“What?” he asked, clearly startled.
“You said no more moonshine!” She put her hands on her hips.
Her father lifted a placating hand. “So I did, Naomi. So I did. And I’m telling you that I was out for a breath of fresh air—nothing funny, I promise.”
She frowned, unsure whether to trust him or not, but then he produced a single small pine branch for her inspection. “I even stopped to take a look at a possible Christmas tree—would you like short needles this year, hmmm?”
She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Daed, what am I going to do with you?”
He laughed and she knew she had to choose to believe him. After all, she herself couldn’t sleep, and she willed her heart to say it had nothing to do with her dream about Gray Fisher.
* * *
Gray dreamed about Naomi that nacht. A frustrating, unsatisfied mesh of tight collars and kapp strings and apron ties—the trappings of an Amisch woman . . . all pins and proper. But then he saw her by candlelight, her hair down, the ends skimming the curve of her bottom and her dark sensitive eyes wide with intelligent purpose as she leaned forward to kiss him. He was swept up in a feeling of peace; intense pulsating peace that seemed to rivet him to his bed, then left him arching in supplication for the feeling to continue.
But he woke and hurried to dress after realizing that he’d overslept. He made to bypass Aenti Beth with a quick kiss but she seemed to have other ideas.
“Whatcha doin’ at the candle shop today, Gray?”
“I don’t know for sure and I’d better get—”
“Well, if Miss Naomi don’t have other plans, I want a mold of your hand.”
He stopped still. “A what?”
“Jah. I asked Bishop Umble if it was vanity and he said nee. I saw those wax hand molds at a fair last year and liked them real well. It’s a memory sort of thing. It seems like you came here with such small hands and now ye’re a man grown . . . And I want pink for your hand,” she said succinctly. “It’s my favorite color.”
“Pink?” he asked helplessly as Ted and Ned began to squeal. He clucked back to them and grabbed his coat. “I’ll see what I can do, Aenti Beth—I can’t make any promises.”
But he caught her look of disappointment as he half turned from the door and knew he’d be asking Naomi how to do a pink hand wax mold before the day was out.
Chapter 5
Naomi had decided that Gray wasn’t coming back to work, that he found it too dull, when he opened the door to the candle shop and stalked inside.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Naomi found her voice. “Well . . . um . . . just don’t let it happen again.” She knew she sounded prim but the man positively threw her off balance. She watched him as he nodded and turned to take off his coat and hat. His dark hair seemed ruffled and her fingers itched of their own accord to smooth it. She swallowed, then hastily glanced down at the order book when he turned back around. She did not want to be caught staring.
“What are we doing today?” he asked and she snapped her gaze upward, watching in fascination as he gave her a lopsided smile.
“Well, we’ve got a big order for candles for Christmas church service and”—she broke off when he seemed to look relieved and grew immediately curious. “What is it?” she asked.
“What is what?”
“You kind of—exhaled. Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”
“Nee, I’m fine and—”
“Gray?”
“Hmmm?”
“I don’t believe you’re being quite truthful.”
His handsome face flushed with color and he shrugged. “All right, so I’m not.”
“I knew it.” She felt happy that she was able to read him so well. Perhaps it has something to do with my dream . . .
“Uh, Naomi?”
His deep voice, sounding sheepish, brought her quickly back to the moment.
“Jah?”
“What do you know about making wax hand molds? Pink, in particular . . .”
* * *
He felt ridiculous when Naomi stood, eyeing him speculatively, but he owed Aenti Beth a lot and she never asked for much to make her happy.
“We could—uh—talk about it later,” he muttered.
“Nee.” She put a finger to her lips and patted them in thought. “Would you let me do your right hand?” she asked after a moment.
He stared at her, shocked that he could be so intrigued by the idea of her clever fingers touching the sleeve of his light blue shirt.
“I—I could help you with your sleeve.” She made a gentle gesture toward his arm.
