A Simple Christmas

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Marcus dropped onto the bed without undressing or pulling down the plain denim bedspread. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he should shower and hit the road before McKenzie or anyone else woke up in the morning, figuring to pin him down and keep track of him. They all meant well, but he was starting to understand that his road to hell was indeed paved with their good intentions.

  Chapter Four

  Rosalyn quickly crossed the parking lot of Zook’s Market and made a beeline toward the backyard and the white house she called home. While she’d been working in Nora’s store, the temperature had dropped enough that she could see her breath as she walked. Her shoes were getting soaked by the light snow that nestled in the clumpy grass, but she was too happy to care. She hurried past the chickens pecking in the fenced part of the yard, and she was soon at the edge of the large garden, tilled and empty with the onset of winter. She entered the mudroom, hung up her black coat and bonnet, and inhaled the fragrances of the pot roast and baked potatoes her sister Loretta was fixing for supper.

  “We sold three of my wreaths today!” she blurted out as she stepped into the kitchen. “I can’t believe how customers were snapping them up. Nora wants me to make more as soon as I can!”

  Loretta smiled from the stove, where she was stirring gravy in a skillet. “I’m amazed at how much merchandise she moves in her store—especially because she sells so many things that we make,” she added with a laugh. “Were there a lot of customers, or do you think folks will wait until the big open house this weekend to do their shopping?”

  “We were fairly busy, but I’m guessing there’ll be quite a crowd on Saturday.” Rosalyn glanced at their dat, who sat at the table reading his newspaper, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. “The store looks so pretty, Loretta. Nora’s hung a greenery garland along the upstairs railing, and the candles make the place smell so gut. She’s going to have hot spiced cider and a big tray of Lena Witmer’s decorated Christmas cookies to serve on Saturday. It’ll be more like a Christmas party than a job!”

  “Christmas.” Dat spat the word as though it tasted like a bitter pill. “Don’t get any wild ideas about decorating the house or exchanging gifts this year. With your mother gone, I have nothing to celebrate.”

  Rosalyn turned to study their father. “You’ve said that for the past five years, Dat,” she murmured sadly. “We were all hoping that for our first Christmas in Willow Ridge, we could at least put out the Nativity scene—”

  “Forget it,” he muttered.

  “And we’d like to send Christmas cards to our friends in Roseville,” Loretta put in as she removed the skillet from the stove.

  Dat stared at Loretta as though she’d sprouted a second head. “Do you know how much postage that would cost us?” he demanded. “I warned you both that working in Nora’s store would give you extravagant ideas about spending money for things. We do not need more things in our lives.”

  “But the Nativity set’s been in Mamm’s family for generations,” Rosalyn pointed out. “And it won’t cost a cent to clip some evergreen branches from the trees across the road—”

  “Case closed!” Dat declared as he slammed his paper to the tabletop. “It’s going to be a very simple Christmas this year, girls. We’ll spend the day quietly remembering the Lord’s humble birth without all the trappings and trimmings. And don’t plan anything or figure on a big fancy dinner on Second Christmas, either. End of discussion.”

  Rosalyn pressed her lips together to keep from protesting again as Dat strode toward the basement door, headed for his clock repair shop. When the tattoo of his descending footsteps on the stairs ended, she moved closer to Loretta. “Has he been this cranky all day?” she whispered.

  Loretta shrugged in bewilderment. “You know how it is,” she replied. “Only takes one wrong word to set him off. I’m glad I get to work at Nora’s store tomorrow.”

  “His grief counseling sessions with Bishop Tom don’t seem to be helping,” Rosalyn observed. She picked up the bowl that contained the flour and other dry ingredients for biscuits, and added the milk her sister had already poured into a glass measuring cup.

  “He’s gotten worse, if you ask me,” Loretta said under her breath. “Ever since Preacher Ben and Bishop Tom came here to confront him about whatever he was doing during his trips to Kansas City—besides buying clock parts—he’s had a really short fuse.”

