The Sound of Sleigh Bells

by Cindy Woodsmall

  He turned to Stephen. “Can you watch this grill? I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

  “Ya.”

  He placed his hand under her forearm and guided her toward the carriage barn. “Kumm.” He opened the wooden door, and they stepped inside.

  She paced back and forth in front of him. “I saw it, Omar. I saw the reason I meddled in Beth’s life. Why I lied to Jonah about who he was writing to. Even why I do these get-togethers year after year. And it scares me.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I thought it was because of what Beth needed. But that’s not it.” Her ego lunged forward, urging her not to say more, but she would. “I don’t want anyone spending their life alone, not if they don’t have to. All this time I thought I’d accepted God’s providence in the way my life went. I even thought I liked it. But now I discover…”

  Omar stood in front of her, blocking her pacing. “That you’ve been lonelier than you knew?”

  She nodded. “Beth was the best thing to ever happen to me. She filled my days like a daughter, and I wanted to prevent her from making wrong decisions.”

  “All parents have to learn that a child’s path must be his or hers to choose, not Mamm’s or Daed’s to manipulate.”

  “But what if my life has influenced hers too much? She attached herself to me before she was school age, and even before Henry I was afraid she’d want to follow my lead and live as a single businesswoman.”

  Omar stepped closer. “I don’t think Beth’s struggles are because of who you are. I think she’s strong enough to get past what’s ailing her, with or without your”—he mockingly cleared his throat—“help.”

  The longer she stood there, the more she knew that Omar deserved someone better. “What am I going to do if Beth gets hurt and it’s my fault? Or if she’s so angry she won’t even talk to me?”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Beth’s a hard one to figure out, but she loves you.”

  She lowered her head. “That’s not the only reason I’m upset.”

  He placed his warm fingers under her chin and tilted her face upward. “What else weighs on you?”

  Fresh tears broke free. “I’m not worthy to be the wife of a bishop.”

  “And I’m not worthy to be a bishop, but judging by how God replied to Moses when he said something similar, I don’t think He wants us wasting time moaning about it.”

  “You need someone better, Omar.”

  “And there will be times after we’re married when you’ll think the same thing—that you need someone better than me. I assure you of that.”

  “Are you hearing me?”

  “I am. You’re burdened with guilt over your dishonesty with Beth and Jonah. And because of that, you’re tempted to ruin all my future happiness.”

  He placed his hands in hers, making her distress melt into a pool of warm security.

  “I love you, Lizzy Hertzler And I’m glad you’re not perfect, because when we marry, it’d be awful to be the only one who’s ever wrong. I’ll tell you the truth. You wouldn’t have wanted to be my first wife, because I thought I was always right about everything. It took a long time for me to see that a head of a household or a head of several church districts can be just as wrong as anyone else.”

  Desire swept through her at his openness, and she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You’re something else nowadays. Ya?”

  “I’m something all right.”

  She chuckled. “I’d better go.”

  Jonah had little to say as he sat at the supper table, but he enjoyed the banter. Tables filled every room in the house. The food and laughter during the meal held a pleasure of their own. He lost track of the conversation a few times due to differences in the region’s Pennsylvania Dutch. Each state, and sometimes each area, had its own dialect of the language. When not trying to decipher the unfamiliar words, he met a lot of people, including Beth’s Daed, a married brother who’d been helping grill meat, and two of her sisters, still young enough to be in their rumschpringe—their running-around years.

  “I’m not going to the bonfire without Bethie,” Fannie, the older of the two sisters, boldly stated to those at the table. “Not again this year.”

  It wasn’t long before ten or twelve of those near her agreed. They’d take a wagon across the road and refuse to leave until she joined them. Jonah wanted to see who would win this battle.

  After dinner he stepped out onto the front porch. Sunlight had faded, and a golden harvest moon hung on the horizon. Through a second-story window of the store, he saw the dim glow of a kerosene lamp.

