A Simple Christmas

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Everyone sat down to conduct the vote. Marcus couldn’t help noticing the dramatic change in the facial expressions around him now the congregation had found an idea that moved them beyond Cornelius’s betrayal.

  “All in favor of having a benefit auction on the sixth, say aye,” Bishop Tom said in a firm voice.

  A resounding aye! filled the room so loudly that people started laughing.

  “Anyone opposed?” Tom asked. “We’ve decided on this project very quickly, so it’s not a bad thing if you know of reasons to delay an auction or to do something different. So—once again—does anyone think we should reconsider?”

  Silence. Everyone was gazing eagerly at Bishop Tom, Preacher Ben—and Marcus—as though they were prepared to move into the planning stage immediately.

  “You folks are amazing,” Bishop Vernon said with a big smile. “Not half an hour ago you learned your aid fund had been drained, and now you’ve got a plan for restoring some of it—and you’ve received some sizable donations. God is gut—every day, all the time—and He’s clearly at work among you.”

  “Amen to that,” Bishop Tom agreed. “So we’re set for Saturday the sixth at the McKenzie place. We’ve got a lot of planning to do, but we’re on the forward path. Life in Willow Ridge—life in our God—is indeed gut, my friends.”

  Laughter and conversation erupted around Marcus, but when Rosalyn’s gaze met his, he suddenly wanted to get away from the crowd. He moved between the women who’d clustered around Savilla and Lena Witmer to discuss baking pies and to organize an auction lunch menu at the Grill N Skillet. Loretta and Edith joined the chattering women—which left Rosalyn standing in the row of pew benches with her hands clasped, looking at him.

  Marcus was struck by her singular beauty. Despite her red-rimmed eyes and weariness, Rosalyn didn’t look away from him. Was that admiration lighting her pretty face? Was it his imagination, or had she shut out the excited hubbub around them to focus on him?

  “Marcus, you’re a wonder,” she declared, beaming at him. “First you explain the fine points of computer gambling, and then you bring us checks—and then you arrange the perfect place to hold our auction. Are you the same fellow who burst into Nora’s store full of ridicule and criticism because Willow Ridge didn’t have a gas station?”

  Marcus swallowed hard, unaccustomed to Rosalyn’s praise. “How about if we talk about that after I pick you up in my sleigh—say, half an hour from now? I got it repaired, you know,” he added. “I’ve just been waiting for the right time to take you out in it again.”

  “I’ll be waiting at Asa and Edith’s place,” she replied breathlessly. “See you then, Marcus.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rosalyn allowed Marcus to help her into his sleigh, delighting in the firm squeeze he gave her hand as she sat down on the velvet-covered seat. It felt like a special occasion—as though she was on a first date—because Marcus had changed so much that he was totally made over. He’d gotten his hair cut, so he’d lost the dangerous allure of having some of it draped over his face, but his dimples captivated her even more than before. The glow in his pale green eyes gave her hope that he intended to work as big a change in her life as he’d just brought about for the Willow Ridge church district.

  It was a tall order. Rosalyn hoped she wasn’t setting herself up for disappointment—believing the images she’d seen in her romantic imagination ever since she’d met rebellious, unpredictable Marcus Hooley. To her, he’d only gotten better looking—darker and bolder, despite the boyish appearance his blue stocking cap gave him and the way his attitude had improved.

  As he clucked at Sophie, a few snowflakes drifted lazily in the cold air. The clip-clop, clip-clop of the Percheron’s heavy hooves set the beat for the jingling bells on the harness. Despite the fact that her father had been shunned for betraying their neighbors this morning, Rosalyn felt happy. Hopeful.

  “Denki again for getting Wyatt’s support for the auction,” Rosalyn said, daring to clasp Marcus’s hand beneath the blanket he’d draped around them.

  “He was pleased to make both barns available,” Marcus replied. “He was happy about, well—other things, too. It’s all gut, and the auction should restore a big chunk of the district’s aid fund.”

