A Simple Christmas

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Jah, we know you’ll never be Plain,” Rhoda put in earnestly, “but you’re our sister for gut and forever, and nothing will change that, Rebecca.”

  Tears dribbled down Rebecca’s cheeks as she gazed gratefully at her identical sisters. She shared a miraculous bond with Rhoda and Rachel despite the fact that she hadn’t grown up with them—and she was thankful that they’d never kept her at an emotional distance because she wasn’t Amish.

  “Rebecca and Wyatt’s hearts are in the right places,” Luke said as he passed the potato casserole. “With all due respect to matters of faith, we know that church membership doesn’t guarantee a person’s integrity. After all, Bishop Tom’s first wife ran out on him—and there’s a certain fellow in town who’s been seen entering a casino.”

  “That’s not really the issue here,” Ben pointed out. “And the part about the casino is still privileged information that’s not to go any farther than these kitchen walls, please.”

  Nora had mentioned Cornelius Riehl’s deception to Rebecca, but it wasn’t her place to ask why he hadn’t been pressed into a confession. As she put a big spoonful of lime gelatin on her plate, she was relieved that this serious discussion hadn’t interrupted the meal her dear friends were sharing with her. In more conservative Amish households, parents didn’t allow any wiggle room when talking to their children—even their grown children—about the necessity of joining the church and attaining their salvation.

  “A few of us are prime examples of folks who grew up with our butts on pew benches but who avoided church membership until certain girls convinced us we wanted to get married,” Ira put in with a chuckle. He smiled at his wife, Millie, and then at Rebecca. “So, see there? You and Wyatt aren’t so different from the rest of us—except you wear trendier clothes.”

  As everyone around her chuckled, Rebecca relaxed. Thank you, she mouthed at Ira. He had matured a lot since he and Luke had come to Willow Ridge as free-wheeling bachelors. Eyebrows had raised when Luke had dated Nora and Ira had fallen for Millie, the daughter she’d conceived out of wedlock, but their marriages were as solid as the bedrock they’d built their mill upon.

  “Your points are well taken,” Wyatt said with a nod. “In the English world, it’s all too easy to get out of the habit of going to church—although I was raised by adoptive parents whose faith in God and service to their church were integral parts of their lives. Next time this topic comes up, we’ll have better answers for you.”

  Mamma smiled as though she was greatly relieved. Soon all the bowls and platters had been passed, and folks began eating in earnest. Rebecca smiled at Wyatt, pleased that he still seemed comfortable with Ben and Mamma despite their talk of religion.

  “If you two go to English services every week, I guess you won’t be here for dinner with us on our visiting Sundays,” Marcus remarked. “Maybe I’ll take pity on you and bring you some of our leftovers.”

  Nora laughed. “Luke and I make it to the Mennonite church in Morning Star every Sunday and get out in time to come here for dinner,” she pointed out. “Rebecca and Wyatt might find a church with an early service and they’ll arrive ahead of us.”

  “Jah?” Marcus raised an eyebrow as he looked at Luke. “How long’s your service?”

  “About an hour, hour and a half,” Luke replied. “It’s one of the perks of going Mennonite—not that I’m luring you away from the Old Order,” he added emphatically. “Our cousin Ben is one of the most compelling reasons to remain faithful to Amish ways. He’s a lot more progressive than our preachers and the bishop back in our Lancaster district.”

  Ben smiled, cutting into a slice of ham. “Marcus will be an inspiring, energetic addition to whichever congregation he joins.”

  “And we’re all pleased that he’s come to Missouri to join us,” Mamma put in without missing a beat.

  “Hear, hear,” Wyatt said, raising his water glass in Marcus’s direction. “Without Marcus, my draft horse business wouldn’t have gotten out of the barn.”

  Rebecca caught a hint of pink in Marcus’s face as he focused on his plateful of food. Could modesty be making him blush? She recalled his swagger—the way he’d boasted about his ability to train horses—when she’d first met him, and the change in his personality was nothing short of amazing.

