An Amish Country Christmas

by Hubbard, Charlotte; King, Naomi

  As though he’d felt her gaze, Vernon looked at her. Again his eyes lingered, and Jerusalem wiggled her fingers in a wave. “Won’t be but a few more minutes,” she announced. “Those are mighty fine steaks you brought us, Vernon.”

  “And what else smells so delectable?” he asked as he rose from the sofa. “Let’s take a look, Tom. The anticipation’s making me twitch!”

  Jerusalem turned and inhaled deeply. Nothing smelled as wonderful as beef sizzling in a skillet, with butter, salt, and pepper. As she began setting the vegetables on the table, the two fellows lifted lids of pots and stood a little closer to her and her sister than was the usual way of it. All her life she’d known the men of the house to seat themselves and wait to be served, so it was a treat to have Vernon take the bowl of buttered succotash from her . . . letting his large, warm hands brush hers for a moment.

  Oh, but his eyes are so blue and merry! Can it really be me that’s making them twinkle so?

  “You’ve outdone yourself,” the bishop murmured as she handed him the basket of fresh rolls. “A man couldn’t ask for anything finer than this.”

  “It’s a particular pleasure to cook for folks who appreciate it,” Jerusalem replied quietly. Then she looked directly into his eyes at close range. “But don’t think for a minute that spreadin’ such honey will get ya ahead on the Scrabble board, Bishop. I’ve never been one to let anybody win, ya see.”

  “Oh, I see, all right, Jerusalem,” he countered, holding her gaze. “And if for one moment I suspect you’re pandering to me, or distracting me with goodies or clever table talk, I’ll show you no mercy.”

  She tingled from the way he’d said that. It was an effort to concentrate on their silent grace instead of letting her imagination gallop away with her. And what a joy it was to watch Vernon and Tom slice off the first bites of their tender steaks and then sigh with utter satisfaction as they chewed.

  The meal progressed at a leisurely pace, seasoned with spirited conversation, yet too soon it was over—most likely because they were all ready for the evening’s entertainment. Again, Vernon and Tom broke with tradition by washing and drying the dishes so she and Nazareth could put the kitchen to rights faster. Happy talk and laughter filled the room even as the wind whistled outside and snow lodged in the corners of the windows.

  “I’ll toss on a couple more logs,” Tom said. “Something tells me we’ll all stay up a little later tonight.”

  While Jerusalem and Nazareth arranged some cookies on a plate and poured the spiced cider they’d been warming, Vernon laid out the Scrabble board. It was cozy with the four of them at a card table instead of having nieces, nephews, and siblings crowding around a bigger table. With the lamps glowing and the dictionary within reach, they were finally ready to play.

  No accident that the two men seated us across from them, Jerusalem mused as she quickly chose her first seven letters. And no surprise that Vernon’s long legs aren’t tucked beneath his own chair.

  “I’ve got a six-letter word to start the game,” the bishop announced.

  “Well, that’s just fine and dandy,” Jerusalem replied as she shuffled her tiles. “But I can use all seven of my letters. Shall I proceed?”

  Tom chuckled. “You’ve got me beat.”

  “Take it away, Sister. Then I’ll play something extraordinary from whatever ya lay down,” Nazareth remarked as she gazed at her letters. “No sense in letting these fellas think they’ll ever have the upper hand.”

  Jerusalem swiveled the Scrabble board on its lazy susan, considering where she could play to best advantage. “It’s not much of a score, because all the letters I drew are only worth a point apiece,” she murmured as she formed the word. “But it’ll light a firecracker behind the horse, I think.”

  Beside her, Nazareth gasped. “Sensual? We’re playin’ a respectable game here, Sister!”

  As they all laughed, Jerusalem shrugged gleefully. “Just makin’ do. Takin’ double the points for usin’ all my letters,” she added as she wrote her score on the scratch pad.

  “And it perfectly describes our evening,” Vernon observed. “We’ve tasted outstanding food while savoring the feel of a fresh linen tablecloth and the sight of fine china . . . we’re inhaling the scent of this spiced cider and hearing our laughter grow louder by the minute. That kind of sensuality is indeed a gift from God as we enjoy this wonderful life He’s provided us.”

