Her Amish Christmas Choice

by Leigh Bale

  “Why is that?”

  “The manufactured soap is filled with chemicals I can’t even pronounce,” she said.

  He chuckled. “All right, you’re the expert. What should I do?”

  He rolled up the long sleeves of his shirt, ready to work. For a moment, she gazed at his muscular arms, wishing things could be different between them. Wishing they could...

  She shook her head and walked over to the heavy-duty shelves he’d built for her and reached for a large bottle of canola oil. Before she could lift it, he picked it up with very little effort.

  She pointed and he set it on the counter beside the stove. After popping off the lid, she measured out what she needed, turned the stove burner onto low and pointed to the next ingredient. Working together, Martin lifted the heavy containers while she measured everything out. Soon, she had the oils melting inside the stockpot and turned her attention to the distilled water and lye.

  Handing Martin a face mask, a pair of goggles and some rubber gloves, she indicated that he should put them on. She did likewise, laughing at how funny they both looked. She wished she had a camera but knew the Amish didn’t take pictures because they didn’t believe in making graven images of themselves. But she didn’t need a picture. As long as she lived, she would hold this memory in her mind.

  With careful precision, she poured the lye into the distilled water. Martin reached for a plastic spoon to stir the mixture with.

  “It’s nice that you and my mudder have so much in common,” he said.

  She agreed. In many ways, she felt closer to Linda than she did her own mother. Linda was so accepting of Julia, while Sharon insisted on rejecting Martin and anything to do with the Amish. Under the circumstances, it would be difficult to stay friends with Linda but Julia hoped they could.

  He watched earnestly as she stirred the lye water. It immediately turned cloudy, then went crystal clear after a few minutes.

  Using a battery-operated thermometer gun, she measured the temperature of the lye and the oils. She rested the palm of her hand against the outside of the metal pitcher.

  “Touch here,” she said. “You can feel the heat of the lye. The moment you add it to the water, it can race up to a temperature of two hundred degrees.”

  He felt the container and his eyes widened. “Ja, it is very hot.”

  “While we make soap, we must remember that we have become scientists and we’re working with some volatile chemicals. We always want to be careful not to make mistakes.” She stepped over to the stove and gave the oils a quick stir, checking to ensure it didn’t scorch.

  “I always loved science when I was in school,” he said.

  “Well, even though you only go to the eighth grade, you can still learn things just by working and living life,” she said.

  He nodded. “You do understand us, don’t you? I’ve never really felt like I quit school. On the farm, I learn something new every day.”

  His expression was filled with curiosity as she measured out the fragrance oils and micas to color the soap.

  His nose twitched. “That smells gut.”

  Thinking the same thing, she reached for the goat milk and poured it into the oil mixture. After blending, she added the ground oatmeal and honey. He stood near, leaning over her to watch. She felt his warm breath touch her cheek. He smelled of horses and peppermint. His presence so close beside her made her highly aware of him as an attractive man and her hands shook slightly.

  “Do you need me to stir that for you?” he asked quietly.

  She shook her head, embarrassed that he had noticed her nervousness.

  Working fast, she poured the lye mixture into the oils and used a battery-powered stick blender and long, oversize plastic spoon to mix it to a thin trace. Then she divided the batter into other containers and added the colored micas. Martin watched with wide eyes as she then did an in-the-pot swirl of white, light shimmery gold and a darker gold color. The brilliance of the micas seemed perfect for this creamy soap as they swirled together.

  “Those colors are beautiful. Mamm always makes our soap plain white,” he said.

  “The secret is to not overmix or you’ll lose the design. It’s now ready to pour into the block molds.” She nodded at the huge molds she had already set on a wooden rolling dolly and prepped with freezer paper and Mylar liners.

  “Can you lift and pour it for me?” she asked.

  He nodded, clasped the handles of the stockpot and poured the mixture evenly into the two big molds. What was normally a heavy, challenging chore for Julia seemed like a simple task to a man of his strength.

