Because they believed in you, Hooley.
When a bonneted young woman in the crowd turned sideways, Marcus forgot to breathe. Rosalyn was singing the song’s last stanza, beaming at Louisa in her woolly white hat with little lamb ears on the top. The love they shared stunned him.
She could be looking at you with that love on her face, Hooley, but you messed her over—
As though she’d heard his thoughts, Rosalyn gazed full-on at Marcus.
The night went silent. The people were still singing, but he couldn’t hear them.
Marcus clung to the house, bracing himself for Rosalyn’s anger—for her scowl or her tears or a meltdown. By this time, she must know that he’d left town—that he’d run off and left her. There was no sense in trying to slink away, pretending he didn’t see her, because Rosalyn’s expression had nailed him in place. He couldn’t move if he wanted to.
Her smile warmed him like the sun. Her face radiated a love and acceptance that turned his world upside down. She was making her way between the other folks to come talk to him.
“Marcus!” Rosalyn whispered beneath the noise of the crowd. “You came back! I prayed that you would.”
Marcus’s mouth dropped open. Rosalyn’s simple declaration of faith took him totally by surprise . . . and he felt good about it. He didn’t sense that she was trapping him, or laying on the guilt so he would stay. She was overjoyed to see him, and she’d believed he would come back to redeem himself.
Marcus let out the breath he’d been holding. “But I walked away from—from you and the whole church thing and—”
“We all get scared sometimes,” Rosalyn interrupted with a shrug. “This is the best Christmas present ever, Marcus, that you’ve gotten over yourself and come back to Willow Ridge.”
He almost smarted off at her, but her observation stopped him cold. You’ve gotten over yourself.
Marcus smiled. Wise woman that she was, Rosalyn had him pegged. And she’d said nothing about taking up the relationship he’d left hanging—or any other expectations or conditions.
He suddenly realized that if Rosalyn loved him, and he loved her back, he’d never feel the need to run again. He could lead a productive life—he could have it all—if he accepted the faith she wanted to share with him.
Bless her, Rosalyn had risked everything to talk to him this way. Knowing how he tended to run from responsibility, she’d still approached him—rather than turning away to shield her heart from another loss. She could be whining about how he’d betrayed her feelings—how he’d led her on with quick, pretty words only to leave like a thief in the night.
But she was smiling at him, holding a little girl . . . making him wonder what it might be like if she were holding his child.
Around them, the crowd was dispersing, but Marcus focused on Rosalyn. He wished endearments and promises would roll off his tongue as effortlessly as they’d done for the other girls he’d thought he loved—but this woman didn’t want his careless charm. Rosalyn deserved his honesty and his commitment to her, which implied that he would also commit himself to the Amish church.
“We, um, have a lot to talk about, Roz,” he murmured.
“We do.” Her gaze remained as steady as her smile.
Marcus raked his fingers through his hair, more nervous than he cared to be. “I—I have this urge to kiss you,” he whispered, “but this is hardly the place—”
“I know a place—where we can talk,” Rosalyn added with a wink.
Marcus gaped. When had this devout young woman become such a flirt? And when had she taken control of this conversation, and the future of their relationship?
He chuckled, at himself mostly. “Okay, so take me wherever you think we should—”
“Marcus! Welcome home, son.” Wyatt clapped him on the back, smiling broadly. “Wasn’t this live Nativity something? Who knew Willow Ridge would become the place to celebrate Christmas—to celebrate everything?”
Marcus began to laugh, gazing gratefully at Wyatt and Rebecca as a sense of warmth and rightness filled his heart. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Who knew?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
What are you thinking? Why are you bringing him to this cold, empty house?
Rosalyn gripped Marcus’s gloved hand as they made their way through the snow to the back door. After they’d stepped into the mudroom, she quickly lit the lamp and headed into the kitchen. When she’d spotted him at the pageant her heart had kicked her into a higher gear, as though it sensed Marcus might turn tail again and never come back—unless she gave him a reason to stay. She’d made a daring suggestion when he’d wanted to kiss her, and she was determined to carry through with it. What did she have to lose—except her chance for happiness?
Marcus stood in the doorway, glancing into the flickering shadows. “So, won’t your dat be coming back from the pageant pretty soon?”
Rosalyn fought back the fleeting image of her scowling father when he’d shooed her away. As she took Marcus’s hands in hers, she found the strength to face this house and its ghosts. “He packed up and left town few days ago,” she replied softly.
Marcus gripped her fingers. “Seriously? He skipped out on his—? Wow.” He exhaled in disbelief. “Wow. I—I’m sorry, Roz.”
She sighed. “Jah, me too. But when you look at the big picture, are you really surprised? Dat was always the one dishing out the discipline, and it seems he’s not much on taking it from other folks.”
Suddenly Marcus was hugging her—not holding her close for the kiss he’d wanted, but to comfort her. To express his support. Rosalyn closed her eyes and leaned into him. Even in a chilly kitchen, with their winter coats on, this ranked as the most romantic, affectionate moment of her life and she intended to savor it.
