It would take weeks of work to restore the sleigh, and he’d need the help of a blacksmith. He turned to leave. Some things just weren’t worth it.
And some were.
He walked the narrow dirt aisle between the stalls of the old building to his workshop bench. He’d created only one other thing since carving the piece Beth bought. A gift box. He’d made it from the same log, but he’d not yet carved it.
He’d tried. Even now, as his hands moved over the rough-hewn treasure, he couldn’t visualize what he should carve. That had been the problem for months. Ready to know the thoughts of the man who’d taught him his craft, he tucked the box under his arm.
He went to the barn and hitched a horse to the carriage. As the horse ambled down the road, Jonah leaned back and enjoyed the scenery. Rolling hills, thick foliage on the trees, lush pastures. While looking out over the fields, he let his memory roll back to the day he’d dragged that fallen tree out of the canyon, and he realized just how much he looked forward to writing to Beth.
Pete’s driveway came into sight, and he slowed his rig. A few Englischer customers were leaving the store as he got out of the carriage. He noticed they hadn’t bought anything. With the box in one hand and his cane in the other, he climbed the steps and went inside.
“Hey, Old Man,” Pete called. “How about shutting that door and turning the sign around? I’m done for the day.”
It wouldn’t matter if Jonah showed up at midnight; Pete never failed to sound pleased to see him. Jonah did as asked and then walked to the counter where Pete stood. In a few minutes they’d walk to the back of the store, go through a doorway, and enter Pete’s tiny apartment.
Pete counted money from the cash-register drawer. “What brings you in this time of day?”
Jonah set the box on the countertop.
Pete laid a stack of tens on top of the drawer and moved in front of him. “This looks like it’s from that tree you and Amos dragged from the gorge.”
“Ya. I’ve only finished one project from that so far, the one Elizabeth Hertzler bought. Then I made this gift box, but I can’t for the life of me carve anything into it.”
Pete lifted the box, holding it in his hands as only a fellow carver would—with reverence and respect. He removed the lid and set it on the countertop before running his fingers across the inside of the box. “Maybe you’ve forgotten the lesson you taught me years ago.”
“I taught you?” Jonah knew the old bachelor was getting on in years, but he’d never seen him confused about anything.
“Yep.” Pete inspected the box again. “You put a lot of time into this.”
“And I’d like to finish it.”
Pete reached under the counter and pulled out a soft leather utility case. He unrolled it, revealing a set of carving tools. “You sat right there.” He pointed to an old wicker chair near the front counter. “You hadn’t been carving more than a year when you made a freestanding bird on a branch—not no relief carving, mind you.” Pete walked to his showcase and unlocked it. He brought the bird to Jonah.
“I’d forgotten about making this.”
“I won’t never forget. Look at the intricate detail. That’s not the work of an ordinary kid, or even a man, for that matter. I asked how you made it so lifelike, and you said, ‘All I did was remove everything that wasn’t the bird.’ ” Staring at the carving, Pete smiled, making his wrinkles deepen. “You were as wise as an old man from the start.”
Jonah passed him the bird. “Whenever I pick up this box to carve on it, I don’t see anything.”
Pete returned the bird to the showcase and locked it. “Blank?”
Jonah nodded.
“That doesn’t sound like you.” He pulled a twelve-millimeter gouge with a number four sweep to it from the leather pouch. “You need to remove whatever is hiding the image from you.” He placed the tool in Jonah’s palm. “The thing is, you may have to cut into more than the box to figure that out.”
Jonah squeezed the tool and thought of Beth’s letter. The oddness of that piece of wood lying in the forest, tugging at him, and then Beth’s strong draw to it felt … eerie. Yet calmness accompanied the feeling, and memories of dragging the felled tree out of the gorge absorbed him.
The cold winter day. The thick layer of snow on the ground. The exhaustion he felt as he wrestled with the elements. Amos calling to him through the frigid air. The strength of the draft horse. The sense of Christmas wonder that filled him once they’d managed to drag the tree out of the canyon.
As he stood in Pete’s store, the blank wood in his hands revealed its hidden image. It would take only a few days to create the scene.
But it might be months before he could make himself carve it.