  “Someday, I’d like to buy a pot tipper. You just use a lever to pour the batter into the molds,” she said.

  She used a flat spatula to scrape down the sides of the pot, getting every drop of soap into the molds. Then, she lifted one mold and tamped it to get all the air bubbles out of the soap. With her weak hand, her actions weren’t very effective.

  “Here, let me do that.” He brushed her aside so he could lift each mold onto the solid floor where he smacked them gently several times.

  “How much soap does each mold hold?” he asked as he set the soap back on the cart.

  “Twenty-five pounds. I’ll get 172 squares of nice, fat bars that fit well in a person’s hand and don’t dissolve as quickly as a thin bar.”

  He took a little inhale, his face mask sucking inward. “That’s a lot of soap. I don’t think Mamm has ever made that much for our familye.”

  “Ja, but your mamm doesn’t sell her soap. She just makes it for your own use.”

  He removed his face mask and took another deep inhale. “Mmm, the soap sure smells gut.”

  “Yes, it does.” She couldn’t help feeling pleased that he liked the fragrance. She had invented this soap on her own and was rather pleased with the results.

  Sliding the dolly over to the far wall where it wouldn’t be disturbed, she covered the molds with a sheet of cardboard she’d saved and then wrapped it all with an old, tattered quilt.

  “Why do you wrap it up like that? Are you afraid the hot soap might get cold?” He chuckled at his own humor.

  She laughed, too. “I know it seems odd but I want the soap to go through a gel phase where it will get very hot. The result is that the colors brighten and look beautiful after we cut it into squares tomorrow.”

  “Ahh, I see. Do you need me to komm help you cut the soap?”

  She hesitated. Seeing him again in the morning would be wonderful but she couldn’t. She’d already told Mom that this was his last day of work. For her own sanity, she didn’t dare see him again either.

  “Ne, I think Mom and I can manage all right. I will also make a super batch of lavender soap and one of orange calendula. On Monday, I’ll make a super batch of apple sage and one of black raspberry.”

  He frowned. “Are you coming to church with me on the next Church Sunday?”

  She froze. For a few moments, she’d forgotten that she planned to stay away from the Amish. She thought about going to church with him again but knew it was foolhardy. It would only confuse their families and his Gmay. It would be better if she went to the Christian church here in town, though she knew it wouldn’t be the same. Something about the Amish doctrine really spoke to her heart. Something she couldn’t deny. Yet, it also brought her mother’s disapproval. Julia’s relationship with God had become so strong and she wasn’t willing to give that up.

  “We’ll see. Can I let you know when we get closer to Sunday?” she asked.

  He nodded but didn’t meet her eyes. “Of course. Whatever you like. I’ll check with you again next week.”

  Julia turned away, trying not to be afraid that she was losing him.

  * * *

  Martin didn’t try to persuade Julia to join him at church. He was struggling to remember that it was her choice. But he�
�d be sure to stop by her store next Saturday to invite her again and see if he could give her a ride.

  They worked in companionable silence, making another super batch. At lunchtime, they shared some sandwiches and fruit. The afternoon passed quickly and it was soon time for him to leave.

  Julia stepped over to the chair and picked up his hat and coat, handing them to him. As she walked with him to the front door, she whisked an envelope from off the counter beside the cash register and held it out to him.

  “This is for you,” she said, not looking at him.

  He took it but didn’t open it. He already knew what was inside. His final paycheck.

  “Is there nothing else I can do for you? I...I don’t need to get paid. I can help you just because we’re friends,” he said.

  How he wished she could come up with a long list of chores for him to do. How he wished he could stay here with her forever.

  “There’s nothing else left to do except work my soap store. You’ve done wonders and I’m so grateful.” She turned and looked around the room. Everything was tidy and in its place. Cheery and inviting. A delightful store for customers to shop in.

