Her Amish Christmas Choice

by Leigh Bale

  By that time, Martin and Bishop Yoder had joined her.

  “It’s quite simple,” the bishop explained. “You were injured yesterday while protecting little Rachel from the scalding water. Now, you cannot do your own work. Martin has told us that you have an important deadline coming up, so we have come to help you.”

  “I...I don’t know what to say,” Julia said.

  “There is nothing to say. While the men go into the mountains to retrieve firewood for you, the weibsleit will help get your store ready for your grand opening.”

  “The weibsleit?” she asked.

  “The womenfolk,” Bishop Yoder explained.

  She repeated the word twice, a large lump forming in her throat. A sudden rush of tears filled her eyes and she felt dazed by emotion. These were such good people. She’d never known such generosity. All her life, she’d longed for a large family to love. These people weren’t her family but they sure had run to her aid.

  “I’m overwhelmed by your kindness but I don’t want to take you away from your own work,” she said.

  Martin stepped closer, his expression gentle, his presence comforting.

  “Julia, this is what we do,” he said. “We help one another. You saved Rachel and now you are in need. It is our way to assist in any way we can. We want to refresh and comfort you in the midst of your stress.”

  His explanation touched her heart like nothing else could. She looked at each of the Amish men. Gruff men who wouldn’t meet her gaze. Some of them sat in the driver’s seats of their wagons, holding the lead lines as they held their horses steady. Others stood in the back of the wagons adjusting a variety of saws, axes, mallets, wedges and other tools they used to cut firewood. They laughed and talked together like this was an ordinary day.

  She turned and glanced at the women, who stood just in front of the porch, seeming to wait for an invitation to go inside. At the age of twenty-two, Lori was the youngest and shivered in her woolen mantle. With her petite, pretty features, she looked much too young to be Rachel’s mother.

  In each man and woman’s face, Julia saw no guile or resentment. Nothing but expectation and friendship gleamed in their eyes.

  Sharon and Marva were the glaring exceptions. Still holding the pie, Julia’s mother gaped at the gathering as if they’d all lost their minds. Her eyes were wide with repugnance, her lips pursed tight. In fact, she looked almost as sour as Marva. Sharon didn’t want the Amish here but Julia wasn’t in much condition to lift, carry and wash right now. With so many people, the work would go fast. She needed their assistance and it wouldn’t be kind or prudent to refuse their offer to help.

  “Many hands make light work,” Linda pointed out in a kind voice, as if reading her mind.

  “Ja, and we have Ben to help us today,” Bishop Yoder said.

  “Ben?” Julia queried.

  “Ben Yoder, my nephew. He’s visiting us from Bloomfield, Iowa.” The bishop turned and pointed at a giant man standing in front of the last wagon. He stood at least four inches taller than Martin, had massive shoulders that seemed wider than a broom handle and looked to be bull strong. For all his enormous size, the young man wore a gentle, unassuming expression and Julia couldn’t help liking him on the spot.

  “Yes, I see you have a secret weapon,” Julia said with a laugh.

  Bishop Yoder chuckled. “Ja, we have a secret weapon named Ben.”

  Julia exhaled, deciding to swallow her pride and accept their generous offer.

  “Danke! This is so kind of you all. My mudder and I appreciate your help so much,” she said.

  “Wunderbaar!” the bishop exclaimed. “Martin will remain here to build the shelves you need. The rest of us mannsleit will be back this evening with enough wood to last you through the winter.”

  Mannsleit. Julia assumed that meant menfolk.

  “One of our wagons will go around back and load up all the garbage you have cleared out of your store and haul it to the dump. The rest of us will go into the mountains for the wood,” the bishop said.

  Ah, Martin must have explained to the bishop that she had piles of debris in her backyard.

  “Next Monday, we’ll return to cut up the wood we bring down from the mountain. That evening, you both must join us at my home to enjoy a frolic supper.” The bishop glanced between Julia and Sharon, his eyes filled with invitation.