Beth’s arms ached from the day’s work as she left her parents’ home and walked toward the barn. Church would be held there tomorrow, and her Mamm required every bit of help she could get. It wouldn’t do for the windows not to be scrubbed clean inside and out, as well as every nook in the house and the old hardwood floors polished to a shine. After doing a thorough cleaning, they’d set up the benches in the living room, so everything was ready for the long Sunday ahead.
The sun was setting, and the early October air had a nip to it as she hitched her horse to the buggy. After climbing into the rig, she slapped the reins and began the four-mile trip back to her place.
With twenty-eight families in their district, nearly three hundred people—including babies, children, and teens—would attend. Thankfully services came to each household in the district only once a year. Unfortunately, Beth had to work just as hard when the rotation landed at her sisters’ and brothers’ places, as well as Aunt Lizzy’s. As a single woman, her life was not her own. It belonged to all her married siblings, her parents, and her aunt.
A wedding for a sibling had been celebrated every other year for the past decade. Refusing the threatening tears, she tried to choke back the sorrow.
Everyone who loved her gently prodded her to lay grief aside. They wanted her to find happiness again, but she never would. Resigned contentment perhaps, eventually. But she couldn’t say that to her family.
She longed to tell someone how she really felt and why. But her thoughts and emotions were simply too heavy and too embarrassing to pass on, so she coped the best she could.
She pulled the rig into the barn next to the shop and stepped out of the buggy with wobbly legs. She led the horse to its stall for the night, dumped feed into a trough, and hurried across the yard and into the dry goods store. Too drained to do any office work, she lit a kerosene lamp and slowly climbed the steps.
She had called this stairway “the dark, wooden tunnel” when she was a child. The steps creaked, and the paneled walls seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
After setting the lantern on the stand beside her bed, she lit the gas pole lamp, knowing it would give off more than just light. It’d radiate enough heat to knock the chill out of the air. She took hold of the pole and rolled the lamp with her as she entered her tiny kitchen. A package and letter sat on the kitchen table.
Jonah.
Dismal thoughts vanished, like darkness giving way to the power of a match. Snatching up the letter, she noticed it too had been opened. She was ready for her aunt to stop reading her mail from Jonah. Because of the shared name and business, she and Lizzy often opened each other’s mail. Sometimes it didn’t matter who opened it; sometimes they didn’t know which of them it belonged to. Neither of them ever minded, but Lizzy knew Jonah was writing to Beth, so she had no reason to continue opening the letters.
She unfolded the letter, and the tart flavor of loneliness lost some of its edge.
DEAR BETH,
I THINK I FOUND YOUR LETTER AS FASCINATING AS YOU FOUND MINE. AND I HOPE WE’RE ABLE TO CONTINUE WRITING FOR A VERY LONG TIME. IF I WERE BOLD AND DARING, I‘D CONFESS THAT YOUR LETTER SEEMS TO INDICATE THAT YOU CARRY A HEAVY BURDEN. BUT SINCE I’M NOT BOLD, I WON’T BRING THAT UP.
&nbs
p; His joke did little to ease her discomfort. How had he picked up on that? And what had he written that he decided to black out with a marker?
WHAT I DO WANT TO TELL YOU IS THAT WHATEVER YOU SHARE GOES NO FURTHER THAN ME. EVER.
I HAD AN ACCIDENT SOME YEARS AGO AND SPENT A LOT OF TIME IN A HOSPITAL. WHEN I GOT OUT, I BEGAN VOLUNTEERING AT OUR AMISH SCHOOL FOR THE DISABLED, AND I CONTINUE TO THIS DAY TO SPEND TIME WITH THOSE WHO DEAL WITH PHYSICAL DISABILITIES.
His life and perspective seemed fascinating. Surely the old man had much in the way of wisdom he could share. Each time she read one line from him, she longed to know five more things.
She opened the cookie jar to see if Lizzy had brought her any goodies today. She had. Homemade chocolate chip. When not cleaning Mamm’s house today, Beth had helped prepare both lunch and supper, but she’d not taken the time to eat much of anything.
Munching on a cookie, she began reading again.
