“Jacob Koop stayed with the Janzens.”
“I need to apologize to him,” Louisa murmured as she put the cup to her lips and allowed the steam to warm her face. “Although he will not offer forgiveness—and he will be right to withhold it.”
“Nonsense. Your uncle and I have asked him to come for dinner tomorrow. Perhaps once he has prayed on the matter and sees that Louisa will be just fine, he will open his heart—and mind.” She took the empty cup from Abigail and then pulled back the covers. “To bed with you, child.”
Abigail did as her aunt asked. “I have prayed on the matter, Aunt Beulah, and I am convinced that God is leading me to leave Hope and return to New York.”
Beulah chewed on her lower lip. “You are so certain that this is what you are being led to do?”
“As certain as I can be,” Abigail replied with a yawn. And convinced that the matter was settled finally, she drifted to sleep.
♦ ♦ ♦
It was midmorning before she woke. She dressed quickly, embarrassed to have left her aunt with all the preparations for the large gathering of friends that would share the day’s meal. But when she went to the kitchen, she realized she needn’t have worried. The small room was filled with women working in unison to produce the pies, cookies, and side dishes that would be offered along with roast chicken to those gathered for the celebration.
“Ah, at last,” Aunt Beulah said. “We’ve been wondering when you might join us. Come help Rose make the Pfeffernüsse.”
Shyly, Abigail tied on an apron and took her place next to Rebecca’s mother. Rose Janzen smiled at her. “You gave us all a bit of a fright, Abigail,” Rose said, and Abigail was well aware that conversation among the other women had come to a halt as they all focused on her—including some women who she had overheard state outright that she was not the right choice for teaching the children. Rose slid a bowl filled with golden batter across the table to her.
“It is ready for the flour and spices,” she said.
Abigail added flour to the mix of butter, buttermilk, sugar, and eggs and grated the cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and anise to add to the dough. Last she ground pepper—the spice that gave the cookie its name and unique taste. The repetitive rhythm of mixing and adding more ingredients calmed her, and she found that she was enjoying listening to the women, who had returned to bantering about this or that. When Rose inquired how Abigail’s mother made the traditional cookie, she replied, “She uses molasses in the place of corn syrup.” And when that started an entirely new round of conversation about the diversity of recipes for the treat, she felt a kinship with these women for the first time since coming to Hope.
For the rest of the morning, she worked in concert with the other women. After she and Rose rolled the dough into long ropes and set them out in the cold, she set the table, allowing time for the dough to chill enough that it could be easily cut into the bite-size cookies. The house was filled with the fragrance of baking and chickens roasting, and before Abigail knew it, the men began to arrive, bringing with them the children and helping to set up extra tables and benches for the meal. When they saw her, the younger children squealed with delight and ran to her, and she had to fight the tears that threatened to fall at the thought of leaving these dear ones. Rebecca Janzen, as usual, came directly to the point.
“Are you recovered?”
“I am,” Abigail assured her, and the two older boys who stood nearby, pretending not to listen, grinned when she answered Rebecca.
Then she saw Aaron Miller standing just inside the front door, his eyes on her, and as he threaded his way through the other guests, her heart began to thrum in a beat that left her quite breathless. Behind her she could hear the women whispering and knew they had noticed the way Aaron looked at her—and she looked at him. To her surprise, the women seemed to approve, but they did not understand that in spite of her feelings for Aaron, she had decided leaving was the only way to show Jacob Koop that she fully understood and accepted responsibility for her arrogance.
“Walk with me, Abigail Yoder,” Aaron said when he was close enough to speak only to her.
Intending to explain her decision to him—feeling she owed him that—she did not hesitate but took down her shawl from a hook near the back door and walked outside. The day was pleasant, with no sign of the blizzard other than piles of pristine snow and trees hung with icicles. The sky was clear blue, and the air was cold but bracing. She turned her face to the sun and closed her eyes, praying God would give her the words she would need today—for Aaron, for Jacob Koop, and for the children, who were sure to protest her decision.
