The Sound of Sleigh Bells

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Without sharing what Jonah had written, Beth tucked the note back into the gift box. “I should go.”

  “Don’t you want to stay and drink some coffee with us?”

  Beth shook her head. “I want to write Jonah. I’ll have the buggy hitched at seven thirty in the morning so we can help Mamm get the beds made and the breakfast dishes washed before anyone arrives for church. I’ll see you then.”

  The air around Lizzy vibrated with hope and fear. When Beth learned the truth about Jonah—which she was bound to do—would she hold a grudge against her like she’d held on to her grief? The question bothered her, but the risk would be worth the price if it helped Beth more than it hurt her.

  Lizzy had confessed her deception to Omar, and in spite of his disapproval, he’d not insisted she tell Beth or Jonah. Instead, he’d asked her to pray and to be very careful to hear God.

  Omar stirred his coffee, making a clinking sound against the mug. “When will it dawn on her that I’m not visiting this often because of my duties as a bishop?”

  Lizzy felt her cheeks turn pink. It seemed too adolescent to be in love for the first time in her long life. “I’m hoping the two of you can work some things out first.”

  Omar slid his hand toward hers, making her heart pound, but then he stopped and returned it to his lap. His sense of propriety ran deep. He’d not even touched her hand when they were alone, and he couldn’t touch her when around others—not yet, maybe not ever. His position as bishop required him to be above reproach, even more than regular folk.

  A lopsided smile etched his ruggedly handsome face. “It’s not enough that I’ve spent two years earning your approval. Now I need Beth’s too?” There was humor in his voice, but she also heard concern.

  “She’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a child of my own.”

  “And she’ll always be deeply special to you. She’s a part of you and you of her, but we don’t know that you’ll never have a baby, Lizzy. You’re thirty-eight. We’ve seen women give birth well into their midforties.”

  “Ya, women who have been having babies half their lives. Their bodies are primed, like a pump that leads to a spring-fed well. And mine is a desert.”

  A tender, adorable smile radiated from him. “Will you mind too much if we can’t have a child of our own?”

  Lizzy drew a deep breath, basking in the warmth of the newly burning fire within her. “I never expected to find love. I’ll be content forever.”

  “And after I buried Ruth and spent years raising my children, I never considered I might find love again.”

  Lizzy’s heart turned a flip. Did he practice saying the right thing? “I need you and Beth to…to bond. I don’t want to lose a child in order to gain a husband.”

  “You know that I wish Jonah’s work didn’t feel like a graven image to me. It’s not so much the gift box or wind chimes as those statuelike items he makes. Perhaps I should go see his bishop. Maybe I’d come to see those carvings differently.”

  “But the bishop is Jonah’s own Daed. You could spill my secret without meaning to.”

  A troubled look removed every hint of a smile, and he went to the coatrack. He took his hat and jacket. “How long will you carry out this secret plan of yours?”

  “You saw her tonight. She’s on the brink of embracing life again, but she needs more time. I just hope the truth doesn’t disclose itself too soon. I had to mark through one of the lines he’d written in his last letter to her. He’d written, ‘Your voice on paper sounds so much different than it did in person.’“

  “Smart man to figure that out so quickly. And he’s in the hands of an amateur romantic.” Omar winked at her and put his black hat on. “I’d say this pretense won’t last much longer.” He moved closer, concern evident in his eyes. “And I pray when it ends, that you are not the one who loses. But whatever happens, I understand what you did and why.” He dipped his head once, his eyes glancing to her lips, before returning to her eyes. So many words and feelings ran between them that they were not yet free to express. “Good night, Lizzy.”

  Feeling hungry, Jonah set his v-tool on the worktable in his living room. His shop was functional, but it was also drafty and physically uncomfortable after a long day at the lumbermill. Rather than sitting on a stool at his workbench, he’d brought the wood into his home.

