Her Amish Christmas Choice

by Leigh Bale

  Chapter Ten

  The electrician came the following Wednesday. It was the morning before Thanksgiving and he worked all day installing a new fuse box on the outside of the house and running new wires to the attic. He brought the entire system up to code. Other than that, Julia had no idea what he was doing. When he finished, he smiled wide as he flipped on the kitchen light switch and they had power.

  Mom was elated but Julia felt a heaviness inside that she couldn’t explain. Not only did the repair bill cost a lot of money but it was as if she were betraying all that Martin had taught her about being humble. As if she had just let the world inside her home.

  Thankfully, Martin wasn’t here to see what was going on. Because she was Englisch, Julia knew he wouldn’t say a word about her having electricity in her home but she knew he wouldn’t approve. And no matter how hard Mom encouraged her to do so, Julia couldn’t bring herself to use the electrical switches or appliances such as hand mixers, toasters and can openers.

  She’d attended church with Martin again. During the many times they’d been alone together, she’d asked him lots of questions about his faith and he’d patiently answered every one. Coupled with her personal prayer and study of the Scriptures, his responses seemed so logical and she liked what she heard. In spite of her mother’s resistance, Julia felt a sense of calm as she listened to Martin’s explanations and it only made her hunger for more.

  Thanksgiving was a lonely affair. More than ever, Julia missed the warm camaraderie of a loving family and friends. But most of all, she missed Martin.

  Mom made a roast turkey breast with mashed potatoes, gravy and rolls. Julia made pumpkin pie with whipped cream. Sitting alone together in their quiet apartment, they didn’t talk much and Julia picked at her food.

  “You’re not hungry?” Sharon asked.

  “Not much but everything is delicious,” Julia said.

  She couldn’t help wishing they had accepted Linda Hostetler’s invitation to join Martin’s family for their feast. But Mom wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Mom?”

  “Hmm?” Sharon didn’t look up as she scooped a spoonful of cranberry sauce onto her plate.

  “What would you think if I decided to become Amish?”

  Mom’s fork clattered to her plate and her mouth dropped open with shock. “You’re not serious.”

  Julia swallowed hard. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

  Mom stood and scooted back her chair so hard that it toppled to the floor. With stiff, angry movements, she set it back up, then grabbed up her plate and stormed over to the kitchen sink.

  “I can’t believe you would even consider such a thing. The Amish? Really, Julia!”

  She watched her mother for several moments, trying to gather her courage. After all, she was a fully grown woman who worked hard and paid the bills. She should be able to make choices for herself.

  “I don’t know why you’re so against them,” she said. “They’re kind, hardworking and devout. I love their faith. It’s come to mean a great deal to me.”

  Mom turned to look at her, holding the dish cloth in one hand. “Yes, and if you choose such a life, you’ll forfeit all your freedoms. You’ll be controlled by whatever whim your husband and the church elders might force upon you.”

  Julia just stared. Dallin had been so manipulative and domineering that freedom of choice was extremely important to her. But she and Martin had discussed this issue and she didn’t believe he would treat his wife that way. She longed for a family of her own. Loved ones she could care about and shower her love upon. She’d thought she was going to have that with Dallin. But Mom’s accusations sounded so authentic. What if Julia was wrong? What if Martin wasn’t as he seemed?

  “I’ve never seen any of the Amish men treat their wives like that. Why do you think that’s the way they act?” she asked.

  “When I was a girl, I saw Amish men treating their wives and daughters quite poorly. They’re careful and quiet about it but it’s still there, hidden behind the walls of their homes where outsiders can’t see in,” Mom said.

  “Martin isn’t like that. He would never treat me that way,” Julia said.

  Or would he? She didn’t think so, but she hadn’t known him very long.

  “Has he...has he asked you to marry him?” Mom asked, her voice filled with fear.