BECAUSE OF MY TIME IN THE HOSPITAL AND REHAB, I LEARNED THAT JUST AS THERE ARE UNTOLD TYPES OF INJURIES THAT ALL REQUIRE DIFFERENT TREATMENTS, EACH PERSON ALSO SUSTAINS INJURIES TO THEIR HIDDEN MAN—THEIR MIND, WILL, AND EMOTIONS. THEY’RE JUST AS REAL AS ANY PHYSICAL INJURY, BUT SO OFTEN PEOPLE SEEK HELP FOR THE BODILY DAMAGE AND IGNORE THE NEEDS OF THE HEART AND SOUL.
THE SPIRIT CAN NO MORE BE IGNORED WHEN IT SUSTAINS INJURY THAN A MUTILATED LEG OR SEVERED FINGERS.
Not only was the man interesting, but he made her feel safe, like it might not be wrong to feel and think and experience life differently than most. Was it possible she could share her oddities with him? Her deepest secrets?
Although her outward life matched most every other Amish woman’s existence—from the cape dress and white prayer Kapp to her one-room schoolhouse education—Beth had discovered in the hardest way of all that she didn’t possess the tender yet powerful sense of loyalty and love that women should.
Was it possible she could tell Jonah Kinsinger the truth about herself and he’d actually hear her? understand her reality? help her find forgiveness for her sin?
It seemed possible he could be that sort of a man. Older people often had that capability. Sometimes the most accepting, loving people in a person’s life were their grandparents, only she was unwilling to unload herself on hers. They’d take it too hard. But a stranger? Surely he could hear her without bearing the weight of her shame. And maybe he’d have wisdom to pass on to her, and she could slip free of the dark blanket that lay heavy over her heart.
Excitement, or maybe hope, seemed to surround her.
YOU ASKED HOW I GOT THAT PIECE OF WOOD OUT OF THE CANYON. IT’S QUITE A TALE, AND ONE THAT TELLS TOO MUCH ABOUT MY STUBBORNNESS AND NOT ENOUGH ABOUT MY GOOD SENSE.
I COME FROM A LONG LINE OF STORYTELLERS (YOU KNOW THE KIND: AFTER SUPPER EACH NIGHT THEY SHARE STORIES FROM AS FAR BACK AS THE LIVES OF THE AMISH WHO ESCAPED THE PERSECUTION IN THE OLD COUNTRY), SO I WILL WRITE THE EXPERIENCE OUT AS MY OWN URGROSSDADDI MIGHT HAVE DONE IF HE WERE AROUND TO WRITE TO YOU.
SINCE I FAILED TO SHARE ENOUGH OF THE STORY LAST TIME TO SATISFY YOUR CURIOSITY, I WILL OVERDO IT THIS TIME.
STRADDLING MY HORSE, I PEERED DOWN THE SIDE OF THE STEEP RAVINE. I’D BEEN TO THAT SAME SPOT SEVERAL TIMES BEFORE, AND EACH TIME I’D ASSURED MYSELF I COULD FIND A SIMILAR TREASURE IN AN EASIER PLACE TO REACH. BUT THERE I WAS AGAIN.
EVEN THROUGH THE FALLEN SNOW, I SPIED THE TREE.
DISMOUNTING, I FELT EVERY PART OF THE FOREST SURROUND ME—THE EARLY RAYS OF SUNLIGHT WORKING THEIR WAY THROUGH THE CLOUDS OVERHEAD, THE MUSKY SMELL OF ROTTING LEAVES HIDDEN UNDER THE LAYER OF THICK SNOW, AND THE MOVEMENT OF CREATURES I COULDN’T SEE. (MOST OF THE CREEPY-CRAWLIES YOU DON’T LIKE WERE IN HIBERNATION.)
AFTER I REMOVED MY CANE FROM ITS HOLSTER, I TETHERED THE HORSE TO A NEARBY SHRUB AND WALKED TO THE EDGE OF THE DROP-OFF.
BUT HERE I STOOD AGAIN, BRACING MYSELF FOR THE BATTLE OF GETTING MY FIND UP THE SIDE OF THIS CRAG.
