The Amish Christmas Candle

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

  “No ghost stories,” Yost said, smiling so Bitsy knew he wasn’t cross.

  Bitsy clapped her mittens together. “But now we need something to warm us up while the fire gets going. Levi, do you want to learn a song?”

  “What kind of song?”

  “An Englisch song. They sing it to get their blood pumping.”

  “Okay,” Levi said.

  Yost was too distracted by the soft glow of Bitsy’s eyes to be concerned that her song might not be appropriate for Levi. Bitsy was a beauty, the contours of her face soft and smooth, the movement of her hands strong and graceful, the arch of her eyebrows captivating and maddening. He should have been more adamant about not setting foot in the cabin. It was too small, and Bitsy felt too close, but there was nowhere to go to get away from her because Bitsy filled the entire space.

  “The words to the song are easy to learn. Ice cream and cake, we like ice cream and cake. Ice cream and cake, we like ice cream and cake. Ice cream and cake, we like ice cream and cake.”

  Levi grinned from ear to ear. “I like it. But you’re not really singing.”

  Bitsy nodded. “I’m talking. It’s called rap.”

  “What is rap?” Levi asked, eager to learn anything about the Englisch world.

  Bitsy shrugged. “It’s a lot of yelling and people getting mad and words you can’t understand. But the ice-cream-and-cake rap is just for getting warm. Do it with me.” She slapped her knees to the rhythm and said the words while Levi tried to keep up.

  “I don’t know about this,” Yost said.

  “Now, Yost,” Bitsy said, “you know perfectly well that there is nothing about ice cream and cake in the Bible.”

  “And you know perfectly well that the bishop would never approve a song about ice cream and cake, and knee-slapping might as well be dancing.”

  Bitsy didn’t seem the least bit troubled. “There’s no sin in keeping warm, Yost. And we can check with the bishop when we get back to town, but since he isn’t here, we’ll just have to use our best judgment. You want to stay warm, don’t you?”

  Yost felt as if he were being pulled slowly out to sea by a gentle but persistent current. He didn’t even want to put his foot down. Levi’s whole face was alight with happiness, and Bitsy was frowning at him as if she sort of liked being with him. How could he resist that?

  While the fire slowly warmed up the rickety little hut, Yost, Levi, and Bitsy recited the Ice Cream and Cake song. Yost couldn’t keep any rhythm to speak of, but Bitsy had plenty for both of them. Her earrings tinkled whenever she moved. She’d obviously done some dancing in her younger days. She and Levi kept a steady beat with their hands against their knees, and they made a game of saying the words faster and faster until they sounded like nonsense. All three of them ended up laughing, warmed through even before the potbelly stove got hot.

  They sat on the cold floor of the cabin, and Bitsy cut them each a slice of Bee Sting Cake with Yost’s pocketknife. Bee Sting Cake was altogether too messy to be eaten with their hands, but they didn’t have plates or utensils, so they got very sticky and Levi had a wonderful-gute time licking his fingers. Yost had never tasted anything so delicious, fork or no fork. The soft, bread-like cake, the pastry cream filling, and the crunchy almond topping could have almost made him believe that someone could fall in love over a Bee Sting Cake.

  Even him.

  Bitsy gave each of the cats a taste of the cake, except Billy Idol, who probably considered himself too wild for something so civilized as a piece of cake. The two smaller cats chased Billy Idol around the room and pawed at him until he arched his back and hissed at them.

  “Billy Idol,” Bitsy scolded. “Be nice to Leonard Nimoy and Sigourney Weaver. They just want you to love them.”

  Billy Idol crouched as if he were hunting, squeezed through a hole in one of the floorboards, and disappeared.

  “Where did he go?” Levi said.

  Bitsy licked her thumb and wiped it down the side of Levi’s mouth, swabbing off a smudge of cream filling. “Outside, for sure and certain. He doesn’t like to be cooped up indoors for long, even in the winter.”

  He pressed his lips together. “Billy Idol is an unwanted cat, isn’t he?”

  Bitsy’s posture stiffened but so imperceptibly that Yost wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been staring at her, wondering what it would feel like to take her hand in his and trace his thumb around the graceful lines her fingers. Something told him the Ice Cream and Cake song was to blame for the improper thoughts he was having.