  “No, he wouldn’t do that. Not as long as I’m Englisch. We’re just friends.” And yet, she wished they could take their relationship to a more romantic level. But that couldn’t happen as long as she wasn’t Amish. And she couldn’t convert as long as her mother disapproved. So they were at a standstill.

  Mom nodded, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Has he asked you to convert?”

  Julia shook her head. “He wouldn’t ask me to do that either. Not as long as he thinks I’d be going against your wishes. He wants me to decide for myself. You see? You’re wrong about him. He only wants my happiness and what is best for me.”

  Though she said the words, Julia wasn’t sure they were true. Was Martin really as wonderful as he seemed? How could she ever know for sure?

  Mom turned and made a pretense of washing dishes but Julia could see she was upset. She stood and went to her mother, touching her shoulder.

  “Mom, what is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Mom whirled around and hugged her fiercely. “I...I’m just so afraid I’m going to lose you to those people.”

  “Those people? You talk about them as if they’re monsters. And they’re not.”

  “But they don’t like the Englisch. They won’t let you come see me very often, if at all.”

  “No, Mama,” Julia soothed. “You’ll never lose me as long as I live. Put your fears at ease. I won’t let anyone or anything come between us. I promise you that.”

  And Julia meant it. As long as she had breath in her body, she would look after her mother. She’d given her word to her father. She would never become Amish if it meant turning her back on her mother.

  They stood there for some time, until Julia felt her mother’s body stop trembling. Then they washed the dishes together and retired to the living room where they took turns reading out loud from an Agatha Christie novel. Later that afternoon, they napped and relaxed and spoke no more about the Amish. That evening, Julia found some solace in the Scriptures. But in her heart, she felt no peace. She missed Martin more than she could say and longed to be with him. And she realized that, whether she liked it or not, her feelings for him had grown.

  The next day, they received their first snowfall. As Julia stared out the chilled windowpane in her bedroom, she felt mesmerized by the gently drifting flakes that soon increased and blanketed the ground in pristine white. Kansas had snow but not like this. In the night, the temperature took a dive and she was more than grateful Martin had repaired their roof and secured the firewood they needed.

  She couldn’t help thinking about the night of the frolic when Martin had taken her to see his farmland. As she’d listened to him describe his plans to build a barn and a fine house to live in, she’d caught his excitement and longed to be a part of his dreams. Though he hadn’t proposed to her, she’d caught the gist of the moment. If she were to convert to the Amish faith, he would pursue her.

  When she’d moved to Colorado, she hadn’t planned to fall in love but she had. With Martin and with his Amish people. To all appearances, they were just friends. But in Julia’s heart, he meant much more to her. The love she felt for him was different from what she’d felt for Dallin. It was sweet and pure and made her realize they could never wed.

  As Julia got ready for the day, a feeling of dread and anticipation thrummed through her veins. Today, she would have the bandages on her hand removed and make her first batch of soap. Martin had promised to come into town that afternoon to help. And the thought of seeing him again made her fizzy with happiness.r />
  Though she tried to fight off the feeling, she couldn’t wait to see him. But being near him only prolonged the torture. His work for her was almost finished. Her relationship with God had grown and her belief in the Amish faith was strong.

  But she couldn’t defy her mother by converting. Which meant she had to put a stop to their interaction. After today, she might bump into him or one of his people on the street, but nothing more. And that thought made her want to cry.

  * * *

  “Have you asked her to convert?” Bishop Yoder asked.

  It was midmorning and Martin sat in the bishop’s home, having come to seek his advice. It was the day after Thanksgiving and Martin was on his way into town, to help Julia make soap.

  “Maybe she just needs a little incentive,” the bishop said.

  Martin leaned back on the old sofa and crossed his arms. The black woodstove nearby provided plenty of warmth. Even so, he still felt a chill run up his spine. He would love nothing more than to ask Julia to be baptized but he couldn’t do that. She had to make this decision on her own.

  “Honestly, I fear her answer,” Martin said. “Her mudder is ailing and doesn’t approve of the Amish. I’m afraid Julia would choose her mamm over conversion to our faith.”