HOURS SLIPPED BY LIKE MINUTES, AND I WISHED I’D BROUGHT A STURDIER HORSE, ONE I COULD USE TO HELP PULL THE CARGO OUT. BUT I HADN’T, AND I COULDN’T RELEASE THE LOAD I’D PULLED HALFWAY UP THE SIDE OF THAT STEEP HILL. MY BODY MOVED AS SLOWLY AS A BOX TURTLE AS I INCHED THE WEIGHT OF MY LOAD UP THE SLIPPERY HILL. I CONTINUED TO MAKE SLOW BUT STEADY PROGRESS AS NIGHT CLOSED IN AROUND ME.
THE CRISP SMELL OF A SNOWSTORM RODE ON THE AIR. BARE TREE LIMBS RUBBED TOGETHER AS THE WIND PICKED UP, AND THE RHYTHM OF THE NIGHT SEEMED TO CHANT.
“GIVE UP.”
“GIVE UP.”
AS THE SYMPHONY PLAYED, OLD MEMORIES ROSE TO HAUNT ME. THE THING I HATED MOST IN LIFE STOOD BEFORE ME, CLOAKED IN DARKNESS BUT AS REAL AND POWERFUL AS THE LIFE THAT PUMPED THROUGH ME. IT WASN’T THIS SINGLE FIGHT THAT CAUSED THE WORDS OF THE SONG TO HOUND ME. I KNEW THAT. HOW MANY TIMES HAD LIFE SMACKED ME IN THE FACE LIKE I’D RUN INTO THE SIDE OF A BARN? BUT GOD AND I WERE IN AGREEMENT—EVERY VICTORY WAS WORTH FIGHTING FOR.
THE BAD—AND MOST OF THOSE I WORK WITH IN REHAB HAVE HAD PLENTY OF IT—CAN ONLY FIGHT FOR A WHILE. PAIN SUBSIDES. INJURIES HEAL. THEN THE DARKNESS GIVES WAY, LIKE A BULLY FACING SOMEONE TOUGHER. BUT RIGHT THEN, IN SPITE OF MY PEP TALK TO MYSELF, THE CHANTING INSIDE MY MIND HAD ME RATTLED.
“GIVE UP.”
“GIVE UP.”
I KNEW THAT MY FEELINGS WERE LYING TO ME AND THAT I WASN’T ALONE. I SHUT MY EYES, WILLING THE NIGHT’S CLAMOR TO BE A SOUND IN MY EAR AND NOT AN ECHO OF THE PAST IN MY SOUL. SOMEWHERE ABOVE ME I HEARD MOVEMENT IN THE FOREST.
“JONAH!” MY BROTHER YELLED, SOUNDING HOARSE, AND I KNEW AMOS HAD BEEN SEARCHING FOR ME FOR QUITE A WHILE.
RELIEF BROUGHT NEW ENERGY, AND I ANGLED MY HEAD HEAVENWARD. “DOWN HERE.”
UNWILLING TO CHANCE LOSING MY GRIP, I KEPT MY HEELS DUG INTO THE TERRAIN. A FEW MOMENTS LATER AMOS YELLED MY NAME AGAIN. WE CALLED BACK AND FORTH UNTIL MY BROTHER’S VOICE CAME FROM THE RIDGE DIRECTLY OVERHEAD.
“DU ALLRECHT?”
“YA. I’M GREAT, BUT I COULD USE A HAND.” I TRIED TO SEE MY BROTHER AGAINST THE DARK OF NIGHT, BUT I COULDN’T. “DID YOU BRING THE MULE?”
“THE DRAFT HORSE.”
“EVEN BETTER. IT WON’T BE STUBBORN.”
“YA, I’LL ATTACH THIS END OF THE ROPE TO HIM, AND HE’LL PULL YOU UP. YOU’LL HAVE TO KEEP YOUR FEET AGAINST THE FACE OF THE CRAG AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.”
AMOS TOSSED ONE END OF A ROPE OVER THE SIDE OF THE RAVINE, BUT IT DANGLED TOO FAR AWAY FOR ME TO REACH IT.
“UH … I’M NOT STUCK DOWN HERE. I’M GETTING WHAT I CAME FOR.”