  “Jah, and Nora refuses to say what she and Drew caught him doing, that day they followed him and his driver.” Rosalyn stirred the biscuit batter with rapid strokes of her spoon until it grew stiff. “Why is it such a big secret? It would be so much easier to understand if we knew the truth.”

  “Drew’s not saying a word, either—not even to me,” Loretta said, exasperated. “You’d think, since I’m his wife and we’re Dat’s daughters, he and Nora would fill us in so we wouldn’t worry so much about it.”

  Rosalyn sprinkled flour on the countertop and began to knead the biscuit dough. She clearly recalled the day Ben Hooley and Tom Hostetler had appeared at the door and insisted that she and Loretta leave the house while they talked to Dat. Not long after that, the bishop had made a surprise visit and had carried away a long white contraption—an air conditioner Dat had secretly been running on his clock shop wall with power from the solar panel on the roof. She got a nervous stomach every time she tried to figure out Dat’s mysterious situation. “Did you see the letter that came yesterday with Past Due marked on it?” she asked. “Why would we be getting those?”

  Loretta’s eyes widened. “I had no idea we were,” she replied in a tremulous whisper. “He always takes the mail to his shop—”

  “And with all the time he spends there—with all the clocks he’s selling at Nora’s and the repair work he’s doing these days,” Rosalyn put in earnestly, “I can’t understand why he’s so touchy about us spending money. All of the Christmas decorations we suggested are free, after all.”

  Loretta shook her head. “Can you imagine not having a big turkey and a ham for dinner on Second Christmas?” she asked. “Mamm surely must be shaking her head up in heaven, watching whatever’s been going on with Dat.”

  “I miss her so much,” Rosalyn said sorrowfully. “You’d think it would get easier after five years.”

  “She left a hole in our hearts that no one else will ever fill,” Loretta whispered with a tremor in her voice.

  They sighed together and kept cooking as a way to ease the pain of their mother’s absence. After Rosalyn had rolled and cut the biscuits, she offered another idea. “Do you suppose Edith and Asa will host the Second Christmas dinner at their place, if we tell them what Dat has said?”

  “Of course they will—and even if they didn’t want to do that, you and I could buy all the fixings with the money we earn at the store,” Loretta insisted, her smile returning. “Dat couldn’t say a thing about that, now could he?”

  “Oh, but he’d get mad,” Rosalyn quickly pointed out. “I keep thinking that one of these days he’ll barge into Nora’s store and announce that we’re forbidden to work there anymore because we’re getting too many worldly ideas. He’s never been keen on the idea of us earning money, even if we insist we’re buying fabric to make our clothes, or supplementing the grocery money.”

  “He hates it when he finds out we’ve paid for groceries.” With rapid flicks of her wrist, Loretta peeled carrots, clearly frustrated by how dull the old peeler had become after years of use. “But what are we supposed to do when the flour runs out or we’ve got no oatmeal for breakfast? It’s not as though we can grow those things in our garden.”

  “I bet the Zooks wonder what’s going on when we pop in with our own cash. Lydia’s used to having Dat stop in every now and again to pay our account,” Loretta speculated.

  Rosalyn shrugged. “He’s the deacon, so folks around the church district expect him to keep track of money,” she said. “But I have to wonder if other women are limited to shopping every other week. Can it b
e such a sin to visit the market say, on a Tuesday, because we want chocolate chips for cookies—or because we’ve run out of toilet paper?”

  Loretta giggled at this suggestion, but her somber expression returned. “All I know is that Dat seems to be working more yet he’s pulling the purse strings tighter. And now you’ve seen something in the mail marked Past Due,” she added with a sigh. “I don’t understand it.”

  “It’s a gut thing that Asa and Drew have been generous about bringing family-sized roasts when they come for dinner,” Rosalyn said wistfully. “What would our life be like if you and Edith hadn’t married them?”

  “I don’t even want to think about it.”

  As she opened the oven door, Rosalyn considered Loretta’s response. Once again she envied her two younger sisters because they’d found attentive, affectionate husbands who truly loved them and respected their ideas—

  But envy is one of the seven deadly sins, she reminded herself, so it’s wrong for you to want what your sisters have. Think about something else.