  When everyone had boarded a chosen hay-filled wagon, he watched as one wagonload of youth went across the road and parked in the grass under the window where the light shone. They taunted Beth by calling her name over and over again. A minute later she came onto the porch, leaned over the railing so she could peer around the side of the house, said her piece, and went back inside. He might have laughed, but the need to tell her the truth blocked all possibility of levity.

  Lizzy joined him on the porch. “What are they doing?” She pointed at two young men who’d gotten out of the wagon. One had a baseball bat, and the other pitched a ball to him, using the side of the store as a backstop.

  Lizzy pulled her sweater tighter around her. “Those teens have gotten caught up in their fun-time mood and aren’t thinking. Come with me.”

  He followed her down the stairs and across the street.

  “Schtobbe!” Her command to stop was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and a yelp from inside the building. The guys ran around the side of the house, heading for the porch of the store, but Lizzy beat them to it.

  “No way. You keep that bat and your wildness out of the store. Gross Dank.” She looked through the small crowd until her eyes found Jonah. “Jonah, check on Beth and the damage, please.”

  He wasn’t sure of his motive, but he wasted no time going inside. A second-story window had been broken by the foul ball, so he looked for a set of steps. A glance through one door revealed a small office. His carving took up a third of her desk. He opened another door and found the stairs. With the aid of his cane, he soon stood at the open door of a small apartment, tapping on it.

  Beth called out to him from another room. “I don’t think the idea of a home run is to hit the ball into someone’s home and then run.”

  She didn’t sound angry, but he couldn’t really tell.

  “Jake Glick, if you want this ball, you’ll come in here and help clean up this mess.” Her tone sounded like a big sister correcting a sibling.

  Jonah eased inside, feeling odd standing in her bedroom, but it was just inside the threshold of the stairway. Her voice came from his right, a kitchen by the looks of it. He moved to the doorway.

  “You know, there are better ways of getting my little sister’s atten—” Beth looked up and stopped midsentence. “You’re not my sister’s beau.”

  “I realize that.” He hoped she took his words as he meant them, like a playful tease.

  Suppressing a smile, she placed several large pieces of glass into a trash can.

  He gripped his cane, easing some pressure off his bad leg. “Lizzy wouldn’t let the culprits come into her store.”

  Beth grabbed the ball from the table and tossed it to him. “For their sake or the store’s?”

  He caught it, feeling the sting of the force from her throw. “Well, I thought for the store’s, but I’m beginning to wonder…”

  She blinked, and then a sweet, genuine smile shone through, hinting at the woman he thought her to be. “They’ll want that ball back, and now you have it.”

  Amused at her polite dismissal, he tossed the ball through the broken window. “And now they have—”

  “Ouch,” someone bellowed from below.

  Beth’s beautiful eyes grew large, and she covered her mouth with her hand as she moved to the window.

  “Denki,” a young man’s voice said cheerf
ully.

  Beth waved at someone below, and when she looked back at Jonah—her eyes filled with mischievous humor—they both broke into laughter.

  A stack of paper lay on the table beside the lantern. His name was written across the top of one page, but it had no other words. The gift box he’d carved sat beside her pen. He dreaded the thought of telling her who he was, but he had no choice.

  Procrastinating, he misdirected the conversation. “You don’t do hayrides, Beth?”

  She shrugged. “Not anymore.”

  “You think you’ve outgrown them?”

  “Mostly I fear for those who will think they’ve found the right person to build a life with before the night is through.”

  “And you’re sure they’ll be wrong?”

  She shrugged again.

  He grabbed a broom from the corner. “I know you have an opinion.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” She placed the dustpan on the floor.

  With gentle caution he swept shards into it. “Because your eyes said so.”

  Her head tilted downward so that she wasn’t looking at him, but her aura, as deep and rich as her letters, filled the air. “I can tell you, but you won’t like me at all once I do.”

  Unable to imagine not liking this woman, he chuckled. “I’d like to know.”

  “The men go because they hope to find a girl who will always be like she is now. They hope her beauty will never change and her attention will stay fully centered on him the way it is tonight. And the girls go in hope of finding a man who will always be as gentlemanly and kind as he is on the hayride.” She took a pan full of glass to the trash and dumped it. “True love has more facets than a lifetime can explore. I’ve seen it. But it’s not found in nights like tonight—where strangers meet and sparks fly.”

