A Wells Landing Christmas

by Amy Lillard

  The question became who needed who more?

  * * *

  Sunlight blazed in from the window, shining directly onto Ivy’s face. It warmed her and at the same time made her blink in annoyance. She’d never had this happen before. She had slept in the same room since she was a child, and she never awoke with sun glaring directly into her face.

  Ivy blinked again, then reluctantly opened her eyes. Only a force higher than she kept her from jumping to her feet. She wasn’t in her room. She was in the living room, on the couch, and Zeb was next to her.

  She couldn’t help herself. She needed to get up, move away from the circle of his embrace, but she couldn’t make herself. She took the intimate moment to watch him, look at him like she hadn’t been able to since he had returned. He was asleep still, his head back, mouth slightly open. His inky hair was excessively messy, and she could clearly make out the scar underneath his right eye. It was the only difference between him and Obie. That tiny crescent line that was the result of a scooter accident when they were younger. Second grade, if she remembered correctly.

  And in that moment she couldn’t lie to herself any longer. She still loved Zeb Brenneman. For a lot of good it would do her. Too much had happened. Too many unhappy things for them to get past. Too much that stood against them.

  He hadn’t been in his rumspringa when they’d had their indiscretion. She might be excused from confessing all before the church, but he wouldn’t be. He had knelt before them all and God. And he would have to do it again if she confessed her own sins. She couldn’t ask him to bear that embarrassment for her.

  She sighed, then reluctantly moved away from him. She felt immediately cold. She needed to get the fire going again.

  “What?” he mumbled, then pushed himself upright.

  “It’s morning.” She moved toward the hearth, grabbing the poker and stirring the coals. She added another log to the top of the grate, thankful to see the flames growing and licking at the wood.

  Zeb yawned and stretched, then stopped. “Your grandfather?”

  She shook her head, unable to say the words. There had been no word, and the longer they went without news, the more worried she became. Did that mean the chances that the news wouldn’t be favorable grew? She wished she knew. No. She didn’t.

  “Coffee?” she asked, starting for the kitchen.

  “Jah. That’d be good.” He padded off toward the bathroom while Ivy put the water on to boil.

  This morning was entirely too intimate. How had they found themselves here? Together? Almost as if they were married. They almost had been. But she couldn’t look back on the time that was lost. But it was hard not to. Waking up side by side, drinking coffee. How long would they be able to pretend that it meant nothing? Then again, maybe she was the only one who felt the connection.

  Zeb came out of the bathroom just in time for her to pour the coffee.

  “Should I make some breakfast?” She needed to do something. She needed to keep busy. Otherwise she might explode.

  “That’s okay. I thought I would call the police station.” He held up Obie’s cell phone.

  She nodded, but moved to the propane-powered refrigerator and started pulling out food. Bacon, eggs, cheese.

  She lit the stove and tried to not pay attention as Zeb pulled the policeman’s card from his pocket, then growled with aggravation. “The phone’s dead.”

  She hid her disappointment, instead concentrating on her task of keeping busy. Maybe they would hop on the tractor and head back into town today. She couldn’t sit home and just do . . . nothing.

  He stopped. “Do you hear that?” He cocked his head to one side.

  She turned off the gas and walked toward the door. From outside she thought she could hear the sound of a car engine. Then a thump that could have been someone getting out of a car. Then a second one.

  Ivy turned to Zeb. He set the phone down on the side table, and together they walked toward the front window.

  Part of her wanted to run to see if her strongest wish had come true. Had her grandfather returned home? But what if the news was bad? What if he was hurt? Or worse? And the police had come to deliver the horrible truth? Her heart pounded in her chest, and her mouth went instantly dry.

  “Ivy?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t speculate. She couldn’t look at Zeb. She took a deep breath and peeked out the window.

  Her grandfather was walking between two uniformed officers. His head was down, but he was walking on his own. He didn’t appear to be confined in any way; he was simply flanked by the two men escorting him to the house. One was tall, broad through the shoulder and possibly bald. She couldn’t tell, since his knit cap covered most of his head. But no hair stuck out from under the edge. The second officer was smaller, thinner, and had a full head of blond hair. They both wore thick blue jackets with badge-shaped patches sewn onto the left breast.

  Her grandfather wasn’t wearing a coat, but someone had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. This time, he had remembered to put on his shoes and hat before he left. Had he been out all night without proper covering? She couldn’t imagine. Last night had gotten down to freezing. He was lucky he was still alive.

  “Dawdi,” she breathed. She rushed to the front door, wrenched it open, and stepped out onto the porch. “Dawdi,” she called, louder this time.

  He lifted his head, his eyes shining with both recognition and confusion.

  “Is this your grandfather?”

  “Jah. Yes.” Ivy nodded, tears of relief threatening.

  “We tried to call, but the number went straight to voice mail.”

  “The phone battery died.” Zeb’s voice sounded from behind her.

  “Where was he?” Ivy asked. She had been worried sick all night, unable to sleep until she was sitting beside Zeb’s warmth. And yet something kept her from flinging her arms around her grandfather and never letting go. Maybe it was that weird look in his eyes, wary and suspicious, but not afraid.