  The meal progressed at a leisurely pace, with occasional outbursts from little Aden or pleas from Amelia and Bethlehem, who wanted to get out of their high chairs so they could play. After everyone had enjoyed Rachel’s cherry cobbler and Rebecca’s brownies, the women began clearing the table. The men bundled up the kids to head outside, so they could discuss the live Nativity that would take place in Ben’s barn on Christmas Eve. As newcomers, Wyatt and Marcus were asking a lot of questions about the event, so when the mudroom door closed behind them, the kitchen got a lot quieter.

  Rebecca ran hot water into the sink—and slipped her arm around Mamma’s shoulders when she came over with a stack of dinner plates. “What would I do without you, Mamma?” she asked quietly. “Where would I be if you hadn’t taken me back into your family?”

  Mamma kissed Rebecca’s cheek. “Why speculate about such a thing?” she asked. “Even when you showed up wearing all that dismal black clothing, with your hair and fingernails colored black, I could see beneath your disguise—your despair—and I knew you were my child, come home at last.”

  “And look at you now!” Nora put in happily. “The better question is, where would Willow Ridge be without you? You’ve kept our Plain businesses alive by advertising online, where thousands of shoppers find us.”

  Rebecca shrugged as she shut off the water. “It’s what I do.”

  “Ah, but it’s who you are that matters to us, honey-bug,” Mamma insisted. “Your clothes and computers mean you’re part of the English world, but to me you’ll always be the little Rebecca Lantz who played harder and ran faster—and got her dresses dirtier—than her two sisters.”

  Mamma’s expression waxed nostalgic as her thoughts went back in time. “While Rachel and Rhoda clung to my hands, terrified by the storm and the rising river that fateful day, you were fascinated by the churning waters—ran to get a closer look even though I was hollering at you.

  “And then,” she continued with a snap her fingers, “you were gone. In the blink of an eye you’d slipped down the muddy bank to be swallowed up by the river. It was a scene that tortured me night and day for years,” she added in a whisper. “Praise be to God for bringing you back, daughter. For you see, only God could’ve saved you from that flood.”

  Rebecca could barely imagine the shock and grief her mother had suffered because she’d been an adventurous, headstrong toddler. “I don’t recall a thing about that day,” she murmured. “Until I found the little pink Plain dress in the bottom of my English mother’s chest after she died, I had no idea I hadn’t been born Tiffany Oliveri.”

  “It was God who brought you back to us,” Rachel insisted. “How else would you have known to come to Mamma’s café with that dress in a bag?”

  “The dress that matched the ones we’d been wearing the day we lost you,” Rhoda put in softly.

  “God is gut all the time,” Mamma said once again. She beamed at Rebecca. “I’m not preaching at you, understand. I just want you and Wyatt to be happy, honey-bug—and happiness hinges on being right with our Lord. I can only tell you what I know to be true in my own life.”

  Feeling immensely blessed and cherished, Rebecca nodded. The very best example of the happiness found in God’s love was the woman standing beside her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marcus’s heart hammered as he and Wyatt entered the Simple Gifts store on Wednesday afternoon. The cars in the parking lot attested to the crowd of shoppers that would be keeping Rosalyn busy—and he didn’t intend to distract her, or embarrass her by flirting with her in front of English folks.

  But he had to see her. He wanted to be sure Rosalyn was okay after the blistering accusations her father had made o
n Saturday night . . . and he wanted to hear her voice. Make her smile.

  It was a lucky coincidence that his boss wanted to shop for Rebecca’s Christmas gifts on a day when Rosalyn worked.

  “No wonder Rebecca loves this place,” Wyatt said, gazing toward a dining room table and chairs the Brenneman brothers had made. “I’d better move faster on plans for the house, considering that I can buy all the furniture for it right here. And look at these pottery dishes—and those quilts hanging from the loft railing,” he added as his gaze encompassed the store.

  Marcus, however, was focused on the young woman wearing a pleated white kapp and a cape dress of deep cranberry. “Jah,” he said softly, “money can’t buy you happiness, but the stuff in this store can put a smile on your woman’s face.”

  “Jah?” Wyatt teased. “Since when are you speaking the local lingo—unless maybe the young lady standing beside Nora has been working her magic on you?”

