A Wells Landing Christmas

by Amy Lillard

  “Zeb? You still there, boy?”

  Zeb stirred himself out of his thoughts. “Jah. Sorry.”

  Yonnie pinned him with a sharp stare. “What’s it going to be?”

  “Ivy told me to go home.”

  “I know. Is that what you want to do?” he asked again.

  “No.”

  Yonnie grinned. “Good, then. Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.”

  * * *

  Leave it to her grandfather to not care one iota about her wishes and let Zeb back in the house. It had been so hard puttering around inside knowing that Zeb was still outside, waiting. On what, she had no idea. But she had known all along that he was there. He could have easily walked back to the Detweilers’ and rejoined the after-church meal. He could have asked someone else to take him home. But he had sat outside for a while, then he got up and went into the barn. She knew what he was doing, but if she went out to talk to him about it, she would have to . . . well, talk to him. And that defeated the entire purpose of making him go home.

  She rested her crochet needle and yarn in her lap and glanced to where her grandfather sat. He was perched on the edge of the couch, bent over the checkerboard set up between him and Zeb.

  Any stranger coming in would think the game was of earth-shattering importance, with the attention he was giving it. But she knew he was just tickled to have a worthy opponent. Or maybe it was just a willing opponent. She didn’t care for checkers, at least not with her grandfather’s enthusiasm, and didn’t want to play with as much regularity as he preferred.

  Dawdi made his move and sat back in his seat with a wide grin. “King me,” he exclaimed with glee.

  Zeb shook his head and did as he was told. The game was slowly slipping out of his control, and this wasn’t the first one he had lost tonight. Ivy was beginning to wonder if he was deliberately letting her grandfather win. He might have been, but it didn’t seem to matter to Dawdi. He smiled with boyish joy and captured two more of Zeb’s red disks.

  Zeb threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay, that’s it. I’m not playing another game with you.”

  Dawdi snickered and started gathering up the pieces. “Not even tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure you should humiliate a man like that on the Lord’s birthday.”

  Her grandfather laughed. “Okay, then. I’ll give you a break. Or maybe I’ll let you win.”

  “That wouldn’t be very sporting of you,” Zeb complained, but he was still grinning.

  “You sure you don’t want to play one game?” Dawdi asked, switching his attention to her.

  Ivy shook her head. “Oh no. Not me.” She placed her crocheting into the basket beside her rocking chair and stood. “Anybody ready for cookies?”

  Dawdi grinned at Zeb. “That’s the best part of her new job. She’s always bringing home food.”

  “And he’s always eating it.” She pinned her grandfather with a playful stare. “You better watch it, or you’ll end up as big as a house.”

  He patted his stomach. “I manage to keep it off.”

  Zeb stood. “Do you need some help?”

  She shook her head. The last thing she needed was Zeb in the kitchen like they were a real couple, like that could ever be. “I’ve got it. Y’all do manly things until I get back.”

  She wasn’t sure what that meant, and from the confused looks on their faces, neither did they.

  With any luck, they would just stay where they were and let her have the small reprieve from the family playacting they had been participating in. And it was a reprieve she desperately needed. It was Christmas Eve, she had lost a good friend, and Zeb was stirring up feelings in her she had thought were dead and buried.

  She heated water for cocoa, added the mix to three mugs, then placed an extra marshmallow on top of each one. She gathered the cookies, loaded everything onto the tray, and carried it into the living room.

  Zeb was coming in the front door, his collar turned up against the cold. “Brrrr,” he said, nudging the door closed with his foot. In his arms he carried several logs for the fire. He grinned that boyish grin in her direction, then deposited the wood on top of the pile already in the wood box. He dusted his hands and held them out to warm them at the fire.

  “That should hold us till morning,” Dawdi said.

  She placed the tray on the coffee table.

  Zeb eyed it with interest, nodding toward the steaming mugs. “Is that hot chocolate?”

  “Jah. If course.” It wouldn’t be Christmas without it.

  “Yum.”

  “Wait until you taste these cookies,” Dawdi said. He plopped down onto the sofa and rubbed his hands together expectantly.

  “They’re not oatmeal raisin,” Ivy warned.

  Dawdi looked affronted. “Of course not. They better be sugar cookies. What I want to know is if you have one shaped like that Santa Claus fellow.”

  Zeb’s gaze jerked to hers, and Ivy had to look away. Why did something like Santa Claus keep popping up in their conversations? It was strange. And secular. And seemed most inappropriate. She supposed she could play it off, since she hadn’t joined the church. But it was only a matter of time before she got up her resolve and asked for forgiveness.

  Ivy took up a mug and took a tentative sip. This was one of their traditions, sugar cookies and hot chocolate on Christmas Eve. A little later they would light all the candles on the mantel and read the Christmas story from the Bible. It had always been this way, and there was no reason to change it this year. Her mother might be away and her father gone, but some traditions shouldn’t be broken.

  She settled down on the floor near the fire and tucked her legs under her skirt. The floor was cool, even through the blanket she sat on, but she loved watching the flames, imagining she saw images in the dancing orange.

