An Amish Christmas Wedding

by Amy Clipston

  “Someone who needs a dog?”

  “Nein, her name. You can call her Chloe.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because she looks like a Chloe. It’s a gut name.”

  “Listen, Micah, I appreciate your tender heart. I do.” She glanced at the sleeping dog, the stove, anywhere but into the eyes of this man she was beginning to care for—deeply.

  “I hear a but coming.”

  “But I don’t want a dog.”

  “Are you sure you don’t?”

  “Ya, I’m sure. What kind of question is that?”

  “Sometimes something is missing in people’s lives, but they don’t know what it is. Then Gotte provides for that thing in unexpected ways.”

  “So Gotte brought me this dog?”

  “Nein. I brought her.”

  They both sidestepped what could be missing from her life. Just as well. Micah might have guessed just how lonely she’d become, but she wasn’t about to affirm his guess or reveal any of her regrets. She only hoped his friendship wasn’t based on pity. She didn’t think it was.

  “Why can’t you take her home?”

  “Three of the family are allergic, and then there’s the new great-grandbaby. I don’t think Betty would be sympathetic to the idea.”

  “Surely you at least suspected I wouldn’t be sympathetic, but that didn’t stop you.”

  “What if I provided the food? I could even help with the cost of vaccinations and vet visits, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Rachel waved away that idea. “It’s not about the expense.”

  “Then what is it?” Micah leaned forward, and she dropped her eyes. He said nothing until she looked at him again instead of staring at her half-empty mug. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Who says I’m afraid of anything?” Rachel stood to rinse out her mug, irritation building like steam in a kettle. She would not become emotional in front of this man. He was a dear friend, but he didn’t know her that well. He couldn’t possibly understand that although she was lonely, she found comfort in her life’s predictability and stability. Adopt a dog? She didn’t need to develop feelings for this animal. It would probably be gone as soon as the storm ended.

  Then again, how could she send her back out in the snow if Micah truly had nowhere else to take her?

  Maybe someone was looking for the dog. Micah had offered to check around. If she stayed only one night or even a few days, perhaps she wouldn’t become attached to the animal.

  Pulling in a deep breath, she turned to face Micah. Lines creased his face in a map familiar to her. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit she didn’t want him to think less of her.

  “She can stay the night. In the mudroom.”

  “I’ll fix her up a bed.”

  Rachel nodded once, knowing he’d find what he needed out there, then set to washing their mugs and covering the rest of the cookies.

  Minutes later she’d joined Micah at her front door. Once again he was turning the hat in his hands.

  “See you in the morning?” he finally said.

  “Of course. Be safe in this weather.”

  He nodded but still looked as if he wanted to say more. Micah often had that look on his face. But he stayed silent, which she appreciated. That was one of the things she respected about him. Not only did he not pry, but he never gave his opinion unless she asked for it—except about the dog.

  As she walked through the house turning off lanterns and tidying for her guests the next day, it occurred to her that was probably the real reason she’d agreed to keep the dog. She didn’t want to disappoint Micah Miller.

  2

  Rachel woke the next morning with the familiar—and ever-increasing—dread and hopelessness pinning her to the bed. During the day, when she was busy, she could forget her troubles. In the evening, when she collapsed into bed, she was often too tired to wrestle with them. Mornings were difficult.

  How had she arrived at this point in her life totally and utterly alone?

  What could she have done differently?

  What should she have done differently?

  The questions pressed in as she contemplated another ten, twenty, even thirty years alone. She might have given in to self-pity and pulled the covers over her head, which would have been a childish and useless thing to do, but she heard a soft whine. At first she couldn’t imagine what animal might be outside her door.

  Then she remembered Micah appearing out of the snowstorm, the Labrador waiting patiently at his side. She remembered the trusting gaze the dog had settled on her. She realized the animal wasn’t outside her house but in her mudroom.