He looked at her hands intently and then drew a deep breath. “I never let anyone touch my arm,” he admitted.
She nodded, clearly disappointed. “Of course.”
“But you, Naomi,” he went on in a soft tone, “I trust.”
“Why?”
He smiled. Any other woman would have been interested in the power he’d given her by sharing his vulnerability—but not the delightfully smart Naomi.
“You don’t know how gut it feels not to have to play games,” he said, taking a step closer to her.
“Play . . . games?”
“You would call it something like social word intricacies, but as to your ‘why’ question—I trust you because you are what you are, straightforward, sweet, innocent maybe . . .”
“Maybe?”
She looked put out and his smile widened. “Sorry. Definitely innocent as a maedel can be. And I would be honored if you’d help me with my arm.”
He couldn’t help but notice the color that warmed her cheeks. “Danki,” she whispered.
* * *
He turned slightly, offering her the right side of his body and she swallowed hard. She lifted her hands to the wrist of his sleeve—slowly sliding out the two pins.
She began to roll the fabric upward and peeked up at him, sensing the tension in his big body. She wanted to make some soothing sound but knew it probably would go unappreciated. Her fingertips brushed his midforearm and she couldn’t help but enjoy the warmth of his skin.
“This arm looks perfectly—uh—”
“Normal?” he asked.
“Jah,” she agreed miserably, feeling as if she’d broken some sort of spell between them, but to her surprise he continued to talk about his injury.
“Jah, I’ve had it examined twice since the original accident. The second doctor taught me some exercises that I could actually do using my left arm to lift and bend my right arm so there’d be little to no atrophy of the muscle.”
“That’s good and I thank you for sharing with me . . . Sometimes when a person has a wound or difference about them, it’s hard to know what to say, what to ask.”
He shrugged. “Ask whatever you like.”
“Do you remember much about the accident?”
“Yeah—that it hurt badly but not half as bad as the day my parents told me they were getting divorced.”
Naomi swallowed hard, not expecting this turn of conversation yet feeling that it was exactly right somehow. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He gave her a wry smile. “I never do, but now . . . We were living in the Lockport Amisch community, and one day, after supper, my daed told me that he and Mamm were getting a divorce. I was eleven but I don’t even think I knew what the word meant. Then he said that they were leaving the Amisch and I was to kumme here and stay with Aenti Beth.”
“And you don’t—they don’t kumme and see you?”
He shook his head, his gray eyes bleak. “Nee, not once. I don’t even know where they’re living now. Aenti Beth says they wanted it this way, that I’d be better off being raised by the Amisch.”
“So they don’t know about your arm?”
“Nee.”
She could form no reply and she realized that she’d rolled his sleeve up as far as it would geh. She stepped back with something akin to disappointment, longing to go on touching him. But then she
turned briskly to the wax vats heating on an elongated wood stove top and asked him to step closer.
Chapter 6
“You need to make sure the wax is only at medium temperature.”
He watched her lift his wrist and imagined how cool and purposeful her fingers must be. He closed his eyes for a moment, seeing the peace flowing through him . . .
“Does everything feel all right?” she asked as she briskly rubbed cocoa butter on his damaged hand and wrist as part of the mold-making process.
He nodded and opened his eyes, struggling to concentrate as she explained each step.
“It really is a simple process. People often make wax hand molds at fairs.”
“That’s where my aenti said she saw it done,” he said hoarsely.
“And pink is her favorite color?”
“Jah . . .”
Gray watched her dip his hand into the liquid wax up to his wrist and then dip it into an adjacent pail of water. Then she moved back to the wax again. She began to speak, almost hypnotically as she moved, and her words made him bite the inside of his cheek.
“There’s a romance about wax; watching it move, drip, then languidly harden . . .”
He swallowed a groan but then let his gaze move over the pale skin of her face as she worked. She has no idea what she’s doing to me . . . she’s just talking about the wax. Focus on the wax . . .
