by Kelly Long
“Yeah,” Daniel replied. “Like you wouldn’t kill me for that.”
“I wouldn’t,” Edward said in a surprisingly level voice. “My sister-in-law needs a gut kiss, I think. And Sarah agrees. Tonight while you’re skating together might be the right time.”
Daniel shrugged, watching the smoke from the fire mingle with the cold of his breath in the dusky air. “Sometimes I think I’m getting close and then—well, she’s off like some wild thing that I cannot ever hope to match.”
“You’ve been listening to Clair Bitner, haven’t you?” Edward asked.
“Well, it’s true either way, and I—” He broke off as the women and children started coming from the cabin.
Soon, many others from the community had gathered, holding the young kinner back from the allure of the fire and busily tying on skates to the soles of their solid boots and high black shoes. Daniel realized that old married sweethearts and young couples as well as children were taking to the large space of clean ice, and he automatically scanned the dimly lit crowd for Clara.
He finally saw Sarah, holding little Anne up on double-bladed skates. “Sarah,” he called. “Do you know where your sister is?”
“Inside. Alone. She wanted to finish the last of the cookies.” She gave him what appeared to be an encouraging smile and he nodded and turned toward the cabin.
He walked up the back steps quietly and then gave a soft knock on the door. He heard her footsteps as she crossed the kitchen, and he whipped his hat off.
She looked up at him blankly, obviously surprised, and he smiled down at her. “You’re missing all the fun.”
“Kumme in. I’ve got to get the last lot of the sand tarts out of the oven before they burn.” She turned away from him and hurried to grab a pot holder from the table. He came in and shut the door, hanging up his coat and hat as she pulled the cookie sheet from the cookstove.
He gazed with some astonishment at the array and number of cookies she’d managed to bake with Sarah—gingerbread men with raisin eyes, almond shortbread, jam thumbprints, pinwheel cookies, sea foam, and Amish snowballs. “Wow,” he said in open admiration.
She smiled at him then, blowing at a tendril of loose blond hair that had worked itself loose from her kapp.
He walked toward her, moving slowly, and reached out to tuck the loose curl of hair behind her ear. Then he gently traced the shell-like contours of her small ear with his fingertips, lightly touching her until her gray eyes half closed and her breathing came rapid and shallow.
“You touched me like this today,” he murmured. “Do you know what that did to me?”
Her eyelids flew open and she took a step backward, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.
“Ne—ee,” she stuttered.
“It turned me upside down inside, Clara. I felt like I was coming apart and didn’t even remember how to breathe. Why did you do that, hmmm?” He stepped closer to her once more, and he watched her swallow, a gentle movement down the ivory fineness of her throat.
“I—you were in pain.”
“And you didn’t want that?” He lifted his hand to stroke down the line of her throat, stopping at the collar of her dress but so wishing that he might go further.
“Nee.”
“Then don’t let me be in pain now, sweet Clara.”
“What—I mean—does your arm hurt?”
He smiled at her tenderly. “Nee, but I hurt. . . .”
Her beautiful cheeks pinkened; she obviously knew what he meant and yet she stood steady.
“Clara, let me kiss you. Just one time. Please . . .”
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and he made a choked sound from the back of his throat. He didn’t care that he was begging; he felt as if he’d die from want if she denied him. But she lifted her chin slightly, a faint permission—and he took it with frantic movements, slanting his head, deepening the kiss; he drank from her like summer dandelion wine, all sweetness and wet heat.
The cabin door banged open, bringing in a rush of cold air and his bruder Paul, bawling like a young calf. Daniel broke away from her in mute frustration, torn between the dazed expression in Clara’s eyes and the obvious immediate need of his younger sibling.
Paul’s tears won out based on pure insistence. “What is wrong?” Daniel asked above the din.
