“I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”
“I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t be able to sleep.”
“Is that so?”
“Came out wrong.” He tapped his journal, then looked up at her and smiled. “What I mean is, I was hoping to have a chance to be alone with you for a few minutes.”
“My family is wunderbaar, but there are a lot of them.”
Daniel was sitting at the end of the table. He nudged the chair closest to him out with his foot, then nodded toward the platter on the table. “There’s still a few pieces of chocolate cake left. You know you want one.”
“Only if there’s cold milk to go with it.”
“There is.”
“You talked me into it, then.”
It felt good to banter back and forth, but Becca knew that she needed to apologize for her earlier behavior. It was too hard living in the same house, dancing around one another, and feeling guilty for her rudeness. Best to clear the air.
She sat across from him and accepted the piece of cake he’d cut for her. Suddenly, she couldn’t imagine eating a bite. Her stomach was doing somersaults. Why did she turn into a silly youngie when she was around Daniel? What was it about the way he looked at her that sent her feelings soaring and her pulse thumping?
Was that love?
If it was, how did people live with it over an extended period of time? She felt as if she could run a race, and as if she might be sick, all at the same time.
“Don’t you want it?”
“Maybe later.” She cleared her throat, stared at the glass of milk, then dared to look up into Daniel’s eyes. She’d expected a wide range of responses from him—pity, anger, acceptance, even a brotherly friendship. Yes, he’d said he loved her and wanted to marry her, but after the way she’d acted, she rather suspected that offer had been withdrawn.
Now, as she looked at the man sitting across from her, she saw only love in his eyes, and it humbled her more than anything else that had happened to date.
He set aside his journal. Under it was a plainly wrapped gift with a bright blue ribbon. “This is for you.”
“But you weren’t supposed to buy us gifts. You’re giving enough just letting us live here.”
“I bought this before the fire.” He pushed it across the table, leaving his fingertips on the edge of the package.
As she reached for it, she was taken aback by the image before her—his hand, her hand, both holding a Christmas gift.
They were so different, and it was evident even in their hands. Daniel’s was calloused from hard work, tanned even in the winter, with small scratches here and there.
Hers was smaller, her skin softer and younger.
And the gift? It was probably some simple thing—she hoped it was. Yet she understood that gifts had a way of binding people together.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Ya. Sure.” She’d received a book on raising backyard chickens from her siblings. She hadn’t expected anything else. Any other year, she might have felt depressed that their gifts were so few. This year, it hardly mattered.
She untied the ribbon and set it aside. It was long enough to braid in Hannah or Isabelle’s hair. She pulled the wrapping paper away and stared at the clothbound book.
“It’s a project book.”
“Oh.”
“For your projects.” Daniel scooted closer. “See? Each section is for a different project. There’s room for fifty. It includes a place to project costs and materials, then make notations about what works and what doesn’t, and finally a cost analysis section.”
Becca bit her bottom lip as tears sprang to her eyes. Did he know what this meant to her? He understood her need to help her family. He didn’t expect her to wait for a man to swoop in and make everything right. He was no longer suggesting that his money could solve her problems.
“This is very kind. Danki, and I’m embarrassed that I don’t have a gift for you.”
“I didn’t expect a gift.”
“Daniel, I want to apologize.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Ya. I do. It was wrong of me to be so angry with you. I was... I guess I was embarrassed. It’s been a fear of mine since I was a young child.”
“What has been?”
“That people were laughing at me.” She shook her head, ran a finger down the binding of the book. “It might have started when I first went to school. Before that, I don’t think I realized I was poor. At home, we were all the same. When I went to school, even an Amish school, I realized that my clothes were different—more patched, older, a little too large or a little too small.”
“And did they laugh at you, Becca?”
“Maybe. I’m not even sure. I don’t remember that part. I only remember how it made me feel, and so I’ve spent the last few years trying to make sure Hannah and Isabelle don’t have to endure the same.”
“It’s plain how much you and your family care for each other.”
“Mamm said something to me earlier that caught me by surprise.” She thought about admitting that she’d confessed all to her mother, but decided it was best to stay on track. “She told me that she’d never wished for another life. Isn’t that amazing?”
“That she has found contentment? It doesn’t surprise me. Your mamm is a wise woman, Becca. I believe she would be content whether she was rich or poor.”
“I thought she was simply putting on a brave front for the rest of us. As for my dat, I thought he was simply clueless.”
“But he’s not.”
“Nein. It’s very clear to me now that he understands what the most important things are—that we have each other, that we’re a family, that we put each other and our faith before other things.”
Something akin to pain crossed Daniel’s features. “If my family understood all of that, I believe they could be happy even with their wealth.”