  “Um, danke. That sounds nice,” Julia said, not quite sure she or Mom were up to a party right now.

  With a polite nod, the bishop walked over to the lead wagon and climbed into the seat. His return signaled the other men that it was time to leave. They scurried into position. With a loud whistle and a slap of the leather lead lines, Bishop Yoder sent his horses into a steady walk down the middle of Main Street.

  Watching them go, Julia noticed several people came out of the general store, post office and bank to watch them pass by. It wasn’t every day the townsfolk saw six big wagons pulled by giant horses and filled with Amish men wearing black felt hats drive down the middle of their town. It was an amazing site to behold.

  The last wagon in the train peeled off and headed down the alley to Julia’s backyard. Two teenage boys drove that wagon and she made a mental note to take them hot chocolate as they cleaned up the debris they would haul off to the garbage dump.

  Shivering in the wind, Julia held onto her tulip as she faced the women, still feeling overwhelmed by this generosity.

  “You look familiar to me. Do I know you from somewhere?” Marva Geingerich spoke in her loud, gruff voice as she peered shrewdly at Sharon. Marva took a step toward Julia’s mom, who still stood on the front porch.

  “No, I’m sure you don’t. I’m not Amish.” Sharon shook her head emphatically. Her face had blanched white and she wouldn’t meet Marva’s gaze. Without another word, she turned and carried the pie into the store.

  “Ach, if you’ll show us what needs to be done, we’ll get to work.” Linda sounded all businesslike as she undid her mantle coat and stepped up on the porch.

  “Of course.” Julia led the women inside, wondering what had gotten into her mother. She was so rude to Martin and his people. She was nowhere in sight and Julia figured she had either returned to their apartment upstairs or gone to work in the back office.

  “Hank, will you help me adjust this panel so I can seal it down?” Martin asked.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Julia saw him directing Hank to position the length of Formica so it could be secured to the wooden frame of the new counter.

  Within minutes, Julia had taken each Amish woman’s mantle and stowed them in the office where they wouldn’t get sawdust on them. Mom wasn’t there so Julia figured she must be upstairs.

  Returning to the workroom, Julia directed two women to clean the glass cabinet. She asked another woman to clean an old but charming hutch she had acquired from the secondhand store for showcasing her soaps and lotions.

  Linda took up the broom and dustbin and continually swept up sawdust and other debris created by Martin and Hank’s work. She fetched and carried, taking some of the burden off Martin.

  Marva and Lori sat at a corner table, packaging the lotions and soaps Julia had made for display in the store. Lori used a battery-operated heat gun to shrink a piece of plastic wrap around each bar of soap. Marva peeled off the sticky labels Julia had ordered from an online vendor she’d accessed from a computer at the library and slapped one on each bar of soap. The stickers included the store’s rose logo, name and address, and a list of ingredients for each item.

  Julia had already mailed off samples of her products to various retail stores in Denver and other major cities throughout the western United States. Hopefully the vendors would place some wholesale orders for her soaps. Always helpful, Carl Nelson had given her a referral to a reputable sales representative out of Denver. Julia had written to them, hoping they could help m
arket her goods.

  With everyone occupied with a task, Julia soon found that she had little to do. Martin stepped outside to cut another piece of wood. Hank had gotten distracted and was fiddling with a pair of scissors at the packing table.

  “Give those to me, boy. You’re going to cut your hand off,” Marva snapped at him as she jerked the scissors away.

  Ignoring the women, Julia stepped outside to speak with Martin for a moment.

  “Did you coordinate all of this?” she asked him.

  He glanced up at her before laying a narrow piece of oak across the two sawhorses he’d set up in the parking lot. Using a measuring tape, he calculated the length and drew a tiny line with a pencil he kept tucked behind his ear. Picking up his handsaw, he smiled.

