Amish Christmas Twins

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  Jethro stood between their chairs and, looking from one to the other, said, “You are friends again.” He slid an arm across Jubal’s shoulder, across Abigail’s, too, and drew them into a three-way hug. “This makes me so happy!”

  Not as happy as I am, Abigail thought as tears of joy stung her eyes. Not nearly as happy as I am!

  Chapter 10

  Driving away from Abigail’s house tonight had been harder than ever. And she hadn’t made it easier by sending them on their way with a pie.

  “I once heard Judith say that Dutch apple is her favorite,” she’d said. “Tell her this is my lazy way of saying thank you, without having to write a note.”

  They’d barely left her drive before Jethro said, “You and Abigail should get married. I like her. She would be a good sister-in-law for me.”

  Jube laughed. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, it is. She is pretty, and funny, and smart, and very kind. All the things that Maem is. Maem was a good wife. She is a good mother. Abigail will be a good wife and mother, too.”

  Jube didn’t know how to respond, so he remained silent.

  “Have you been pretending to like her, just to be polite and nice?”

  “Of course not. She deserves better than the likes of me.”

  “That is crazy, Jube. You are the best man in Pleasant Valley.”

  “Thanks, buddy, but not everyone agrees with you.”

  “Abigail does. I just know it.”

  Even if that was true, a union between them was doomed to fail. Jube saw himself as a living, breathing reminder of every hurtful thing Ira had done to her, and eventually, she’d resent him for his part in every disappointment.

  “You take care of Maem and me. You take care of Goliath and the cows. You are even taking care of those twins. You would take care of Abigail, too. I just know it,” Jethro said again.

  “Jethro, if I was half the man you think I am, well, maybe then I would deserve a woman like her.”

  “You are making me mad, Jube.” He punched the dash.

  “Mad? At me? Why?”

  “Because you are quitting. Quitting is bad.”

  “A man cannot quit what he never started.”

  “Remember when I was six, and I thought I was too stupid to be in the Christmas play? You said I was not stupid. You said I would make the best innkeeper the church had ever seen. So I tried out. I was scared, but I did. And everyone clapped real, real loud!”

  Jube turned into their driveway.

  “And remember when I was afraid to go to school, because I thought the other kids would make fun of me? You told me to go, and show them that I belonged there, same as them. So I went. And Miss Adams said she wished all of her students worked as hard as me.”

  Putting the gearshift into Park, Jube said, “I remember. She put a gold star on your report card.”

  “Did you mean it every time you said I was just like everyone else, only a little slower?”

  “Of course I meant it!”

  “Then . . . you should take your own advice and try.”

  Side by side, they made their way up the walk. “Okay, I will.”

  “Thanks, Jube.”

  I’m the one who should be saying that, he admitted.

  “I would hug you right now, except I might drop this pie. And Maem would not like eating pie off the sidewalk!”

  “No, she would not.” Jube slid an arm across his shoulders. “I love you, little brother.”

  “I love you more!”

  Jethro’s stock reply made him feel good, and for the first time since Ira’s death, he had hope.

  * * *

  “We will never finish this one in time for Christmas.”

  James sighed. “Why are you always such a sourpuss, Brother?”

  “It is the name,” Pete said.

  “Yeah,” Paul agreed. “He takes the doubting Thomas stuff in the Bible too seriously!”

  Laughing, the boys went back to painting their buggies. They whistled and hummed and exchanged good-natured barbs, more relaxed than Jube had ever seen them. They’d spent weeks on the wheels, alone, and today they’d applied a final coat of shellac.

  “We are lucky to have Jube as a witness.”

  “A witness? To what, Thomas?”

  “That we actually built these things ourselves.”

  “I promise to tell anyone who thinks your buggies were factory made to look at your palms. Those calluses came from hard work, not childish pranks!”

  Thomas grunted.

  “Now what, Doubting Thomas?” James said.

  “We need to get on our knees and ask God’s forgiveness.”

  Pete frowned at him. “For what?”

  “I do not know about you three, but I am proud of myself. Proud of the buggies.”

  The others nodded. “I see your point,” James said.

  “Boys,” Jube began, “I have a feeling that the Father is pleased with you, and I do not think He sees your reaction as sinful.”

  “You should have been a teacher,” Pete said.

  “Or a preacher,” his twin agreed.

  “We will never forget the things you taught us.”

  “James is right,” Thomas said. Then he pointed. “Look! More snow!”

  “We should leave, in case it gets worse.”

  “What if the weather keeps people from the surprise party?”

  “Oh, Thomas,” the boys said. “Hush!”

  One by one, they filed past Jube. “Let me drive you,” he suggested.

  “No, thank you. We have to put the final touches on an idea.”

  Jube laughed. “I am not sure Pleasant Valley is ready for another of your ideas!”

  He watched as they plodded up the driveway, and heard James say, “If we pool the money we earned this summer, we can get him a Christmas present.”

  “How many times do I have to repeat myself,” Thomas droned. “We will need every penny to buy food for the meal, remember?”

  “We will make something for him, then.”

  When they were out of earshot, Jube closed the shed doors and hiked toward the cow barn. “All is well,” he said, peering inside.