Aaron cleared his throat. “Abigail Yoder, we have not known one another for very long,” he began. “And yet…”
Behind them they heard muffled giggles and turned to see some of the children watching them from the back stoop. Aaron frowned and took hold of her elbow, leading her toward the row of carriages parked outside the barn. She had to stop him before he said something he would regret.
“Aaron, this is unseemly,” she protested. “The entire village is inside my uncle’s house, and—”
“Then say that you will not leave us. Say that you will stay—for the children.”
Her heart sank. Once again her pride had misled her. She had been so certain that he was about to ask her to stay for his sake—because he needed her, because he cared. But instead, she saw now that he was speaking to her in his role as elder—perhaps speaking for others who were unwilling to have her leave. “I cannot stay,” she said and hurried away from him, back to the kitchen and the puzzled frowns of the other women.
♦ ♦ ♦
Aaron was at a loss. He had arrived early enough that he had seen her with the other women in the kitchen, laughing and jabbering the way women did. And then when the children ran to her, grasping her skirts with hugs, had that meant nothing to her? How could she allow Jacob Koop to dictate her decision? He saw the farmer pull his wagon to a halt next to the Yoder house and help Louisa down from the high seat.
“Jacob Koop,” he called.
Jacob paused, said something to Louisa, and watched as the girl walked on to the house. “I know what you want to say, Brother Miller, but surely you understand that I cannot forgive Abigail Yoder for her transgressions—only God can do that.”
“She will leave us.” Aaron saw that this was news to Jacob—unsettling news.
“Louisa could have frozen to death. She could have died of pneumonia.”
“And yet, God be thanked, she did not. Nor did Abigail, who thought nothing of her own safety as she searched for Louisa. Abigail Yoder did nothing to influence Louisa’s decision to disobey you. Indeed, she would have told your daughter that your wishes must come before her own.”
“That young woman taught her to—”
“Abigail Yoder gave these children—including Louisa—a new appreciation for the scriptures. You would fault her for that?”
Jacob rubbed his bare hand over his beard as he considered Aaron’s question. He was not a vindictive man. He was a father who had lost his wife and then had to face the possibility of losing his only child as well. “I am doing the best I can for Louisa,” he argued.
“Then as you have forgiven her for her disobedience, let her see you forgive Abigail.”
Aaron thought the man would refuse—would stalk off toward the house, collect Louisa, and leave. To his surprise, Jacob glanced toward the house. “She is there—the teacher?”
“Ja.”
Jacob started across the yard, and Aaron followed him. When they reached the house, those standing in the doorway parted to allow them to pass. There in the center of the kitchen, they saw Abigail and Louisa hugging each other, as all around them the other women wiped away tears with the hems of their aprons. Aaron held his breath, prepared for an ugly scene. But instead of approaching Abigail, Jacob turned away from the kitchen and greeted Oscar Yoder, thanking him for including them in the day’s festivities.
Abig
ail continued talking to Louisa and the women in the kitchen, but her eyes followed Jacob Koop. When Aaron saw her wipe her hands on her apron and excuse herself from the others, he moved to intercept her. “Leave it, Abigail,” he said softly.
She smiled at him. “Do not be concerned, Aaron. I have to speak with Jacob Koop sometime.” She placed her hand on his forearm. “It will be all right,” she assured him as she stepped around him and approached Louisa’s father, who was still talking with her uncle.
Aaron saw Oscar Yoder notice Abigail’s approach and saw that he was as worried as Aaron.
“Excuse me, Uncle Oscar, but I need to speak with Jacob Koop—if he will allow me to do so. I want to apologize and assure him that I have seen the error of my ways.”
The room went silent as word spread and others moved closer to listen.
“Louisa could have been taken sick or worse,” Jacob grumbled, not quite looking at Abigail.