  His desire to carve again had been reawakened by Beth’s keen interest in his skill. Once he had the tools in his hands, his passion for the craft seeped back in. After completing her gift box, he’d immediately moved on to another project.

  He carried a kerosene lamp to the kitchen, where he lit the eyes to his gas stove, then placed the camp-stove toaster over one and a cast-iron skillet on the other one. He grabbed a loaf of bread and put a slice of bread in two of the four toaster slots before getting a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator.

  When someone knocked, he hollered for her to come in. The menfolk walked straight in, so his visitor had to be female—his mother, grandmother, a sister, or a sister-in-law. He cracked an egg into a bowl and glanced up to see his grandmother.

  “Hello, Mammi. What brings you out at dinnertime on a drizzly evening like this?”

  “You received a letter.”

  He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “Already?”

  “Actually it came yesterday, and I planned to pass it to you when you came by, but you never did.” She looked around his house. “You’re carving again.”

  “Ya, appears so.” He shifted. “The letter?”

  “Oh, ya.” She pulled her arms free of her black shawl and passed him the envelope.

  Just as he expected—as he’d hoped—it was from Beth.

  “Jonah.” His grandmother’s sharp tone made him look up. She hurried to the stove and jammed a fork into a piece of smoking toast. She flung it into the sink and stabbed the other one.

  He turned off the stove eye. “Only one side is burnt. The other side is still edible.”

  She huffed at him and turned on the water. “Not anymore.” They laughed, and then she gave him that grandmotherly look of hers. “Why don’t you come over to the house? I have plenty of leftovers I can reheat for you. We had beef stew. That’ll be better for you and warm your insides.”

  He wasn’t as hungry as he was interested in reading Beth’s letter. “I think I’ll stay here. If I change my mind, you’ll know.”

  She raised her eyebrows but said nothing else. “All right, then. Good night.”

  As she left, Jonah opened the letter and removed it from the envelope.

  Dear Jonah,

  What a great storyteller you are. Since I don’t have your gift for words, I can’t really share what your letter meant to me. When I opened the package, I couldn’t believe my eyes. You see, sleighs have always been a dream and fond memory of mine. I’m so excited to have another item made from the wood you dragged out of that canyon. Although I must confess you do sound, as you said yourself, extremely stubborn.

  The beauty of that box and of your friendship means so much.

  We were very poor during most of my childhood. I had one Christmas wish year after year—to ride in a sleigh. But in spite of his best and sometimes dangerous efforts, my Daed could not make that Christmas dream come true. By the time I turned eight, I understood the constraints of money and made a point to always ask for something my father could provide. So I’d choose something from my aunt’s store, like a few yards of fabric for a new dress or a favorite piece of candy. That way he could buy it at cost.

  One Christmas Eve after my married siblings had gone home and my younger ones had gone to bed, my father went to my uncle’s home to gather the gifts for Christmas morn…or so I thought. At the request of my mother, I stood on the porch, cleaning snow and ice off the steps so my father wouldn’t fall when he returned.

  I was eighteen years old, but when I heard sleigh bells, I felt like a hopeful child again. I remember standing in place, absorbing the joy of it. Isn’t it funny how ce
rtain things mean so much to us for so little reason? What would make a child want a sleigh ride so badly? Or a nearly grown woman feel such joy at the sound of distant sleigh bells?

  As the jingle grew closer, I thought my feet might come off the ground. I truly did. All I wanted was to see the sleigh pass, but when it came into view, it slowed and pulled into our driveway. I wish you could have seen my father’s face as he finally brought me the one thing I’d always wanted for Christmas.

  My mother brought a thermos of hot chocolate out to us and an armload of blankets. The sleigh was not due back to the owner until midmorning, and we rode nearly all night, singing carols and talking of the God who provides. We were able to take my younger siblings for a ride after they opened their presents. But the greatest gift was knowing that my Daed loved me enough to care about a silly girl’s childhood Christmas wish.

