The Amish Christmas Candle

by Long, Kelly; Beckstrand, Jennifer; Baker, Lisa Jones

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  “You can, but you can’t kumme into the store. I mean, you can but you can’t, if you get what I mean?”

  “Huh?”

  She blew out a breath of frustration. “I sound like a twelve-year-old. Look, just don’t kumme into the store while I’m in there, all right?”

  She watched his handsome face clear and he grinned. “Ahhh . . . Secrets? Okay, two can play . . . you go buy what you want and then I’ll hold on for a bit to see who’s winning the checkers game. Sound gut?”

  She had to smile. “Jah.”

  Ben’s store was an aromatic feast and Naomi paused as she entered to breathe in the peppermint, pine, cinnamon, and the myriad other scents that made her think of Christmas. Ben loved to give the local homemakers a chance to sell their wares, so baskets of oranges stuffed with cloves, small houses made of cinnamon sticks, and brightly polished sleigh bells stitched onto leather straps all added to the merriment and excitement of the place.

  Even at this late hour, the store bustled with business and conversation, leaving Naomi feeling rather at a loss. She was typically a homebody and did most of her socializing with people as they came to the candle shop. And, of course she shopped, but she preferred to do it during the evening hours, when there were fewer folks about. But the season would have its way and she decided she might as well join in the jolliness of it all as she made for the dry goods counter.

  Ben Kauffman, the store owner, was a big, burly man with a kind heart. His numerous children ran about, helping in various capacities, but it was Ben himself who called out a greeting to her as he rang things up behind the large counter at the back.

  “Ach, Naomi—our sweet lady of the candles—what is it you need? Fabric? Josiah will see to ya! Next!”

  Josiah was a towheaded buwe of about ten—Naomi always lost track of the ages of the Kauffman kinner. But the buwe had his fater’s knack for selling and a charming, easy attitude with the customers so that Naomi felt as if she was being waited on by a cheery elf.

  “You’re wanting to make something new, Miss Naomi? I always think ladies with dark hair and eyes look gut in forest green. What do you think?”

  “I think that you have better style sense than I, Josiah! Jah, let me see some greens, sei se gut.”

  The buwe climbed the stepladder with nimble feet and slid two subtly different bolts of material off one of the higher shelves. Then he plunked them down on the wooden counter, which was notched with measurements, and opened a fold of each.

  Naomi put her fingers out to touch the colors and bit her lip. “I don’t know—perhaps these would do for someone a bit younger . . .”

  She was nervous of drawing too much attention to herself and glanced wistfully up at the solid browns on the shelves. Josiah must have followed her gaze, because he gave a gay little chortle that seemed to make nonsense of her fears.

  “Younger? Why, you’re as young as your toenails, my gross-daudi often says—not that I know what’s young about toenails, and I probably shouldn’t say that to a lady, but you are young, ma’am.”

  Naomi gave in to this convoluted reasoning and nodded with a smile. “My toenails choose the forest green. Danki, Josiah.”

  The buwe nodded, brushed the other green aside and set to work deftly, his sharp shears cutting to her specifications.

  She had paid for her purchase and had it nicely wrapped in brown paper when she remembered the bacon. Josiah had disappeared into the bustle of the crowd and she decided she’d kumme back the next day for the meat. She turned, intent on leaving, when she ran full-on into Iris Troyer. Iris was petite, making Naomi feel awkwardly tall, but she steadied the other girl and moved to pass her.

  There was a glint in Iris’s menacing blue eyes that Naomi remembered from school days. She wanted to avoid it, to get back outside to where Gray waited, but Iris spoke in a carrying tone.

  “Why, Naomi Troyer—out so late? I’ve heard that Gray Fisher has taken up working for you—you sly girl. Is that why you’re changing your muddy wardrobe for something green? Ach, I saw you buy the fabric. I think it’s a little too late to be doing something so different with what you wear, don’t you?”

  Naomi squashed the sudden urge she felt to belt the blond-haired twit, then giggled aloud at the unusual idea. Iris was clearly not pleased to find that her barbs held no poison this nacht, as Naomi smiled down into her beautiful, but cruel, face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Iris, but if you’re feeling especially sour, I bet Ben’s got a lemon you might suck on to match your disposition. Gut nacht!”