  Marcus waved Wyatt off, but didn’t deny what he’d said.

  “You have excellent taste in women,” Wyatt continued in a low voice. “She appears modest and hardworking and cheerful—all good qualities. Look at her smile as she’s handing that shopping bag to her customer. She’s a looker, son.”

  Marcus stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You’ve pegged her just right, but her old man’s a piece of work,” he added with a shake of his head. He caught a twinkle in Wyatt’s blue-gray eyes. “How do you figure this stuff out, anyway? I haven’t told you a thing about Roz—”

  “People talk. And I’ve been around the block a time or two, remember?” he asked with a wink. “It took the right woman to make me give up my freewheeling bachelor ways, and I suspect it’ll work the same way for you.”

  Marcus caught a movement in the office behind the checkout counter and let out a low laugh when a familiar brunette waved at them. “So you knew Rebecca would be here today? Probably working on Nora’s website?” he teased.

  When he saw the way Nora was smiling at him—and at Wyatt—he realized she’d probably told Wyatt about his date with Rosalyn—and he was fine with that. “Let me guess,” Marcus said. “You’re going to mosey around the store with Rebecca, and you’re going to gauge her reaction—or ask her opinion—about pieces you’d consider putting in your future home. And you’re going to buy all the stuff she likes for her Christmas presents.”

  Laugh lines bracketed Wyatt’s mouth. “You catch on fast, Hooley,” he said, watching Rebecca make her way between the displays. “Keep hanging with me, kid, and you’ll be a pro at this relationship thing in no time.”

  As Rebecca joined them, she held out a decorated sugar cookie in each hand. “You fellows could surely use a snack—and there’s hot cider, too,” she added with a big smile for Wyatt.

  He slipped an arm around Rebecca’s shoulders as he took the snowman cookie she’d offered him. “Bribe me with sugar, and you can ask for anything you want,” he said suavely.

  Marcus fought the urge to roll his eyes, yet he envied the easy way his boss romanced Rebecca—and the way she responded, as though she was totally head-over-heels for him. Considering the scene Rosalyn’s dad made Saturday night, it might be years before she’ll go out with you again—if Cornelius ever allows her to leave the house.

  Marcus bit the head off his frosted reindeer cookie, trying not to be too obvious about watching Rosalyn chat with a customer as she snipped tags from a tooled leather purse Matthias Wagler had probably made.

  It’s amazing that her dat’s let her keep her job here, considering the temptations he believes English shoppers might lure her into.

  When Rosalyn looked at him from across the store, all signs of her previous confrontation with Cornelius were gone. Marcus saw pleasure on her face and a light in her eyes—positive signs that she was still interested in him. He started slowly toward the checkout counter, allowing her time to wrap the purse before he spoke with her.

  The bell jangled behind him. When the door banged shut as though the wind had caught it, Marcus jumped, along with some of the customers—and when he turned, he braced himself.

  What are the odds of Cornelius showing up just as you were thinking about him?

  Rosalyn’s father stood near the entrance. His expression could’ve curdled milk, and when he caught sight of Marcus, he seemed even more intent on whatever errand had brought him to Nora’s store. As Cornelius stiffly made his way between the displays of merchandise toward the checkout counter, Marcus sensed the clockmaker’s visit wasn’t going to end well.

  Nora’s eyes widened. Rosalyn focused nervously on the pottery she was wrapping—and even the handful of ladies waiting at the cash register shifted closer together to stay out of his way.

  “I’ve come to take you home, daughter,” Cornelius announced loudly. “You defied me by coming to work here in the first place, and now—” He turned to point at Marcus. “Now it’s obvious to me that you and that Hooley-gan are using this place as your meeting point despite the fact that I’ve forbidden you to see him!”

  “Cornelius, please,” Nora said, gesturing toward her office. “If you’ll wait until I’ve finished with these customers, we can talk this out—”

  The bell above the door jangled again, but it was such a common occurrence in the busy store—and folks were following Cornelius and Nora’s conversation with such interest—that nobody paid any attention to it.