“Where did you learn to make candles?” he asked softly.
“My mamm—she had me rather late, you know, and spent a lot of time with me before she died.... Candle making and crafting, quilting and cooking . . .”
She dipped his wrist once more, then pulled his hand into the space between them. “There,” she said triumphantly. “Now, this is the tricky bit—I’ll just let your arm fall slowly and then I’ll slip the wax free from your hand . . . like so. What do you think?”
She was turning up the edges of the wrist of the mold and set it easily on the nearby work table. He eyed the pink hand with a lifted brow.
“It’s a perfect-looking hand—I guess the wax doesn’t tell all of the story though, does it?
He could have kicked himself when the smile slipped from her lips. “I’m sorry, Naomi. I—I get bitter sometimes about my—injury. I apologize.”
She shook her head and reached out to tentatively touch his left shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her fingers through his shirt. “Are you bitter toward Gott, Gray?” Her dark eyes were worried and he had to look away.
“Sometimes . . .”
“I understand. I—I know it’s a vanity but I’ve always wanted to be beautiful in some way—but Gott made me plain, as our people are sometimes. Children used to call me ‘homely Naomi’ and I grew bitter toward Gott—”
“Wait,” he snapped. “What?”
“I became bitter and—”
“I heard that part—I mean when you said you wanted to be beautiful in some way.”
“Jah?” Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement.
He used his left hand to lift her chin and looked hard into her eyes. “Listen to me, Naomi. Don’t you know that you are beautiful—your mind, your heart, your touch—dear Gott—your touch alone makes me . . .”
He broke off when he saw the confusion on her face. She probably thinks I’m narrisch . . .
“Look, just don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not beautiful—including yourself. How can you ‘love your neighbor as yourself’ when you cannot love the beauty Gott creates in you?”
She shook her head and he saw a sudden light in her dark eyes as a smile came over her face. “I’ve never thought of things that way before.”
He had the desperate urge to kiss her, once and hard, but she wasn’t a woman to take kissing lightly—he could tell. So he pulled away from her a bit roughly as the shop door opened.
* * *
Naomi felt as light as thistledown; Gray’s words and reasoning made her feel good inside, but his point about Gott was truly a blessing. So the face she turned to greet Priscilla King and her children was radiant with joy.
“Someone is filled with Christmas already,” Priscilla teased with a smile, her bright red hair peeking out from beneath her bonnet.
“Is it me, Momma?” her seven-year-old dochder, Hollie, chirped.
“Jah, you too, little one. Though she’s not so little anymore,” Priscilla laughed. “She’s a great big sister to this fellow, too.”
Naomi smiled down at Little Joe, who was the spitting image of his fater, with dark hair and big blue eyes. Her smile deepened when Gray produced a handful of sweets and offered them to the kinner.
“Say danki to Herr Fisher,” Priscilla chided in gentle tones.
“Why don’t I take them out for a quick snowball frolic while you ladies talk?”
Naomi saw that Gray was already pulling on his coat and was grateful. They had talked when he had started about the need to keep kinner away from the potential dangers of the shop in innovative ways. And I’d love to be playing in the snow with him as well . . . he’ll make a gut fater one day . . . Naomi almost jumped at the thought, then felt as though the warmth of a single candle glowed inside her chest. It was enough to distract her from her customer . . .
“Um . . . what was that? I’m sorry . . .”
Priscilla laughed as the shop door closed on Gray and the children. “If I wasn’t married to Joseph and he wasn’t the most handsome man anywhere, I’d be looking like that, too.”
Naomi swallowed, wanting to hang on to her dignity. “I don’t know what you—”
Priscilla gave her an arch look. “Uh-huh.”
Then Naomi giggled, a sound she had rarely heard from herself and leaned closer to Priscilla. “All right. He’s wunderbaar and kind too . . . but I’m older and—” She stopped trying to hold on to her new sense of beauty. “I’m—”
“You’re wunderbaar too!” Priscilla said stoutly. “Don’t ever think less of yourself when there are girls like Iris Troyer on the loose!”