“I will not dispute that,” Abigail replied. “I have prayed on the matter, and I believe that the answer to the situation is for me to resign my post with the school and return to my family in New York. I will stay until a substitute or replacement can be found, but after that…”
Throughout the crowded house, word spread of Abigail’s resignation. Aaron heard Rebecca Janzen pleading with her parents to do something. “Please, Mama—Papa. Abigail Yoder is the best teacher we have ever had. We cannot let her leave just because—”
The Janzens bade the child to be quiet, and once again the room fell silent as everyone waited to see what Jacob Koop would say. “If that is your decision,” he said with a shrug as if it did not matter to him one way or another. He turned away from her and joined some of the other men.
Immediately Abigail was surrounded by several of the women and all of the older children—including Louisa—all talking at once and insisting that she reconsider. But Abigail simply smiled and repeated her belief that this was all for the best.
“Do something, Aaron Miller,” Rose Janzen hissed. He hadn’t even realized she was standing next to him. “Make her understand that we need her to stay.”
“Why would she listen to me?”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Maybe because she is in love with you. And I may be a bit past my prime, but I’m not too old to miss the fact that you are in love with her. Now do something.”
He was about to protest that he and Abigail had known each other only a few weeks, but Rose had already headed back to the kitchen, where the women were busy setting out the dinner. Besides, she was right—at least about his feelings for Abigail. Apparently, love did not follow a timetable. All through the meal, he tried to think of what he could possibly do or say that would change Abigail’s mind, and it was only as the afternoon shadows lengthened and the bishop lit a lantern that he found his answer.
♦ ♦ ♦
The minute the words were out of her mouth, Abigail felt relieved. She had not only made her plans known to Jacob Koop but to the entire community as well. She was touched by the protests of the children and some of the women, but her mind was made up. She joined the other women to help serve the dinner, which had to be done in shifts because so many people had come to the bishop’s house for the feast. By the time everyone had eaten, the dishes had been cleared and washed, and the families had started for their respective homes, she was at peace with her decision. Oh, she would miss the children of course—and Aaron—but she had promised the older children that she would write to them and they could share her letters with the younger ones.
She and three of the women who lived in the village were wiping the last of the dishes when Aaron entered the kitchen and came straight to her. “Will you take a sleigh ride with me, Abigail Yoder?”
She was aware of the looks the other women exchanged. She was also aware that a man and woman did not go out together without others unless they had announced their intent to begin a courtship that would lead to marriage. She also knew that agreeing to take a sleigh ride with Aaron after dark would raise eyebrows and set tongues wagging. But oh, how she wanted this one last opportunity to be with him.
“I will, Aaron Miller,” she replied and handed the dish towel she held to Rose Janzen, who was absolutely beaming at Aaron. She took down her coat from a hook, tied on her bonnet, and followed him out the back door. He walked toward the barn, where she saw a carriage on runners hitched to a team of horses, and she hesitated. But the moon was rising, and stars were shining in the clear sky. She knew she would remember this night forever.
He helped her climb into the carriage, covered her with a lap robe, and then got in and took the reins. As soon as they hit clear land, he snapped the reins and the horses took off. Abigail couldn’t help it—she squealed with excitement and grabbed hold of his arm. He grinned at her, and taking the reins in one hand, he put his free arm around her and pulled her close.
After a while, he slowed the team to a stop on a hill that overlooked a frozen creek and his property.
“This is your farm?”
He nodded and then pointed out the various landmarks to her—the barn, the chicken coop, the fields he would plant that spring and those he would leave fallow to recover for the following season. “And there is the house,” he said.
The dwelling was large—two stories that glowed white in the moonlight, the many windows reflecting the snow. “It is a good house, Aaron,” she whispered.
“It needs something more,” he said. He cupped her chin and turned her face to his. The brim of his hat shadowed his face and she could not see his expression, but she prayed that his face reflected her own feelings. “It needs a woman…and children. It needs you, Abigail. I need you,” he whispered just before their lips met.