  She walked to the door and opened it. She even stepped outside with him onto the front porch. He gazed out at the skiff of snow that was just starting to fall. It was dark already and he wondered where the day had gone. He should be getting home.

  She shivered against the frigid air and folded her arms. He didn’t think before he swung his warm coat around her shoulders. As he held it closed just beneath her chin, he stepped nearer. Their gazes clashed, then locked. He felt lost, drowning in the beauty of her face. Before he thought to stop himself, he ducked his head down and kissed her gently, so softly that it felt like the brush of a butterfly against his lips. She gave a little sigh, telling him she felt the connection between them, too.

  “Jules, I wish things could be different. I wish—”

  The rattle of the door caused them to jerk apart. Julia gasped in dismay.

  Looking up, Martin saw Sharon standing in the threshold, a prudish look on her face.

  “The snow is getting worse and the roads will be icy. It’s time for you to leave, Martin.” Sharon spoke in a stern voice as she folded her arms.

  “Um, ja, you are right. Gut nacht, Jules,” he said.

  “Goodbye, Martin.” Julia held out his coat to him.

  Their fingers touched briefly as he took it from her and quickly put it on. He nodded to her, trying to offer his silent support, yet feeling confused and mortified and even a little angry at the situation. Why did Sharon have to be so hard-hearted? Why couldn’t she see that Julia belonged with the Amish?

  He stepped back, closing his coat. As he did so, he caught Julia’s light scent and couldn’t help taking a deep breath.

  Snowflakes stuck to his eyelashes and he blinked. Soon, the wet flakes would soak him clear through and he’d be cold on the ride home. If he didn’t leave now, he never would.

  He hurried over to his horse and buggy. As he climbed inside and closed the door, his thoughts were filled with turmoil. He gathered up the leather lead lines, forcing himself to go home.

  The snow continued to fall as he pulled out of the parking lot. He gazed into his rearview mirror and stared back at the soapworks. Sharon went back inside but Julia stood right where he’d left her. He watched her until she faded from view.

  Chapter Twelve

  On December 1, Julia was up early. Though it was brisk outside, the morning blazed with sunlight. Perfect weather for the grand opening of Rose Soapworks and just in time for holiday shopping. She’d had some flyers and posters made and spread them around town several weeks earlier to advertise the event. She’d even put an ad in the local newspaper. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling jittery inside. What if no one came? What if she was stuck with all this soap, lotions and other products she and Mom had worked so hard to make?

  What if her new business flopped?

  No! She mustn’t think that way. Martin had taught her to have faith in God. She’d worked and prayed so hard, asking for help to make the store a success. Asking to know how to handle Mom’s resistance to the Amish faith. She’d even attended the Christian church here in town but it wasn’t the same as the Amish church. The message of Christ’s atonement didn’t sink as deeply into her heart as it did when she attended with the Amish. She’d only attended their church a couple of times but it had been enough. She’d felt the spirit of God in her heart and knew it was what she wanted in her life. And she missed the people she’d grown to love. Martin’s familye, Bishop Yoder and even waspish old Marva Geingerich. She missed them all. And she realized that Martin had deepened the experience for her into a solid love of God and the Amish faith.

  Determined to trust in the Lord, Julia pulled on her warm winter coat and carried the ladder outside. She had a large Grand Opening sign she wanted to hang across the front of the store before she opened the front door in twenty minutes.

  “Martin!”

  Bundled with a scarf and gloves, he stood leaning against the outer wall. Since she hadn’t seen him for days, the shock of finding him here was even worse. A rush of joy, relief and dread washed over her all at once.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, dropping the unwieldy sign on the porch.

  Pushing off the wall, he walked to her, a gentle smile curving his lips. That was how Martin was. Always calm, nonjudgmental and soothing.

  “You mentioned last week you had a large sign you wanted to hang across your storefront. I figured you might need some help,” he said.