  “Why do you think Billy Idol is an unwanted cat?” Bitsy said.

  “He’s ugly, and you always complain about him.”

  “I don’t like Billy Idol, it’s true,” Bitsy said, “but I wouldn’t say he’s unwanted.”

  Levi looked down and fiddled with the laces of his boot. “I’m unwanted.”

  It felt as if an earthquake passed through Yost’s heart. Levi thought he was unwanted? “That’s not true,” Yost said, a sharp reprimand in his tone. “Don’t you ever let me hear such things from your mouth again.” He wouldn’t stand for Levi to believe that about himself.

  His eyes wide with innocence and hurt, Levi closed his mouth and nodded obediently.

  Bitsy’s glare could have seared a hole through Yost’s hat or made the cabin fall down around their heads. “Yost Weaver, you’re not usually one to speak without thinking, so I won’t pray the measles down upon you, but just because you don’t want to hear it doesn’t mean it’s not real. Or important. You might as well tell the sun not to shine as to tell someone not to feel something. Keep your mouth shut, and maybe you’ll learn something.” She looked up at the ceiling—probably hoping it wouldn’t fall on him. “Dear Lord, please make Yost a little less thick in the head, and help him remember he has two ears and one mouth. He should listen twice as much as he talks.”

  Yost would have taken two steps back if he’d been standing. No woman had ever talked to him like that before. No Amish woman would have ever dared. He should have been righteously indignant. He should have grabbed Levi’s collar, pulled him outside to the sleigh, and driven away without a second thought for Bitsy Kiem.

  But a stunning realization paralyzed him. At that moment, he felt nothing but fierce gratitude for Bitsy. She cared about Levi—deeply. And not only cared about him but was unafraid to admonish a man for the sake of his grandson. He’d never seen the like of it.

  While every fiber of his being seemed somehow attached to Bitsy, she turned her face from him and seemed to completely forget he was even in the room. “Why do you feel unwanted, Levi?”

  Levi’s gaze traveled to Yost and then back to Bitsy. He licked his lips and swallowed hard. “My mamm never makes cake anymore. Or cookies. She used to put a cookie in my lunch every day. Now she doesn’t even make me a sandwich. She frowns when I come home from school and tells me to go outside and not bother her, even when it’s wonderful cold outside. My dat only comes home between jobs and he doesn’t hardly say three words to me except ‘Did you muck out today?’ Or ‘You didn’t strain the milk so gute.’ ” Levi’s eyes filled with tears, and he blinked them away before they had a chance to run down his cheeks. “My mamm and dat don’t love me anymore. They’d be better off without me, just like you’d be better off without Billy Idol. You already have enough cats.”

  Yost thought his heart might break. He wanted to yell, to tell Levi that of course his parents loved him but they were going through a busy time with baby twins and eight kinner under the age of thirteen. But he thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. Bitsy was doing a much better job of drawing Levi out than he ever could.

  “Let me clear one thing up before I say the important things,” Bitsy said. She pointed at Levi. “Billy Idol is an ugly cat, but you are not an ugly boy. You’ve got fine eyebrows like your dawdi and a face full of freckles. Girls love freckles, and don’t you forget it.”

  For some reason, Levi had always responded to Bitsy’s brusque
manner—much like Yost did. “Okay,” Levi said, obviously reassured that if he was unloved, at least he wasn’t ugly.

  As if he knew they were talking about him, Billy Idol reappeared from under the floor with a dead mouse in his teeth. Levi caught his breath and drew back as Billy Idol laid the mouse at Levi’s feet as if offering him the first bite. “Ach!”

  “Billy Idol,” Bitsy scolded, “you know mice aren’t allowed indoors.” She picked up the dead mouse by the tail, which was more than Yost ever would have done, and dangled it in front of Billy Idol’s face. “You can eat it outside. Go on now.”

  Billy Idol watched the swinging mouse for a few seconds before hissing angrily, snatching it in his teeth, and climbing down the hole again.

  “You might not be able to guess, Levi, but Billy Idol is my favorite cat.”