  Under the weight of the last few years, I had forgotten things you have caused me to remember. I’m not sure how, but sadness and guilt have a way of changing a person. You’ve judged me correctly, though I can scarcely see how when we know so little of each other. I do carry a secret. A horried one.

  I think you must be right, that just as there are physical injuries that cause permanent injury, so it is with damage to the inner man.

  My problem began the day I realized I could not do what I’d promised to do. I wrestled with myself for a while, and then I went to Henry and told him my decision. I was willing to pay the price, but he paid instead, and I shall never be free of that guilt—no more than he can be free of the grave.

  I’m healthy in body but still heartbroken in so very many ways. I try to hide that from those who love me—not because I fear their judgment. I have allowed God to judge me already, but I don’t want to hurt them.

  I began this letter in great joy, but I end it sobbing like a child. It seems you have the power to stir my heart and my memory with your carving. And loosen my pen with the sincerity of your letter.

  If I dare mail this letter, I will be surprised. But I have written my secret. Perhaps vaguely, but it is done.

  Beth

  Jonah eased into a chair. Although he was unsure exactly what she was talking about, her words held the weight of a dozen silos.

  “Beth.” As he whispered her name, he couldn’t visualize the woman who’d sat across from him in the gazebo. The two voices, the Beth from the gazebo and the Beth who wrote to him, were very different. No doubt.

  He closed his eyes, seeing nothing but blank darkness. He tried to relax and wait on an image to form, like he did when carving, but nothing came to him. Recollections from the time Beth had visited and the things she’d later written to him swirled like drops of oil in water, but no matter how he looked at it, they wouldn’t blend into one person.

  The woman in his gazebo said she knew someone who was struggling. It’d be easy to believe this letter was from that person, but would Elizabeth Hertzler have deceived him?

  Pulling the card Pete had given him out of his wallet, he thought about calling her. But then guilt covered him. She’d just laid bare her heart, shared the hardest thing of her life to him, and he doubted her?

  He glanced at the letter. No, he didn’t doubt the woman who’d written to him. He heard her sincerity as she unveiled her soul. He read the letter again and stumbled over the words “my aunt’s store.”

  Her aunt’s store?

  It was possible the store she now ran had once belonged to her aunt, but…something left him ill at ease. A call would set things right. He looked at the clock. Just past six. He didn’t know what her store hours were, but if it wasn’t closed already, it would be soon. It’d take him a good twenty minutes to get to Pete’s to use his phone.

  Willing to take the chance, he slid into his jacket and hat and headed for the barn. The rain came and went in spurts, but his horse made good time. When he arrived at Pete’s, the store was closed. He knocked and a minute later saw Pete coming out of his office. Pete unlocked the door.

  “Hey, Old Man. What happened to your key?”

  “I didn’t think to bring it. I need to use your phone.”

  “Sure. You know where it is. Care to eat a bite of supper with me when you’re done?”

  “Who’s cooking? Me or you?”

  “You. Oh, did I mention that I’m glad you stopped by?”

  Jonah chuckled and moved to the phone behind the cash register. He dialed the number and waited.

  “Hertzlers’ Dry Goods.”

  Nothing in the woman’s voice sounded familiar. “Yes, I’m trying to reach Beth Hertzler.”

  “You’ve reached her. How can I help you?”

  She sounded young and friendly, and he felt rather queasy. “I don’t think you’re the right person. I spoke to the woman I’m trying to reach and…”

  “Oh, well, two Elizabeth Hertzlers run this store. I’m one of them, and my aunt is the other. You must’ve spoken to Lizzy, but I’m Beth.”

  His mind ran with thoughts, but he urged it to pick up the pace. As dozens of pieces of his encounter with Elizabeth Hertzler shuffled around inside him, he remembered her saying, “You should write to Beth. I mean…Beth, Lizzy, Elizabeth—they’re all forms of my name.”