  Immediately Marcus Hooley popped into her mind. Rosalyn recalled the way he had entered the Simple Gifts store, and she frowned. Why should she spend any time thinking about such an arrogant, rude young man who was years younger than she was—in age and in mind-set, as well? She’d overheard Luke saying that Marcus had not only jumped the fence to avoid joining the Amish church, but he’d lived with his girlfriends instead of marrying them.

  Even as Marcus’s unthinkable behavior appalled Rosalyn, however, his handsome face and tall, muscular physique appealed to her. What would it be like to go out with him? Just once in your life, wouldn’t you like to break a few rules and find out about life on the wild side?

  Rosalyn blinked. Puh! Wouldn’t you just like to go out on a date, period?

  Her thoughts were so unsettling that the pan of biscuits slipped from her hands as she was putting it into the oven. “Oh!” Rosalyn gasped as she retrieved the pan from the floor. “I’d better pay closer attention to what I’m doing.”

  Loretta glanced at her, shrugging. “We’ve got a lot on our minds, thinking about Dat—and Christmas,” she added with a sigh. “At least the pan stayed right-side-up and none of the biscuits fell off.”

  “Jah, there’s that.” Rosalyn rearranged the biscuits that had slid together and quickly shoved the pan into the oven. Her face felt flushed, and she knew it wasn’t only because she’d set the temperature to four hundred degrees.

  That’s what comes of letting your thoughts wander where they shouldn’t go, she chided herself. Leave well enough alone—and Marcus, too.

  Chapter Five

  As Wyatt sat at his table the next morning, he had eyes only for Rebecca Oliveri—except for occasional glances out the window. “Can’t thank you enough for joining me, dear heart, and for bringing this breakfast casserole,” he added as he reached for her hand. “If Marcus doesn’t show up in a few minutes, we’re going to eat without him. Actually, I’m surprised his car’s still here.”

  Rebecca’s blue eyes widened. “If you have such doubts about him sticking around, why do you want to hire him? The report Sheriff Banks sent you certainly doesn’t paint a flattering picture.”

  Wyatt shrugged. “I was headed down the same path when I was Marcus’s age, except I ran with a wealthier crowd,” he said softly. “The Hooleys tell me he’s the best horse trainer they’ve ever known—”

  “But he hasn’t given you the references you asked for? And he sneaked onto your property yesterday and set off the alarm?” Rebecca interrupted with a raised eyebrow. “I can understand your sentiments about helping a troubled young man find his way, Wyatt, but from what I’ve heard, I’m with Nora. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.”

  “Will you at least listen with an open mind when Marcus—ah, he’s coming out of the barn,” Wyatt noted when he caught sight of the tall, lean figure starting up the path toward the house. “I trust the way you read people, Rebecca. I believe Marcus is just skittish, like a horse out of his own territory and surrounded by strangers. But if you think he’s a bad bet after you’ve spent some time with him, I’ll reconsider.”

  Rebecca’s smile made butterflies flutter in his stomach. “I confess that after hearing Luke, Ira, and Ben speculating about the sort of life Marcus has been living, I’m curious,” she admitted. “But then, I have no stake in this kid’s future, while you’re putting your entire new enterprise into his hands. Be careful, Wyatt,” she warned him softly. “You might be assuming that anyone associated with the Amish is trustworthy and hardworking. After all, you fell for me way too fast.”

  “Within an hour of meeting you,” he agreed. He rose from his chair and kissed her cheek. “Maybe I’m wearing rose-colored glasses, hoping to reform a kid because he reminds me of my younger self. But we won’t tell Marcus that part.”

  From behind the curtain, Wyatt watched Marcus come up the steps and cross the deck. He had a sense that the kid was muscular from hard work rather than time at a gym. His swagger was subdued by a hint of hesitation—he started to knock, but then turned around as though he might leave.

  Wyatt waited. Better to have Marcus take off now than later.

  A few moments passed before the kid pivoted and knocked firmly, three times.

  Wyatt opened the door with a smile. “Hey there, Marcus. You slept well, I hope?”

