A Wells Landing Christmas

by Amy Lillard

  “Say a man is suspected of gambling.”

  “Gambling?” One snow-white brow rose to an interested angle.

  “Jah. He would be offered counseling and such, but if he can’t stop gambling, then he would be shunned.”

  “Forever?”

  “Until he goes before the church, kneels, and confesses.”

  “So the shunning is to encourage him to return to his beliefs.”

  “Jah.” She nodded. He surprisingly understood it. But she would admit if asked that there were nuances to some of their Ordnung that she couldn’t quite fathom herself. Some things just had to be taken on faith.

  “Hmm . . .” Ethan thoughtfully rubbed one finger against his chin, just under his lower lip. “That’s very interesting.”

  She had never had anyone ask her about Amish beliefs, and certainly no one had ever declared them interesting. She wasn’t entirely sure she was comfortable with the conversation.

  “Did you say that middle one is a picture of your grandson?”

  Ethan smiled with obvious pride. “Oh, yes, that’s Logan.” He shook his head with affection. “That boy. Definitely has a mind of his own.”

  She supposed that was what some had said about her. “How so?” It would be a good change to hear someone else’s woes for a while.

  “He decided to join a Baptist church down in Texas. They’re good people, I suppose. They do these missions in Central and South America. He’s gone down there now. I don’t even know where. Colombia, maybe. They’re building houses for the poor and trying to bring people out of the drug trade.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “I suppose so, yes. If they upset the wrong people. But he seems very happy with his choices. Regardless of how worried everyone in the family is.”

  “I would think that you would be proud of him.” The Amish went on mission trips. They collected for Haiti and went to places of natural disasters and helped rebuild. Ivy herself had never gone, but she had wanted to. Once upon a time.

  “I thought pride was a sin to the Amish.” Ethan smiled, taking the sting out of his words.

  She shrugged.

  “We are very proud of him, except . . . well, he left his church to do this sort of work. And that has his mother pretty upset.”

  “He had to leave the church to do mission work?” She had no idea.

  “No. Not really. That was the choice he made. He was raised Catholic, and his parents were very devout. They managed to stay with their church and do the work of their hearts.”

  “Catholic?” She knew less about Catholics than she did about Martians.

  “He’s a good boy though.”

  “Has he come to see you?”

  Ethan shook his head. “He’s finishing up down there, then he promised he’d be in, but . . .” His voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat.

  “ ‘Were Catholic?’ Does that mean his parents left the church as well?” she asked.

  “His father died. God rest his soul. His mother still goes when she has the time.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ivy murmured, then something in his voice made her press on. “But your daughter-in-law, she comes to visit you?” She didn’t want it to be a question, but it came out that way all the same.

  “She’s very busy,” he explained, which was no explanation at all.

  Ivy searched his face for signs of what was going on behind those twinkling blue eyes. She could find nothing. “But you’re recovering from surgery.”

  He frowned. “Who told you that?”

  “Margery. Maybe Reva.”

  “Of course.” He pressed his lips together. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or trying not to sigh.

  “You’re not recovering from surgery?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “I’m dying.”

  Chapter Eight

  He was dying. That sweet old man with the sparkling blue eyes and crinkles of laugh lines that winged to his temples was dying.

  Ivy wiped the moisture from her cheeks and blinked away new tears. She had managed not to cry in front of Ethan. He had made his announcement so calmly that she almost believed she had made it all up.

  Then he rose and escorted her down to the cafeteria to get a pudding and check up on the other residents of the Whispering Pines Senior Living Center.

  “They don’t know,” she had whispered.

  He shook his head. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “But . . .” She hesitated. “You told me.”

  “I’m certain you can keep a secret for me. You seem to have a few of your own.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. “Why don’t you want them to know?”

  Ethan finished up one pudding cup and reached for another. “That’s not getting any chocolatier.”

  She looked down into the creamy brown dessert. It was deceiving. It looked like other things, including black mud, but it was sweet and tasty. Deceiving. Tricky. She took a hesitant bite of the pudding, her appetite and desire for the sweet having gone long before she sat down with the cup.

  “You aren’t going to tell me.” That was something she couldn’t wrap her mind around. He would tell her that he was not long for this world, but he wouldn’t tell her why she was the only one, staff excluded, who knew his fate.

  “I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me,” he said. “I’ve had a good life. I’ve made my peace with God and this world. Now I’m just waiting.”

  “To go to heaven?”

  “That’s right.” He finished up his second pudding and eyed her half-eaten first cup. “If you don’t get a move on, I’m going to finish that for you.”

  She pushed it and the unopened one sitting at her elbow across the table toward him. “I don’t think I want it.” She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms. She needed something to do with them. She needed to walk, swing her arms from side to side, expend some of this energy that coursed through her.

  “Eat.” He pushed her pudding back. “You need it just as badly as I do.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No one needs pudding.”

  Ethan returned her smile with a grin of his own. “Girl, now there’s where you’re wrong.”

  Somehow she managed to finish her opened pudding, but they sneaked the unopened one out of the cafeteria so he could store it in his fridge for later.

