Although bright sunny days made her heart beat to a happy pace, the dismal picture didn’t at all stymie Lydia’s excitement of the blessed season that was commencing. She recalled what her father had mentioned at breakfast and sat up a little straighter. “Daddy said the first snowfall might come tonight.”
John nodded. “That’s the forecast. It’s what I’m hoping for, too.” Several heartbeats later, he went on in a thoughtful tone. “There’s nothing as beautiful and tranquil as the first snowfall of the year. The snow’s so white.”
He breathed in and continued. “Maybe it’s my imagination, but don’t you think there’s something especially wonderful and comforting about it?” He glanced at her before returning his attention to the road.
She scrunched her shoulders and wiped her fingers on the napkin. Wondering where to put it, she started to stick it in her pocket. “There’s a trash bag in between us, if you don’t mind checking under the boxes.”
She was quick to find a small plastic bag and pull it from underneath the stack. She stuffed the used napkin inside and placed the bag on the floor. So John was tidy.
Of course, that would make sense if he spent most of his time in a kitchen. And she guessed he was organized, too. She supposed he had to be to run a successful business.
The wind picked up speed as Lydia considered the beginning of the Christmas season. She pulled her hands over her chest. “I love winter nights.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. In fact, I enjoy sitting by my kerosene heater in front of my bedroom window after dinner and writing Christmas cards. I start the first of the month, with a couple a day, so there’s enough time to send to everyone. And I make my own cards.”
“Ya do?”
She nodded. “Handmade greetings are so much fun. Mamma and I . . . We decorate the stairwell rail with them. So I hope everyone sends early this year so there’s more time to admire them.”
Lydia paused, dreaming of the coming holiday. “I especially love when it snows on Christmas Eve. I like to drift back in time and try to picture Mary and Joseph with the three Wise Men and their camels.”
She drew her arms over her chest in great awe. “What happened is so amazing.” Suddenly realizing that she was doing most of the talking, she silently chastised herself.
Lydia was sure one of her downfalls was that she loved to chat. But Mamma had always told her not to monopolize the conversation. And she’d always stressed not to tell everything you’re thinking. That some things should be kept private.
But what Lydia had said . . . wasn’t it something everyone thought about? She turned her head enough to catch the thoughtful expression that crossed his face from her peripheral vision.
He didn’t respond. But he didn’t need to. It was as if there was a mutual understanding and contentment between them. He hadn’t said so. Neither had she. But the expressions on his face and his demeanor told her that it was there.
She enjoyed their conversation, and an ache pinched her chest when they neared her home. She stiffened at the realization that their ride was coming to an end. Because after she and John parted, it was most likely that she’d never enjoy this man’s company again.
After all, she was Amish. He was Mennonite. Although he hadn’t told her, she knew it from what she’d heard about his family. She squeezed her eyes closed. When she opened her lids, salty tears stung her eyes.
Although both faiths were Christian, she was fully aware that she was expected to marry an eligible Amish man. Of course, she and John weren’t in a relationship, but the Amish stressed sticking pretty much within their own community.
It wasn’t because they weren’t sociable. It was due to the fact that they wanted to avoid temptations from the English world. That meant she wouldn’t have the opportunity to spend time with him. Still, Lydia yearned to savor their brief time together.
He darted her a wry smile and changed the subject. “So how long have you been coming to our shop?”
Still enjoying the mouthwatering scent in his truck, she responded with a quick nod. “For years. Every time Mamma and I go to town. We’ve tried other rolls. You know, stuff from the grocery store. But King’s are the best. Hands down.”
She grinned. “I always ask for extra icing. The girl who usually waits on me is delightful.”
“Hannah?”
Lydia shrugged. “I’m not sure. She’s got a huge smile, lots of freckles, and reddish-brown hair.”
John chuckled. “That’s Hannah. She’s the youngest of my siblings.” He tapped his palm a couple of times against the steering column and dragged his gaze to Lydia. “In fact . . . I can see the two of you being great friends.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Most definitely you would be joined at the hip. You’ve both got bright, bubbly personalities. Even the same laugh.”
Lydia blushed a bit. “Thanks for that, John. I take that as a compliment.”
“You’re welcome.”
He lifted his shoulders in a gentle shrug. “There are advantages to having a family business. There’s no need to look elsewhere for help. And it’s not like we’re a chain. And that’s the way we’d like things to stay.”
She considered what he’d just said and pressed her pointer finger to her lips. “That may be true. But you must have a large clientele. Mamma and I always stop when we’re in town. And when we do, your shop’s buzzin’ with customers. In fact, I can’t recall when we started first in line.”
She drew her hands over her lap. “But it’s so worth the wait. Mamma and I . . . we savor the pastries during our ride home in the buggy. I guess you could say they’re our rewards for shopping. Mamma always tells me to make the roll last because we won’t have another one till we go back to town.”
She thought a moment. “I’ve been in King’s Bakery on many occasions, but I’ve never seen you.”
“That’s not surprising. I’m usually in the back doing behind-the-scenes things. Book work. Inventory. Ordering supplies. Making sure the kitchen’s well stocked.”