  He wondered why she felt so sure of her opinion. “But if it’s impossible for love to start through the meeting of two people, where is it found?”

  When she raised an eyebrow, seemingly growing leery of him, he knew it was time to stop the small talk and tell her the truth. There wouldn’t be a better time.

  “I need to—”

  “Beth. Beth. Beth.” The chant started again, rattling the remaining broken glass in the window’s frame.

  She growled softly. “I thought they’d left for the bonfire by now.” She motioned toward the door. “Go, and tell them I’m not coming.”

  “The window needs boarding up. It’s going to be a very cool night.”

  “I’ll handle it. Just go convince them that they can’t annoy me into going.”

  “But we need to talk.”

  When a look of concern flashed through her eyes, he knew he’d stepped too close, but she tried to cover her discomfort with a polite smile. “We’ve talked plenty, but denki.”

  The wind carried the chant through the window. “Beth. Beth. Beth.”

  “Please.” She elongated the word.

  Part of him wanted to leave, to not tell her anything. Not yet. It made sense to wait until Lizzy wasn’t so busy with guests and, if Beth had a screaming fit, until there weren’t so many to hear her private business.

  “Beth,” a man called from the foot of the steps.

  “Ya, Daed?” she hollered.

  “I heard you have a busted window.” His heavy footsteps started up the stairway.

  She turned to Jonah. “See, I have help with the window. What I need is that crowd to leave me alone.”

  As he paused, watching her, his moments with her seemed suspended inside him like specks of gold dust—from the encounter at Pete’s, to the letters they’d shared, to each second he’d been with or seen her today. He felt more drawn to her than he’d ever imagined possible.

  He forced himself to leave, deciding that the best way to reveal the truth was by letter. He’d find Lizzy and tell her to let him break the news to Beth.

  Beth moved to the window and watched as the man who’d been in her room stood in the yard, speaking to the group in the wagon, hopefully persuading them to go on without her.

  Most of them looked up at her and waved. She smiled and returned the friendly gesture. The buggy pulled onto the main road and slowly gained speed. The nameless man spoke with Lizzy for a moment before she climbed into a wagon and left with the young people. He then walked toward Lizzy’s house, and Beth couldn’t make herself pull away from the window.

  Her thoughts blended into each other. Lizzy’s casting net for bringing Amish singles from far and wide drew first-timers to this event year after year, but Beth still couldn’t believe he’d come. She had no recollection of his cane, but she remembered the man. His brown eyes, the colliding emotions inside her, the way he’d stood inside Pete’s store, studying her as she had studied him. She’d embarrassed herself with how attracted she was to him. At least this time she’d kept her wits.

  Through broken glass she kept her vigil. The cane and his slower amble only added to the sense of charm and intrigue he carried. Despite her past and her will, something about him drew her. But she’d felt a spark for Henry too—not nearly as strong, but it had been there.

  Mourning Henry had so little to do with missing him and so much to do with guilt. When he was found dead, the police had asked her questions, and she’d answered honestly. But they didn’t ask the right ones. The coroner declared his death an accident, and in a court of law it was. But no judge or jury had asked her to testify to her part in his fatal injury.

  An odd sadness enveloped her, as if the reality of who she’d become was sinking in afresh. Fear and blame owned her now, and there was no way to buy herself free.

  The man moved to the porch and sat, placing his cane beside him and his forearms on his knees. When he looked up at her, it felt like a part of her flew through the window and met a part of him, dancing on the wind for a brief moment.

  Refusing to keep staring at him, she turned from the window. She grabbed a wet cloth and wiped a few stray shards of glass from her kitchen table, but thoughts of the man pulled on her.

  She eased to the window again, hoping he wouldn’t see her. A car pulled into Lizzy’s driveway, and he walked toward it.

  Her father stepped up behind her. “If he’s that interesting, perhaps you should go talk to him.”

  The man looked up at her again.

  Move away from the window, Beth.

  He waved and then got into the car before she decided whether to wave back or not.