  “He is?”

  “Jah, because I don’t have to coddle him.”

  A line appeared between Levi’s brows. “What does coddle mean?”

  “I don’t have to treat him like a baby. He can take care of himself, and he makes things easier for me.” She waved her hand in the direction of Farrah Fawcett, who hadn’t moved from her comfortable spot in the basket since they’d arrived at the cabin. “Farrah Fawcett is high maintenance, as the Englisch say. She wouldn’t catch a mouse even if it was trying to kill me.”

  Yost raised an eyebrow. Had a mouse ever tried to kill a human before?

  “But sometimes I don’t appreciate Billy like I should. He probably thinks I don’t like him because I haven’t given him a special place on the window seat or a fancy pillow to sleep on. He brings gifts of mice that no one thanks him for, even though he keeps the mice out of my beehives.”

  Levi widened his eyes. “Mice can get into the beehives?”

  “Jah. They like the warmth in the winter, and in the summer, they’re looking to steal the honey. Like I said, Billy Idol is my favorite cat.” She took her thumb and index finger and squeezed one of Levi’s earlobes. “Little brother, your parents haven’t stopped loving you. They depend on you. They don’t have to coddle you, so sometimes they forget how important you are to the family. Who would milk the cow if you didn’t?”

  Levi sniffled back more tears. “Well, Amos milks too.”

  Bitsy reached over and snapped one of Levi’s suspenders. “And who makes sure Amos does it?”

  “I guess I do.” A slow smile formed on his lips. “So I’m like Billy Idol, and he’s your favorite cat?”

  Bitsy nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt to walk right up to your mamm and say, ‘Mamm, do you love me?’ and then watch what she says. You know what she’s going to say.”

  “I guess I do.” Levi leaned back on his hands. “Can I have another piece of cake?”

  “Have two,” Bitsy said. “We still have more than half.”

  Billy Idol crawled back through the floor without his mouse and stationed himself against the far wall as if guarding the rest of them from attack.

  Yost couldn’t have put two words together if his life depended on it. His heart felt so full, it expanded into his throat. Bitsy Kiem could know the lyrics to every rap song ever written, and he would still love her with his whole soul. How could he have judged and dismissed this beautiful, kind, feisty woman? She wore earrings and bear beanies, but her heart was as good and kind as anyone he’d ever known, including Ruth. He was astonished and astounded and ashamed of himself and determined to make up for lost time. As astounding as it seemed, he loved Bitsy Kiem and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  He crossed his legs and pretended to look at the cake while studying her out of the corner of his eye. She would make him very happy, and he could make her very happy too, if she would let him. She was already full of gute works. Surely she could be molded into a gute, dutiful, proper Amish fraa. He loved her. He had no doubt he could convince her to give up her wild hair colors and her fancy earrings. He could find passages in the Bible to admonish her for her worldly ways and convince her by gentle persuasion that if she wanted salvation, she needed to live by the Ordnung.

  He locked his gaze on her blue hair. The light shade accented her lively eyes. She loved her hair and her earrings and her tattoos, but he could show her a better way, and she would thank him for loving her enough to change her. It would be hard, but he loved her too much to even consider giving her up.

  Levi finished his second piece of cake and rubbed his sticky hands down his trousers. “Can Billy Idol and I go out and climb that tree?” he said, pointing out the window to a sprawling basswood tree with low, sturdy branches.

  Bitsy looked to Yost.

  Yost nodded. “Don’t go so high you can’t get down.”

  Levi leaped to his feet and summoned Billy Idol. Billy Idol hissed and scowled, but he followed Levi out the door, followed by Sigourney Weaver and Leonard Nimoy. Farrah Fawcett had no interest in climbing trees.

  His love burned like a fire that threatened to consume him. The sooner Bitsy was his wife, the better. Under the pretense of wanting another piece of cake, he scooted closer to her. What should he say? Where should he start? He was passionately in love. Was he even capable of sounding sensible? “Denki,” he managed to blurt out after several seconds of deep thought.

  “For what?”

  “For understanding Levi. I don’t care what Paul Glick says about your family. You are more Christian than most of us.”