  His consideration touched her like nothing else could. “Ja, I do need help. Mom’s back is in so much pain that she can hardly walk. The cold weather makes it worse.”

  He picked up the heavy sign. “Then let me help you.”

  He placed the sign in her hands, his touch so gentle, his gaze so inviting that she felt mesmerized. Without speaking, he showed her a heavy-duty staple gun he must have brought with him. Then he slid the ladder into position in front of the porch canopy. Stepping up on the rungs, he turned and reached toward her.

  For a moment, Julia just stared. Then she moved into action and handed him one edge of the sign. He lifted it high, holding it in place with one hand. The crack of the staple gun filled the air as he affixed the sign to the canopy overhead. He then stepped down and moved the ladder over a bit. Julia held the weight of the sign up so it wouldn’t sag and rip through the staples. Within minutes, Martin had the whole thing secured above the wooden porch and stepped down off the ladder.

  The sign waved gently in the crisp morning breeze. The bright red lettering was so large that a person could see it way down at the other end of Main Street. Hopefully the townsfolk and ranchers’ wives in the area would be curious and come check out her shop. But regardless of how her retail store did, she still had her soap contracts with KostSmart to depend upon.

  Seeing the banner hanging across her storefront brought a welling of tears to her eyes. This moment meant so much to her. If Martin weren’t here, she’d cry with happiness. Today, she would officially open her soapworks for business. Today was the culmination of so much effort. It was the outcome of a dream she’d had for years. And Martin had helped make it a reality.

  “Oh, danke, Martin. Danke so much. I’m so glad you’re here to share this moment with me,” she exclaimed. Before she thought to stop herself, she gave him a quick hug.

  He stepped back, blinking in surprise. “I...I... You’re willkomm. I know how much this means to you.”

  “Can you stay for the opening of the store?” she asked.

  “Ne, my vadder expects my help on the farm today. I have to leave now or he’ll be worried.”

  Something about his manner made her believe his father didn’t know he was here.

  Carrying the staple gun, he stepped down off the porch.
She stared after him, not wanting to let him go.

  He gazed at her for several moments, as if he didn’t want to leave either. “It was gut to see you, Jules.”

  She took a quick step toward him, wishing he could stay. “But when will I see you again?”

  Oh, she shouldn’t have said that. She’d been the one to push him away and now she was asking to see him again. She felt so confused. Her common sense told her that he must go, yet her heart wanted him to stay.

  He hesitated. “My work is finished here. The bishop doesn’t want me to komm into town unless I have business here.”

  “So, we can’t be friends anymore,” she said.

  He looked reticent. “I...I’ll komm again tomorrow morning. Now I must hurry. I hope you sell everything in your store. I know it will be a great success. Just have a little faith.”

  Watching him go, a fresh burst of tears filled her eyes. She nodded, biting her bottom lip. His encouragement meant everything to her.

  Tomorrow! He’d come see her again in the morning.

  Without another word, he turned and climbed into his buggy. As he directed the horse out of the parking lot, he lifted a hand in farewell. She waved, too, longing to run after him but knowing she must not.

  Tomorrow! She’d see him again. The fears Dallin had instilled within her seemed to fade away. Martin would never hurt her the way Dallin had done. She could trust Martin. She knew that now. But seeing him again was futile. It would only prolong the pain. Because nothing would change between them. Not as long as her mother disapproved of him and his religion.

  Julia stood there until his buggy moved out of sight. Then she carried the ladder around to the back shed to put it away. Inside the store, she unlocked the front door. It wasn’t opening time but she was ready for business. She gazed about the room. Everything looked so bright and cheery, like a Christmas wonderland filled with amazing secrets to explore. In each windowsill, battery-operated candles sat atop a bed of spun angel-hair glass. Hanging above them on green, shimmery ribbons was an assortment of red ornaments and white sparkly snowflakes. A pine cone wreath with red holly berries had been hung on the front door along with a little tinkling bell to alert her when someone came inside.