An Amish Second Christmas

by Beth Wiseman

  “When I was telling my nieces and nephews about the story of the shepherds, I couldn’t help but think of you. I appreciate the way you don’t walk around proud. Your humility and service to others has made me want to get to know you better.”

  She studied his face, trying to figure out where this was going, and wondering why it was so important that he tell her this now. The air was cold and it numbed her cheeks. Esther hugged her arms tighter to her chest and wished he’d hurry it along.

  “I have something for you, Esther.” He pulled something white from his pocket and unfolded it. “It’s my mem’s apron. I wish she could meet you—just wake up for a little while and see your smile. But I want you to have this as you begin your pies. To wear it. I want you to know how much I care.”

  “Wait.” Esther held up her hands. “Let me be sure I understand. Your mem is not conscious. She had a stroke, and you’ve been caring for her. I am concerned for her. We’ve been together every day for the last week and you’re just now telling me about this?”

  She took a step back. Ammon’s eyes grew round. “Ja, but we’ve been talking about happy things. It’s too hard talking about my mem, so . . .”

  “I-I wish you would have told me sooner.” She looked down at the apron. She should be honored, but a cold chill swept through her. What else had he not told her?

  “As much as I’d love to take this, Ammon, I can’t. This is happening too fast. There is so much I need to learn about you. Accepting that—accepting your mem’s apron—seems like it’s a commitment I’m not ready to make.”

  A frown furrowed his brow. “It’s not like I’m ready to publish our wedding, Esther. I just wanted you to know that I’d like to consider you more than a friend.”

  She looked up at the dark sky and all the stars, wishing the words were written in them, words to give him hope but not to make too big of a commitment.

  “Listen,” she finally said. “I enjoy you. I enjoy your family, but there is so much more I need to know—about your plans, about your life and where you want to live . . .”

  “I’d love to tell you. Any questions feel free—”

  She held up a hand, halting his words. “Not now. Not today. I—” And then she remembered. Her pies! She had to finish them before the regular bakers came and took over the kitchen.

  Esther glanced back over her shoulder at the front door, as if expecting smoke to be pouring out. How long had she been out here? Long enough for the pies to burn for certain.

  “I have to go back in. I have two pies in the oven.” She turned away and moved toward the restaurant, leaving him standing with the apron still in his hands. Her heart thumped in her chest as she moved with quickened steps.

  “Esther, wait,” his voice called out, echoing through the still, quiet morning.

  “I can’t!” she called just as her first foot touched the wooden step. Too late she remembered the thin layer of ice. Her foot spun out, propelling her body forward. She tried to catch herself. Her right hand hit first, and she heard a loud cracking sound at the same moment pain shot up her wrist and arm. It sounded like the crunching of eggshells. Her body tumbled to the ground as a moan escaped her.

  “Esther!” Ammon’s voice echoed in her ears. A wave of nausea fell on her as she felt the first stabs of pain. Her whole body was cold, but all she could think about were the pies. “You have to get in there, Ammon. You have to go get those pies out of the oven . . . before they burn down the place.”

  He gingerly walked up the icy steps and then moved to the door. “I’ll be right back, Esther! I’ll be right back!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Thankfully Annie’s personal number was listed by the phone inside the store. Ammon had called her and without hesitating, Annie had picked them up and driven them down to Eureka. Even in the warm car, Esther’s face was white. She trembled from the pain and Ammon wished he could do something—anything—for her.

  They made it to urgent care and the doctor ordered an X-ray. By then her wrist was purple and swollen. There was no question that it was broken. The doctor was just checking to see how badly.

  Esther had Annie call the store and ask about the pies that still needed to be baked.

  “Yes, Jenny took care of them.” Annie patted her hand. “There is no need to worry.”

  “But even with those baked, that’s only six done, just a fraction of what I need for the orders.” She looked down at her wrist. “There is no way I can finish them now.”

  Ammon blew out a sigh, and he held back his words. Did she know how ridiculous she sounded? “I’m just glad that you’re going to be all right, Esther,” he said. “That’s what matters most.”

  She nodded but he could tell that she didn’t believe him. Not entirely.

  The door opened and the doctor came in. “I’m sorry to say, miss, that it’s worse than I thought. It’s fractured in two places. I’m going to put a cast on and you’re going to have to wear it for two months.”

  “Two months?” Esther gasped. She didn’t say anything more, but Ammon could read her thoughts. Two months without cooking, baking, or taking care of the baby. Two months of idleness was a curse to an Amish woman.

  Ammon and Annie sat with her and watched as the doctor put the cast on. He gave her medicine for the pain, and Esther slept the whole drive back to West Kootenai.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her,” Hannah had said as Annie dropped her off. Esther’s only response was a frown.

  Ammon stopped by the next day, but Hannah said that Esther was napping. Two days later, when he came by again, Ammon could see her through the kitchen window as he strode up the front porch steps. Esther let him in but it seemed like there was a wall around her heart. They talked about his mem. He told her more about the stroke. They talked about baby Mark and about the six pies that were delivered.

  “At least some of the people on the list got one,” she said.

