An Amish Wife for Christmas

by Patricia Davids

  She reached up and touched her forehead. A wave of nausea forced her to sit back. When she drew away her hand, fresh blood stained her fingers. No wonder a horrible pain throbbed behind her eyes and her brain felt foggy. Maybe Eli was right.

  “May I...may I wrap a cloth around your head? It’s important that we stop the bleeding. I’ve already done all I can for Jeremiah,” Eli said, his voice tentative.

  “Ja,” she consented, giving in to common sense.

  She sat perfectly still as he removed her blood-soaked kerchief. Her waist-length hair had come undone from the bun at the nape of her neck and she felt embarrassed to have him see its length. It was something special she was keeping for her husband on their wedding night. Thankfully, he politely averted his gaze as he opened the first aid kit.

  “Where did that come from?” She pointed at the box.

  He answered without looking up. “My buggy.”

  “How do you know so much about medical care?”

  He shrugged, his gaze briefly meeting hers. “I went through the training and am a certified paramedic. I’m specially trained to help in critical situations like this.”

  So, he wasn’t a doctor, but he might as well be. Although she’d heard about Amish paramedics and firefighters working back east in Lancaster County and Pennsylvania, she’d never met one before and was fairly certain her church elders wouldn’t approve. Higher learning was shunned by her people because it often led to Hochmut, the pride of men.

  “Is...is that what you’ve been doing among the Englisch?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Ja, it’s how I earned my living.”

  So now she knew. He must have worked hard in school to learn such a skill. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to know things, but neither did she approve of him casting aside his faith for such worldly pursuits.

  Eli cleansed her wound with an antiseptic towelette. His touch was warm and gentle as he wrapped her head with soft, white gauze.

  “You will need three or four stitches in the gash.” He gave her a soulful look, as if he could see deep inside her heart and knew all the hurt and longings she kept hidden there.

  She looked away.

  Sirens heralded the arrival of two ambulances and some police cars. Lizzie lost track of time as the officers set up a roadblock with flares and took their statements. She watched Eli untangle the harness and lead Billie out of the ditch. Speaking to the distressed horse in a low murmur, he smoothed his hands over the animal’s trembling legs. He then salvaged the bruised apples and put the filled crates into his own buggy.

  When the medics loaded them into the two ambulances, Annie leaned close against Lizzie’s side, her eyes red from crying. “Is Daedi going to be all right?”

  Lizzie reached over and took the child’s hand. “The Lord’s will be done, boppli. We must trust in Him to get us through.”

  As she spoke these words, she tried to believe them. If Daed died, could she forgive the boy who had caused the accident? Christ had forgiven all and she must do likewise, but she wasn’t sure her faith was that strong.

  “I’ll look after Billie.” Eli stood at the foot of the ambulance, holding the lead lines to the horse’s halter. His expressive eyes were filled with a haunting unease, as though he were anxious to leave.

  “Danke.” Lizzie gave a brisk nod.

  He stepped back and the medics closed the double doors. Lizzie laid her head back and closed her eyes. And in her heart, she carried a silent prayer that they would be all right.

  * * *

  The following day, Eli tugged on the leather leads as he veered Jeremiah Beiler’s three draft horses slightly to the left. The big Percherons did as he asked, plodding steadily down the row of alfalfa as they pulled the hay mower. The low rumble of the gas-powered engine filled the air. Eli glanced at the position of the sun, unable to believe it was afternoon already. Another hour and he would finish this chore. Jeremiah’s hay would be secure. It would take a few more days for the hay to dry, and then he would gather it into bales.

  “Gee!” he called, turning the team to the right.

  A movement brought his eye toward the red log house where Lizzie and her familye lived. Turning slightly, he saw her and two men heading toward him, stepping high as they crossed the rutted field. Even from this distance, Eli recognized the slant of Bishop Yoder’s black felt hat. His companion was Darrin Albrecht, the deacon of their congregation. Both men were dressed identically in black frock coats and broadfall pants. Eli had gotten word of the Beilers’ accident to the bishop late last night. No doubt the elders had come to check on Jeremiah’s familye.

  Lizzie accompanied them, wearing a blue dress and crisp black apron. As they drew near, Eli saw a fresh gauze bandage had been taped to her forehead, no doubt hiding several stitches from her visit to the hospital. She and the little girls must have just gotten home. He’d seen the Englisch midwife’s car pull in the driveway an hour earlier. She must have given them a ride from town.

  Sunlight glinted against Lizzie’s golden hair, the length of it pinned into a bun beneath her starched prayer kapp. One rebellious strand framed her delicate oval face and she quickly tucked it back behind her ear. Her blue eyes flashed with unease, her stern expression and brisk stride belying her injuries. Eli was eager to hear how she was feeling and also receive news of her father’s condition.