  Suddenly feeling like an idiot, Jonah tried to find his voice. “Lizzy?”

  “Yes, that’s my aunt. The store is closed for the night, so she’s not here, but if it’s store business you need her for, I’d be glad to try to help you.”

  A sense of betrayal burned through him, but until he got to the bottom of this, he’d not say a word to anyone but Lizzy about it. “Uh, no, I shouldn’t bother you.”

  “It’s no bother. I wouldn’t have answered if I wasn’t at my desk. Is there an order you’d like to check on or place?”

  Tempted to voice the questions that pounded at him, he resisted. Who did she think she was writing to? “No, but thanks.”

  “Can I get your name and number so I can pass the info to Lizzy?”

  “No, I’m good. I don’t think I need anything from her after all.”

  The woman grew quiet, probably taken aback by the oddness of this conversation.

  “Good-bye, Beth.”

  “Bye.”

  Jonah hung up the phone, feeling like he knew far less now than when he’d arrived.

  “Whoa.” Pete scratched his head. “For a man who’s slow to anger, you sure do look riled.”

  “You talked to Elizabeth Hertzler face to face, right?”

  “Sure did. She’s a bit odd for an Amish woman.”

  “Odd how?”

  “All businesslike, maybe? I don’t know.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain the difference, but I’ve had Amish women come in here my whole life. They tend to be quiet when dealing with men. They ask careful questions, barely hinting at the tougher ones inside them concerning some piece I have that they’re interested in, and when I answer, they always seem to keep their real thoughts to themselves. The one you’re talking about had a polite salesman-type boldness about her. And she didn’t mind questioning my methods as the owner of the store, especially when it came to your carving.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “Well, it’s been a while, but…I remember she had dark hair. And even though it was August when she was here, her skin was as fair as if it were the middle of winter, so I didn’t reckon she spent much time in a garden.”

  “Her age, Pete. How old was she?”

  “Oh, well, why didn’t you say so?” He scratched his head again, looking like his memory was being taxed. “Young. A couple years younger than you, maybe more.”

  Wavering between anger and confusion, Jonah felt his head pounding. “You’re sure? I mean, she didn’t look a few years older rather than younger?”

  “There was no way she was older than you.”

  As the woman’s trickery continued to dawn on him, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Anything else?”

  “Not that I remember. What’s going o
n?”

  “Not sure, but I can guarantee I don’t like it.”

  “Are you going to try to figure it out?”

  “I’ll need to think awhile before I know the answer to that.”

  Lizzy closed the door to the office and phoned Pete’s. She knew the minute Beth told her about the strange conversation she’d had with a man who had their names mixed up that Jonah had figured out what was going on. What had once seemed like an opportunity to help Beth now loomed over her as the utter deceit that it was. She’d tried to reach him on three separate days but hadn’t been successful. During the last call Pete gave her a set time, saying he’d try to have Jonah at the store then.

  As the phone rang over and over again, her nervousness made her feel lightheaded. It’d already stolen her sleep over the past few days. She couldn’t blame Jonah for not wanting to talk to her, but if she didn’t connect with him today, she’d get Gloria to take her to his place. If she could’ve gotten away from the store over the last few days, she would have. But regardless if she talked to him today or tomorrow, how would she explain her actions?

  Finding it hard to stay on the line, she shivered when someone picked up the receiver.

  “Pete’s Antiques.”

  She recognized Pete’s voice easily by this point. “This is Lizzy Hertzler. Is Jonah there?”

  “He is. Don’t want to be, but I cornered him into it. Hang on, and I’ll go get him.”

  Unable to pray, she hoped to find a way to tap into the man’s understanding and forgiveness. While rapping her fingers on the desk, she noticed one of the invitations to the fall hayride.

  “This is Jonah.”

  The distance in his voice said even more than his unfriendly greeting.

  “Uh, this is Elizabeth Hertzler. Lizzy.”