  Other things. Rosalyn grew immediately curious about the secret Marcus seemed to be keeping with those words. Could Wyatt possibly be as happy as she was about Marcus’s involvement with the Old Order church? Did she dare ask what had prompted Marcus to request membership sessions from Bishop Tom—or would he think she was being nosy?

  A lot of fellows join the church when they’ve found a girl to marry.

  Rosalyn shivered with anticipation. Maybe Marcus was going to say he wanted to court her—

  “Are you cold, Roz? Should we go back home?”

  She felt a surge of longing. Rosalyn could think of nothing she’d like better than to go home with Marcus . . . to a home they would share forever. But she was pretty sure he was referring to Asa and Edith’s house rather than his apartment or a more permanent arrangement.

  “I’m fine. Just excited about having an auction,” she insisted. “It amazes me, how fast these Willow Ridge folks jumped into such a large project at Bishop Vernon’s merest suggestion. Back in Roseville, we had a contingent of very conservative families who took a long time to come to decisions,” she added as she thought back to her previous home. “They talked on and on about the possibility that a new idea might not work, rather than believing that it would.”

  “Jah, that often happened where I grew up, too,” Marcus remarked with a nod. “Some fellows can talk the life out of an idea before it has a chance to succeed.”

  Silence settled between them as the sleigh glided along the snow-packed shoulder of the road. Marcus seemed lost in thought, miles away mentally, even as her own ideas bubbled like a freshly opened can of soda pop, ready to spew out. Would he ask her to help with preparations for the auction? Or suggest that they spend time together on Christmas or Second Christmas?

  Is he figuring out a way to ask a much more serious question?

  Rosalyn shimmered with a sense of anticipation—at least until the silence, punctuated only by the mare’s hoofbeats, began to wear on her. Marcus had seemed so animated and full of ideas at the members’ meeting, yet he’d grown preoccupied . . . as though he’d forgotten she was sitting beside him.

  Rosalyn ventured into a new topic, hoping to draw him out of his thoughts. “I’m really curious about the live Nativity—”

  “I’m sorry about your dat, Roz,” Marcus blurted at the same moment. “And I’m sorry he tried to lay blame on you and your sisters for what he did.”

  Rosalyn’s face fell. For a delightful half hour she’d managed to push aside the ordeal of her father’s shunning, but she couldn’t ignore Marcus’s apologetic remark.

  “I appreciate your thoughts,” she mumbled. “We all saw it coming, after Bishop Tom and Preacher Ben confronted him the other day, but . . . well, I do wonder how he’s going to get along all by himself. My decision to move out came so suddenly it surprised me as much as it did him.”

  “You did the right thing,” Marcus quickly assured her. “Everyone could see he didn’t intend to take responsibility for his actions—and he didn’t seem the least bit sincere about confessing. Why did he think everyone in the church would immediately forgive him as though he hadn’t stolen all the district’s money?”

  Tears stung Rosalyn’s eyes. She looked out over the snowy hills so Marcus wouldn’t see that she was crying again. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “It makes me wonder if he gambled away that money without any intention of paying it back . . . as though he thought the Old Order belief in forgiveness would be like a Get Out Of Jail Free card in a Monopoly game.”

  “What did he think would happen after he ran the district totally dry?” Marcus demanded angrily. “Once the money was gone, how did he figure to get his gambling fix?”

  Rosalyn pr
essed her lips together, suppressing a sob. Dat’s habit defied explanation—and it infuriated her that he’d named his grief for Mamm and his family’s lack of understanding as reasons he’d lost so much money that wasn’t even his.

  Marcus sighed. “Sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, Roz. Do you want to go home? Feels like it’s getting colder.”

  Rosalyn’s heart sank. She hadn’t noticed a drop in the temperature, but Marcus’s feelings for her had obviously chilled, if he was so eager to be rid of her. “Jah, that might be best,” she whispered. “It’ll take me a while to move beyond what happened with Dat today. I—I’m sorry if I’m not very gut company.”

  At the next intersection, Marcus steered the Percheron into a U-turn and they were headed up Asa and Edith’s lane practically before they’d left—or so it seemed to Rosalyn. What had she said or done, that he’d lost interest in her? When he’d invited her for a sleigh ride, he’d seemed light-hearted and ready for some fun.