  “Who is he, Daed?” She cringed, wishing she hadn’t asked.

  “I met him. He seems nice enough, but I don’t remember his name or that of any of the other half-dozen young men I met today. Maybe John or Jacob? Lizzy will know.”

  “Don’t you dare tell her I asked.” She turned from the window and took the broom in hand. “I was just curious, and she’ll pester me until I’m as wrung out as a desert.”

  Daed struck a match and lit another kerosene lantern. “Not a word from me.” He shook the match and tossed it into the sink. “Has she gotten that bad?”

  “Since spring. She’s sure all sting in my life will disappear if I find someone new. The community’s always pushed the singles, but she wasn’t like that before Henry.”

  “We only want our young people to find someone.”

  “I know, but it’s a little silly to say you trust God to find us a mate and then to pressure us to find one. Why is that?”

  He shrugged. “We’re a few bales shy of a wagonload, I guess.”

  She elbowed him. “Daed, what an awful thing to say about the rest of the community.”

  “Just about them? Watch it, Bethie girl. I’ll leave here without boarding up that window.” His smile reminded her of the steadiness of a good man, and loneliness swept through her.

  While her Daed moved in and out of her apartment, going up and down the steps with materials to board up the window, she swept the floor several times, trying to make sense of her emotions. Her mind zipped with a hundred thoughts and her heart with too many
feelings. How odd to see that man again.

  But she had to stop thinking about him. Taking Jonah’s letter in hand, she unfolded it again. At least she had a fascinating old man she could share her thoughts with.

  DEAR BETH,

  YOU ARE WELCOME FOR THE GIFT BOX. FOR A WHILE THE SLEIGH I CARVED ON IT TRIED TO HIDE FROM ME, PERHAPS BECAUSE MY FEELINGS TOWARD SLEIGHS ARE THE OPPOSITE OF YOURS. BUT I’M GLAD IT MEANT SOMETHING SPECIAL TO YOU.

  I HOPE YOU’LL ALLOW ME ROOM TO SHARE MY OPINION WITHOUT SHUTTING ME OUT.

  I THINK YOUR EFFORT TO KEEP FROM BURDENING OTHERS WITH YOUR PAIN IS ADMIRABLE. YOU CLEARLY HAVE A LOT OF STRENGTH. BUT YOU MUST BALANCE THAT DESIRE WITH WHAT YOU NEED FROM OTHERS. IT SOUNDS AS IF YOU’VE REQUIRED TOO MUCH OF YOURSELF. I ASK THAT YOU CONSIDER SHARING IT WITH YOUR FATHER OR BISHOP — SOMEONE WHO CAN DIRECT YOU TOWARD HEALING.

  A SECRET SO HEAVY THAT YOU CAN DO NO MORE THAN REFERENCE IT VAGUELY, AS YOU DID IN YOUR LETTER, IS TOO HEAVY TO BE CARRIED ALONE. BE CAUTIONS AND WISE WITH YOUR CHOICE OF WHO TO TALK TO, BUT DON’T LET IT STAY INSIDE YOU FOR TOO LONG. IT’LL EAT UP EVERYTHING GOOD AND GROW STRONGER AS YOU GROW WEAKER. BUT WHEN YOU FACE IT THROUGH THE EYES OF SOMEONE YOU TRUST, YOU WILL GROW STRONGER, AND IT WILL WEAKEN.

  YOUR FRIEND,

  JONAH

  She closed the letter, hoping he was wrong about her true self growing weaker. She feared he wasn’t. But he didn’t understand. If he did, he’d not suggest telling anyone. With her pen in hand, she began a letter to him.

  While waiting on the right words to come to her, she studied the handcrafted gift he’d given her. As she ran her fingers over the beautifully etched scenery, an idea energized her. She’d been thinking too narrowly about how to sell his work. If her bishop wouldn’t let her sell the items but his bishop would, she needed to find another store owner who Jonah could go through. She could find the right buyer and negotiate the agreement, and then Jonah could work with the buyer directly after that.

  It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it was a beginning point. After a while maybe Omar would change his mind.