  Swinging her feet over the side of the bed, Rachel found her slippers, then snatched up her robe.

  It was barely dawn, but no doubt the dog needed to be let out. What had she been thinking? With any luck, it would take the chance to run back to its owner—if it had one.

  She half expected to see a mess when she opened the door to the mudroom, but everything was in the same condition. The dog padded to the outside door and whined softly.

  “Sure. Ya. I understand.”

  For a moment she watched it wade through the snow, still limping a bit. The accumulation had been several inches, but Rachel expected it would melt off by midmorning. Her chestnut gelding was already out in one of her fields. Josiah Troyer leased her other fields. He paid her only a small amount, but he also took care of Penny, for the most part. Her buggy horse’s coat was a lovely reddish brown, and with the rising sun already shining on her, she definitely resembled her name.

  That image—the dog and the horse and the snow—lifted her spirits. The tightening in her chest lessened, and she laughed as the dog maneuvered to the right and left, trying to chase something Rachel couldn’t see. She backtracked into the kitchen, then made herself a strong cup of coffee before returning to the back door.

  Chloe had not trotted off to find her owner.

  Instead, she was waiting patiently on the back porch.

  When Rachel let her in, she went straight to the water bowl and drank her fill, then sat, tail thumping, brown eyes focused on Rachel.

  “I suppose you expect me to feed you breakfast too.”

  Thump.

  “You ate all the chicken.”

  Thump, thump.

  “But I usually make myself an egg, and I have plenty of those.”

  Rachel stepped to the sink, then wondered if Chloe had followed her and tracked snow across the kitchen floor. She turned to admonish her but found the dog was already lying next to the stove. She really was exceptionally well-behaved.

  Rachel had prepared for the morning’s guests the evening before, just before Micah and Chloe arrived. It was a full group of twenty today. As the last group was leaving, Micah always shared the numbers for the next day to help her plan correctly.

  On one counter sat twenty cups and saucers with a tea bag in each cup. Next to them sat five small sugar bowls, and in her refrigerator she’d placed five small pitchers of cream. Five plates of cookies waited on the opposite counter, each covered with a dishcloth to keep the treats fresh. Finally, she had five teapots. She was also prepared to serve Micah and the other drivers.

  “Our Englisch guests arrive at ten. You’ll have to be back in the mudroom by then.” It didn’t occur to her to feel silly talking to the dog. She’d never been one to doubt they could understand every word. Her mind flashed back to the blue heeler she’d had as a child. Though it was technically her father’s hunting dog, she’d grown quite fond of it. She remembered brushing its coat and how it would trot next to her down to the pond. Roxie had been a good dog. Why had she never had one since?

  Of course, they were expensive to keep.

  And could sometimes be a behavior problem.

  They most certainly shouldn’t stay in the house. Her Englisch guests would sometimes pull out their phones and show her photos of their homes, grandchildren, or pets. She’d seen more than one
dog sitting proudly on a couch or in the middle of a bed. She couldn’t imagine such a thing, though she supposed the mudroom might be all right.

  If she were keeping this dog, which she wasn’t. But she did change her bandage, the old one now wet from the snow. Then she scrambled three eggs, two for Chloe and one for herself. Like the night before, after Chloe had eaten, she padded over to Rachel and sniffed her hand. This time, though, she sat next to Rachel’s chair and leaned against her. It was a comforting thing, the dog’s weight ever so slightly pressing on her side as she ate her breakfast.

  A person could get used to such things.

  It might even help with the loneliness.

  Stranger things had happened.

  She’d never married and had children. Some days she regretted that. Most days she regretted it. And she didn’t have any family in the area now that her parents had passed—another reason she’d come to feel her aloneness so keenly.

  Her mind jumped to the box of letters she’d recently found. Her mamm had written them to her aenti, yet they were not only never mailed but unaddressed. So, then, she had no idea where her mamm’s only schweschder was. She wished she knew how to contact Deborah, her single chance for extended family, since her father, like her, had been an only child. All she knew was that her maiden name was Byler and her married name, Glick.