  Bitsy snorted. “Don’t mention Paul Glick. The thought of him always puts me in a bad mood. And never compare how Christian someone is with someone else. You can never know what’s in someone’s heart. Jesus is the only righteous judge.”

  He nodded. “I’ll try to leave Paul Glick out of all future conversations. But even if it’s wrong to compare, I think we have failed in our duty to train Levi up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.”

  Bitsy curled one side of her mouth, and Yost’s gut clenched. The temptation to kiss her almost overpowered him. “You’ve trained him fine. Mary has eight little ones. My cats are going to make me lose my mind, and there are only four of them. And they’re cats. It is not Mary’s fault or Reuben’s or anyone else’s. Sometimes young ones lose their way. Besides, my parents only had two children and being paid too much attention was worse than being ignored.”

  “I still feel bad that Levi has been unhappy.”

  She gave his hand a stiff pat, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Every boy should have a dawdi like you, Yost Weaver. Most men couldn’t be bothered, especially the Englischers.”

  Yost gave her a cautious smile. Did that mean she liked him?

  Of course she liked him. She might be grumpy and opinionated, but she didn’t seem to mind when he came over, and she had never pointed her shotgun at him.

  And she’d made him Bee Sting Cake. Surely he could mold her and then convince her to marry him.

  He dared to reach out his hand and finger one of her earrings. It tinkled softly. “Are you ever afraid these are going to catch on something and rip your ear off? I think it would be dangerous to wear them yet.”

  “Earlobes are wonderful strong, even with heavy earrings.”

  “Are those earrings heavy? Does it make your ears hurt to carry that much weight?”

  She sort of half frowned and squinted in his direction. “Why do you care about my earrings, Yost? Is it because they go against the Ordnung?” She didn’t seem mad, or even mildly irritated, which was her usual state of mind.

  “I’m curious. Amish women don’t wear earrings.”

  Her mouth relaxed into a smile, and she touched her earring post. “This is the first pair of earrings I ever bought.”

  “They must be your favorite.”

  She glanced at him as if he was intruding on the conversation she was having with herself. “I bought them the day I got to Green Bay thirty-five years ago.”

  Yost’s heart drooped like a sack of potatoes over an old man’s shoulder. Thirty-five years. That was a lifetime ago, but maybe
not to Bitsy. A few weeks ago, she’d told him it was too late to ask for forgiveness. Had she been holding on to it all these years?

  She slid the earring out of her ear and dangled it between her fingers. “I did it to spite my parents, even though they would never see me in them. I did it to show Yost Weaver that I was a big girl and didn’t need a boy’s help for anything.”

  “Oh.”

  “It was wrong of me to be so spiteful, but I was eighteen and that has to be my excuse. That’s why I wear them sometimes when you come over. You should get to see them since I bought them with you in mind.”

  Yost couldn’t swallow. “We . . . we were young, Bitsy,” he said, as if that justified his actions, but it sounded like a hollow reason, even to him.

  She smirked. It was a hollow excuse to her too. “It was my eighteenth birthday. Remember?”

  He nodded.

  “I didn’t want my dat to call the police to arrest me for running away. I held on until I was a legal adult.”

  “I’m sorry that your dat was unkind,” he mumbled.

  Bitsy swung her earring back and forth slowly, like a fan. “It made it easier to leave.”

  “It was the reason you left.”

  “My sister tried to help, but after she married and it was just me and my mamm and dat, I had to leave.”

  “I know,” Yost said. He may have forgotten for thirty-five years, but he knew how hard home had been for Bitsy. She wasn’t inclined to conform to the rules, and her dat hated her stubborn independence.

  Yost and Bitsy had been unlikely friends. He was straight-laced and level-headed, not daring to step one toe outside of the Ordnung. She was rebellious and tended to act before she thought things through. She seemed to purposefully do things to anger her fater, and his righteous retribution was swift and harsh. Yost had been drawn to her spontaneity, the way she lived every day as if it were the most exciting time of her life, and of course, her gute heart, which had only grown bigger in thirty-five years.

  “I went to Green Bay because I had a friend there to give me a room and a job.”