“Which is what I need to apologize for.”
“I don’t think you do. You were right. I should have been honest with you—maybe not from the first day, but as we became freinden.”
“Possibly. We can’t go back.” Becca tugged on her braid, pulled it over her shoulder. “I judged you for being rich, in the same way I was afraid other people had judged me for being poor. I understand now that prejudice goes both ways, and it’s wrong. We should see the person, not the bank account behind the person, or what does it mean to be Christian? What does it mean to be Plain? I’m sorry, Daniel. Truly, I am.”
“Apology accepted.”
Becca worried her bottom lip. She was still nervous but also hungry, so she set the journal aside, loaded a piece of cake on her fork and popped it into her mouth.
Daniel’s smile grew, and she knew he was trying to hold back his laughter.
She tried to ask what? but it came out as “Wha?” owing to the large piece of cake in her mouth. She managed to swallow, then washed it down with the cold milk. Daniel was still clearly amused.
“Chocolate,” he explained, then leaned forward and thumbed the frosting from the corner of her mouth. His hand lingered there, cupping her face.
Becca found herself leaning forward and closing her eyes, and then Daniel’s lips were on hers—sweeter than the cake, more tender than a child’s fingertips, more precious than any gift she could have received.
Pulling in a deep breath, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I love you. I hope you know that.”
“I do.”
“Can I ask you again?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Becca Schwartz, will you marry me?”
“I will.”
“You’re certain?”
Now she opened her eyes, pulled back and studied him. “I lov
e you, Daniel Glick.”
“Ya?”
“Ya. Don’t look so surprised.”
“Happy. I’m happy and maybe a little surprised.”
“I’m happy, too.”
“And you think that you can...accept my life? It’s not as easy as you might think, having money.”
Her laughter was light and bright and from a place that she’d forgotten existed—a carefree place that trusted things would be okay.
“I know how to be poor.”
“You’re very good at it.”
“I suppose I can learn to be wealthy.”
He stood and pulled her into his arms. “We’ll love each other all of our days.”
“For better or worse.”
“For richer or poorer.”
Which really was all they needed to say. The details could be worked out another time. They stood in the middle of the kitchen, their arms wrapped around one another, and enjoyed the last few minutes of a very special Christmas, one Becca knew she’d never forget.
Epilogue
Seven months later
Becca stood on the front porch of her house—her and Daniel’s house—and shaded her eyes to better see across the yard.
“Looking for Carl-the-bad-tempered-rooster?” Daniel walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist.
“How did you know?”
“Because you’re frowning.”
“That rooster is going to take five years off my life.”
“He’s out by the road.”
“The road?”
“Chasing the mailman.”
“He chased the mailman?”
“Don’t worry. The mailman was in an Englisch car. He made a clean getaway.”
She wrapped her arms around his. In the distance, she could make out her bruder working in the field alongside her dat. By the street was a simple sign that read G&S Organic Farm—Produce and Eggs. The two properties had become one, as had the two families.
From the corner of their porch, she could just see her parents’ new home that had been built in the spring—plain, sturdy and paid for by the freinden in their community. Daniel had made a large, anonymous donation to the benevolence fund—more than enough to cover the cost of materials. As for the labor, there was no way to repay that except by being willing to help when someone else needed assistance.
Before they were married, she and Daniel had met with the bishop and discussed how to handle their finances. His advice had been remarkably clear and wise.
Live simply.
Help others when you can.
Be grateful.
Becca was surprised that very little in their lives had actually changed. She no longer felt the desperate need to help her parents financially. In fact, her parents were doing quite well. Turned out that her dat was a natural at organic farming.
“I passed your schweschder on my way down the lane.”
“Abigail?”
“Ya.”
“Did she bring Baby Tabitha?”
“She did.”
Becca spun in Daniel’s arms, reached up and touched his face. “Now would be a gut time to tell them that we’re expecting.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
He slipped his hand into hers, and they walked across the property that was bathed in the afternoon’s summer sunshine. Becca couldn’t help feeling that they were walking into their future.
Together.
* * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Amish Widow’s Christmas Hope by Carrie Lighte.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever wished you could live a different life? Sometimes we wish we had more money, or lived in a different place, or had made different choices in our past. It’s easy to find ourselves living in “what might have been.”
Becca Schwartz has very good reasons for wanting to help her family raise their standard of living. She cares about her sisters and brothers. She loves her parents but doesn’t understand their lack of concern over their financial situation. Becca believes that having more money will solve every problem that they face.