  “What from?” she had asked him as she was getting ready to leave.

  “Cancer,” was all he said. He didn’t elaborate as she had heard others do. He didn’t tell her where in his body it was. How big compared to everyday objects or what stage it was in. He didn’t classify it. It was merely cancer. And he was dying. She supposed at this juncture, what did it all matter?

  Ivy wiped at her cheeks once more and pulled her tractor into the lane leading to her house. She needed to get herself together. She had cried more over Ethan Dallas than she remembered ever crying before.

  Ethan had seen something inside her, something she had known was there all along, but could never find. Something she had hoped was there. It seemed she had been going around not caring for way too long. She had been putting up a front, telling everyone how tough she was. How she didn’t care about the rules, they didn’t apply to her, and she wasn’t about to follow them. Then this man came along, and now everything was clearer and more confusing all at the same time.

  She sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her gloved hand. It would be much easier to wash her gloves than her winter coat. If what the weatherman on TV said was true, they were in for a cold time the next few days. No snow, which in her opinion would have made all the frigid days worth it, but snow usually didn’t fall until January or February.

  Who knew what could happen between now and then?

  She parked her tractor and got down, rubbing her nose and eyes as she made her way into the house.

  “Ivy, is that you?” Tassie called from the kitchen. “I have a new pot of coffee on. Come in here and warm yourself.” />
  She stopped only long enough to give Chester a full-body stroke of greeting, then she did as she was bade. As she stepped into the room, she stripped off her soiled gloves, then held her hands out to the fire-burning stove in the corner of the kitchen. The heat felt good on her fingers, their tingling reminding her that was she alive.

  “Have you been crying?”

  She shook her head. Another lie. “I rubbed my nose is all. Why? Is it red?”

  “Very.”

  Ivy slid into one of the kitchen chairs and watched as Tassie ran one bony finger down the open book on the table. “Is that . . . is that my recipe book?”

  Tassie nodded. “I believe so. Your dawdi gave it to me when I promised to cook for the two of you tonight.”

  “Gave it to you?”

  “Not really gave. Let borrow, let’s say that.”

  Ivy had thought her mother had taken the book with her when she left. She stared at it as if it were some unknown creature, then shook herself from her stupor. Her feelings were mixed. She was happy the book was here, jealous that Tassie was cooking from it, and confused as to her grandfather’s actions. Hadn’t he remembered she was looking for the cookbook? She had gone through everything trying to find it. All the cabinets and drawers. All the little cubby spaces in all the furniture. She had even gotten on a chair and checked the tops of the cabinets. He had watched her, shaking his head the entire time. He had known she was searching for it. So why hadn’t he said something?

  That was then, she told herself. He might have misunderstood. He might not have realized what she was truly looking for. He might have simply found it later and forgotten that she had been looking for it.

  “It was your grossmammi’s, jah?” Tassie shot her a sideways look that was as unreadable as it was covert.

  Ivy nodded. “How did you know?”

  Tassie smiled. “I recognized the handwriting.”

  “You did?”

  “Me and Mary Ann, we were good friends once upon a time. We did everything together until . . . well, until we were in our baptism classes.” She sighed. “Never mind. It’s all in the past now.”

  Tassie and Mammi were friends? She had never seen them say two words to each other. As a matter of fact, she had watched her grandmother go out of her way to avoid the other woman.

  “You don’t mind me using it. Do you, dear?”

  “No,” Ivy whispered. And this time it wasn’t a lie.

  * * *

  “And I’ll take two dozen snickerdoodles and a peanut butter pie.” Gertie Miller smirked at Ivy and waited for her to comply. “For my Jonah.”

  Ivy nodded to show she understood and slipped on a fresh pair of serving gloves.

  Buddy Miller shifted beside his mother and eyed the cupcakes. Ivy had just made them that very morning. Chocolate with snow-white peppermint frosting sprinkled with crushed pieces of peppermint candy. The perfect treat for the holiday season.

  He tugged on his mother’s arm.

  “Honestly, Buddy.” She pulled away.

  “Can I have one of those? Please.” He smiled, and Ivy wondered how Gertie could tell him no on anything. Buddy was one of those special children that the Lord sees fit to give to some families. Born Ivan Dale Miller, Buddy, as everyone called him, had Down syndrome—at least, that was what she thought it was called. She had heard others call him mongoloid, but somehow that didn’t sound like an appropriate title. He was a little slower than most, and his speech wasn’t always so clear, but his heart was as big as she had ever seen.

  “May I?” she asked, nodding toward the cupcakes. “On the bakery.”

  “Really?” Buddy’s eyes glittered with happiness and excitement.

  “If your mamm says it’s okay.”

  One good thing about working at the bakery: Even those people who refused to talk to her at church had to talk to her in order to get their sweets. It was almost a satisfying dilemma.

  “I suppose.” But Gertie’s mouth was pinched into a tight little knot. Ivy wasn’t sure if she had planned on buying Buddy the sweet or not, but this way was even better. Who could turn down a free cupcake? And to have to take it from her, Ivy Weaver, the wild child of Wells Landing? Beautiful. Plus, she delighted sweet Buddy. Ivy would ring up the cake later and pay for it out of her own pocket, but it had been worth it, completely and totally worth it.