  Ammon was just about to leave when something inside told him there was more they needed to talk about.

  “Esther, can I ask you something?”

  She must have seen the serious look on his face because her eyes widened. “Ja, I suppose.”

  Ammon returned to the kitchen chair where he’d been sitting, thankful that Hannah and the baby had left for the day.

  “It seems you are reluctant to share your heart with others. Has someone hurt you?”

  “What do you mean?” She cradled her casted arm.

  “Vell, I’ve asked you a few times to tell me about your life in Sugarcreek, and your family, and you give me just a few details. But whenever the questions go deeper, you turn the attention back to me.”

  “I suppose it’s because I love hearing your stories, that’s all. You never did finish telling me about Mexico and what you saw—”

  “See!” Ammon pointed his finger. “You’re doing it again.”

  Esther’s mouth circled into an O. Her eyes widened. “Ja, I suppose I did.” She lowered her head slightly, peering down at her cast. “I guess that means you’re not going to tell me more about Mexico.”

  “Not until I hear more about you.”

  She nodded and he waited. He’d wait all day if he had to. He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Esther didn’t deserve a man like Ammon. He’d been so tender when she’d fallen on the ice. He’d stayed by her side when she’d gone to urgent care, and he was here now. His consistency gave her hope. Maybe she had seen enough of his character to open her heart. Lord, show me. Help me to trust.

  Ammon wanted to know more about her. She could tell him trivial things, but from the look on his face, he wasn’t going to allow that. She might as well go to the heart of the matter.

  Esther looked to the wood-burning stove, as if it was holding her secret, and then she turned back to him. “I have a twin sister,” she finally said. “She was my best friend during most of our growing-up years.”

  “Was?” Ammon tilted his head slightly.


  She realized, then, she’d been hiding plenty too.

  “She still is a gut friend, but she’s busy spending time with her new husband. Violet is pleasant and kind. She has a wonderful sense of humor.”

  “It sounds like someone I know.” He smiled.

  “Me?” Esther asked. Her heartbeat quickened slightly.

  “Of course.”

  “Everyone in Sugarcreek will tell you that I’m nothing like my sister.” She swallowed down a mixture of pleasure and worry. She wanted him to keep thinking of her like that, but was afraid there’d come a time when he saw her as she truly was.

  “I wouldn’t know, Esther, but I do believe you have all those wonderful qualities. I enjoyed getting to know you over that first piece of pie, and each time I learn more, I appreciate the woman you are.”

  Esther didn’t know what to say to that. She’d never had anyone speak to her in such a manner, and definitely no one as wonderful and interesting as Ammon. The light from the lantern brightened his face, his smile.

  A greater heat than that of the lantern and fire lighted inside her. Adoring eyes looked at her, and she squirmed under his gaze. Esther told herself to release the breath she was holding. She didn’t know how to respond to his kind words.

  “Violet does the most beautiful stitching, and she’s often invited to sewing frolics. She was just married a few months ago. Her beau was from Berlin, but they bought a small place in Walnut Creek, halfway between his town and ours.”

  Ammon nodded and there was humor in his gaze. She was doing it again, getting the attention off of herself, but old habits were hard to break.

  “I never thought I lived up to my sister, but I think I’m beginning to understand what Mem has been telling me my whole life. We are different people, but neither is better. She is not better than me . . . and I am no better than her.”

  Ammon smiled. “And what has you believing that? What’s changed?”

  Esther wanted to tell him that he’d helped—seeing the care in his eyes, but she couldn’t be that transparent. Not yet. So instead she tried to share the other part of the truth.

  “Well, everyone was so caring, even after I had to cancel their pie orders. Hannah’s been so good to me, and you too. I like to think that you all care for me as I really am.”

  “We do.” His voice lowered. “I do.”

  Butterflies danced in her stomach. “I guess that it’s taken me sitting still—not using my hand—to learn that.”

  “And I have to say I like that too. Not only that you’re letting God’s truth sink deep into your heart, but I like having you all to myself.” He reached over and took her left hand. “I like seeing you be still.”

  “I don’t sit still very often.” Esther laid her casted arm over her chest.

  He chuckled. “You think I don’t know that?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They had a simple but wonderful Christmas dinner at Hannah’s house. Ammon had stopped by and then he asked if she’d like to meet someone special.

  The small cabin was warm and the older woman lay in a hospital bed by the windows. Esther approached and smiled, tears filling her eyes. “I wish I’d had the chance to know you. I wish we could have baked together.” Ammon stood next to her, silent, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that he was thankful for this moment.

  “I’m not sure how much time she’ll have with us, but it helps to remember the woman she was. The woman who loved to bustle around the kitchen, just like you, Esther.”

  “You’ll have to tell me more,” she said. “When it’s not so hard—not because I want to change the subject, but because I really want to know.”

  Ammon nodded. “Ja, I would like that, but I have one more Christmas gift for you. It’s over at the Kraft and Grocery.”

  “At this late hour?” Esther looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost eight. “And on Christmas?”

  “Yes, come. I think you’re going to like it.”