  Naomi felt a rush of adrenaline as she heard a few giggles behind her, knowing that folks were laughing with her and not at her. It was exhilarating and she fairly danced out the door to find Gray leaning against the porch rail in the deepening dusk.

  * * *

  “You look radiant,” Gray observed. “I never knew bacon buying could be so much fun.”

  Naomi laughed. “I forgot the bacon but I just did something wonderfully bad.”

  She stepped lightly down the steps and he abandoned the store, following her, much intrigued.

  “Well, are you going to tell me?” he asked. “And I can’t imagine you doing anything very much bad . . . Did you taste a frosted grape without paying for it?”

  “Nee.” She smiled up at him.

  “Pull auld Ben Kauffman’s beard? You know they say it’s fake.”

  She laughed. “Nope.”

  “All right, then I give up.”

  She stopped and turned to face him, her smile wide and entrancing. “I told off Iris Troyer.”

  Gray stilled and swallowed. “Iris . . .”

  She must have caught the look on his face because she stopped smiling and immediately put out a hand to touch his arm. “Ach, Gray, I’m sorry. Perhaps she’s a friend of yours?”

  “A friend . . . nee.” But I’ve had my tongue in her mouth and now I deeply regret it . . . What a fool I’ve been.

  “Ach, gut!” Naomi exclaimed. “You looked strange for a moment.... Well, I’d best head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She dropped her hand from his sleeve and walked off with a shy, backward smile.

  Chapter 8

  Gray smiled back at her but felt sick in his soul. He had never had his sins illuminated so brightly as he did in the dusk of that nacht and it shook him. He started the walk home, thinking hard. He’d never considered that his callous behavior with other women might possibly hurt the one he finally came to love . . . To love—am I narrisch? Naomi—I love her? I don’t even know her . . .

  But he could not deny the resonating peace he felt in body, mind and soul when he was with her. If this was love, it was a true gift. And love’s peace—Ach, it’s as close as Gott, as mysterious as Ice Mountain itself, and something I know I can share with her forever . . .

  He entered Aenti Beth’s haus and excused himself from supper, saying he didn’t feel like eating much.

  Aenti Beth eyed him intently as did Ned and Ted. “What’s wrong with you, Gray?” she asked.

  He shook his head, wanting to be alone with his thoughts but then something occurred to him. “Aenti Beth, do you think Gott wounds us for our sins?”

  “Wounds?” Her auld blue eyes narrowed. “You mean like your arm?”

  Gray nodded slowly. “Maybe . . . yeah.”

  Aenti Beth put her hands on her ample hips. “Well now, the only place I can think of wounding is that Bible verse that talks about Derr Herr being wounded for the things we have done wrong . . . He is wounded for us, not the other way around. Yer arm—jah, a loss, but Gott will yet bring ya joy, buwe. You watch and see.”

  Gray half smiled, then moved to catch his aenti and the pigs in a massive hug. “I love you,” he whispered over the hump of Ned’s body beside her aged ear.

  She pushed him away after a minute, her eyes damp. “Go on with ya now, Gray. You’ll have me droppin’ tears in the stew . . . I love ya too, buwe. Don’t ever forget it
.”

  “You have my word, Aenti Beth.”

  He mounted the steps to his room, feeling better in his spirit and renewed in his soul at the idea of loving Naomi. Now the question becomes, he thought as he undressed, could she ever love me?

  * * *

  Naomi spread the forest green fabric out on her bedroom floor. She knelt down, resting on her heels, and chewed her lips thoughtfully as she considered the making of the dress. There was the liberty in her community to make sleeves a bit more puffy with pleats and she wondered if she dared to try it.

  She was an excellent seamstress, thanks to her mamm’s training, and she knew she could have the piece ready by Saturday if she took time to stay up and sew each evening. In the end, she decided on the puffed sleeves, and, after cutting out the basic shapes and starting on the basting, she went to bed, exhausted but satisfied in the extreme.