Abigail had kissed two boys in her life, but those kisses had been child’s play compared to the kiss she now shared with Aaron. This was a kiss that had not been born of youthful curiosity. This was a kiss shared by two adults who had each come to a crossroads in their lives and found the other standing there—waiting.
“Say you will stay,” he said.
She laughed. “And why would I do that, Aaron Miller?”
“Because I am not only asking you to stay for the sake of the children—I am asking you to be my wife.”
She started to protest that they barely knew one another, yet she felt she had known this man her whole life. “I will stay,” she said softly, “for you.”
“And the children.”
“No, Aaron, I have given my word, and while some of the parents and townspeople have shown me friendship and welcome, that does not extend to everyone.”
“You are wrong,” he said, pulling away from her and taking up the reins once more. “And I will prove it.”
Once again he set the horses dashing across the snow-covered fields back toward the village. When the first houses came into view, he slowed the sleigh and once again wrapped his arm around her. “Look, Abigail,” he said softly, pointing to a row of small cottages. In every house a candle glowed. “And there,” he whispered, turning so that they were passing the church and the school, where a candle glowed in every window. “Abigail’s Christmas candles,” he said as he pulled the sleigh to a stop in front of the school. “You wanted them to guide the Christ child, but tonight they shine for you. Welcome home, Abigail.”
Her heart was full as Aaron helped her down and walked with her into the schoolhouse. There, her aunt and uncle, half the village, and all the children waited. “Surprise!” the children shouted and then ran to her, hugging her and pleading with her to change her mind about leaving.
“All right,” she finally agreed, laughing. “I will stay.” And then she saw Louisa Koop. “Louisa, should you be here? Your father—”
“The bishop has convinced him that if we are to find a replacement for you, I am the most likely candidate. When he heard that the position pays a salary, he agreed. I’m to board with your aunt and uncle while you train me. He wasn’t happy about that, but—”
&
nbsp; “He’ll come around,” Aunt Beulah assured the girl, shooing her back to where the other children were enjoying the last of the Pfeffernüsse cookies and cups of hot cocoa. “Well?” she demanded, looking from Abigail to Aaron and back again. “We did our part, Aaron Miller, have you done yours?”
Abigail felt a blush creep up her neck. “Auntie!”
Instead of answering Beulah, Aaron clapped his hands to gain the attention of all those assembled. “I have an announcement,” he shouted. The room went still. “Abigail Yoder has agreed to stay on as our teacher.” The room exploded with cheers, but Aaron was not finished. Once again he called for quiet and then turned and faced Abigail, taking her hands in his. “I am doubly blessed, for Abigail Yoder has not only agreed to stay on as teacher, but she has also agreed to become my wife,” he said in a voice that broke with emotion.
Without taking her eyes from Aaron’s beloved face, Abigail said, “After we found Louisa, I sat for hours in prayer and meditation. I was seeking answers, and I thought the only possible solution was to leave. But now I understand that God’s answer for me was not in the mistakes of the past but in the promise of the future.”
“Kiss her, Aaron Miller,” Josef Hamm shouted from his position near the front of the gathering. Others took up the chant.
And as Aaron bent his head to hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck, the last thing she saw before closing her eyes to receive that kiss was the glow of candlelight.
Christmas Brown Jam Cookies
GLUTEN-FREE COOKIES
¾ cup maple syrup
½ cup sugar
¼ cup sour cream
¼ cup lard (Tenderflake)
½ teaspoon vanilla
2 teaspoons cocoa powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon ground star aniseed (a must ingredient)
1 cup rice flour
½ cup white bean flour
½ cup tapioca starch
¼ cup coconut flour
1 rounded teaspoon xanthan gum
Beat syrup, sugar, sour cream, lard, and vanilla until well blended. Add the well-mixed-together dry ingredients. Mix well, then add more rice flour with your hands a little at a time until you have a soft, nonsticky dough. Cover and let stand in refrigerator for a few hours or overnight.
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 57
