were making final adjustments to the rearrangement of household furnishings. The floor gleamed with Marianne’s effort as he knew it would. Marlin was nearly to the top of the stairs when he realized someone followed. He turned.

  “Glory. I did not realize you were coming upstairs.”

  “I have a surprise for you,” she said, catching up to him.

  In their bedroom, while Marlin collected a carving knife he reserved for the more delicate cuts though it was not as nimble as he wished, Glory opened a drawer and removed a dish towel.

  “Here,” she said, offering the bundle to him.

  “It is not Christmas yet,” he said.

  “Just open it.”

  Marlin unfolded the towel to find a plate of cookies. “Glory Divine!”

  Glory grinned.

  “How did you get these cookies before Christmas?”

  “I made them!”

  “But it is a secret recipe. Mamm never lets anyone watch when she bakes them.”

  “Until now.”

  “My sisters will be stunned.” Marlin admired the confectionary perfection. Precise circles. Superb rising. Even the weight in his hand was consummate. Now his wife would be able to continue the tradition of Glory Divine. He began to wrap the cookies again.

  “Are you not going to have one?” Glory asked.

  “The tradition is to eat them on Christmas morning,” he said.

  Her face fell.

  He put the bundle on top of the chest of drawers and turned to take her hand. “Come with me. Work on the putz with me.”

  “Another of your family traditions.”

  He nodded, confused. What had made her unhappy?

  “It will not take long,” he said. “A few final touches.”

  “You have spent a lot of time in the barn in the last few days.”

  “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” he said. “All must be finished by dark.”

  “You were right this morning,” Glory said, turning toward the bed. “I have been tired all day.”

  “I would enjoy your company. Mamm used to help Daed.”

  She shook her head. “Not tonight.”

  “Then I will stay in as well.” If he could find just one extra hour tomorrow, he could still be ready in time.

  “You should go,” Glory said. “It is what you want to do.”

  “I will not be long.” When Marlin withdrew from the room, his wife’s back was to him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The knock on the door came softly. Glory, still dressed but stretched out on the bed, sat up quickly.

  “Yes?”

  The knob turned, and Magdalena entered just as Glory had pulled herself erect.

  “I wonder if you would enjoy setting the candles in the windowsills,” Magdalena said. “We like to put them in every room, both upstairs and downstairs.”

  Another tradition. Something else Glory must learn to do if she hoped to please her husband.

  “I left a basket in the hall with everything you need,” Magdalena said. “Feel free to begin with the upstairs bedrooms. Just arrange a bit of greenery at the base of the glass and make sure the candle is snug in its holder.”

  Glory nodded. “Of course.”

  “No need to light them. We save that for Christmas Eve.”

  And we must not alter tradition.

  “Fine.” Glory forced a smile. “I will practice by starting in here.”

  “I am sure you will manage nicely.”

  Glory stood in the hall to pick through the basket of thick red candles, the base holders, and the glasses that would go over them. The greenery must have been left over from the branches Magdalena had used on the mantel downstairs. There was only enough for a sprig or two around each candle. No one could accuse the Grabills of adopting English manners of ornamentation.

  Voices rose up through the stairwell. Glad voices. Laughing voices. Teasing voices. Woul
d she ever feel that at ease with Marlin’s family? Glory moved from one bedroom to another. She had not yet been in any bedroom but the one she shared with Marlin, but they distinguished themselves easily. David and Magdalena’s had a wide bed. Dresses and aprons hung from the hooks in the room Marianne and Lyddie shared. John’s room had an empty narrow bed in addition to the one he used.

  Marlin’s old bed, Glory realized. She could nearly feel him in this room. The shelf where he must have kept his personal things. The window where he looked out on the barn. The corner where he would have kicked off his boots in the haphazard way of boys.

  Glory quickly set the candle and withdrew. There was so much she did not know about this man she had married.

  Downstairs, the kitchen had two windows. While Glory arranged candles, Marianne pulled a pair of cakes out of the oven. Lyddie gushed in noisy relief that her solo had gone well. Sadie and Joannah were bundling their little ones to brace the cold and joking about which of them would be first to call for her husband. All four brothers were missing, no doubt together despite their admonitions to stay away.

  “Come on, Marianne,” Lyddie said, reaching for a cloak on a hook near the door. “Let’s find John.”

  “He is sure to be in over his head without us,” Marianne said.

  Two sisters, and two sisters-in-law, exited in a single rush of cold air through the back door. Silence in the kitchen provoked an odd sensation for Glory. She had never been alone in the Grabill kitchen before—and had not supposed anyone ever was.

  Glory worked with deliberation on the downstairs windowsills. Her task was not complicated, but Marlin had said he would not be gone long, and he might be heartened to come in and find her at her task.

  The girls came in, checked on the cooling cakes, said good night, and went upstairs.

  John came in, sighing in a manner which Glory could not interpret, said good night, and went upstairs.

  David and Magdalena turned down the gas lamps that lit their home, separated the logs in the fireplace, said good night, and went upstairs.

  Finally, having checked and adjusted every windowsill on the ground floor three times, Glory went upstairs.

  Where was Marlin?