by Beth Wiseman
She let the curtains fall and breathed in the scent of wintergreen and cinnamon. The spirit of the holiday was in the air. Her mother had started decorating for the season—placing pine boughs, cinnamon sticks tied with winter-white ribbon, and dried orange slices in a small arrangement on an end table near the front window in the living room. Like all her decorating, she kept it simple, yet lovely.
A few minutes later she went into the kitchen. Her mother stood by the stove, peeling off the foil from a pie plate. “What’s that?” Anne Marie asked.
“A new pumpkin pie recipe I tried yesterday. I’m hoping it will be gut enough for this year’s Christmas cookbook.” Her mother looked at her. “Would you like to try some?”
Anne Marie frowned. “Pumpkin? Nee.”
“I thought you liked pumpkin.”
“That must be your other dochder.”
“I only have one dochder, and she’s handful enough.”
Anne Marie chuckled as she moved closer to her mother and peeked at the pie. Flawless, as usual, with a golden, high-edged crust. It looked appetizing—to someone who liked pumpkin.
Mamm picked up a knife and sliced a small wedge. She put the piece on a nearby saucer. “Nathaniel’s not here yet?”
“Nee.” She frowned.
She heard a light tapping sound on the window of the back door. She turned and saw her friend Ruth Troyer waving a mitten-covered hand.
Anne Marie opened the door and let Ruth inside. “This is a surprise.”
Ruth smiled, the tip of her nose red from the cold air. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by for a minute.” She looked at Anne Marie’s mother. “Frau Smucker.”
“Hallo, Ruth. Would you like a piece of pie?” Mamm asked.
“Nee. I just need to speak with Anne Marie for a minute.” Ruth came closer to her and leaned in, her honey-colored eyes wide with curiosity. “Is Nathaniel here?”
Anne Marie shook her head. “He’s a little late tonight.”
Ruth let out a breath. “Gut.” She lowered her voice. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“We can geh into the living room.”
Once they entered the room, Ruth walked to the coffee table where Anne Marie had laid out the Scrabble board and tiles. “I see you’re ready for your game night.” She looked at Anne Marie. “I wish you’d come to the singing with me and Hannah tonight. You used to like them.”
“I did when I was younger. I don’t really see a reason to geh anymore.”
Ruth frowned. “Because you’re busy with Nathaniel?”
It seemed like the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. Anne Marie blinked. “Is something wrong, Ruth?”
Her friend paused. “Not really. It’s just . . .” Ruth clasped her hands together, her mittens making a soft clapping sound as they met. “I need your help.”
“Of course.”
“But I need to know something first.”
Anne Marie nodded. “What’s that?”
“Are you and Nathaniel together?”
That was the last thing she expected Ruth to say. “What? Of course not.”
Ruth blew out a breath. “Gut. Then you can help me get Nathaniel’s attention.”
“Attention? Why?”
Ruth cocked her head and rolled her eyes. “I have to explain it to you?”
Anne Marie paused. Then her eyes widened. “You like Nathaniel?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re just as oblivious as he is.”
“What?”
Ruth put her hands on the back of the chair near the coffee table. “I don’t know what to do to get him to notice me. I’ve dropped so many hints on him the past couple of weeks, I’m surprised he doesn’t have a headache. I even asked him to tonight’s singing. But then he reminded me about Sunday game night, which of course he couldn’t miss.”
Was that a touch of bitterness in Ruth’s tone? “I didn’t know you felt that way about him,” Anne Marie said.
“Now you do. So, will you help me?”
Anne Marie turned up the damper on the woodstove in the corner of the room. “I’m not sure what I can do.”
“You can give us your blessing.”
She whirled around, confused. “Ruth, I’m not Nathaniel’s keeper. He’s free to court anyone he wants to.”
Ruth dug her hands into her coat pockets. “You know how shy he is, so if you’ll just give him a nudge in mei direction. A small one. Then I’ll take care of the rest.” Before Anne Marie could respond, Ruth added, “I have to geh or Hannah will have a fit.” She touched Anne Marie on the arm. “Danki.”