  Those were common Amish names, and she didn’t know where to start looking for her. She didn’t know how to start looking.

  And to complicate matters even more, she didn’t understand her feelings for Micah. Some days he seemed like more than a dear friend—like the days she was flustered or giggled around him. But other days she thought she was imagining such a thing. Then again, why did she often become flustered and silly around him? And she certainly looked forward to seeing him. She thought he even understood her better than anyone else. Was that love? Could it be possible that at the age of fifty-six she was entertaining romantic thoughts?

  She glanced at the dog, who offered no answers. Perhaps that was a bit much to expect from a Labrador.

  * * *

  Micah had been a farmer all his life, but the heart bypass three years ago had ended those days. When he’d fully recovered, his son, Tom, insisted he sell his place in Goshen and move in with his family in Shipshewana. Some mornings he’d felt strong enough to work in the fields, but Tom and his wife would hear nothing of it. Even the grandkinner had chimed in with “Just play with us, Daddi. It’s way better than working.”

  He did enjoy playing with the littlest tikes—though calling them tikes now might be a stretch. They’d grown so. And his oldest granddaughter, Betty, had just had a child of her own. These days it would be a great-grandchild who’d most want his company.

  Nein. He couldn’t sit home all day, playing checkers and whittling. That was a bleak future indeed, as much as he loved his grandkinner. He needed to feel useful, needed to contribute, same as anyone else.

  While sitting at the Blue Gate one day—enjoying a piece of pie and cup of coffee, staring out the window at the crowds of tourists walking up and down the sidewalk—he’d come up with the idea of ferrying Englischers on a tour. It hadn’t taken long for the notion to grow. Before he could fashion another turkey call, some other Shipshe folks were expressing interest in the new venture. He hadn’t wanted to rush into anything, though.

  So he’d written to his bruder, who did something similar in Ohio. He’d also called an old friend in Goshen who had recently started offering tours of his farm. Finally, he’d spoken with Bishop Simon to be sure that what he was considering wouldn’t be at odds with their Ordnung.

  He learned that his idea was not only doable, but in every case it was profitable. Then the key was to think it all through properly. What was it his own dat always said? You get what you pay for. He certainly wanted the Englischers to receive a unique experience since he expected them to pay for it.

  Many people from the city seemed fascinated by their Plain life; yet for most Amish, plain was all they’d ever known. There was nothing unusual about living without electricity and not owning cars and computers. Micah suspected, though, that the way they lived was not just unfamiliar to the average American but strange. However, he also understood that the people who spent their vacation in places like Shipshewana were seeking a way to simplify their own lives. But first they had to believe it was even possible in this current day and age.

  So how could he help them along that journey?

  He’d jotted his notes on a sheet of paper that he still kept in his top dresser drawer.

  Some sort of tour that would last from nine in the morning to noon.

  A unique look into Amish life.

  A business that would benefit Amish families trying to supplement their farming income.

  By that time the others weren’t just interested but were eager to join him. Emily Yoder had a yarn shop in downtown Shipshe, and she was more than happy to offer her place as a pickup spot. Joseph Schrock wanted to offer free samples for groups visiting his cheese shop. And Claire Beiler had every sort of animal on her small farm that a tourist might want to see, owing to the fact that her husband, David, was the restless sort who was always moving on to the next great thing. That meant the Beiler family had not only cows and chickens, but goats, alpacas, and camels. And most recently, they’d acquired rabbits.

  What surprised him the most was Rachel King pulling him aside at church one Sunday to say she’d like to offer tea to the tourists. “And perhaps they’d like to see my quilts.”