  “Ja, but it was Lori’s idea for the women to help. I told her about your work and she knew you needed to be up and running so you can make soap just after Thanksgiving. Since you’d lost the use of your left hand, she asked Bishop Yoder if she might come and help.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I also mentioned you needed firewood. One thing led to another. The bishop said we must have a work frolic. So, here we are.”

  He made a quick cut with the handsaw, then peered at her. “Honestly, I think Bishop Yoder is highly motivated to help you all he can.”

  “Oh? And why is that?”

  “You should know that he hopes you’ll become Amish. Since you showed an interest in our faith, they all think that is your intention.”

  She laughed at that. “I do like your people very much, Martin. But I doubt I’ll ever join your faith. My mom doesn’t approve and I don’t want to do anything to upset her.”

  He hesitated and licked his bottom lip. The teasing sparkle left his eyes and he ducked his head over his work. “That is most unfortunate.”

  Oh, dear. She didn’t want to upset him either.

  “You should still join us at the Bishop’s heemet for the frolic supper next Monday,” he said. “It’ll be a potluck with everyone bringing lots of food, and if the weather holds, we will play baseball.”

  “Baseball? But I can’t hold a bat or glove.” She held up her bandaged hand. She hadn’t played the game since she’d been a child in school. The thought of playing with friends was tantalizing.

  “Ach, that is no deterrent. I will bat for you and you can run the bases. Since I’ll already be working here, I can drive you and your mudder to the bishop’s farm that afternoon, then bring you home again,” he said.

  “I’m afraid Mamm won’t want to go,” she said.

  “That’s all right. She is invited anyway.”

  She laughed, thinking it might be loads of fun. Martin was just a friend so what could it hurt? “I’m amazed by the kindness of your people. No one has ever been so good, er, gut to me and my mudder. Danke, Martin. Though I don’t want to become Amish, I’ll be sure to invite all of you to our grand opening on the first of December.”

  He looked up and flashed that devastating smile of his, but a sad quality had replaced the gaiety she’d seen there moments before. Was he truly disappointed that she didn’t want to become Amish? And why should it matter so much to him?

  “I’m sure they will like that,” he said.

  He returned to work and she went inside, her heart and mind full of emotions she couldn’t name. She liked these Amish people. She really did. Especially Martin. Most of them were kind, welcoming and helpful. In fact, Julia was inclined to ask if she could attend church again. She admitted to herself that she wanted to learn more. The Scriptures she’d been reading only gave her more inquiries. And because of her injury, she never got the opportunity to ask Martin all the questions she had acquired at church yesterday.

  Just one problem: Sharon. Her mom didn’t like the Amish. She didn’t want Julia to go to church or learn their language. Maybe Mom feared Julia might fall in love and want to marry Martin. But that didn’t make sense. Mom had always told her she could love and wed anyone she chose. So, what was the issue? Why was Mom so against anything to do with the Amish?

  Glancing out the window, Julia paused for a few moments to admire the way Martin’s blue chambray shirt tightened across the heavy muscles of his back. He was such a tall, strong man. So generous and capable. A man much like Julia’s father. Someone to be admired. And for the first time since she’d met him, she wished Martin wasn’t Amish.

  But it wouldn’t matter. Dallin had taught her never to trust another man with her heart. No matter what, she could never be anything more than friends with Martin. And that was that.

  * * *

  “I don’t know why you’re being so rude to the Amish. It isn’t like you to act that way.”

  Martin stepped to the end of the hallway and paused when he heard the words coming from the back office in a low murmur. Though he couldn’t see her, he knew Julia’s voice and she sounded upset.

  “I don’t want you to marry that man, that’s why.” Sharon’s unmistakable voice lifted in a harsh whisper.

  Yes, it was Julia and her mother speaking and they were discussing him. Martin took another step and they came into view. Their backs were turned so they didn’t notice him.