  Pulling the giant horses to a standstill, he killed the engine and hopped down off his seat. As he walked the short distance to meet them, he rolled his long sleeves down his forearms.

  “Hallo,” he called.

  He glanced at Lizzie, trying to assess her mood. Their gazes clashed, then locked for several moments. As always, he blinked at the startling blue of her eyes. Her expression showed a fierce emotion he didn’t understand. A mingling of repugnance and determination.

  “Guder nummidaag,” Bishop Yoder said.

  “It looks like you’ve been busy today.” Deacon Albrecht surveyed the cut field, as though evaluating the quality of Eli’s work.

  After being gone four years, Eli was surprised at how easily farming came back to him. It felt good to work the land again. It felt good to be needed. Holding the lead lines in his hands as the powerful horses pulled the mower had given him a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt since Shannon’s death seven months earlier.

  Thinking of his sweet fiancée made his heart squeeze painfully and a gloomy emptiness filled his chest.

  “You have done gut work for the Beilers,” Bishop Yoder said. “They will need the strength of a man on this place for a few more months, until Jeremiah is back on his feet. He will have surgery today and will be in the hospital awhile longer, until the swelling goes down so they can cast the leg.”

  Eli nodded, wondering what the bishop was getting at.

  Bishop Yoder placed his hand on Eli’s shoulder, his gray eyes filled with kindness, but also an intensity that couldn’t be ignored. “I’ve spoken with your father. He agrees that you should work here for the time being, caring for Jeremiah’s farm as if it were your own. But with this request comes a great responsibility and commitment to your faith. I know you have told me you are recommitted to Gott. Are you certain our way of life is what you want?”

  Eli hesitated. With Shannon gone and his confidence shattered, he had needed to get away from Denver and all the reminders of her death. Here in Riverton, he hoped to find the peace he so desperately longed for and a way to forgive himself for what had happened.

  His heart still felt unsure, but he was determined to stay the course and wait for certainty to come. He couldn’t go back, so he’d have to find a way for himself here.

  “I am.” Eli nodded, his throat dry as sandpaper. Speaking the words out loud helped solidify his commitment.

  “I just spoke with your mudder. She is inside the house, almost finished bottling applesauce for Lizzie,” the bisho
p said.

  Eli nodded, forcing himself to meet the man’s gaze. “Ja, and my vadder was here earlier this morning, helping with the milking.”

  “You all have been most kind.” Lizzie stared at the ground, her words low and uncertain.

  Eli felt a wave of compassion. “It’s our pleasure to help. You would do the same for us.”

  Or at least, he hoped she would. Her manner was so offish toward him that he wasn’t sure. When he’d left four years earlier, he’d written to her often, at first. Not once had she replied. That alone told him she wanted nothing to do with him. After a year and a half of trying, he’d finally moved on with his life, meeting and falling in love with Shannon.

  “Gut,” the bishop continued. “Tomorrow at church, I will announce your plans to be baptized, so you can participate in the instruction classes again. They’ve already begun, but since you took them once before, I think we can catch you up. Then you’ll be prepared for your baptism in a few months.”

  Lizzie looked at him and a rush of doubt speared Eli’s chest. The last time he’d attended the classes, he’d been a rebellious kid and hadn’t paid much attention. In those days, all he could think about was getting out of here. Was he ready for such a commitment now? Once he was baptized, there would be no turning back. But he had the next few months to decide.

  “I’m happy to assist the Beilers,” he said.

  A sudden hesitation struck him. A quick glance in Lizzie’s direction told him that she didn’t want him here. Her expression held a heavy dose of disapproval. As if she thought he was tainted now, because he’d been living among the Englisch.

  He’d loved her so much when they were teenagers, but he’d had to leave. Had to find out what the world could offer. He’d desperately wanted a rumspringa—that rite of passage during adolescence when Amish teenagers experienced freedom of choice without the rules of the Ordnung to hold them back. But he’d never meant to hurt Lizzie. In fact, he’d tried to get her to come join him. If only she had responded to his letters. Instead, each one had been returned unopened.

  The bishop smiled. “Ach, we’ll see you tomorrow then. Willkomm back, my brother.”

  Eli nodded, but didn’t speak. A hard lump had lodged in his throat. He felt grateful to be here, but the reasons for the gratitude were murky. Was he truly glad to be back among his people, or was he just relieved to be away from reminders of Shannon? He’d talked to other paramedics who had lost a patient in their care, but it hadn’t prepared him for the shock. And to make matters worse, the first patient he’d lost had been someone he dearly loved. Someone who was counting on him to keep her safe. And he’d failed miserably. That’s when he realized how much he missed his familye. Seeking respite from the world, he’d come home. But thus far, peace of mind had continued to elude him.