  * * *

  “I tell you, Bud—I’ve got to stop,” Gray whispered.

  It was early morning and the two men were standing in Naomi’s kitchen pantry. Gray was having a tough time trying to convince his moonshining employer that he wanted out.

  “But why?” Bud shook his head. “Ye’ve got things down; it’s gut money. What more do ya want?”

  “Out. I can’t explain why right now but I need to stop. And you should too. For your dochder’s sake.”

  Bud glared up at him. “Don’t lecture me on my fatherly duties.... All right, you want out, but at least do the run Saturday nacht after the social. It’ll be the last—I promise ya.”

  Gray sighed. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

  “What’s a deal?” Naomi asked and Gray started just as the auld man beside him did.

  “Uh—I told your daed that I could make a better egg-and-bacon sandwich than he could, any day, hands down. And he wanted me to try,” Gray said with a warning glance at Bud.

  “Why are you both holed up in my pantry? I think there’s more than egg sandwiches going on . . .” Naomi put her hands on her trim hips and Gray stepped forward to catch her arm and lead her back to the kitchen while Bud harrumphed around in the pantry.

  “I just got to work a little early, that’s all—now how about letting me fix breakfast?” He didn’t mean to do it but the gesture came naturally to him and he bent forward and kissed her gently. “Please, Naomi?” he whispered.

  He saw the dazed look in her eyes and wondered at it, but then she nodded. “Jah . . . egg . . . sandwiches . . .”

  “Great,” he said. “Now do you have any fresh mayonnaise?”

  * * *

  Later, inside the candle shop, Naomi glanced at Gray with a puzzled look on her face.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I’m just trying to hold on to how it felt.”

  “How what felt?”

  She sighed, knowing he was concentrating on dipping green tapers into melted wax. Probably he kisses girls all the time . . . Probably it meant nothing and I’m being silly and—

  “How what felt?” he asked again, this time moving to stand close to her.

  “Uh . . . well, my first kiss.”

  “Your first—”

  “You know. Maybe you don’t remember, but you kissed me this morning before breakfast. That was my first kiss.”

  She couldn’t understand the expression on his face or why his gray eyes widened as if there was a storm brewing in them.

  “That was your first kiss?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Mmm-hmmm. And I thank you for it.” She felt shy and skittish as if her words were inadequate.

  He came around the counter and stepped very near her, so close that she could smell his soap and that intangible scent that was uniquely Gray . . .

  “That was not your first kiss,” he said, staring down at her.

  “But it was . . .”

  He lifted his left hand to run a tan finger down the fragile bones in her cheek. “Nee,” he whispered. “I promise you, Naomi, that I can do much, much better at kissing . . . Please let me have another try.”

  “Ach . . .” She felt the pattern of her breathing change as her heart fluttered in her throat.

  He bent his head and she instinctively closed her eyes. “Don’t,” he muttered.

  “What? I—”

  “Don’t close your eyes. Look at me.”

  Somehow, he was even closer, rocking his lean hips forward, pressing hard against her.

  She felt awkward and vulnerable staring up into his eyes. She raised her hands to his arms to steady herself and then his mouth was on hers—a whisper of a touch—but she sensed somehow that he wanted much more and the thought sent a shiver of excitement coursing down her spine.

  “Relax,” he breathed and she swallowed hard and gave a little half bob of her head. And then he was kissing her with all of the pent-up intensity that she could imagine; slanting his head, teasing her, teaching her, until she responded in a way that drew a harsh sound of pleasure from the back of his throat and she knew instinctively that he was as much aroused by the whole adventure as she was....

  * * *

  He suddenly remembered the day he’d rescued her from those play yard bullies and marveled that he’d never realized she was that sweet girl before this. Somehow, Gott had kept those memories hidden from his mind and Gray thought how strong and brave she was—so much of everything he hoped for and believed in—even when he couldn’t be those things himself....

  Chapter 9

  She pulled away from Gray hastily and looked up as the door to the shop opened and in blew a large, unfamiliar customer along with the swirling snow. The man was not Amisch but wore a dark brown parka with a huge furred hood.