  “Marcus Hooley?” a businesslike male voice demanded. “I believe we have some serious business to discuss about using a young woman’s bank card to withdraw money from her account—without her consent.”

  Marcus nearly choked. Except for the soft Christmas music playing in the background, the store was totally quiet. Everyone was gawking at him, curious because he’d been singled out by two men who’d called his character into question. He couldn’t miss the frightened frown that furrowed Rosalyn’s forehead—the doubt in her eyes as she glanced at the stranger behind him and then went back to her wrapping, as though still trying to avoid her dat.

  The man who’d just entered appeared to be about Wyatt’s age, but his thick glasses, thinning hair, and trench coat gave him a nerdy look—like a detective from the old shows Marcus watched when nothing better was on TV. The guy was clutching a briefcase that had seen better days.

  Marcus didn’t like the way his body trembled, as though this man had the ability to arrest him—or to disgrace him in front of Rosalyn, Cornelius, and so many other people. But he faced the stranger head-on, hoping to put a quick end to the guy’s incriminating query. “I’m Marcus Hooley,” he said quietly. “What can I do for you, Mr.—?”

  “Boston Mendenhall, private investigator,” his challenger replied boldly. “You’ve been a busy man, Hooley, stealing money that’s not yours. I’m here on behalf of a client who’s taking you to court.”

  Marcus’s throat felt as dry as a dead Christmas tree. He couldn’t think straight with Cornelius and so many other curious people witnessing this confrontation. “But—but I’ve been sending payments to—”

  “Mr. Mendenhall, let’s step into the back room to discuss this in a more private setting,” Wyatt said as he and Rebecca joined the conversation. “You have no reason to intimidate my employee—and before we say another word, I need to see some identification.”

  Mendenhall pushed up his glasses. “This is none of your affair, sir. I’ve come to—”

  “Oh, but it is my business when a total stranger accuses my employee of credit card theft in front of so many people,” Wyatt insisted in a no-nonsense tone.

  “We can move this conversation right back there—to the office,” Rebecca said, pointing behind the checkout counter. “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding, so let’s settle it quickly and get on with our day.”

  Although Marcus was extremely grateful that Wyatt and Rebecca had stood up for him, he still felt like a criminal being paraded in front of Rosalyn, her dad, and a gaggle of other onlookers as the four of them made their
way back to Nora’s office. Rosalyn remained focused on the purchases she was wrapping, but her cheeks had turned a nervous shade of pink. Maybe she wondered if the investigator’s accusations would be further ammunition for her father—who was watching Marcus with a knowing smirk.

  “Help yourself to more cookies and cider, ladies!” Nora called out cheerfully. “With less than two weeks remaining before Christmas, if you see something you want, you’d best latch onto it now. My crafters won’t have time to make you a similar item in time for holiday gift giving.”

  Marcus appreciated Nora’s attempt at drawing attention away from him, but as he stepped into the office, it reminded him of the times when he’d been interrogated in small, windowless rooms in police stations. Since moving to Willow Ridge he’d lived a remarkably legal life, without any traffic violations or being pulled over for driving under the influence. He’d made a real effort to straighten up and fly right.

  But maybe those Pennsylvania pigeons are returning to roost—and maybe you should be asking some questions of your own, the voice in his head advised him.

  When Wyatt had closed the door behind them, Marcus gazed closely at the investigator. “You wouldn’t happen to be driving an old green car, would you?”

  Mendenhall’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “That has nothing to do with the matter at—”

  “Yeah, it does,” Marcus interrupted. “If that’s your car, you’ve been tailing me since I left Pennsylvania. You could’ve spoken to me about this matter any number of times—like last week when you parked beside my car—but instead you drove off like a shot. Now you’re showing up where you can have an audience, right?”

  Wyatt scowled, holding out his hand. “Even more reason for us to see your ID,” he stated. “We also need to know who hired you, and why—specific charges your client has made, rather than idle threats about taking Marcus to court.”

  Sighing theatrically, Mendenhall pulled a wallet from his pocket and opened it to show his private investigator’s license. “And who are you?” he demanded.