  “I’m not going to marry anyone, Mom. Not after what Dallin did to me. Martin and I are just friends. You have no call to treat him and his people with anything but respect,” Julia said.

  “Yes, you’re friends. Until you fall in love with him.”

  “Mom, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Maybe not yet but what if your friendship blossoms into something more? That’s how it happens when you fall in love. And then, what will you do? If you don’t join his faith, he’ll be shunned if he marries you. Is that what you want for him? He’d lose everything. His family wouldn’t speak to him. He’d be completely ostracized. And you! If you join the Amish, they’ll dominate and run your life. They might not even let you visit me because I’m Englisch.”

  “Oh, Mom!” Julia cried in a harsh breath. “Don’t be so dramatic. They know you’re my mother and that you’re ill with lupus. Of course they’d let me visit and take care of you. Besides, I’m not joining the Amish, and Martin isn’t leaving his faith. We aren’t going to fall in love and we certainly aren’t going to get married. So, there’s nothing to fret about.”

  Sharon paused several moments, looking at her daughter. “I still don’t want them here. We don’t need their help.”

  “They’re a blessing. I don’t understand why you’re so against them.” Julia shook her head, seeming stunned by how unreasonable her mother was being.

  Sharon simply pursed her lips tighter.

  The floorboards creaked beneath Martin’s booted foot and a gasp followed by dead silence filled the air. He hesitated, ready to go back the way he had come. But too late. The two women turned at the open doorway.

  “Martin!” Julia said.

  “Ahem! Excuse me, but the mannsleit have returned. They have already cut most of the logs and even split some of the wood into smaller pieces of kindling that are perfect for your wood-burning stoves. They’ll return on Monday to finish it. They would come back tomorrow but they need a little time to work at their own farms. They’re stacking what they’ve finished neatly in your backyard right now and have piled it far away from your house, so you don’t end up with termites.” He tried to speak normally but his throat felt like a wad of sandpaper had lodged there. It would be dishonest to pretend he hadn’t overheard their conversation. His face flooded with heat and he felt awkward and embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping.

  Sharon glared at him with censure. Brushing past him, she went upstairs.

  Julia showed a nervous smile. Since she’d been caught talking about him, Martin wasn’t surprised.

  “I can’t believe they got all that work done in one day,” Julia said.

  He showed an uncertain smile. “They all worked toge
ther to get it done.”

  Julia stepped out into the hallway with him and headed toward the back door. Martin followed, grateful to get away from Sharon.

  Standing on the back porch, they observed the Amish men for several minutes. Long logs of aspen and ponderosa pine lay off to the side of the spacious yard, cleaned of all their stubby branches and ready for splitting into smaller chunks. Near the house lay a small pile of split wood, all ready for taking into the house to be consumed by the old black stoves.

  As if on cue, the men stopped working, dusted off their shirts and pants and reached for their jackets. Carrying their axes and saws on their shoulders, they headed toward the front of the house, nodding politely as they passed.

  Julia waved farewell. “They did so much work. I’m overwhelmed and very relieved to have this done.”

  “Ja, they’re going heemet now for supper. The aspen burns hotter than the pine and is good for starting fires. The men will return next Monday to finish splitting the wood. Then we’ll go to the bishop’s house for supper that evening. That’s part of a frolic. Lots of fun work and gut food.”

  She lifted her eyebrows in question. “I’m surprised to hear you call hard work fun. Most people don’t like work. But the Amish seem to be the exception.”

  He frowned. “Ja, we enjoy what we accomplish with our own two hands. You like hard work, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “It’s how we get what we need to live. And it gives me a sense of accomplishment.”

  “It’s a blessing to serve. By the time the men are finished, you should have enough firewood to last through the winter,” Martin said.

  She paused, thinking this over. “I just realized something.”

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “The Amish faith isn’t an individual, solitary religion. It’s a community of members serving one another, looking after each other and seeing to one another’s needs. Isn’t that right?”