“You’re wel—”
But Ruth had disappeared before the words left Anne Marie’s mouth.
She stood there in the living room, feeling the warmth of the woodstove and looking at the Scrabble board, trying to absorb what her friend had told her. Ruth liked Nathaniel. She hadn’t seen that coming. She also hadn’t thought her friend would be so forward about it. And she wouldn’t consider Nathaniel shy. Reserved, sometimes. But not shy. As she walked back to the kitchen, she tried to picture Ruth and Nathaniel as a couple. But she couldn’t see him with Ruth. She thought about other young women in the district. Who would she pair up with Nathaniel? For some reason, she couldn’t imagine him with anyone.
“Ruth blew out of here in a hurry.” Mamm wiped down the counter to the left of the white cast-iron sink. “Is everything all right?”
“Ya. I guess.”
Mamm lifted a questioning brow. “What does that mean?”
“Sorry I’m late.” Nathaniel appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Jonah let me in.” He’d already removed his jacket and hat, his thick, dark-brown hair popping up in hanks all over his head. He tried smoothing it down, but it was no use. He’d always had trouble taming his hair. When they were sixteen he had come over to help her spread sawdust on the floor of the barn. Before they started, he’d tripped into the huge pile. She remembered how the small chips of wood and dust had stuck in his hair, how she’d run her fingers through the thick strands to help him get it out . . .
“Something smells gut.” He lifted his nose as he stepped into the kitchen.
Anne Marie shook her head, clearing her mind of the memory, and the tingly sensation suddenly coursing through her.
“What are you making, Lydia?” Nathaniel asked.
“Pumpkin pie.” Mamm cast a sharp look at Anne Marie. “Keep your comments to yourself.”
Anne Marie held up her palms. “I wasn’t going to say a word.”
“Are there samples?” Nathaniel asked.
“Of course.” Her mother cut another slice. “I’m glad someone appreciates my cooking.”
“Now that’s not fair,” Anne Marie said. “You know I like everything you make. Everything that doesn’t contain pumpkin, that is. Plus, your cookbooks are in such high demand, we can barely keep up production. Clearly, many people in Paradise love your recipes.” She moved away from the counter. “That reminds me, I can help you bind the rest of the cookbooks and fill the Christmas orders. It’s just a couple weeks away.”
“I think you have enough to do with your candle orders,” Mamm said.
“I can handle both.”
“Always thinking about work.” Mamm shook her head. “We have time.” She looked at Nathaniel, then at Anne Marie. “Now geh play your game.”
When they entered the living room, he moved one of the chairs closer to the coffee table and sat down. He leaned over and started selecting tiles. But Anne Marie’s mind wasn’t on Scrabble. She was still thinking about Ruth’s request. How should she tell him that Ruth liked him? Just blurt it out? Hint at it? She had no idea what Ruth meant by nudging Nathaniel in her direction. She’d never played matchmaker before.
He glanced up. “You going to sit down?”
She looked at him. Saw the competitive gleam in his eye. Ruth could wait—they had a game to play. She grinned and sat down.
He wiggled his dark brows. “Ready to lose?
”
“Um, nee. When was the last time you beat me at Scrabble?”
“A month ago.”
“I let you win.”
He smiled and clasped his hands behind his head. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Determined to prove him wrong, they began to play . . . and she forgot all about Ruth.
Nearly two hours later, the game was almost tied. Nathaniel didn’t know how she did it. But with stealthy play and a lot of thought—sometimes so much thought he had to prod her to take her turn—she’d racked up the points. She twisted the end of one of her kapp strings as she surveyed the board. Her thin finger traced a line across the top of one of her tiles leaning against the holder, her blond eyebrows forming a V above her pale-blue eyes. He tapped his foot, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. “Anytime now.”
“Don’t rush me. I’m thinking.”
“Think a little faster. I have to get home.”