  And not just in here, either.

  * * *

  The boys had fulfilled every promise, draping garland around the window and doorframes and arranging white-sheeted tables in a big square. In the center, a big, hollowed-out log held holly berries and evergreen branches. Near the back wall stood a separate table, decorated with now-empty serving bowls and platters.

  They’d clothespinned more sheets to a rope tied between two support posts. The big sign pinned to them said: KEEP OUT! PRIVATE! ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK! Jube had helped them position the buggies back there. Now only one question remained: When would they reveal the surprise?

  “This is so hard to believe,” Priscilla said. “Not just the food and the decorations, but the change in our boys.”

  Leora dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye. “Makes me wonder why we were in such a hurry to see them turn from rowdy boys into men.”

  “I trust you will share those sentiments with the boys. Whatever accolades they received today were hard earned.”

  As the women nodded, Paul moved into the center of the square and clapped his hands to command attention. He waited until his brother and cousins joined him to say, “By now, it is no longer a surprise. We are here to present a gift to someone deserving. So what started out as a punishment turned into something good, something that made us appreciate how hard our parents have worked to help us become good Christians and good members of the community.”

  All heads turned; all eyes were on Jube. He started to protest, but Paul continued, outlining the details of their assignment. “We gave it a lot of thought. A lot of prayer, too, to come up with deserving recipients of our gift.”

  “Recipients,” Ben echoed. “There is more than one?”

  “Yup,” Pete said. “There are four.”

  If Jube’s pulse was po
unding this fast, he could only imagine how much harder the boys’ hearts were beating.

  James waved his parents into the center of the space. Paul did the same. The adults exchanged puzzled glances. “What is going on here?” Noah asked.

  “Jube, will you open the curtain for us?”

  They’d put a lot of thought into every detail, he realized, crossing the floor. Then, just as Thomas had asked, he whipped the sheets aside to reveal twin four-seater buggies that shone bright under the bare overhead lightbulb.

  “No more worrying that the axles will crack in the middle of the road, Daed,” James said. “Or that the wheels will break under our weight.”

  Ben took a step toward the buggies, but Pete stopped him. “Wait, please. We have one more gift to give.”

  The adults looked more confused than ever.

  “Mr. Quinn—Jubal—there is something for you, too, behind the buggies. Hardly a proper thanks for all you have done for us, but . . .” He shrugged.

  Jube walked to the corner, saw a stack of wooden crates, each with a dozen, perfectly squared interior compartments.

  “For the milk bottles,” he said, mostly to himself. He looked at them and, beaming, said, “No more towels to keep them from clinking all the way to town. But where did you find them?”

  “We made ’em,” James said, “with wood scraps from the buggies.”

  Not only had they mitered every corner like expert carpenters, they’d also painted QUINN DAIRY in red across the front of the boxes.

  “I do not know what to say.” It must have taken hours, time they could have spent playing or sleeping. “ ‘Thank you’ seems such a paltry thing to say, considering . . .”

  “Oh no, Jube. This is our thank-you, to you!”

  He joined the little group, shook each boy’s hand. “Excellent work,” he said. “You have made me proud.” He met their parents’ eyes. “You can be proud, too, with good reason.” Then, grinning, he asked the boys, “Okay if they take a closer look at their gifts now?”

  “First,” Leora said, “I have a question.” She rested a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Why us?”

  “You told us to find someone with a need.”

  She finger-combed the bangs from Pete’s forehead. Paul’s, too.

  “Well, go ahead,” Thomas said. “Get inside. See for yourselves. . . barely a bounce!”

  Slowly, Jube walked back to his table, where the bishop sat on his left and Abigail sat to his right. “I am stunned.” He faced her. “Can you believe what they did?”

  “I can.”

  Micah smiled, got to his feet, and, as Paul had earlier, clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up, friends. I think Jubal, here, has something to say.”

  He’d practiced and prayed, prayed and practiced, but how could the bishop have known that? Fear pulsed through his veins. What if he stumbled over his words? What if his speech wasn’t good enough? Well, he thought, whatever the outcome, at least you are among friends.

  On the heels of a shaky breath, he took Abigail’s hand in his own. All eyes were on them; the only sound was the snow, pecking the shed’s windows.

  “We worked well together,” he began, then recited all they had done, together, to help make the boys’ Christmas wish come true. “We were teammates.”

  “Starting on that day in the pasture.”

  He laughed, squeezed her hand. “I think I will always remember the way you flapped that apron.”

  “And I will never forget how you grabbed Goliath by the horns . . . right before he threw you into the air.” She laughed, too, then sobered. “Teammates help one another.”

  “And protect one another when the need arises.”

  “Will you be my teammate, forever?”

  She’d stolen his line, and Jube didn’t quite know what to say next.

  “As in wedding?” Micah asked.

  A moment of silence passed, and Ben broke it by saying, “We will drive you to the church in our new buggy!”

  Things were happening fast. Way too fast. Had he heard correctly? Abigail had actually suggested marriage? Jube’s answer came when he looked into her face. All fears that she might one day resent him disappeared. God had orchestrated these events, and God would manage their future.