  “What are you thinking about?” Zeb settled down next to her, close, but still far enough away that she would have to lean in order to touch him. That was fine. Good, even. She had no business touching him in any way.

  “I’ve always loved Christmas,” she said. Her voice sounded dreamy and far away, as if she were floating above instead of tethered to the ground.

  “Me too.”

  She took another drink of her cocoa, not because she really wanted it, but because she needed something to do. “Where’s Dawdi?”

  Zeb shook his head. “He was mumbling something about shirts and combs. I figure he either had to do a load of laundry or he was getting ready for bed.”

  “Maybe both.”

  He laughed. “Maybe.”

  They sat quietly for a moment. Ivy watched the flames, but she could tell that Zeb was watching her. This was no good; no good a’tall.

  She could turn, lean in a bit, and she would be able to press her mouth to his. It was something she had been thinking about since the first time she had seen him back in Wells Landing. Even before. Truth be known, she had never stopped thinking about his kiss, how secure she felt in his embrace, and how warm and happy his attention made her, not then . . . not now. But like it or not, that time was over. Long ago.

  She shifted, more to bring herself out of her thoughts and back to the matters at hand than because she was uncomfortable. “What’s Christmas like there?”

  He seemed as surprised by her question as she was at herself for asking it. “In Pinecraft?”

  She nodded. “Florida, jah.”

  He stared at the fire as he answered. “The same, I guess. The Gospel of Luke is the same all over, jah?”

  “I guess.” She set down her mug and picked up a cookie. It was shaped like a bell, with snow-white icing and red and green trim. It made her think of the bells in town. One of the Englisch churches had bells they played on Sunday mornings. Their gentle pealing could be heard all the way to Ivy’s house, and it always made her smile. Christmas was no different. The bells played out “Silent Night,” the notes carrying around their small community.

  “There have to be some sort of differen
ces. It’s not cold there, so hot cocoa is out, right?”

  He lifted his mug in salute. “Hot cocoa is always a good idea. Though I would turn the air conditioner up in order to balance it out.”

  “Air conditioner?” It took a moment for his words to sink in. Where there were air conditioners, there was electricity.

  “Did one of the places you stayed have electricity?” She had heard of people going to Pinecraft and letting loose, so to speak. What happens in Pinecraft stays in Pinecraft, wasn’t that what folks said? But she had never known anyone to actually do it.

  Zeb fingered a spot on his trousers, his gaze downcast as if he was thinking seriously about something.

  “Zeb?”

  He lifted those green eyes to hers. “Every place I stayed has electricity.”

  She drew back just a bit, purely out of reflex. “Oh. I didn’t . . . uh-huh.”

  “I met up with the Beachy Amish down there.” As far as explanations went, it was short but telling. The Beachy Amish were less conservative than any others, certainly more liberal than those in tiny Wells Landing. The Beachys drove cars and golf carts and had electricity in their homes. They also held church in a free-standing building, but most importantly of all, they held different beliefs than Old Order. Beachys believed in saved by grace. Did that mean . . . ?

  Zeb nodded as if reading her thoughts. “Jah,” he said. “I’ve learned about a lot of different ideas down there.”

  “And you believe them?” she whispered in return.

  He ducked his head and nodded, then raised it again, his chin at a defiant angle, as if he was waiting on her to argue the point with him. “I do.”

  “I see.” Ivy didn’t know how else to answer. In fact, she wasn’t the one to contradict him at all. She who started rumors about herself, continued in a wild rumspringa, who saw fit to keep everyone away in a community that thrived on togetherness. “And you drove a car?”

  “It’s not about driving a car.” He looked into the flames of the fire as if searching for the right words to say. “It’s about Jesus and his sacrifice.” He shook his head. “It’s Christmas,” he said. “We shouldn’t talk about such things.”

  Ivy couldn’t think of a better day to talk about Jesus other than Christmas. Maybe Easter. But she wanted to know more about what Zeb had learned in Pinecraft. She was curious, that was all. She had never been out of Wells Landing, except for the occasional shopping trip in Tulsa. She opened her mouth to ask, then shut it again as her grandfather came back into the room.

  “Well, now,” he said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “Who’s ready to read Luke?”

  * * *

  “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.”

  Zeb listened to the words as Yonnie began to read. His voice was soothing and comfortable, and Zeb wanted to close his eyes and allow the story to wash over him, swirl around him.

  He couldn’t say how many times in his life he had heard the story of Jesus’s birth. Definitely too many to count. But somehow tonight the words held more meaning. Maybe it was the Beachy influence on his thinking. He could only imagine how Mary had felt, knowing that her son was the son of God. How had Joseph felt, knowing that his wife carried the child of another? Zeb didn’t know a man who would take such news as well as Joseph had. But other things occurred to him as well.

  How sad that no one could find room for a pregnant woman for the night. How pitiful that she was forced to sleep in the barn among the animals. Everyone talked about how terrible times were today, but he would have given his room up to a woman with child. Without a second thought. What did that say about those times?

  And Jesus. He was just a baby, with baby thoughts and baby needs, but he would soon grow up to be a man with a higher purpose. And he accepted that purpose with more grace and dignity than any other could have. Jesus knew he came to earth to die for others. What a weight he must have carried. In that understanding, Zeb couldn’t imagine how anyone could turn away from the notion of saved by grace. If they did, that would mean Jesus came and died for nothing. It was a thought not worth having.