“Of course. It’s funny; I’ve never really considered all of the different tasks that go into being a successful bakery, but now that you’ve brought it up, there’s obviously much more to running your shop than meets the eye.”
“Hannah and Pete usually man the front counter. It works because they like interacting with our customers.” He winked.
“Everyone in the family plays their own role. So we won’t run out of cinnamon rolls. Because after talking with you . . .” He cleared an emotional knot from his throat. “I’m starting to see what it would do to our customers if we did.”
She laughed. Suddenly recalling their annual charity drive, Lydia sat up a little straighter and moved her palms to her thighs. “And by the way, I think it’s great that you make rolls for the needy every Christmas. What a generous contribution to those who wouldn’t otherwise get to enjoy treats. You’ve got to know that your pastries are the talk at church. And in town. Christmas Eve, jah? Because that’s when a lot of the folks have their family dinners.”
As she awaited a response, she turned toward him with an appreciative smile. But to her surprise, he didn’t respond. And when he glanced at her, she noted how his brows drew together in skepticism. That he strummed his fingers against the steering column to an uneven, nervous beat.
His odd reaction prompted the corners of her lips to do a quick dip. She wasn’t sure what she’d said to change the upbeat mood. But somehow, she’d managed to strike an unhappy chord. She definitely wanted to fix whatever was wrong. Mamma had always said that nothing was impossible.
When he finally spoke, concern edged his voice. “Everyone’s expectations of the drive are so high, Lydia.”
“Of course! Because you and your family have something that gifts the needy. And that’s surely satisfaction to you and your family.”
With a quick flip of his hand, he turned the heat switch up a notch. Warmer air caressed Lydia’s hands and she
bent her fingers in delight. “Sometimes, we need to face reality.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hope we can pull it off this year. I’m saying strong prayers for God to help me.”
His comment prompted her to press her lips together in a straight line. As she held her palms in front of the vents, she wondered why on earth this strong, friendly man next to her would worry about anything, let alone something he and his family had accomplished so many times.
Of course, she’d just met him, so she didn’t know much about him, personally, but Mamma always told her that her instincts about people were unusually perceptive. And her intuition shouted that the dark-haired man in the driver’s seat would be successful at anything he undertook.
“You’re concerned.” After a brief pause, she lowered her pitch to barely more than a whisper. “About the Christmas Eve drive that you and your family have done year after year?”
He let out a sigh and rested both hands on the bottom of the steering wheel while he slowed the truck. “Don’t get me wrong, Lydia. I don’t mean to sound ridiculous. Normally, I’m the optimistic sort, but realistically . . .”
He shoved out a sigh. “Producing so many orders of cinnamon rolls won’t be easy. Like I said, we’re a small business. We only have so many ovens. And the ingredients will cost much more than in years past. The sad truth is . . . If my calculations are even close, coming through for everyone . . . it might not be possible.”
She considered his statement, not comprehending his concern. “But it’s not anything new. . . .”
He smiled a little and waved a dismissive hand. “I know. Don’t misunderstand; I certainly have no right to complain. And I’m not. God has presented this particular opportunity to serve to my family and me.”
He lowered the pitch of his voice to a more serious tone. “I consider it a privilege to help. It goes without saying that something of this nature requires months of preparation so we’ll have all the items necessary plus more. We plan for extra just in case something goes awry. You know, every batch doesn’t come out perfect. Some, we discard. But the number of requests this year . . .” He inhaled a breath and pushed it out.
He grinned skeptically at her. “We’re excited for the opportunity to help our neighbors, for sure. Especially during such a blessed time of year that’s all about giving. That’s the reasoning behind what started our drive years ago.”
“Of course. Then what’s the problem?”
As Lydia awaited a response, she drew her hands together on her lap. A long pause ensued while she clutched her fingers together tightly and wondered if she’d been nosy. Her neck tensed.
She supposed that she had. She should have given him the opportunity to continue without asking questions.
Finally, he gave an uncertain shake of his head and lowered the pitch of his voice to a serious tone. “It sounds simple. But here’s the thing, Lydia.” He lifted a hand before letting it drop back on the steering column.
“In the past, making and delivering the rolls has been within our reach. But this time, it’s a whole different game. Do you know that we have over double the number of people on our list as in past years?”
A surprised breath escaped her. “Oh . . .” Now she understood. It was about supply and demand. And the demand was too high.
He gave a slight nod. “There are two ways to look at it. Lots of people requesting our services could be looked at as a blessing, I guess. It’s always an opportunity to be of service for those in need.”
While she waited for him to go on, she took in the small clock on his dash that showed it was dinnertime. This morning, Mamma had made dough for noodles. At six a.m., the smell of baked chicken had floated deliciously throughout the house.
Lydia looked forward to chicken and dumplings. At the same time, she didn’t want her conversation with John to end. She turned to him with interest.
“To be totally honest, Lydia, I’m concerned that our small outfit won’t be able to provide for every request. And that would be awful.” Reconsidering his words, he continued. “I didn’t mean to dump this on you. Can this stay between us?”