“My skate broke and now I can’t skate and I cried in front of the other fellas. They’ll never let me forget that and—”
“Wait.” Daniel put up a weary hand. “I bet Sarah’s got extra skates lying around, and I’ll take you out to your friends and have a word with them. Okay?” He looked at Clara. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She nodded and Daniel went out to help his little bruder.
* * *
Clara touched her lips with shaking fingertips. She was staggered by the intensity of Daniel’s kiss and felt shaken to the core.
She understood the kiss of a man and had enjoyed kissing Seth a great deal, but she’d never known herself to so hungrily return a kiss. I’m wanton, she thought frantically. Wanton . . . wanton . . . wanting the touch of a man who is not my husband and—
“Clara, geh on outside,” Martha Umble ordered, closing the door behind her. “I’ll see to passing out the cookies. You have some fun and skate. I’ll be joining you later.”
Clara agreed, still feeling rather dazed, and went outside, carrying her skates. Many folks were still on the ice, skating in the cheerful glow of the bonfire, while still more were heading in, seeking a cookie and some hot cocoa.
She was debating about actually going out on the ice, not wanting Daniel to think that she was pursuing him in any way, when he skated up to where she stood in the snow.
“Need some help with your skates, Clara?” he asked in a perfectly natural tone so that she wondered if the kiss in the kitchen had actually shaken him as much as it had her.
But then he bent to help her on with her skates, the firelight playing on the dark sheen of his hair, and he looked up at her. She saw the slow simmer of heat in his green eyes and bit her lip in uncertainty, but he quickly took her hand and pulled her out onto the ice. For all his size, he was a masterful and easy skater, guiding her effortlessly out beyond where the kinner were darting to the shadowed outskirts of the frozen field.
They skated in pleasant unison for a few moments, and as she listened to the movement of their blades on the ice, she thought back to all the times she’d skated as a younger girl, longing for someone to want her and to skate with her as a sweetheart. Seth had died before they could ever skate together as a couple, she thought, and was about to speak when Daniel brought them to a gliding standstill.
She looked up into his handsome face, illuminated by the light of the moon and stars. “Look, Clara, I’m sorry about earlier with Paul. I couldn’t let him cry. . . .”
“I like you all the more for helping him,” she said in a sudden burst of honesty.
He smiled at her. “Danki . . . and I—uh—wanted to say that I thought it was perfect that our first amazing kiss was in a kitchen surrounded by cookies.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It seems to suit us, I think.”
“Daniel, I want—”
“Another kiss, perhaps? I do, too, my sweet Clara.” He bent his head but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “What is it?” he asked.
“Daniel, I can’t do this. It’s not fair to you. I—our first kiss will have to be our last. I’m sorry. . . .” She turned and skated quickly from his grasp before she could change her mind, then gained the bank on the far side of the field. She stumbled into the snow, and Sarah caught her arm.
“Clara, what is it? Why are you crying?”
“Crying? I’m not.” But then she reached to feel the tears that were quickly changing to ice on her cheeks. “I—Sarah, can we just geh inside? I’m rather tired.”
“Of course,” Sarah said in a bewildered tone.
All Clara wanted was to get away from the ice and the hauntin
g emerald eyes that she knew followed her through the firelit nacht.
CHAPTER 11
Daniel was too deeply asleep, worn out with grief over Clara’s words, to try to wake from the dream he was having.
An angel with wings like ice stood near his bed, speaking to him. I’m crazy like Da, he heard himself say and the angel laughed, a crystalline sound that penetrated his soul and reverberated like the strike of an ax against a tree.
“No, you’re not crazy . . . merely in love. Deeply in love.”
“What can I do?” he cried out. “She won’t have me.”
“She won’t have herself—the truth of herself and what she really feels. You can’t give up. You cannot. . . .” The icy wings pulsed with rainbow-like colors and Daniel turned in his sleep, breaking the dream.
* * *
Clara settled between the comfortable pile of quilts and crisp sheets with a faint sigh. It was long after midnight, and she and Sarah had put the last touches on restoring the kitchen to order while Edward had gotten the kinner ready for bed.