  “We found him at the high school this morning. He was asleep on the bleachers.”

  “Actually, the football coach found him,” the second officer said. “He had morning detention.”

  It took a moment for his words to make sense. The football coach had morning detention. Her grandfather had been asleep in the seats around the football field.

  Football? What had he been doing at the high school? And on the football field?

  “Dawdi?” she cautiously asked.

  He raised his head, and there was that missing look once again. It wasn’t that he didn’t know things; he just didn’t know all things he had known before.

  “Sir, is this your granddaughter?”

  “That’s Irene.”

  Tears pricked in Ivy’s eyes. “That’s right. I’m Irene. Won’t you come inside, Dat?”

  He grunted.

  “It’s warmer by far,” she said invitingly.

  “Jah.”

  “Come.” Zeb went down the porch steps and clasped her grandfather by the elbow. “I’ll walk you inside.” He shot a pointed look at Ivy, telling her without words that she could stay out there and clear things up with the officers.

  She nodded, but felt strangely bereft when the door closed behind the two men she loved most in the world.

  “Miss Weaver?”

  “Jah?”

  “We’re glad he’s home safe, but in the future—”

  “In the future,” the second officer broke in, “you might consider having someone stay with him when you’re going to be out. Everything turned out okay this time. But we might not be so lucky the next.”

  “Jah. I will,” she whispered, not trusting her voice any louder. If she spoke up, she might start yelling and never stop, just a loud steady sound to relieve the pressure of responsibility building inside her.

  They tipped their heads toward her, then started back toward their car. There was a Christmas wreath wired to the front grille and a small plush Santa in the cor
ner of the front window. For a moment she had forgotten that it was so close to Christmas.

  She waved as they backed up their patrol car and drove away. Then she took a bracing breath and let herself back into the house.

  She had no idea how to handle the situation. Should she chastise him? Try to discover his reasoning? Make him promise not to set foot outside the house without telling her first?

  What good would any of that do?

  If he couldn’t remember how to get home and that she was Ivy, not Irene, how would he remember instructions that were supposed to keep him safe?

  “Dawdi.” She stepped into the house and shut the door behind her. It was warm inside, but she was still shivering. Partially from the cold. But mostly with fear. This was getting worse, and she had no idea what to do about it.

  He was sitting on the couch, cradling a steaming coffee mug in both hands. He was on the side closest to the fireplace, no doubt to ward off the chill. The orange flames danced and crackled, creating both a real and a false warmth in the room.

  Zeb was standing at the end of the hearth, sipping coffee and merely waiting.

  “I know what you’re going to say, and I’m sorry, Irene. I lost track of time and stayed with a friend.”

  “Oh, Dawdi.” She went to him, knelt in front of him, and threw her arms around his neck. “You don’t need to apologize, but we do need to talk.”

  * * *

  She wasn’t sure how much of her talk actually penetrated the barrier of confusion that seemed to surround her grandfather. Zeb sat close, but not touching; supportive, but not talking. Him just being there lent her strength. But it was something she couldn’t rely on. Hadn’t he said he would be returning to Florida soon?

  “What time do you have to be at work today?” Zeb asked after her grandfather had gone to lie down.

  Work? She had forgotten all about having to work! She mentally traced her schedule. “Ten.”

  Zeb nodded.

  “How am I supposed to go to work and leave him here alone?” It just wasn’t possible. The job she had been dreaming about, waiting for, was about to slip through her fingers.

  “I’ll stay here.”

  His words were so plain and solid that she almost didn’t hear them. At least she wasn’t sure she had heard them correctly.

  “You can’t stay here.”

  “Why can’t I?”

  Why? A hundred reasons. A thousand reasons. Though right then, she couldn’t think of a single one.

  “I can’t ask you to do that.” She didn’t want to be beholden, but more than that, she didn’t want to take advantage of the tenuous relationship they had forged the night before. They had almost been back like they had been. Almost. Perhaps the closest they would ever be again—and she didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize it.

  “You didn’t ask. I offered.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t—”

  He took her hands, squeezing her fingers to focus her attention on him. “Yes,” he said sternly. “You can.”

  * * *

  Somehow she managed to do exactly as Zeb said. He promised to stay with her grandfather until she got home from work. She wanted to tell him no, but she knew that wasn’t a good idea.

  It is also a blessing to receive, her grandmother had continually said. For if no one was receiving, then how could others give? It made perfect sense to Ivy, maybe because she had been hearing it her entire life.

  Work was as expected. They had several orders to fill for the holidays. Rolls, bagels, breakfast buns, pies, cookies, and cakes. Ivy was thankful they were so busy. It kept her hands and mind occupied as she went through her day. There wasn’t much time left to worry about what her dawdi and Zeb were doing. Or, heaven forbid, what they were talking about.

  At the end of her shift, she gathered up some of their best cookies and wrapped them in wax paper. The stack went into a small paper sack. She wanted to give some to Ethan Dallas, as well, but she had already cleared it with Esther to bake those the Saturday before Christmas. By then all the orders would be complete and picked up. On that day, most were rushing around to get the last-minute things they had forgotten.