  Buddy danced in place as he waited for his mother to pay for their other goods. He held the cupcake container gently in his hands as though it would shatter if disturbed and followed his mother to the door. “Danki, Ivy.” He waved and followed her out.

  Ivy expelled a heavy breath, only then realizing that she had been holding it. Her shoulders collapsed under the weight of her determination to stand tall and not be intimidated. Her mouth hurt from smiling so much.

  “She’s exhausting.”

  Ivy straightened and spun around to find Caroline standing there.

  “I scared you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Ivy smiled to back up her words. Then she moved to rearrange the showcase to fill the holes where the pie and the cupcake had been.

  “You can’t let people like that get you down.” Caroline’s words were quietly spoken but stopped her in her tracks.

  “That’s easier said than done.” What did Caroline Fitch know about such matters? She had everything: a family, a loving husband, three beautiful children, and a horse farm to rival anything else in Green County.

  Caroline nodded. She was such a pretty woman, even when she was exhausted, as she was now. She looked thin and wan, but she still pushed through. Esther had cut her hours back to part-time, which left more for Ivy, but Ivy would have rather had Caroline smiling and not so tired.

  “Practice,” Caroline said. “The more you practice, the easier it will become.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue for Ivy to ask her how she knew such things, but she refrained. “Why do you work?” she asked instead.

  Caroline grabbed a rag and wiped down the top of the showcase, then paused, her expression thoughtful. “I need to have a certain level of independence.” She raised a hand as if already anticipating Ivy’s response. “I know. I know, but I come from a very conservative district in Tennessee. Andrew understands. I need to know that I can take care of myself and the children if anything were to happen to him.”

  “I get it.” And she did. It was one of the things that kept her up at night. Her mother had sacrificed all to marry a man who would take care of her. She had left Ivy and Dawdi alone in her wake, struggling to find their own way in the only home they had ever known.

  “Do you ever go by that retirement home out on 412?”

  Caroline paused in her task of rearranging the cookies and thought about it for a minute. “That’s the new one, right? I’ve not been to the new one. But I went with some friends caroling out at the other one. I think they call it assisted living. Whatever that means. Why?”

  “Just curious.” She didn’t want to tell her that was where she was spending all her free time these days. What there was that she got out of it. She wasn’t sure how it would be received that she would rather be at a home for the Englisch than at her own home. But when she got to Whispering Pines, her own problems seemed to melt away. They were her problems, and she hated them. But they were nothing compared to the issues the seniors faced there.

  “It seems like a nice enough place,” Caroline added.

  “Jah,” Ivy agreed. “It does, at that.”

  They spent the remainder of Ivy’s shift preparing for the next day’s special: a baker’s dozen of cookies for the price of twelve. It was only one cookie free, but everyone in Wells Landing preferred a bargain, however small.

  Once the cookies were replenished to Caroline’s satisfaction, Ivy clocked out. She should go right home, but the retirement center was calling her name. What would it hurt for her to run by there real quick and check on Ethan Dallas?

  She buzzed over as quickly as she could, hustle
d inside and signed her name, then made her way to his room. She knocked on the door and waited impatiently for him to answer.

  When he didn’t, she knocked again. And once more, her worry starting to rise. The man had no one to worry for him. What had he said? His son was dead, his daughter-in-law too busy, and his grandson somewhere in Central or South America building houses for the poor. She may be all that her grandfather had, but he had her. And she him. Ethan Dallas had no one.

  “Ethan!” She pounded on the door, her anxiety mounting.

  “Ivy?”

  She spun about at the sound of her name. “Ethan?”

  He was coming down the hallway toward her. Whole and safe. Relief flooded her. “You’re okay?”

  “Of course I am.”

  When he got close enough, she rushed toward him and flung her arms around him. “I was so worried about you.”

  His arms were hesitant, but they came up and settled about her. “Why?”

  “You said—” She couldn’t even say it now.

  Ethan chuckled. “I told you I was dying. I didn’t mean today.”

  She squeezed him a bit tighter, then let him go. It was completely out of character for her to hug anyone outside her family. Especially an Englisch man in the hallway of the retirement home. “Good.” She pulled on the waistband of her apron and gathered herself back together.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I can’t stay,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure that you are all right.”

  He held his arms out at his sides. “Right as rain,” he said. “Fine as frog hair.”

  “Frogs don’t—”

  He chuckled. “Just something my granddad used to say.”

  Ivy laughed and nodded, though she really didn’t understand. Ethan was okay, and that was all that mattered. “I’m sorry. I need to go. My grandfather is waiting on me.”

  He nodded. “Will you come back?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “I would love for you to come visit again.”

  “How about next Thursday?”

  “It’s a date,” he said.

  * * *

  Ivy smiled all the way home. Even the chilly air couldn’t dampen her spirits. Ethan was fine. Her grandfather was doing better. She loved her job. Only one part of her life wasn’t as she wanted it.