“Oooh, this is like auld times, isn’t it?” Sarah yawned from her place in the big bed.
“Jah,” Clara said quietly, unable to truly think of much more than the shine of Daniel’s eyes.
“What happened with you and Daniel tonight on the ice?”
“Nothing, really. I told him that I wasn’t interested in—well, pursuing a relationship.”
Sarah gave a delicate groan of frustration. “But, Clara, why?”
Because of Seth and because I’m scared and because . . .
“Because what if there’s another tree?”
“Another tree?” Sarah asked, puzzled.
“Like the one that killed Seth. Another tree or an illness or an accident, then what?”
“Clara.” Her sister’s voice was gentle. “You can’t live and be afraid constantly. Loving someone is always a risk, and there’s the potential for pain, yes. But love is worth it.”
“I—I don’t know that.”
Sarah cuddled closer to give her a hug. “But you will, sweet sister. You will.”
* * *
“Gott says, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’ ”
Daniel tried to focus as Bishop Umble expounded upon the message the following morning. In truth, though, it was difficult to do anything more than think of Clara, who was sitting with the other widows somewhere behind him.
Bishop Umble’s voice carried across the expanse of the Troyers’ snug barn and Daniel felt himself caught by the wise auld man’s words.
“How does Gott make something new out of something old? Or unwanted? Or unloved?”
Unbidden, Daniel found himself having to blink back tears. How I wish I could take back that hasty proposal of two years ago and spend the time wooing her . . . . Why didn’t I think? But maybe, Gott can even make that time new again. . . . Give me a second chance. . . .
“Gott is the Gott of second chances,” Bishop Umble said. “He takes what we think is a mess in our lives and cleans it up—makes it new. Remember that today.”
Daniel closed his eyes and prayed, longing for the truth of Gott’s newness in both his and Clara’s lives.
* * *
She’d been married in the spring on Ice Mountain—surely one of the busiest and most beautiful times of the year. But Seth had persuaded the bishop, and Sarah had helped her to make up her dress—a vivid royal blue. A welter of pink apple blossoms had fallen on the ground as she’d walked to the Kauffmans’ barn. It was strange, how Daniel stood as Seth’s attendant, yet she couldn’t remember him at all—only Seth’s dear, sweet face and the new warmth of the day....
A blast of cold air broke into her thoughts as the barn doors were slid open, signaling that church was over. She rose and found Daniel staring at her across the expanse of backless benches and bustling people. She stared back, feeling mesmerized, then Sarah touched her arm.
“Clara, are you ready?” her sister asked.
“Jah, sure.”
“Edward will take you back up the mountain after dinner.”
“Excuse me, Sarah—I couldn’t help overhearing. If you don’t mind, I’ll see Clara home,” Daniel said in a brisk tone.
Clara turned ’round to stare up at him.
“Ach, that will be great.”
Clara felt her sister’s unladylike poke and frowned. “I suppose,” she muttered.
Daniel smiled. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
* * *
That afternoon, Daniel blinked in the snow glare and pulled the brim of his hat down a bit further. He had to glance over Blinks’s head to get a look at Clara, and her beautiful mouth appeared set as it usually was. Unless she’s kissing me, then her lips are soft and wet and . . . He drew himself up sharply; he needed to focus on talking with her.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he began.
“And . . . ?” she asked in a stiff little voice.
“It’s simple, really. If I win the cookie bake off, then you have to agree to court with me.”
She sniffed delicately. “But you won’t win.”
“Ach, but there are always miracles at Christmastime.” He grinned, admiring her pluck.
“And when I win?” she asked after a moment.
“Then I agree to leave you to your baking and goat and cabin and never bother your—uh—person again.”
“Done,” she snapped.
“You want to shake on that?”
“Nee.”
“All right,” he agreed. “A man, er, a woman’s word is her bond.”