  Yet Zeb didn’t feel the drive to change the minds of everyone in Wells Landing. It didn’t seem right somehow. These were their beliefs, and he wouldn’t want anyone trying to change them. He had stumbled upon the Beachys and fallen into the doctrine all on his own. For him it had been at the hand of God. He couldn’t force the ideals onto anyone else. Not his father. Not even Ivy.

  Like it would matter. He could tell her till he was blue in the face, and she could believe or not believe. Then he would go back to Florida and she would stay here. And what good would any of it be then?

  “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” Yonnie closed the Bible and wiped the tears from under his eyes with one finger. The motion pushed his glasses a little higher on his nose, then they dropped back into place. “Well, now,” he said, his voice rusty with emotion. “I think it’s time for bed.” He stretched as if to illustrate his point. “Santa Claus won’t come if you’re awake.”

  Ivy rolled her eyes, but the action seemed playful instead of exasperated. “Dawdi.” Her voice held just a small beat of warning.

  “Just playing, granddaughter.” He bent and kissed the top of her head, then placed the Bible back in the bookcase. “Don’t stay up too late.” Then he disappeared up the stairs.

  Yonnie’s footsteps faded to silence. The fire crackled beside them. Ivy sat across from him. They had been alone before. So why was he so aware of her now?

  Because this was the closest to a real date they had ever had. They had always been sneaking around, since they weren’t allowed to date. If they had been allowed, they would have had many times like tonight, sitting together alone in the dark, talking about the future.

  But not now.

  “I’m sorry about Ethan Dallas,” Zeb said. He shouldn’t have brought it up, but he had to say something to break the heavy silence between them.

  “I’m thinking about going over there tomorrow.”

  “Why? I mean, it’s Christmas.”

  “That’s why.” She gestured around them with a sweep of one arm. “We have so much. Food, friends, fellowship. We should offer that to those who don’t.”

  She was right. If yesterday was any indication, there wouldn’t be many residents left at the home, but those who were would need them most of all. Why shouldn’t they spend their day making others happy? In turn, it might bring them both some joy and peace. Heaven knew he could use it. “What about your grandfather?”

  “He can come too. Or maybe we could go when Tassie and Karl come over.”

  Zeb shook his head. “I feel like she has her sights set on Yonnie.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s looking to get married again,” Zeb said simply.

  “You think?”

  He shrugged. “Sure looks that way to me.”

  Ivy seemed to mull it over for a moment. “I know she likes him. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I’m not sure Dawdi is up for remarrying. His memory is getting worse. I mean, sometimes he’s fine, but when he forgets, it’s worse than ever before. How could someone as small as Tassie take care of him?” Lines of worry creased her brow.

  “Maybe that’s why she keeps Karl close.”

  Ivy made a face. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “I guess you could always ask him.”

  “Dawdi or Karl?”

  He laughed. “Your dawdi.”

  “I don’t know. I think I would feel weird talking to him about such things.”

  “Weird enough that you would chance having Tassie for your new grandmother?”

  Ivy’s eyes widened. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  They fell silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. The holiday, remarrying, and memory problems.

 
“What are you going to do when his memory gets worse?” Zeb finally asked. He could tell by the look on her face this was something Ivy had thought about time and again, but she’d never talked to anyone about it.

  “I don’t know. Move to Indiana, I guess.”

  “It gets cold up there,” Zeb said.

  “You’ve been there?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I can read. Their winters are much longer than the ones here.” And longer than the ones in Florida, where winter became months on the calendar instead of an actual season.

  “He would hate it there,” Ivy said.

  Zeb knew it was pure speculation, but she was right. He couldn’t imagine Yonnie Weaver in Indiana. “There are a lot of older folks in Pinecraft,” he said. “It’s kind of a joke, there are so many.”

  “A joke?”

  “The tourists come down this time of year. You know, when it gets cold here and farther north. But the ones who stay year-round? Most of them are his age and older.”

  “The warmth is probably easier on their arthritis.”

  “Probably,” Zeb said.

  “Maybe we’ll do that,” Ivy mused. “Move to Indiana but spend the winters in Pinecraft.”

  “That’d be good.” He could see Yonnie now, playing shuffleboard and riding one of the adult-sized tricycles. Yonnie would love it there. He just knew it. And he could see Ivy walking along the beach, baking cookies in one of the local eateries. At least then he could spend the winters with her. And that was a far sight better than the last two years had been.

  But still he wanted more. He wanted her all the time. Every day. As his wife. His life mate. His love. And right now, he wanted to lean in and kiss her.

  Instead he pushed himself to his feet. “It’s getting late.” He faked a yawn as if to prove his point. “I guess we should be heading to bed.”

  She stood up next to him. “Are you afraid Santa won’t come?”

  He shook his head. It was way too late for that anyhow.

  * * *

  Ivy sat on the edge of her bed and took the pins from her hair. She released the barrettes and then slid the elastic ponytail holder down. With her hair pulled over one shoulder, she began to brush it.