  Jubal was about to wrap Abigail in a hug when Leora leaned out of her buggy’s window.

  “If all of you are finished waxing poetic,” she said, “I have an announcement of my own.”

  Now all eyes were on her.

  “This non-bouncy four-seater will come in handy next year at this time, when we add a little one to the family.”

  Within seconds, the buggy was surrounded by family and friends offering congratulations and well-wishes.

  Jube pulled Abigail to his side. He hadn’t yet professed undying love, and neither had she, but they had the rest of their lives for such things.

  “It has been a good day.”

  “A very good day.”

  “What do you bet,” Thomas grumbled, interrupting their kiss, “the baby will be twins?”

  Shelley Shepard Gray writes Amish romances for Kensington and Simon & Schuster and contemporary women’s fiction for Blackstone Publishing. Her novels have been Holt Medallion winners as well as Inspirational Readers Choice and Carol finalists. Shelley’s novels have appeared on both the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists.

  To date, Shelley has published over seventy novels for a variety of publishers. Her novels have been highlighted in the Philadelphia Enquirer, Washington Post, Time magazine, and USA Today. She has also been interviewed on NPR as well as numerous regional radio stations.

  She lives in Colorado Springs and writes full-time. Shelley is married, the mother of two young adults, and is an active member of her church. Shelley is active on Facebook and Twitter. She also has a website, https://www.shelleyshepardgray.com/.

  Inspirational author Rachel J. Good grew up near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, the setting for her Amish romances, and she frequently visits Amish friends who help to ensure the accuracy of her novels. She is the author of more than 2,300 articles and fifty books in print or forthcoming under several pseudonyms. The first book in her Love & Promises series (Grand Central), The Amish Teacher’s Gift, spent five weeks on the BookScan bestseller list.

  A former teacher and children’s librarian, Good completed her MA from Vermont College while raising five children and is presently completing her thesis in the Hollins University MFA program. In addition to balancing freelance editing and illustrating careers, she teaches writing and creativity classes.

  A member of RWA, ACFW, ALA, and SCBWI, Good speaks regularly at civic events, schools, libraries, and conferences across the country. More information about Rachel can be found at:

  www.racheljgood.com

  www.facebook.com/racheljgoodnovels/

  www.facebook.com/people/Rachel-J-Good/100009699285059

  Bestselling author Loree Lough once sang for her supper performing across the U.S. and Canada. Now and then, she blows the dust from her six-string to croon a tune or two, but mostly she writes novels that have earned hundreds of industry and “Readers’ Choice” awards, four- and five-star reviews, and seven book-to-movie options. All He’ll Ever Need (#1 in the A Child Shall Lead Them series for Kensington Publishing) is her 116th published book.

  You’ll find more warm-hearted, joyous Amish Christmas

  romance in THE AMISH CHRISTMAS LETTERS,

  available now!

  ’Tis the season for sharing . . .

  THE AMISH CHRISTMAS LETTERS

  Patricia Davids

  Sarah Price

  Jennifer Beckstrand

  With Christmas around the corner, it’s time for Amish families to include holiday greetings in their circle letters, each writer adding to a growing collection as it travels on to the next. In this delightful trio of stories, three cousins scattered across the country share their blessings—and reveal news of romantic surprises . . .

&nbs
p; To win a friendly annual competition, matchmaker Marybeth Martin must bring one more couple together by Christmas. Her only prospect is a man more interested in a nanny than a wife—until his little girl shows him the light.... Struggling farmer’s daughter Katie Mae Kauffman discovers that she and a local widower and father of four can harvest more crops—and profits—together than separately. But she’ll have to put pride aside to make room for unexpected love.... Corralling an unruly brood of seven is not babysitter Carolyn Yutzy’s first choice for celebrating the season—but the sparks between her and their unsentimental yet irresistible uncle may be a gift neither was counting on . . .

  Now, one by one, each resourceful young woman will have a

  holiday to remember—and to write home about . . .

  Read on for an excerpt from Loree Lough’s upcoming release,

  LOVING MRS. BONTRAGER!

  Chapter 1

  Despite the wide brim of his black hat, Sam squinted into the early June sunlight. “She was supposed to be here an hour ago.” He stamped one booted foot. “If this is her idea of a good first impression . . .”

  Matthew, the youngest, held tight to his father’s hand and stood still and silent, watching and listening.

  Molly elbowed her older brother. “It is not her fault the train is late. Besides, remember what we promised Daed. . . .”

  Aaron realized it had been reluctant submission, not a promise, that had compelled his children to agree with his decision. They were well aware that he couldn’t keep food in their mouths and a roof over their heads while tending the critters and the garden, preparing meals, and doing laundry and housekeeping. All three of the children, even older-than-his-years Sam, needed a woman’s touch, and truth be told, he’d grown tired of being mother, father, and full-time caretaker of . . . everything. During the drive from Oakland to the Grantsville station, he’d lectured them: When Bethel arrived, they were to treat her with the respect they’d show any adult. He’d asked them to help him make her feel at home, to help out around the place, too. “If you’d been more helpful to your aunt Stella,” he’d reminded them, “I would not have been forced to take such desperate measures.”