“Ready for more pie?” Nathaniel looked up to see Lydia walk into the living room carrying a tray with one piece of pie and two glasses of tea. Anne Marie took the glass. She sipped, her attention still on the board. Nathaniel accepted the pie and tea. “Danki.” He took a huge bite, the taste of cinnamon and pumpkin exploding in his mouth. There was a good reason Lydia Smucker’s holiday cookbooks sold out every year right before Christmas. He scooped a smaller portion with his fork and held it out to Anne Marie. “Sure you don’t want a little taste?”
She smirked at his offering. “Ya. I’m sure.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” He waved it in front of her. “It’s the best pumpkin pie I’ve ever had.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Nathaniel,” Lydia said.
He moved his fork closer to Anne Marie. “I know why you won’t try this.”
She folded her arms. “Why?”
“Because you’re afraid you might like it. Then you’ll have to admit you were wrong.”
“Fine.” She grabbed the fork and stuck the tip of her tongue to the pie. She closed her mouth and smacked her lips. “I tasted it. I still don’t like it.”
“More for me, then.” He finished off the bite, looking up at Lydia. He paused at her puzzled look, the fork still in his mouth. “What?”
Anne Marie’s mother looked at him, then at her daughter. “Nix. Just . . . nix.” She turned and left the room.
“What was that about?” Nathaniel asked after he polished off the bite.
Anne Marie shrugged, still focused on the game board. With a swift movement she grabbed the rest of the tiles on her stand and placed them on the board. T A S T Y. She gave him a triumphant smile.
“More like ironic.” He set down the empty dish. “Congratulations. You won.”
Her smile widened, the tiny scar at the corner of her mouth disappearing. He remembered the day she’d gotten it. They were both seven, and he’d pushed her a little too hard in the swing at school. She face planted on the ground and the ragged edge of a stone had sliced her lip. Thirteen years later, he still felt bad about it.
After cleaning up the game, he and Anne Marie walked to his buggy. “Same time next week?” He grabbed the horse’s reins. “Although I’m picking the game this time.”
“Life on the Farm?”
“Of course.” He unwrapped the reins from the hitching post underneath the barn awning and took the blanket off his horse. He folded it and tossed it in the buggy.
“Before you geh . . .” She moved nearer, rubbing her arms through the thin long sleeves of her dress. “I have something to tell you.”
“Okay.” He faced her.
“Um . . .” She looked away.
Nathaniel frowned. “Is something wrong?” She had never been hesitant to talk to him before.
“Nee.” She faced him again, drawing in a breath. “Ruth Troyer likes you.” The words flew out of her mouth like a caged bird being set free.
He leaned against the buggy, his cheeks heating against his will. Ruth was one of the prettiest girls in their district, but he had never thought about her romantically.
“Well?” Anne Marie drew her arms closer to her chest.
“Well what?”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. Give me a minute to think.”
“You should probably ask her out.” Her eyes narrowed in the faint yellow light from the lamppost down the street.
He didn’t respond. He’d gone out with a couple of maed in the past two years. Yet he wouldn’t have called the dates successful. More like awkward. And forgettable.
“Don’t be so gun-shy.” Anne Marie rubbed his horse’s nose.
“Don’t be so bossy.”
She glanced at him. “Sorry.” She faced him. “Nathaniel, if you don’t ask her out, you’ll never know if you’re well suited. Maybe ask her to next week’s singing.”
“What about our game night?”
“We can miss it for one week. Especially for a gut reason.”
Nathaniel climbed into the buggy. “I’ll think about it.” He looked at her. “Why are you so eager for me and Ruth to geh out?”
She took a step back and looked at the ground. “Because . . .”
“Because?”
She finally met his gaze. “I just think you two would be a gut couple. That’s all.” She turned and hurried toward her house.
“Gut nacht,” he called after her.