  As Marcus slowed the horse to stop at the door, Rosalyn racked her brain for something to say—anything to make him smile and change his mind about dropping her off.

  “Would—would you like to go to the live Nativity with me, Roz?” he asked hesitantly. “I have no idea what to expect, or—”

  “I’ll think about it,” she blurted, wishing she didn’t have to wipe her eyes in front of him. In her state of disappointment and confusion about his mood, she wondered why he didn’t want to see her sooner than Christmas Eve, which was on Sunday. Was he planning to spend Friday and Saturday evenings with someone else? Rosalyn was aware that her mind had started spinning out irrational ideas and doubts about Marcus—fearful assumptions that had no basis—but she was too upset to stop her negative thoughts.

  Rather than wait for Marcus to help her out of the sleigh, she shoved aside the blanket and hurried toward the door. She was relieved that Asa and her sister hadn’t yet returned home so she could go to her room and cry in private.

  * * *

  Marcus slumped in the seat of the sleigh. Rosalyn’s tear-filled brown eyes were a sight he wouldn’t soon forget, because he was the one who’d made her cry. Of course she was upset! Why had he mentioned her father instead of talking about more pleasant topics? Why had he wasted the precious moments of their sleigh ride stewing over whether to say what was really on his mind?

  Because you’re scared. You spoke to Bishop Tom and Preacher Ben about church membership classes—and Ben’s mentioned them publicly—so you’ve got no graceful way out.

  “Geddap, Sophie,” he said with a sigh. After years of attracting women without a thought for what he said to them, Marcus felt bewildered by his inability to tell Rosalyn that he wanted to court her . . . that he was pretty sure he was in love with her. He’d thought he was in love before, with both of the English women who’d invited him into their lives, but this time was different. His love felt strong enough that he was willing to forego the carefree pleasures of the English lifestyle to marry an Amish woman—within the framework of a faith that allowed for no escape.

  It was exhilarating, the emotional and physical feelings he had for Rosalyn.

  It was terrifying to realize that he could mess things up—send her away in tears—within moments, and without any apparent misunderstanding or harsh words.

  And it was permanent, if he married her.

  Better think about this some more, Hooley, he chided himself. You have a steady job now, but it isn’t as though you have a home to offer Rosalyn, or—

  And if you change your mind about marrying her, Willow Ridge is so small, you can’t avoid seeing her—and her sad, disappointed eyes. That hopeful expression on her face meant she was waiting for you to pop the question.

  “Well, fine,” Marcus muttered as he steered his mare toward the McKenzie place. “Seems I’m doomed if I love her, and doomed if I don’t.”

  After he parked the sleigh and brushed Sophie down, he threw himself into the day’s training sessions. The three young Percherons that hadn’t yet been sold were coming along even though they weren’t yet ready for new owners. The cold weather made them frisky, but they responded well when Marcus harnessed them all to the large V-shaped snowplow he’d borrowed from the Detweilers. After pulling alone, it was a challenge for the horses to work as a team. Soon, however, they were negotiating the curves of the training paddock and even backing up smoothly as he drove them around and around with the blade lifted off the ground.

  As Marcus worked the huge horses, however, his mind wandered away from the safety of the day’s training routine into the more dangerous, desperate thoughts that had been chipping away at him. Ever since he’d dropped Rosalyn at her sister’s house, he’d wondered if he was leading her on—leading them both along a path that would result in more unhappiness than he could imagine. Didn’t she have enough misery in her life without him adding to her burdens?

  Get out now, before you ruin two lives. You showed up in Willow Ridge without any warning or expectations, and you can leave the same way.

  These thoughts set Marcus on edge as he steered the trio of horses into the barn, yet he couldn’t let them go. The sight of his car, parked by the back barn door, was the ultimate reminder of what he’d be giving up if he joined the Old Order—not just his freedom, but his access to the world as he knew it. Did he really want to limit himself to the distance a horse could take him, when he was accustomed to traveling as far as he pleased? If he started feeling trapped in Willow Ridge, would he take out his frustrations on poor Rosalyn?