  In fact, they clamored to see her quilts, and that opportunity was now in the top spot on their brochure. “Amish quilts for sale” brought in tourists faster than yarn, cheese, or farm animals—especially the closer they came to Christmas, it seemed. But the groups appeared to enjoy all aspects of the tour, even in cold weather. It had been more than a year since they’d started their venture, and everyone was happy with the results. Recently they’d been featured on the Shipshewana web page, which prompted Emily to purchase a laptop and hire an Englisch teenager to manage online reservations.

  Yes, they had a booming business for sure and certain.

  And Micah was happy to be busy.

  But he’d never have guessed he’d come to care for the little group of entrepreneurs as if they were his own family. And what he felt for Rachel . . . Well, he believed their friendship could turn into something more, but she seemed to maintain a barrier between them. Yet the first thing that crossed Micah’s mind when his eyes popped open that morning was the limping dog followed by Rachel’s look of dismay at being asked to keep her.

  He had been so sure the Labrador could lift the heaviness plaguing Rachel of late.

  But what did he know of a woman’s burdens?

  “Ridiculous,” he said aloud, snorting as he combed his hair and prepared for work. “Problems are problems—whether they belong to a woman or a man.”

  He was still hoping Rachel would decide to keep Chloe. Perhaps now that she’d slept on the idea, she’d be more receptive. Maybe Chloe had worked her way into Rachel’s heart. He decided to be optimistic about it.

  “Where are you going so early, Pop?” Naomi asked. It was hard to believe Tom and his wife were both forty. Naomi was short and round, and she possessed the sweetest personality he could ask for in a daughter-in-law.

  “Need to stop by the dry goods store before I pick up my group.”

  “I hope you have a backup plan for that dog.”

  The night before, he’d told her and Tom about finding the dog and leaving it with Rachel.

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Chances are you’re going to need one. I’ve never seen a cleaner house than Rachel King’s, and dogs are never conducive to a spotless house.”

  “But she could leave it outside.”

  “Ya, most folks in our community do that, but dogs are still a lot of work. And I think your Chloe would get lonesome with just Rachel there.”

  “Maybe.” M
icah thought the dog was lonelier in the ditch where he’d found her, but he didn’t argue with Naomi.

  “Then again, Rachel might be lonely herself since she lives there all alone.” Naomi glanced at him, a smile forming on her lips.

  “Tell me you’re not matchmaking, especially this early in the day.”

  “Nein. I wouldn’t think of it.”

  “That’s gut to hear.”

  She handed him a bowl of hot oatmeal and nodded toward the raisins, sugar, and walnuts on the table. “Some days I’m tempted to, though.”

  Without responding, he downed his breakfast and then took off before the deluge of children hit the table. As he drove into town, he considered ways they might look for Chloe’s owner, assuming she had one who wanted to be found. They could put up flyers, but that would be expensive. They’d handwrite one since Amish folks didn’t have computers, of course, but then they’d have to make copies in town because Amish folks didn’t have copy machines either.

  They could also check with the local animal shelter and vet. Those would be gut places to start.

  With a plan in place, Micah turned his thoughts to the day’s business.

  They had another large group scheduled for the day. Micah could fit only six people into his buggy with him, so on days like today, they asked Emily’s son, Paul, to drive a second buggy. They also called on an Englischer, Bill Harris, for big groups or when they had tourists who’d rather travel by automobile. Bill was well-known among the Amish community and had recently retired from an office job. Now he was supplementing his income by giving Amish rides in his new van.

  Micah arrived at the dry goods store just as they were opening for business. He purchased dog food and treats, as well as a shampoo that claimed to “kill fleas and restore your pet’s coat to a healthy shine.” He placed the supplies in the chest attached to the back of his buggy. Their first stop was the animal farm, and their second stop was Rachel’s. By the time they made it to her place, their groups were ready for cups of hot tea and a midmorning snack.

  For Micah, visiting Rachel’s was the highlight of the day—which said something about the depth of his feelings for her. But he wasn’t quite ready to examine just how deep they were. Not with that barrier between them.