She offered a quick nod, feeling privileged that he’d confided in her. The drive which he talked about was important to a lot of folks. And she was in on somewhat confidential information now. “Of course.”
“I haven’t discussed this outside the family, but when you asked, it just came out. I’ve known for some time what we’re up against. But I’ve been holding it inside, hoping a solution will come to me.”
“So you haven’t figured out how to do it.”
He gave a strong shake of his head. “No, I haven’t. And the more I think on it, the more frustrated I get.” The pitch of his voice lightened. “If you want the truth, sharing this with you picks up my spirits. It actually feels good to get it off my chest.”
“I’ll bet it does. There’s no need for you to carry such a burden alone.”
“I’ve been touting this worry on my shoulders the past few weeks. I’m praying for guidance to complete the task God has given us. Thank you for listening.”
“I’m glad I’m here to be your sounding board.” A long silence went by while Lydia contemplated the severity of what he’d just told her.
His obvious sincerity and his concerned expression tugged at her emotions until she felt a part of his situation. She acknowledged that she truly was involved in the crisis now. Because he’d confided in her. Didn’t that mean she had to help him?
She believed it did. It was no secret that the needy in the nearby communities counted on King’s Bakery to provide delicious edibles for their Christmases. Lydia knew for a fact that the rolls were the desserts for many holiday dinners. People counted on them. And in the past, there had never been reason to doubt that they would materialize. At least, that’s how it seemed.
Over the years, she’d heard so much about the great joy the King family contributed, she’d never really given serious thought to the hard work required to provide for so many. Let alone the cost. And John had confessed he’d begun planning over a month ago.
He shoved out a hopeful breath. “We’ll come through for everyone. We have to.”
“I’ll think of a way to help you, John. Mamma has always told me that I’m a good problem solver.”
“Then what would you do?”
She considered the potent question, then raised her palms to the ceiling of the truck in a helpless gesture. “I’m not sure. But it’ll come to me. Things always work out.” She smiled a little. “In fact, I’m not much for planning. I love surprises.”
He raised an inquisitive brow. “Not me. I don’t like change. And a drive of this nature doesn’t allow me to just let things go and see how things work out. It requires planning. Lots of it.”
“I understand.” She hesitated before her voice lifted with enthusiasm. “But aren’t you a little excited about it?” Before he could get a word in, she went on. “You’ve got to be. Because you’ll make everyone on your list so happy!”
Her words came out in a convincing manner. Yet she saw his point. Because making the charity a success involved more of everything and everyone than they normally counted on.
She was only one person. So even if she personally volunteered, would her efforts guarantee that the drive would be successful? She frowned.
As she tried for a solution, she noticed the needle on the speedometer was on thirty-five. John must have expected input from her. Because he’d slowed his truck significantly.
After a slight pause, he went on. “How ’bout you, Lydia? Are you excited about Christmas?”
An oncoming vehicle approached them, and John slowed to pull over to the side to give the other driver room to get by. As he did so, she considered his question. It quickly prompted a disappointed sigh. After the other car went by, John returned to the middle of the narrow blacktop and stepped gently on the accelerator.
From her peripheral vision, she was quick to note
his brow lift with curiosity. Shifting in her seat for a more comfortable position, she crossed her legs at the ankles. “I’m afraid you’re not the only one facing a dilemma.”
“You mean you’ve got a predicament, too?”
She offered a slow nod while contemplating whether sharing hers was proper. She quickly decided that it was since she’d listened to John’s. Even if they’d just met, that he’d confided in her had already stepped up their trust in each other. In her opinion, anyway.
Eager to talk about her worry, she bent her chin to her knees and started in a low tone. “Jah, I sort of have my own thing I’m battling.”
She rolled her eyes. “We’re so different. I mean, in dealing with our problems. You don’t like change. I love surprises. And you’ve been holding your worries inside while I’ve been telling practically everyone I’ve come into contact with about mine. I’m afraid I’m one of those people who shares my worries with everyone.”
He grinned. “Do you think there’s something wrong with that?”
She moved her right shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not sure. I know that’s not necessarily good. In fact, ever since I can remember, Mamma has told me that I need to stop being so verbal. That people won’t want to have a conversation with me if I bombard them with my issues. And that in a conversation, there needs to be a certain balance, whatever that means.”
She stopped a moment for a breath. “But, John, it’s just the way I am. And I’m one of those people who enjoys unburdening to others.”
He nodded, understanding. She smiled in response. “It’s my nature to offload my worries, I guess. But this year, staying quiet is a challenge. And it’s all because . . .”
When he glanced her way, she sat up straighter in her seat and decided to put it out there. She moved her palms to both sides of her hips and pressed them into the soft fabric of the bucket seat.
Regardless whether she discussed it or if she didn’t, her dilemma existed. Not sharing it certainly wouldn’t make things better; that she was sure of. On the other hand, talking about it wouldn’t make it worse.
Maybe John would offer a response that could help her to at least deal with what was on her mind. Pulling in a breath, she lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “Every year, my older sister and I decide on a Christmas blessing and try to make it come true.”
The Amish Christmas Candle Page 18