  “Amen to that, Vernon,” Tom replied.

  As Nazareth laid down her tiles, Jerusalem sent Vernon an appreciative smile. He had noticed the trouble she’d taken with the table, and it touched her that he had woven his compliments into such an insightful response, too . . . even as his lips twitched with thoughts he wasn’t saying out loud.

  “And who was saying we should keep things respectable ?” Tom teased, pointing at Nazareth’s word. “Playin’ liquor from Jerusalem’s L sorta tells us what’s on your mind, ain’t so, missy?”

  “Or it might suggest what’s in this wonderful cider,” Vernon remarked as he drained his cup. He reached behind him for the big ceramic teapot, then rose to pour more of the hot drink for everyone.

  Nazareth snickered. “You’re just wishin’ you’d played the Q on a triple-letter space,” she replied saucily. “I’ve just scored thirty-five points, Sister.”

  “Jah, and you’d better cover your letters, too, because Vernon’s takin’ a peek at them while he plays waiter.” Jerusalem placed her hand across her tiles, smiling up at the white-haired man whose beard shimmied with his laughter. “You think I haven’t tried that trick myself, Vernon?”

  “I think you’ve tried every trick known to man, woman.”

  Jerusalem nearly fainted. The bishop had a low, mellow voice and such a quick wit with his words. But it was not so much what he said that affected her as the way he said it. And while they weren’t in church, by any means, she had never expected to hear a spiritual leader suggest such an . . . earthy topic. Her heart was fluttering so hard she could barely breathe.

  “Well, that explains why no man has been able to keep up with my sister, much less catch her,” Nazareth remarked pertly. “Jerusalem won’t tell ya so herself, but she’s been the sharpest pencil in the pack since we were wee girls.”

  “No doubt in my mind about that.” Vernon made a point of looking into Jerusalem’s eyes rather than at her letter tiles as he topped off her cider. “I believe Tom’s fortunate to have women in his district who speak their mind with grace and intelligence, rather than merely agreeing with whatever the men decide to do.”

  Somehow Jerusalem resisted the urge to fan herself with her hand. By the time Vernon sat down across the table from her, she could think straight again. She suddenly wondered, had this little exchange been engineered to distract her from her game? Vernon, sly fox that he was, had warned her about doing this very thing with goodies and clever conversation, but she knew when she’d been bested. She studied her letters while Vernon took his turn.

  “Request,” the bishop said as he placed his letters around the Q Nazareth had played. Then he looked purposefully across the table. “Jerusalem, I request the pleasure of your company for a ride in my sleigh after we dig ourselves out tomorrow.”

  Jerusalem’s hands flew to her face, which was growing quite warm. “I—well, it so happens I love nothin’ better than glidin’ across snow-covered fields behind a fine horse,” she replied in a tight voice. “I—I’ll join ya, for sure and for certain.”

  Nazareth clapped her hands. “This is more fun than I’ve had in a long while, watching my sister get all ferhoodled ,” she laughed. “Denki for that, Vernon. You’ve made my day!”

  The game progressed without any long pauses, for they were all adept players who suffered no fools. Every now and again they passed the cookies, and it made Jerusalem’s heart sing when their visitor from Cedar Creek tried every variety on the plate and declared each cookie better than the one before. She reminded herself that in a day or two Vernon would be going
home . . . so she might be getting way ahead of herself, hoping he would do more than talk a pretty line.

  After all, Hiram had been a master at that. Especially when he wanted something.

  Jerusalem let herself enjoy the game for what it was, a time for four folks in their middle years to laugh and joke like kids . . . without family or neighborhood gossips picking up on every juicy tidbit. And when had she ever been at a game table where mostly innocent talk could be construed as innuendo?

  When the last of the tiles had been taken, they all studied their remaining letters and the spaces available to place them. In a burst of exhilaration, Nazareth played smooch, and then Vernon followed it with kissing, which used up all of his letters.

  Tom looked at Jerusalem with a playful shrug. “Gut grief, how can we top those plays? We know what they’re thinkin’ about, ain’t so?”