THE SCREECH OF A BARN OWL CAME FROM NEARBY, AND ANOTHER ONE RESPONDED, BUT MY BROTHER REMAINED QUIET FOR A LONG MINUTE.
“FINE,” AMOS FINALLY GRUMBLED. “WE WON’T LEAVE WITHOUT YOUR PRECIOUS STUMP. THAT’S WHY YOU CAME OUT HERE ALONE, WASN’T IT? YOU NEED A BETTER HOBBY.” AMOS PULLED THE ROPE UP AND TOSSED IT AGAIN, AND THIS TIME IT LANDED WITHIN INCHES OF ME. HE BEGAN MUMBLING, BUT HIS VOLUME ASSURED ME HE MEANT EVERY WORD TO BE HEARD. “THE BEST-LOOKING ONE OF THE LOT, YOU ARE. I’VE BEEN TAKING YOUR SIDE AGAINST THE CONCERNS AND COMPLAINTS OF THE WOMENFOLK FOR YEARS. AND THIS IS HOW YOU SPEND YOUR DAYS? YOU NEED A WOMAN!”
“I NEED WHAT’S ON THE OTHER END OF THIS ROPE.” ALTHOUGH I DIDN’T KNOW WHY, MY GUT SAID IT WAS SPECIAL. I STUDIED THE DANGLING ROPE BEFORE ME AND THE ONE IN MY HAND, TAUT FROM THE STRESS OF THE LOAD IT HELD. “HEY, AMOS, DID YOU HAPPEN TO BRING TWO DRAFT HORSES?”
HE HADN’T, BUT WE GOT THAT TREE UP THE SIDE OF THE STEEP HILL, AND SOON THE HORSE WAS DRAGGING IT OVER SNOWY FIELDS. AND IF LIFE ENDS BEFORE I MAIL THIS LETTER OR LASTS ANOTHER THIRTY YEARS, I’LL ALWAYS BE GRATEFUL THAT PIECE HAS BEEN A BRIDGE FROM YOUR WORK TO MINE.
YOUR FRIEND,
JONAH
Beth’s heart thumped like mad, begging for more as she imagined every step of his story. What a beautiful way to share his experience, though the adventure sounded awfully dangerous for a man his age.
She pressed the letter to her chest. He didn’t just carve life out of stumps of wood; he carved it into her soul.
Drawing a deep, relaxing breath, she caught a fresh glimpse of the box on the kitchen table. She’d been so interested in reading his letter and so fixed in his words, she’d forgotten about the accompanying gift. Lifting it, she noticed two things: Lizzy hadn’t opened it, and Jonah had written a note that read: “From the same tree as the carving you bought.” Beth removed the brown paper wrapping and opened the cardboard box.
Inside lay a hand-carved gift box. The image he’d carved thrilled her. She clutched it against herself and hurried down the steps, then ran across the road and let herself in at Lizzy’s. The bishop sat across the table from her aunt with a cup of coffee in his hand. Papers were spread on the table between them.
It took only a brief glance to remember her aunt was planning her annual communitywide dinner, dessert, and hayride. Each year she invited all the Amish singles from communities far and wide to come. Those who lived a good distance away would stay for at least one night, often two. For all Lizzy’s years of living single, she seemed to have matchmaking in her blood, and many a couple had found each other through these events.
Too excited to ask how the plans were coming, Beth thrust the box toward Lizzy. “Look.” She cleared her throat, trying to regain some sense of calm. “Look at what Jonah carved. Did you tell him?”
A look passed between her aunt and the bishop, but Beth didn’t care if he minded that Jonah had sent her a carved gift.
Lizzy’s eyes brimmed with tears even before she looked at the item. “Tell him what?”
“Is something wrong?” Beth glanced at the bishop.
“The excitement in your eyes and voice.” Lizzy rose and cupped Beth’s cheeks between her hands. “That’s all.”
Realizing anew how her sorrow and guilt grieved Lizzy too, Beth hugged her. She’d tried to spare her aunt as much as she could with her silence, but it must not have been enough.
Christmas in Apple Ridge Page 6