  “Candle shop, right?” his voice boomed.

  Naomi was about to reply when Gray’s voice cut in sharply. “It is but who’s asking?”

  The big man laughed and threw back the hood of his parka to reveal long, well-combed brown hair and a giant moustache that curled at the ends. His blue eyes shone brightly in his craggy face and when he smiled, Naomi found herself smiling too.

  “Name’s Gabe. And you must be Naomi and Gray, right?”

  Naomi nodded, though she noticed that Gray still seemed suspicious. But she spoke up cheerfully. “What can we do to help you—uh, Gabe?”

  “Need a candle. Big. Bayberry. In time for Christmas. Think you can do it?”

  “You mean bayberry scented, of course?” she asked.

  “Nope. Has to be the real thing. I can promise that the payment will be . . . great.”

  “It’s not that. Real bayberries in the amount needed to make a large candle are simply next to impossible to find.”

  “They usually grow by the sea,” Gray offered and Naomi nodded in surprise at his knowledge.

  “Jah, and Ice Mountain is far from the sea, as you can tell. And it normally takes six to eight pounds of berries to make one pound of wax—nearly impossible, I’m afraid.”

  Gabe laughed. “I say all things are possible with Gott—that’s what you call Him, right?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Good. I’ll expect it delivered on Christmas Eve. I’m staying in the small hunting cabin above the cemetery over aways.”

  “That could be rough travel if it snows,” Gray said.

  Gabe waved a big hand in dismissal.

  “The weather will hold. So, I’ll be seeing you then. Thanks.” He turned, pulled up his hood and was gone out the door before Naomi could get another word in about the problem of making the candle.

  “Well, what do you think of that?” she exclaimed after a few moments.

  “The guy’s narrisch.”

  “But we have to try . . . maybe he wants it for his wife or dochder or . . . sweetheart.”

  Gray smiled cheerfully. He had apparently forgotten the passionate kissing they had been doing before the strange candle order.

  “You’re sweet, Naomi Gish. That’s what. And you’re also the boss. So if you want a real bayberry candle, that’s what we’ll ma
ke.”

  “Even if the customer is narrisch?” she teased.

  “Even then.”

  * * *

  “You geh on and pick up the gal. Me and the pigs will get there just fine.”

  Gray smiled as he surveyed Ned and Ted, their small, plump bodies suitably clad in cheery red-and-green matching outfits. And Aenti Beth looked gut as well; her blue eyes snapped with life and her cheeks were rosy.

  Gray bent and kissed her. “You look wunderbaar.”

  She giggled like a young girl. “Geh on now, Gray Fisher. Save yer pretty words fer someone like Naomi.”

  “All right. I will. I’ll see you there.”

  He went outside to the small barn, led Thorn from his stall, and hitched up the sleigh. Priscilla and Joe’s haus was within easy walking distance but he felt like making the ride special for Naomi, and the sleigh bells were merry.

  He arrived at the Gish haus and went through the dark candle shop to knock on the doorframe of the main home. The burgundy curtain was closed and he waited, his heart thudding fast as he heard Naomi’s quick footsteps kumme to open it.

  “Hello,” she said calmly, even though her cheeks were flushed with hectic color.

  “Hello, you look beautiful.” The words would have kumme easily to his lips with any other girl but now he felt the weight of their truth as he surveyed her bright brown eyes, the shiny parted brown hair beneath her kapp, and the rich green dress she wore beneath her black apron.

  She bit her lip and looked up at him, accepting his compliment with a demure grace that was enchanting. “Ach, you look handsome as well—as always, I should say.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “Where’s your daed?”

  “Daed? Ach, still looking for socks without holes in them and that match.”

  “Gut,” he whispered.

  “Gut?”

  “Jah, because now we can do this . . .” He bent his head to kiss her and he was shaken by her ready response. She kissed him with a novice enthusiasm that brought the now-familiar peace of her roaring through his ears. He was somewhere on the top of Ice Mountain, winter winds whipping in clean strikes, and he was free so long as he was touching her, drinking of her and all that she was.