  She hopped on her tractor and headed for the house, belatedly wondering about supper. She had grown accustomed to her grandfather preparing something each day. But she had no idea if he had been up to the task today. Maybe she should have picked up some chicken from Kauffmans’, or even a pizza from the place off Main. But it was too late now. She was already halfway home, and darkness was quickly approaching.

  She was also a bit worried about what she would find when she returned to the house. Zeb had promised to stay, but she had no idea how his day had gone. Her grandfather had seemed docile that morning. Had his demeanor remained the same throughout, or had he resented having a grown-up babysitter? Had he even noticed?

  A healthy stream of smoke puffed up from the chimney. That was a sight better than the day before. But what was inside remained to be seen. She parked her tractor in its usual spot, pulled her scarf a little closer to her ears, and headed for the house. The temperature had definitely dropped during the day. She could only say a prayer of thanks to the good Lord for holding that change until today, after her grandfather was safe at home.

  She skipped up the porch steps and let herself into the house. If the weather kept this up for the next couple of days, they might end up with the elusive white Christmas. But she wasn’t wasting a prayer on that.

  “Ivy, is that you?” Zeb.

  Those few words shouldn’t have made her heart skip a beat, but they did. And another prayer of thanks went up toward heaven.

  “Jah.” She pulled off her coat and slipped the scarf from her head. She hung them both on the hooks near the front door and headed for the kitchen and the sound of Zeb’s voice.

  Her grandfather and Zeb were seated at the table playing Uno. The sight brought a quick smile to her lips. Zeb hated Uno. He had told her so himself. Yet he was playing it with Dawdi.

  “Having fun?” she asked.

  Neither one looked up from their game.

  “Jah,” Dawdi said.

  “Yep,” Zeb added.

  “I thought Uno wasn’t fun with only two people.”

  “We’re playing two each.”

  That explained a lot. Neither one took their attention from the game. Each held two hands of cards, literally, one in each hand.

  “Are you going to play or not?” Zeb asked.

  “I’m getting there,” her grandfather groused back.

  Had she missed something here? She turned and looked back to the door where she had entered. She had come in, but that was all. She looked back at these two men, both so important in her life. “I have cookies,” she said, holding up her brown paper sack.

  “Uh-huh,” they said at the same time. Still neither one looked at her.

  Her grandfather closed one of his hands, stacking the cards in front of him and freeing his fingers to pluck a card from the other hand. He laid it down on the pile, then snatched up his opposite hand.

  “I was hoping that was what you would do.” Zeb grinned. He slapped down a card.

  Her grandfather’s grin matched Zeb’s, then widened to a playfully sinister width. “And that’s what I was hoping you would do.” He slapped down another card with pleased aplomb.

  “Ugh!” Zeb groaned, then centered his attention on his cards once again.

  Ivy was at a loss. The game looked the same as any she had ever seen. So why the intensity?

  “I guess it’s sandwiches for supper.” As cold as it was outside, she could have used a big piping bowl of soup. Or chili. Maybe even chicken and dumplings. But her grandfather had never been good at dumplings. Not that he had remembered to cook anything. Apparently he had been too busy playing with Zeb. And there was no time to start them from scratch.

  She set the cookies on the table and marched over to the fridge. She didn’t want to feel jealous, but she was. She had gone
to work, kept herself exhaustingly busy in order not to worry about the two of them, and they had been here playing cards for how long she might not ever know. She was jealous that her grandfather got to spend the entire day with Zeb and that Zeb had kept her grandfather out of trouble. Wasn’t that her job? And now her job was to get them all supper? It didn’t seem quite fair.

  She wrenched open the icebox and peered into its depths. She needed sandwich stuff. That was the best they were getting from her tonight.

  “What are you doing?” Zeb asked.

  “Looking for something for supper,” she muttered in return. Where had all the sandwich stuff gone? Lunch meat? Cheese? Even the hothouse tomato she had picked up at the Super Saver.

  “Truce?” she heard Zeb say.

  “Bah,” her grandfather replied.

  “We said until Ivy got home.”

  “Eh,” her grandfather grunted.

  “She brought cookies,” Zeb reminded him.

  “Fine,” Dawdi grumbled. “Truce.”

  She turned around slowly, trying to keep her composure. “What happened to all the food?” she asked. She managed to keep her voice from rising. She wasn’t about to show them how juvenile and jealous over their friendship she had become.

  “It’s on the stove.” Zeb reached for the paper sack of cookies and peered inside. “Are there any peanut butter?”

  “Get me an oatmeal raisin.”

  Of course they expected her to bring home their individual favorites. Well, she had, but that they expected it rubbed her all wrong. She lifted the lid off the only pot sitting on the stove. The warm, savory smell of chicken and dumplings wafted up from the pot. Yummy chunks of chicken and perfect strips of dumplings in a thick, creamy broth. One thing was certain: these weren’t from her grandfather’s hand. “Where did these come from?”

  “Clara Rose made them for us,” Zeb mumbled around the bite of cookie in his mouth. “Good, jah?”

  Her grandfather shoved his entire cookie into his mouth and reached into the bag for another.

  Zeb snatched the bag away and shook his head. “Only one until after supper.”