  “Totally crashed,” he said, gazing around as he entered. “Wow, this is nice—but I’m guessing you’re gonna build a big place on the hill to overlook your domain?”

  “This double-wide’s only temporary,” Wyatt confirmed as he shut out the cold morning air. “I wanted to get the barns ready for the horses first. We’ve got a sausage and egg casserole and some fruit, compliments of someone I’d like you to meet. Rebecca Oliveri’s the designer behind all the websites you may have seen for Willow Ridge businesses.”

  Marcus’s eyes widened as he approached the table, which was set for three. The place mats and cloth napkins were colorful—elegant without being fussy—and the casserole’s savory aroma made Wyatt realize how hungry he was.

  “I was wondering how the Amish folks here could have so much presence on the web,” Marcus said as he took in Rebecca’s jeans and plaid flannel shirt. “You’re obviously not one of them.”

  “Nope,” Rebecca agreed, “but my mother’s married to your cousin Ben.”

  Wearing an incredulous expression, Marcus slid into his chair. “You jumped the fence? And they let you live here?”

  Rebecca handed Marcus a spoon and gestured for him to help himself to the casserole. “To make a long story short, I was washed away by flood waters when I was just a toddler, raised by an English couple, and then found out Miriam was my birth mother—and it’s only by the grace of her loving heart that she and the other folks here understand why I’ll never embrace the Plain life,” she said in a voice that thrummed with emotion. “I’m very close to her and my two sisters, but I’m also a computer nerd through and through.”

  “Not to mention the way Rebecca has attracted a lot of customers to the Plain businesses here by designing their websites,” Wyatt put in. “It’s to everyone’s benefit that she’s English rather than Amish.” He could almost see the cogs turning in Marcus’s head as he considered the possibility of living in Willow Ridge without joining the Old Order.

  Marcus heaped his plate with the steaming casserole of sausage, hash browns, eggs, and cheese. He took a large mouthful and savored it. “Wow, this is good,” he murmured. “Glad I stuck around.”

  Wyatt shot Rebecca an I told you so glance. “You considered leaving before we talked this morning?” he asked nonchalantly. “Why are you having second thoughts, Marcus? Be honest. We need to speak our minds if we’re going to work together.”

  The kid ran a hand through the longish, dark hair that was still damp from his shower. He let his fork drop noisily to his plate. “All right, here it is, man,” he blurted resentfully. “During our chat about this hor
se training job, I got the feeling you wanted to take over my life. Oh, you want to help me, but you intend to call all the shots. Hey, if I need somebody else controlling everything I do and say, I can go back to being Amish.”

  Rebecca’s eyes widened with dismay, but she kept quiet.

  Wyatt filled his plate. It was just as well that Marcus was showing his true colors—he obviously had trouble dealing with authority and being held accountable. Wyatt had a copy of the sheriff ’s report on the kitchen counter, but he left it there and approached the conversation from a different angle.

  “All right, let’s think back to our phone call that day,” he suggested. “Before Luke called you, he and Ira and Ben had assured me you had outstanding ability when it came to training horses—couldn’t say enough good things about you. Then, after I told you about my state-of-the art facility, you said you wanted a sixty-inch flat screen TV, a computer, and a new car—and I replied that we’d negotiate for those perks after you completed a trial period of employment. I asked for three references. Is that how you remember our conversation?”

  Marcus gazed at his plate as he took another large mouthful of food. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Good. You also told me you’d been working at an auction barn.” Wyatt thought back to last month’s phone call and continued. “When I asked why a man of your ability didn’t have his own training business, you said you didn’t manage money as well as you trained horses—and you mentioned that your ex-girlfriend had kicked you to the curb for spending more than you make. After that, the topic of spending her money on the sly—along with your credit card debt—came up.”

  Marcus’s pale green eyes flashed as he glared at Wyatt. “How’d you know about the credit cards?” he demanded. “I never said a word about them belonging to my girlfriend! And then you went into this goody-goody spiel about paying me a decent wage and setting up a repayment program to clear my credit record, and—well that’s what I see as you trying to control my life!”