  “Thinkin’s one thing. Doin’s another,” Jersusalem quipped—and then she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Didn’t mean for that to sound so brazen, Bishop. I’ve gotten carried away with our fun—”

  “What you said wasn’t the least bit out of line, dear Jerusalem.” Vernon resumed a more serious demeanor, yet his voice remained low and calm. “Kissing has its time and place—to everything there’s a season, after all. And as a man who’s been without his wife for several years, I pray I still have a season or two of kissing to look forward to. Life’s full of unexpected joy, and I try to live so I’m open to every worthwhile surprise that comes my way.”

  And do you consider me an unexpected joy? A worthwhile surprise?

  Jerusalem didn’t care to admit how many years had passed since she’d kissed a boy or two, and at this glowing moment, that didn’t even matter. No one had ever made her feel so special, so . . . sought after. For a moment they all sat silent, basking in the low glow of the oil lamps and the popping of the fire that was dying down in the stove.

  “Well, here it is ten thirty,” Tom remarked as his mantel clock chimed the half-hour. “Don’t think I’ve got another game in me this evening, but I can tell ya I’m goin’ up to bed with kissin’ on my mind.” As he smiled at Nazareth, she lowered her eyes in modest delight.

  “Tomorrow’s another day,” Vernon agreed as he rose from the card table. “And I, for one, can’t wait to see how it unfolds.”

  And wasn’t that a fine way to look at life? Jerusalem and Nazareth said their goodnights and retired to the bedroom at the far end of the upstairs hallway, gripping each other’s hands in their excitement.

  “Well, what did ya think of that?” Nazareth whispered after they’d closed their door.

  Jerusalem chuckled. “I think it’s been one of the brightest days in my life. And I doubt I’ll get to sleep very fast, for thinkin’ back over everything we did and said.”

  Chapter Four

  Tom paused at the top of the stairs to inhale the sweet fragrance of cinnamon as the stronger scent of hot coffee called to him. What a blessing it was to have Nazareth and her sister cooking for him, and to have Vernon here as a friend and an advisor. He couldn’t recall the last time he had laughed so often and so loudly as they had last night, and he said a quick prayer of thanksgiving. The sound of Vernon’s footsteps made him turn. “Gut mornin’ to ya, Bishop.”

  “And you’ll soon hear people calling you that,” Vernon replied as he lightly placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “I hope you never tire of the blessing and the responsibility that comes with the calling. And meanwhile—for today, anyway—I want to enjoy just being Vernon Gingerich, a man on retreat with three fine friends.”

  “I can understand that, for sure and for certain.”

  “And does your armload of winter clothing indicate how many layers you’ll be dressed in when we shovel snow?” Vernon teased.

  Tom laughed as they started down the stairway. “Wouldn’t ya know, I found a note under my door this morning, askin’ me for some long johns and work pants because Naz and Jerusalem intend to help us dig out,” he said. “And I’ll warn ya ahead of time, there’ll be no talkin’ them out of chorin’ with us. They’re . . . determined, as women go.”

  “Not the type to shy away from being useful, even if it entails backbreaking labor,” Vernon remarked. “I’m not surprised they won’t use the deep drifts as reason to stay in the kitchen, although their cooking would certainly justify their remaining in here where it’s warm—”

  “Don’t look for that to happen, Vernon!” Jerusalem called from the kitchen.

  “Jah, we’ve got our goats to tend,” Nazareth added.

  “And besides that, when have we had so much snow to play in? Have you fellas looked outside?”

  Tom smiled as he entered the warm, cozy kitchen behind Vernon, who seemed eager for his first glimpse of the Hooley sisters . . . or at least he’d certainly taken a shine to the older one. And wasn’t that a happy result of yesterday’s conference? Tom wouldn’t let on to his longtime friend, but he had secretly hoped Vernon might be attracted to Jerusalem. Living alone was no picnic, and after the happiness and guidance the bishop of Cedar Creek had given to so many, he deserved another woman to share his life.

  “We’ve put out a few things for a first breakfast,” Jerusalem remarked as she gestured that they should sit down to eat. “When we come back in, there’ll be French toast made with Tom’s favorite cinnamon swirl bread—”

  “Along with bacon, ham, and fried apples,” Nazareth chimed in. When she smiled at Tom, he felt like a kid of sixteen again. “By the looks of those drifts out there, we’ll be workin’ up an appetite. But what a picture it makes, with the sun just comin’ up over the new-fallen snow.”