Daniel Glick understands that money can sometimes cause more problems than it solves. He has watched as what should have been a blessing actually tore his family apart. Instead of realizing that there were problems before the inheritance, he takes a vow of poverty, moves to a different state and tries to live a different life.
Becca and Daniel are more than opposites. They both are trying to overcome something in their life, and neither is ready to accept that God didn’t make a mistake giving them the life they have. Neither is able to look past their own fears and hurts to consider what God would have them learn—what God would have them do. It’s not an easy thing to trust. It isn’t easy for my characters, and sometimes it isn’t easy for myself, either.
I hope you enjoyed reading The Amish Christmas Secret. I welcome comments and letters at [email protected].
May we continue to “always give thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).
Blessings,
Vannetta
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The Amish Widow’s Christmas Hope
by Carrie Lighte
Chapter One
Fern Glick crouched down so her face was level with her children’s faces. “I should be home by lunchtime. Remember to use your best manners and do whatever Jaala asks you to do,” she instructed them.
Patience, five, nodded obediently, but Phillip was distracted by the chatter of Jaala’s grandchildren as they put on their coats and boots in the mudroom at the opposite end of the kitchen.
“Can we go outside, too, Mamm?” the six-year-old asked.
“Jah, of course you may. Be sure to button your coats to the top buttons—it’s chilly out there,” Fern answered. Rising, she kissed the tops of their heads before the pair raced to the mudroom. Fern smiled when she heard the other children welcome them enthusiastically.
“The kinner sound like they’re already having schpass and they haven’t gotten out the door yet,” Jaala said as she entered the kitchen and took the broom from its hook. “Didn’t I tell you the more the merrier?”
“That’s true for kinner, but not necessarily for eldre. Especially when it means there aren’t enough beds to go around. I feel baremlich about imposing on you like this when you already have company here for Grischtdaag.”
“They’re not company—they’re familye,” Jaala said with a wave of her hand. “You and the kinner don’t have to leave on the twenty-third—you’re wilkom to stay here and celebrate Grischtdaag with us.”
Despite Jaala’s warm hospitality, Fern couldn’t wait to leave Serenity Ridge, Maine. The only reason she was staying until the following Saturday was because that’s when she could secure the most affordable transportation home. If it was up to her, she wouldn’t have returned to Maine in the first place.
Earlier in the month, she’d been contacted by an attorney regarding her recently deceased uncle Roman’s estate. The attorney said Fern was to receive an inheritance, but he couldn’t provide additional details until she met with him in person. Which meant Fern and her children had to journey nearly one thousand miles from their home in Geauga County, Ohio.
Fern had arranged to stay with Jaala and her husband, Abram, the district’s deacon, but Jaala hadn’t known her two sons and their families would be visiting at the same time—they weren’t supposed to arrive for another week. The Amish had a knack for making room for everyo
ne, but Jaala and Abram’s modest house was stretched to the limit.
Jaala was the only person Fern had kept in touch with since she left Serenity Ridge eight years ago, so it didn’t seem right to call on anyone else for lodging. Getting a room at a local inn was also out of the question: Fern spent every cent of the meager savings she’d managed to scrape together on transportation to Maine.
“Roman must have bequeathed you something substantial,” Jaala speculated as she bent to sweep crumbs into the dust bin. “Otherwise, whatever he left you could have been shipped to Ohio.”
Fern couldn’t imagine her uncle leaving her anything of significant value. While it was true she’d helped her cousin Gloria care for him for over a year while he was recovering from a stroke and then she’d lived with them for two more years after that, Fern had rarely communicated with Roman since she left Maine. She never visited, either. In fact, she’d even missed Gloria’s funeral five years ago because she’d just given birth to Patience and couldn’t travel with a newborn. And Fern hadn’t been able to leave Ohio to attend Roman’s funeral this past November, either, since she was tending to her cousin’s wife, who was on bed rest during the last month of her pregnancy.
“I assume he gave the haus and any savings he had to Gloria’s daughter because she’s Roman’s closest living relative,” Fern suggested. She supposed it was greedy, but once or twice she caught herself hoping whatever Roman left her, it was something that could be sold quickly so she could use the money to compensate for the expense of their trip.
“But Jane’s only seven,” Jaala commented. “If Roman left the haus to her, Walker will either have to manage the property or sell it and put the money in a trust fund for her until she’s of age.”
Fern turned her back and rinsed a couple stray coffee cups in the sink so Jaala couldn’t read her expression. Walker Huyard, Jane’s father, had been the love of Fern’s life. Or so she believed during the two and a half years they’d secretly courted when Fern lived in Serenity Ridge. The couple had planned to get married the autumn they turned twenty-one, but that September, Fern was called back to Ohio to care for her ailing aunt.
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