  The bishop’s eyes were filled with compassion and wisdom. “Ja, she is hardworking and devoted to her mudder. That is gut. You wouldn’t want her if she were the type of woman who would desert her mamm. If she would convert, she would make a good fraa for you.”

  Martin stared, thunderstruck by his feelings. He cared deeply for Julia. He loved her. It was that simple. But because she wasn’t Amish, he could never think of her as anything but a friend. So, what could he do?

  “She doesn’t need to abandon her mudder in order to convert to our faith. She can still visit and care for her mamm. Perhaps she doesn’t know that. You might want to tell her,” the bishop said.

  Martin tilted his head. “I appreciate you saying so but I think she knows. The problem is bigger than that. She was engaged to be married once before and her fiancé treated her rather badly. Also, I don’t think Julia will convert without her mamm’s blessing. Sharon is so against the Amish faith and I don’t believe Julia will defy her mudder even if she has the conviction that it’s right.”

  “Ach, I see. She seeks to honor her mudder just as you would honor your eldre. This is a difficult dilemma. I don’t know what you want me to tell you, sohn,” the bishop said.

  “I’m not sure either,” Martin said.

  Bishop Yoder leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. His gaze drilled into Martin’s with a steely edge. “If she will convert and agree to live by the Ordnung, I would be happy to baptize her. Perhaps after that, the two of you might wish to marry. We shall see.”

  Yes, they would have to wait and see.

  “But I must warn you, Martin. Don’t let your feelings for Julia draw you over to the Englisch world. A lot is at stake here. But you already know what you must do if she won’t convert.”

  Yes, Martin knew only too well. He must turn and walk away and never look back. If she wouldn’t join his faith, it would be too dangerous to remain friends. It might give the wrong impression to his people and it could lead to other dangerous things. To abandon his Amish faith was tantamount to turning his back on his eternal salvation. He’d be shunned by his people. He’d lose everything that meant anything to him. His familye and friends. His home. His sense of belonging.

  His Gott.

  And he couldn’t do that no matter how much he cared for Julia.

  The bishop sat back, having said his piece. Martin nodded and came to his feet. He knew what he must do. Knew that he must be strong. If Julia chose not to join his Amish faith, he must let her go.

  Chapter Eleven

  By early afternoon, Julia was in her workroom, ready to make soap. She lifted a heavy stainless steel stockpot off the shelf and carried it to the work counter. Using the strength of her arms to support the pan, she avoided straining her left hand. The doctor had just removed the bandages and pronounced her wounds completely healed, though her muscles had atrophied from lack of use and would take time to build up their strength again.

  After measuring out some of the oils, she picked up the pan to move it over to the stovetop. She lost her grip on one handle and felt the pot falling. But suddenly, a pair of large hands reached to take the brunt of its weight.

  She whirled around in surprise. “Martin!”

  He must have just arrived. He’d promised to come help her make her first batch of soap today and she admitted silently to herself that she was delighted to see him.

  “Ach, you shouldn’t be lifting heavy things yet. What did the doctor say about your hand?” He showed a dubious frown as he set the pan on the stove. He then removed his winter coat and black felt hat and set them aside on a chair.

  “It’s fine with minimal scarring.” She almost flinched when he reached for her left hand and took it softly into his.

  The pads of his fingertips felt rough as he caressed her fingers. He turned her hand as he eyed the new skin. His touch was infinitely gentle and she felt currents of excitement pulsing up her arm.

  “Look! My left hand is smaller than my right.” Giving a jittery laugh, she pulled free of his grasp and held up both hands, which showed a slight disparity in the size of the two.

  Martin nodded. “Ja, I saw this happen when Jeremiah Beiler broke his leg. But don’t fear. Within a couple of weeks, you won’t even notice that your left hand was ever injured.”