  Upstairs in his apartment, the iPad, cell phone, and laptop on his kitchen table taunted him further. That morning he’d finally proven himself truly useful to the Amish community by answering folks’ tech questions, so what good would he be to his neighbors when he was no longer allowed to own such devices?

  Without a cell phone, how would he and Wyatt communicate from across big sale barns—or from opposite ends of the McKenzie property? And how would he stay in touch with the real world if he couldn’t send Facebook messages to his friends back east? If he couldn’t go online, how would he google answers to veterinary questions or check the lineage of young horses and the price of supplies?

  What if Wyatt no longer wanted him as an employee after he shut himself off from the Internet?

  Maybe you should live English, like Rebecca. Everyone around town—even her Amish mother and sisters—respects her decision and depends on her computer skills. Willow Ridge has stayed afloat financially because she helps the businesses here advertise online.

  Marcus stared out the window into the gathering dusk, truly troubled. What good would he be to Rosalyn if he was so hesitant about being Amish? She deserved a dedicated man of the faith who could provide her a home and the family she wanted.

  What’ll you do when the babies start coming? You can’t raise them in this apartment—and you have no idea how to deal with them when they fuss and cry! You’ll be a disastrous dat!

  Marcus swallowed hard. The negatives were piling up a lot higher than the positives. Wasn’t that a sign?

  His heart began to pound. His palms felt clammy as he pulled a pizza from his freezer and popped it into the microwave. . . yet another luxury he wouldn’t be allowed if he gave up living with electricity.

  Get out now. You have some cash, so you could start over anyplace you want to. By the time anyone figures out you’ve left, you’ll be far, far away and they’ll have no way to trace you.

  His mind was made up—but he owed Wyatt an apology and a wagonload of gratitude. McKenzie wouldn’t like it that he’d bailed—and that he’d broken his agreement to stay at least through Christmas—but hopefully he would understand. Wyatt had lived on the wild side himself when he was younger. Marcus ate his pizza with his left hand while he scribbled a note.

  Sorry to duck out on you this way, Wyatt, but Reality has slapped me in the face and I just can’t stand the idea of being Amish for the rest of my life. Which means I can
’t stay in Willow Ridge, where Rosalyn will be disappointed every time she sees me.

  Thanks for all you’ve done for me, and for setting my credit record straight, and for steering me in a better direction. I owe you, big-time.

  Marcus

  He cleaned up the small kitchen and threw his clothes into his duffel bags, his mind racing as he thought about where to go. By five o’clock it was dark—and the surrounding countryside with its unlit farmyards was another reminder of how deep and long the winter nights would be, with only a flickering oil lantern to see by if he became an Amish husband.

  With a last look around the apartment, Marcus hurried down the stairs into the barn. Moments later he was heading for the county highway as though he was driving to Morning Star for a few groceries—except he was never coming back.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was a blessing to work in Nora’s store on Friday, and Rosalyn lost herself in the excitement of the shoppers who were making their last-minute purchases before Christmas. When she and Loretta were wrapping pottery pieces at the checkout or straightening shelves or showing customers items they might enjoy, she could forget that her personal life—her entire future—felt so unsettled. The bell above the door jingled merrily when folks came in, and carols playing on the sound system made her hum along. The aromas of spiced cider and bayberry candles lifted her spirits, too.

  “Merry Christmas, girls!” a customer said as she accepted a shopping bag of items Rosalyn had wrapped for her.

  “You sisters have made this a holiday to remember with your rugs and wreaths,” her friend chimed in.

  “We’re glad you’ve enjoyed our pieces,” Loretta replied as she slipped auction flyers into their bags. “You won’t want to miss the Willow Ridge auction on January sixth—”

  “And it’ll be held inside those big barns you see across the river behind my shop, with loads of furniture and quilts and one-of-a-kind items to bid on. The Grill N Skillet will be having a special auction lunch, too,” Nora added as she handed them their receipts. “We hope you can come.”