  It was a short walk to the store, and Esther was surprised to see a few buggies still parked outside. Ammon held her good arm as she walked up the steps, but when they got inside, he motioned her toward the kitchen. “Go on, go ahead.”

  Esther walked into the kitchen and paused. Not only were all the lights on, but the kitchen was full of people. Her cousin Hannah, Deborah Shelter, Jenny and her daughter, Kenzie. Annie, along with a few other Englisch women Esther had met a few times. Hope and Eve Peachy were there, along with Marianna Stone, whose baby belly had grown seemingly overnight. Each wore a Christmas apron—the frilly red and green kind.

  But the most surprising of all was when Ammon walked into the kitchen and put on an oven mitt. “I’m all ready for service, ma’am.” He grinned.

  Her mouth dropped open, and she looked from face to face, finally settling on Ammon’s.

  “Ready for service? What do you mean?”

  “Well, I know we missed getting all of those pies ready for Christmas, but don’t we Amish celebrate Second Christmas?” he said. “We’re here to help you complete those orders. We know how hard it was for you to feel as if you let so many people down.”

  She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. “You-you’d do that for me? All of you? On Christmas?”

  “We won’t do it for you, but we’ll do it with you, if you tell us what to do,” Jenny piped up. “Around here, we’re always happy to help a friend.”

  “I-I, well, I don’t know what to say.”

  “I know how you feel about sharing your mem’s recipe and all,” Annie said, concern in her eyes. “If you don’t want to tell us, then we can work a system out. One person can measure one ingredient over and over. Just tell us what we need to do—”

  Esther thought about the recipe card. She’d left it back at Hannah’s house, but the recipe was simple and she knew it by heart. She thought about what Mem had told her, “Please don’t share this recipe.” She also knew the reason why. Mem needed that recipe—those pies—to secure her place in their community. But things were different for Esther. The friends who God had brought into her life were different.

  She looked around, paused at each face, each smile. She didn’t need to work to earn their love. Instead they gave it freely. These friends didn’t care for her because of what she could do for them. Instead they cared from the bottom of their hearts and wanted to assist her in doing what she couldn’t do herself.

  “That’s awful kind of you, Annie, for wanting to help me protect my recipe, but really there’s no need for that. Just all of you being here tells me that you care, and that you’re trustworthy. At first I didn’t know that. I need to explain to you . . . to all of you . . .” She turned her attention to Ammon. “I need you to know why I have pushed everyone away.”

  He nodded and waited for her to continue.

  “Back in Sugarcreek—as in every other Amish community—there are those who are most well-loved and those who are not. My dad never made much money in his business, and some of his shortcomings were well-known in the community. My sister overcame all of that with her beauty and her outgoing nature, and my mom was always known for her pies. No, actually for one certain pie. It made her special, and I felt it made me special too. Yet when I fell—when I failed—when I fell short, you all loved me just the same.”

  “Of course we did—you’re our friend.” It was Jenny who spoke.

  “It’s not your pies that make you special, Esther. It’s you.”

  “And that’s why I’m going to share the recipe. I trust all of you. And I know . . . well, it’s because of you that I shine bright.”

  “You’ll really shine when we all have pieces of that pie in our bellies.” Marianna Stone patted her large pregnant stomach. “I hope you don’t mind, Esther, if we make a few extras to share at the end of the day.”

  “Of course not.” Then Esther hurried to the chalkboard that the bakers used to write their work orders on, and she wrote down the recipe for vanilla crumb
pie. And as she stepped back from the board, she felt a freedom she’d never felt. She felt valued and important, not because of what she offered, but because of what God had given her—undeserved favor. Friends.

  The women set to work then. They rolled up their sleeves and got busy preheating, measuring, and mixing.

  Esther was standing next to Jenny, explaining how she and Mem always added a dash of vinegar to the piecrust—even though the recipe didn’t call for it—to keep the crust flaky, when Ammon approached.

  He held something behind his back. “Can I, uh, talk to you for a minute?”

  He shuffled from side to side and his brow was slightly furrowed. She pulled her casted arm to her chest, hugging it close as he led her into the dining area. Ammon paused beside the first table and motioned for her to sit.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” The word shot from his mouth. “Well, I don’t think so. I do have something for you.”

  Esther remembered the last time he’d said that. He’d offered her his mem’s apron and she’d refused his gift—refused him. She’d been such a fool to push Ammon away like that. Was he going to make the same offer twice?

  Ammon pulled something from behind his back. Esther’s heart sank to see that it wasn’t his mem’s apron. Instead it was a red and green one that matched those of all the women in the kitchen.

  “I know it’s fancy for an Amish woman, but Susan Carash made them for everyone. If you don’t want to wear—” He started to pull it back toward him.

  “Wait,” she interrupted. “It’s fancy, yes, but even more importantly, it’s a symbol of this community. When I leave here someday, I’ll have something to remember everyone by.”

  Ammon’s eyebrows lifted and he leaned in closer. He was no longer looking at the apron. Instead his eyes were focused on her face. “What did you say?”

  “I said it was fancy but—”

  He waved a hand. “No, not that. The other part.”

  “I said that it’ll be nice to have this to remember—”

  “After you leave?”