  His reassurance gave her the courage to maintain a positive attitude. She peered behind him for some sign of his brother. “Hank isn’t with you today?”

  “Ne, he has a bad head cold. Mamm made him stay at home. She didn’t want him out in the chilled air.”

  She frowned, feeling doubtful. “I’ll bet he wasn’t happy about that.”

  Martin flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You are right. He wasn’t happy at all when I left this morning.”

  “Well, be sure to tell him I missed him,” she said.

  Not wanting him to see her sad expression, she turned to face the stockpot. After all, today was their last day to work together in the soap studio. Though she would never admit it out loud, it was a melancholy time for Julia. There’d be no more detailed discussions about the Amish beliefs. No more frolics or tulips from Hank or thrilling buggy rides.

  And no more Martin.

  He glanced around the tidy workroom. “Where is Sharon today?”

  Julia shrugged. “Like Hank, she isn’t feeling well. She’s upstairs resting.”

  “Then it’s just us two?” he asked.

  She nodded, not trusting her clogged voice.

  “Then we can practice your Deitsch. Weller daag iss heit?” he asked suddenly.

  She blinked, surprised that she understood most of his question. He had asked her what day it was.

  “It is Freidawk, the day after Thanksgiving,” she said, indicating it was Friday.

  To distract herself, she reached for a jug of olive oil and slowly measured it into the pot. She jerked when he reached to help her, taking the bulk of the weight in his two strong hands.

  “Gut. Now, can you repeat my question back to me?” he asked, setting the empty bottle aside.

  “Sure! Weller dog iss heit?”

  He promptly burst into laughter.

  Without thinking, she buffeted his shoulder in a playful gesture. “What? Did I say it wrong?”

  “You did. You just asked me what dog is it.”

  She laughed, too, wondering why she was trying so hard to learn his language. After all, she wouldn’t see him anymore and speaking Deitsch wouldn’t be fun without him. But then she reminded herself that she still wanted to be able to talk to his people when they came into
her store. For a few brief moments, she thought about asking him to continue giving her lessons a couple evenings each week. But no. That would only invite trouble.

  He went suddenly very still, his gaze trained toward the hallway. Julia caught a movement out of her peripheral vision and turned to find her mom standing in the threshold leading to the back rooms. She must have heard their laughter because her scowl looked dark and deep.

  “Are you almost finished?” Sharon asked, her voice stern.

  “No, Mom. We’ve only just started the first batch,” Julia said.

  “Well, I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” Sharon’s eyes narrowed on Martin and Julia knew the comment was for him, to let him know she was nearby.

  Before Julia could say anything else, Mom turned on her heels and climbed the stairs to their apartment above.

  Julia faced Martin again, feeling a tad embarrassed by her mother’s actions. “I...I’m sorry about that. She really is feeling under the weather today.”

  He nodded. “Ach, there’s no harm done. Now, what do you need me to do?”

  She stepped over to the work counter. Except for the heavy buckets, she’d already set out the various ingredients they would need.

  Seeing Martin’s curious glance, she pointed at a bowl of grayish powder. “This is colloidal oatmeal. Today, we’ll be making two super batches of oatmeal, milk and honey soap.”

  He tilted his head to one side. “Super batches?”

  “Ja, super batching is when you make four or more batches of soap at one time. I’ll need to make dozens of super batches in order to fill all my orders by the end of January.”

  He grunted. “That’s a lot of soap.”

  “Ja, and it will take time to make it and then four to five weeks for it to dry and cure. My oatmeal soap smells delicious and should sell well during the month of February.”

  He blinked. “It sounds good enough to eat.”

  She nodded and rested her fingertips against a stainless steel pitcher of goat milk, which she’d acquired from Martin’s mother. “Except for the lye, you could definitely eat my soap. It’s made of all-natural ingredients that most people cook with on a daily basis. Olive oil, coconut oil, palm oil... It lathers beautifully and is nourishing to the skin. And it doesn’t dry you out like manufactured soap does.”