  Tom looked out the window at the splendor stretching before him: flawless, rounded drifts for as far as he could see mounded around the barns and nearly as high as the fences in some spots. A rosy pink horizon meant they had all slept later than usual. It was a blessing that his dairy cows were the only creatures who might mind the wait. No one else would care or comment about how the four of them were taking the morning at a more leisurely pace . . . or how he intended to revel in this day with Nazareth while Vernon and Jerusalem provided a measure of propriety. He wished he could express his true feelings, speak his heart to this charming, compassionate companion.

  But God was in control of how his life played out, and He had a reason for Tom’s living alone, and for the Ordnung ’s restriction on remarriage.

  Patience, he reminded himself as he met Nazareth’s eye. Not your place to know the whys and wherefores of the Almighty.

  After they bowed in prayer, Tom savored another taste of the butterscotch twists they had enjoyed yesterday, along with a thick slice of buttered cinnamon swirl bread immersed in a bowl of warm milk, with sugar sprinkled on top. Nazareth had once teased him about soaking every sort of baked treat in milk or cream, but as a dairy farmer’s son, he’d acquired a taste for the simple home-grown foods that had been plentiful when other staples were not.

  “You know, that looks tasty,” Vernon remarked as he, too, poured warm milk in a bowl and then let a slice of bread sink into it. “Almost like having ice cream for breakfast, but I bet it keeps you warm while working on a winter’s day.”

  The Hooley sisters exchanged a knowing glance as they ate their bread slathered with butter and strawberry jam. “Shovelin’ a path from here to the barn’ll work up some heat, I’m thinkin’,” Jerusalem said.

  “And thanks for bringin’ us some clothes, Tom.” Nazareth patted his wrist in that sweet way she had. “Our mamm used to give us fits for dressin’ in the boys’ pants to help with the chores. We had a slew of older brothers, ya see, so she didn’t think Jerusalem and I needed to work outside or in the barns.”

  Jerusalem let out a short laugh. “But then, Mamm was never one for haulin’ out the sleds after the work was done, either. And she didn’t know how much fun it was to hitch up the biggest horses and ride the plow blade behind them.”

  Vernon smiled as though he, too, recalled times
from his childhood. “Looking back, I suspect our mothers were too busy raising us to take much time for fun. While I’m sorry God didn’t bless Dorothea and me with children, I was grateful that she could enjoy playing with our nieces and nephews all the more because of it.”

  “Oh, jah, we love bein’ aunts!” Jerusalem replied with a big grin. “It was our nephews, Ben and Luke and Ira, who brought us out from Lancaster County to help them get settled here in Missouri.”

  “And I’m glad they did,” Vernon replied quickly.

  “Hear, hear,” Tom chimed in.

  They stacked the dishes in the sink, and while the sisters changed into layers of winter clothing, Tom tested the doors to see which one was the easiest to open: deep snow had drifted against the front of the house, so going out through the mudroom was impossible. He and Vernon grabbed the shovels and barely squeezed out the back door from the kitchen because even there, high peaks had formed.

  “Must’ve gotten a foot or more,” he grunted as they shoved their blades into the drifts nearest the door.

  “Good moisture for the pastures when it melts, though. Dry as it’s been out our way, we can use all the water God will bless us with.”

  “Jah, here, too. Lots of fellas ran out of grazing grass before last summer was even half over and had to start feedin’ hay to their herds,” Tom remarked. “Hard on your pocketbook when that happens. I suspect some of my neighbors are runnin’ short on hay by now.”

  “And with the drought burning out the crops, feed prices are the highest we’ve seen, too. I won’t be surprised if more of my members turn to outside work to make ends meet,” Vernon said. “And anything that takes a man away from home every day makes it harder for him to raise his family the way we Plain folks believe is best.”

  They were making quick, short jabs into the drifts as they spoke, tossing the snow to the sides as they made their way toward the dairy barn. Even though the topic was serious, Tom enjoyed talking with another man who understood the difficulties of maintaining a herd. “I’ll have to store today’s milk in the big tanks, as it’ll be at least tomorrow before the trucks will make it down our roads to—ach!”