“She is beautiful but rather less so on the inside.... And, we’re gossiping.”
“You’re right,” Priscilla agreed. “Let’s think of more pleasant things—like the fact that I’m here because Joseph and I are hosting a small holiday social and we want you to come. You know that Joseph’s daed loves your fater and we are inviting Beth Troyer and Ned and Ted, too, of course. Which means that Gray will probably kumme and you two could—make it a date!”
Naomi shook her head. “I don’t know, but I do love the thought. Danki. When is the social?”
“This coming Saturday. I’ll tell Gray on the way outside and you be sure and tell your daed. Don’t worry about bringing anything—but Gray,” Priscilla laughed. “Oops! I almost forgot, I wanted to order two dozen tapers.”
Naomi helped her friend with color and scent but all the while the idea of going somewhere public with Gray made her heart beat fast and hard.
Chapter 7
Gray had completed his third successful moonshine run and he wasn’t about to make the mistake of becoming complacent, but tonight it was especially hard to concentrate. Priscilla King had breezed by him outside the candle shop that afternoon with a merry invitation to the upcoming social. And she hadn’t made any bones about giving him a broad hint that Naomi would be going as well.
But he’d hesitated as he’d bidden the kinner goodbye and gone back into the shop. Naomi was a serious, smart, strong woman and she didn’t deserve to have her heart broken by someone like him. But she’d looked excited and expectant when he’d turned to her after taking off his coat, and the words were out of his mouth before he could think.
“Do you want to geh to the social with me at the King haus?”
A smile had played about her lips. “Did Priscilla put you up to this?”
He’d laughed out loud and moved forward to risk stroking her hand. “Nee, and I have to confess that girls don’t usually respond to my requests with such suspicion.”
“How do they respond t
o you—girls, I mean?”
He hadn’t missed the mingled tones of curiosity and reticence in her voice. She both wanted an answer—straight up—and she didn’t want one.
“I’ve only had my face slapped once, if that helps you, but the truth is—I don’t care about what other girls do or do not do, Naomi. I’m asking you if you’ll geh and that’s all.” He’d waited, breath held, counting heartbeats, until the tension in her frame slowly eased away.
“I’d like to geh with you,” she admitted primly and he’d had to stop touching her hand for fear of losing himself in her and the peace she brought.
But now he focused on collecting the money from the cache, then deftly wrangled Thorn around the silent, snowy mounds and headed for home—while thoughts of Naomi danced like the falling snowflakes about his head.
* * *
As the day of the Kings’ social neared, Naomi grew increasingly frustrated when she searched her wardrobe for something festive to wear. In truth, most of her dresses were either brown or gray in color, which didn’t seem to match Gray’s personality—Not that I should be concerned about that, but I do want to look my best . . . She finally decided that nothing else would do but to pay a trip to Ben Kauffman’s Ice Mountain general store and get some material for a new dress to wear beneath her apron.
She decided to go after work and was nervous and fidgety for the latter part of the day, not wanting Gray to know about her endeavor. But finally it was time to close the shop, and she bade Gray a distracted gut nacht, then went to get her pocketbook and bonnet as well as her long dark cape.
“We’re running low on bacon, Naomi,” her fater called and, knowing he was hard of hearing, she hollered a response as she left the cabin.
“Was en der weldt are you yelling for?” Gray asked close beside her and she started in surprise.
“Why aren’t you at home?” she demanded, feeling her face flush.
“Just hanging about, looking for something to do. Today is when Aenti Beth usually bathes the pigs and that’s a one-woman job as far as I’m concerned. Besides, you seemed—distant this afternoon.”
“Well, I was just thinking, that’s all. So . . . all right, I’m going to Kauffman’s to get some—bacon. Bacon for Daed.”
The Amish Christmas Candle Page 3