She gave him a half wave and ran inside, like she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
Huh. He frowned, wondering why she was acting strange all of a sudden. Things were fine all evening until she brought up Ruth. Was something else going on? Maybe, but knowing Anne Marie he’d have to pry it out of her. Or wait until she was ready to tell him.
He tapped on the horse’s flank with the reins and headed home, his mind on Anne Marie, not Ruth Troyer.
CHAPTER TWO
After Nathaniel drove off, Anne Marie walked into the living room, rubbing her hands together to warm her cold fingers. She’d done her duty where Ruth was concerned. Yet something didn’t feel right. Ruth was one of Anne Marie’s closest friends. She was kind to everyone, one of the more intelligent people she knew, and of course, extremely pretty. Yet despite all of Ruth’s wonderful qualities, one question kept nagging at her.
Was she good enough for Nathaniel?
She snatched up the half-empty tea glasses off the coffee table, feeling guilty for even thinking such a thing. Who was she to judge Ruth? Still, she had to wonder. Nathaniel deserved someone special. Someone who could appreciate his quiet nature, his almost obsessive attention to small details, his ability to make sure everyone around him felt comfortable, his—
“Yer boyfriend gone already?” Her younger brother Christopher walked into the room.
Anne Marie grimaced. Fifteen-year-old brothers were a thorn. The tea glasses clanked together in her hand. “That joke is getting old.”
“Not as old as you.” Christopher laughed and left the room.
Anne Marie sighed. Christopher never missed a chance to tease her about Nathaniel. At least her other brother, Jonah, left their friendship alone. She entered the empty kitchen. “Mamm?” No answer. Odd, since the pie remained uncovered on the counter and her mother never left food sitting out. Anne Marie placed the foil over the pie plate and crimped the edges. Then she started on the dishes. She had just finished washing the last tea glass when her mother scurried into the room.
“Danki for cleaning up, Anne Marie. I meant to do that. I went upstairs for a moment and got distracted.” A small smile formed on her mother’s face as she grabbed a rag and started wiping down the table.
Anne Marie put the glasses away. “You seem happy tonight. Any particular reason?”
“I’m excited about Christmas,” Mamm said quickly. She looked at Anne Marie. “Aren’t you?”
“I will be once all the candles are made.”
Her mother patted her on the shoulder. “I’m so glad
you’ve taken over that part of our business. I just couldn’t do both anymore.”
“I’m happy to do it. And remember, I can help with the cookbooks too.”
Her mother shook out the rag over the sink. “I don’t want you to spend all your time working. You need to geh out and socialize more.”
“I plan to visit Aenti Miriam before she has her boppli.”
Her mother lifted her brow. “Anyone else?”
“If I have time.”
“We make time for the people who are important to us.”
“Which is why I’m going to visit Aenti Miriam.” At her mother’s sigh, Anne Marie held up her hands. “What?”
“Never mind. Gut nacht, Anne Marie.”
Anne Marie shrugged and completed the finishing touches in the kitchen before heading to her room. She unpinned her kapp, giving one last thought to what her mother said. Lately Mamm had been making comments about Anne Marie spending more time with her friends. Anne Marie was satisfied with her life—she loved her candle business, and she saw her friends more than her mother realized. Just because she didn’t go to singings or date didn’t mean she didn’t have a social life, or that she wasn’t happy.
Yes, things were fine the way they were.
Anne Marie turned off the battery-powered lamp on her bedside table and snuggled under several thick quilts her aunt Miriam had made over the years. She thanked God for all the blessings in her life before closing her eyes and drifting to sleep.
After what seemed like only seconds later, the door to her room flew open. Her mother rushed to the bed. “Anne Marie! Seth is here.”
She sat up, bleary eyed. “What?”
“It’s Miriam. She’s having the boppli.”
“But it’s early yet—”
“Get dressed. We must hurry.”
Anne Marie scrambled out of bed, the sense of peace she’d felt before falling asleep replaced by alarm over her aunt going into early labor. She said a short, heartfelt prayer for her aenti Miriam’s safety, and for the health of the unborn child.