  Reaching up, he tugged on the brim of his straw hat where a letter from Tom Caldwell was safely tucked away. Tom had been Eli’s former boss at the hospital in Denver. His letter was a silent reminder of the Englisch life Eli had left behind. And though it felt good to be back in Riverton, whenever Eli thought of never being a paramedic again, a sick feeling settled in his gut.

  “If you have faith, all will be well with your familye. Never forget that,” the bishop spoke kindly to Lizzie.

  “Ja. Danke, Bishop,” Lizzie said, her voice holding a note of respect.

  The church elders walked away, leaving Eli and Lizzie alone. A horrible, swelling silence followed. Lizzie looked at the ground, looked at the mountains surrounding the valley, looked anywhere but at Eli.

  “You are truly all right?” Eli finally asked, peering at Lizzie’s forehead.

  “Ja, I’m fine,” she said, briefly touching the bandage as if it embarrassed her.

  “I didn’t expect this.” He gestured toward the retreating men.

  “Neither did I.” Her voice wobbled.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with me working here?” he asked.

  She glanced at him. “I don’t have much choice.”

  True. With her daed in the hospital and the bishop’s stamp of approval, she would have to accept Eli’s aid.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Lizzie. I know I left rather suddenly,” he said.

  She snorted and stepped back in exasperation. “Ja, you sure did.”

  “I know I should have spoken to you about it first, but I feared you might tell my eldre or the bishop and they would have tried to make me stay.”

  “Ach, so you ran away. You took the coward’s route and fled.”

  He stared in confusion. He’d been gone four years. Why was Lizzie still so angry at him?

  “We were only fourteen when I first proposed to you,” he said. “I’m sure you agree that was way too young for marriage. When I left, neither of us was ready to start a familye. If only you had come and joined me.”

  “To Denver?” she asked with incredulity.

  He nodded.

  “Ne, I would never leave my people. You knew that.”

  “But I had to go. I wanted a rumspringa.”

  “So, nothing has changed. You still seek the world.” Her voice sounded bitter.

  He snorted, feeling frustrated, but unwilling to explain about Shannon and all that he had recently lost. “Believe me, a lot has changed. I’m not the same person anymore.”

  “And neither am I, Eli. You’re homesick for your familye, that’s all. But before long, you’ll get homesick for the world out there that you left behind. We don’t drive cars, use electricity, or swim the inner net. You’ll get tired of us and leave again.”

  Swim the inner net?

  He tilted his head in confusion, wondering what she meant. Then, he chuckled as he understood her words. “I think you mean surf the internet.”

  She shrugged, her voice thick with conviction. “Whatever. We don’t do that. Pretty soon, you’ll become weary of our quaint, boring ways and leave again.”

  Oh, that hurt. More than he could say. Never had he considered his Amish people to be quaint or boring. In fact, quite the opposite. The science of farming tantalized his intellect. The hard work and life here was definitely far from mundane. It was always a challenge to fight the weather, improve their machinery and produce a better crop...especially in Colorado. He also loved the solitude of fertile fields and the camaraderie of belonging to the Gmay. He always had.

  “Ne, I’m here to stay, Lizzie-bee.” But his words lacked the conviction hers had held. After all, his memories of Shannon were in Denver. When she’d died, he’d wanted to leave, but now he missed going to their old haunts where they’d fallen in love. He missed her.

  “Don’t call me that.” Her lips pursed with disapproval and tears shimmered in her eyes.

  Lizzie-bee.

  He held perfectly still, wishing he hadn’t used his old pet name for her. It had slipped out. How he wished he could go back in time and mend the rift between them. That they could be friends again. He could use the comfort of a good friend to help him deal with his broken heart, still full of love for Shannon.

  “For the help you will give, you are welcome here on our farm, Eli Stoltzfus, but don’t expect anything else. I don’t trust you anymore and that’s that.” She whirled around and headed toward the house, plodding over the wide furrows of alfalfa with singular purpose.

  I don’t trust you anymore.

  Her words rang in his ears like the tolling of a bell. He watched her go, his heart plummeting. More than anything, he longed for a friend to confide in. Someone to talk with about Shannon and his loss. But it obviously wouldn’t be Lizzie. Not only had he lost her friendship, but he’d also lost her confidence and there was no going back.

  Copyright © 2018 by Lora Lee Bale

  ISBN-13: 9781488090837

  An Amish Wife for Christmas

  Copyright © 2018 by Patricia MacDonald

&
nbsp; All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com