They arrived at the little cabin, which somehow looked a bit forlorn, and his heart ached at leaving her there all alone except for a goat as company. But he knew that she’d push him away if he pressed to stay for a while. So, he merely offered his hand and helped her to the door. Then he unlatched the wood and peered around inside, satisfying himself that all was safe.
“Gut day then, Clara Loftus. I guess I’ll see you at the bake off. Would you care for a ride that evening?”
He was sure she’d refuse, but then she nodded slowly. “Jah, but only so you can know you’re riding with the winner.”
“I’ll take my chances on that. Until later, sweet Clara.”
He stepped out to the sled, feeling that things were pretty much all right with the world for once.
* * *
When he’d gone, Clara lit the woodstove and set about fiercely cleaning the little cabin, even though she knew she was breaking the Sabbath by working so heartily on a Sunday. But she didn’t want to have time to think. And, when all was in perfect neatness, she drew down her recipe box and began to study its contents with grim intensity, knowing she had a bake off to win—even if it would break her heart.
CHAPTER 12
The school Christmas pageant and Cookie Bake Off were set for the following Friday evening. Daniel busied himself at work and helping out in the store, trying not to think about Clara up in the high timber alone. But he wanted to give her space and time to think.... And, he wanted to bake his raisin-filled cookie recipe to perfection. He never would have guessed that his future love would be riding on a cookie, but it was nonetheless.
Friday morning dawned bright and clear, and Daniel went down before anyone else was awake to make the all-important batch of cookies. He’d just started the filling, using a combination of black and golden raisins, when his da shuffled out into the kitchen.
“Still courtin’ by cookin’, buwe?”
“Maybe, Da,” Daniel laughed, flouring the table.
“Well, the angel says that ya can’t force the widow’s hand. She’s got to choose. Do you understand?”
His grandfather scratched his beard and ambled back out of the kitchen as Daniel’s hand hovered over the secret ingredient that made the cookies so gut. She’s got to choose.... Bowing his head for a moment, he pushed aside the container, knowing he was leaving the contest wide open for Clara to win—and for him to lose—forever.
&n
bsp; * * *
Clara was plagued by an insistent thought, but she tried to push it aside a hundred times. Leave out the secret ingredient in the praline cookies? Let Daniel win, and then he . . . and I . . . He’d be so happy, she thought with sudden clarity, and pushed the glass jar away from her.
Blinks bleated.
“Ach, shush,” Clara scolded lightly. “I know what I’m doing.”
She finished the rest of the recipe, then baked the cookies and pulled them out to rest on cooling racks while she went about her normal chores. And then, somehow, the day had flown by and she had to hurry to finish getting ready to go to the school with Daniel.
He arrived on time, as usual, and she had just put on her bonnet when his firm knock sounded at the door. She gathered up her foil-covered cookie platter and opened the door. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but after not seeing him for nearly five days, she was unprepared for his quiet words of greeting.
“Hello, Clara. You look beautiful tonight.”
“Danki,” she said, feeling shy around him. She wet her lips and indicated her cookie tray. “I made the pralines.”
“And I made my raisin-filled cookies.”
She wondered why he sounded faintly sad, but then he smiled as usual and helped her into the sleigh. They were both quiet on the way down, but it was a comfortable silence—like that of two old friends, she thought, wondering why the thought depressed her. She stroked Blinks’s fur with her free hand and the goat baaed gently into the nacht air.
* * *
The schoolhouse was ablaze with lantern light when they arrived, and folks were pulling up before the garland-wrapped front step banisters and exchanging festive greetings.
“I’ll stable Blinks with my horse,” Daniel said as he helped Clara down. He turned for a moment to watch her mount the school steps, feeling that he was letting her go forever and it hurt him deeply inside. But, just the same, he went through the motions of housing the animals and returning the greetings that came his way.
He met his mamm on the way in and quickly took the cookie plates from her hands as she juggled two of his fussing siblings at her skirts. “I’ll put the cookies on the table, Mamm,” he said.