“Will you be all right, Roz?”
With Marcus’s arms around her, she felt safe and cherished—for the moment, anyway. Her life was as shiny as a star when Marcus was with her, but as bleak as a moonless winter night when he wasn’t. “Once Edith, Loretta, and I realized that this whole mess was Dat’s doing, and that we couldn’t have done anything differently,” she replied, “we agreed to let go of it—to let God handle it.”
“That sounds like a gut plan.” Marcus let out a short laugh. “Better than my way of doing things—which is to run off with no plan at all. Roz, I’m sorry I left you without—”
She placed a finger across his lips, determined that their time together wouldn’t be spent making apologies. “I’ve wanted to run plenty of times in my life,” she admitted as she held Marcus’s gaze. “But as an obedient Amish daughter, I didn’t feel I had that option. Truth be told, it’s more like what Dat said. I didn’t have the gumption to run.”
Marcus’s pale green eyes widened. “That’s not true! You have more gumption than anyone I know,” he protested. “Just making it from one day to the next with your father required more strength than most daughters ever have to call upon.”
Rosalyn thrummed with his insight. It did her heart good to hear Marcus say that her troubled relationship with Dat wasn’t normal . . . wasn’t her fault.
She found a smile for him. “Well! This isn’t what you had in mind to talk about when we left the pageant, ain’t so?” she asked lightly. “How about if I cozy things up while you figure out what you wanted to say?”
* * *
Marcus blinked. Once again Roz had turned the tables on him, turned the conversation around with a sparkle in her eyes that kept him guessing. She was right, too. He had no desire to spend the evening talking about her father when there were so many more fascinating topics to explore—for starters, the fact that she’d brought him to a place where they’d be alone and unchaperoned.
As he hung their coats in the mudroom, Rosalyn put a pan of water on the stove. With quick efficiency she took mugs from the cupboard—and just as he moved toward her, she ducked into the unlit front room.
“Make yourself at home, Marcus,” she called out.
He
had to smile. Rosalyn was the picture of Plain domesticity, playing the hostess to hold him at bay.
But listen to what she’s saying. She’s talking about a home, Hooley, giving you all the right cues—if you have enough gumption to follow through.
The heating system hissed, which meant she’d turned up the thermostat. Rosalyn entered the kitchen with a platter that held three fat red candles nestled in fresh greenery. “We’ve had these pretty candles since before Mamm passed,” she said as she set them on the table as a centerpiece. “We were always saving them for a special occasion, so it’s time to light them, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t let that remark pass. “Oh, jah? What’s the occasion?”
She struck a match. Her pretty face glowed in the candlelight she created as she lit the three wicks. “Well, Jesus has a birthday—and someone else in this room has one on Second Christmas, am I right?”
Marcus’s mouth fell open. “How’d you know that?”
Rosalyn’s smile turned playfully mysterious. “You told me—trying to convince me you weren’t a mere kid when you invited me for our sleigh ride,” she replied wistfully. “I made the mistake of calling you my boyfriend, but you got over it.”
She had him there.
She has you, all right. Don’t blow it.
“We’ll start your party with some brownies and sugar cookies—but we’ll have to wait for them to thaw,” Rosalyn added as she went to the freezer. “If you play your cards right, I’ll bake you a birthday cake and you can come over to Asa’s place to celebrate Second Christmas with us.”
“And if I don’t?” Marcus challenged before he caught himself.
Rosalyn set a lidded pan on the counter, turning to hold his gaze. “Then we’ll have a nice cake for dessert and you won’t,” she said with a shrug. “I suppose Miriam would bake you one if you dropped a hint—”
“I’ll be there. With you.”
The blush that crept into her cheeks told Marcus the time for teasing was over. He’d committed now—or he’d at least agreed to go along with her plans—and it would be the stupidest mistake of his life if he let Rosalyn down again. “Denki for remembering my birthday, and for already making it special,” he murmured. “It’s been a while since anybody baked me a cake.”
She took her time setting goodies on a plate—probably giving him a chance to keep talking while he was on a roll.
“I—I have a confession about our first sleigh ride,” he continued, hoping it was the right thing to do. “When I asked you to go out on that date, I wanted to ruffle your dat’s feathers—because I suspected he was hiding something.”
Rosalyn did a pretty good job of masking her disappointment. “You were right, too,” she whispered. “And without your help, we might not’ve learned the whole truth.”
Marcus sighed. She probably wouldn’t be such a good sport about the rest of his confession. “I, um, also asked you out to prove that I could lure you away from your straitlaced Old Order mind-set—so you’d spend time laughing and riding around with a bad apple like me, even though I knew your dat would get mad at you.”
Rosalyn considered his words carefully. “I needed to laugh and ride around with you more than you know, Marcus,” she whispered.
“But those were terrible, selfish reasons to spend time with you, Roz! It was a game to me,” Marcus blurted. “But I had a wonderful time that evening and—and I want to court you, please. You believe the best about me when so many folks think there’s nothing gut to see.”
A smile teased at the corners of Rosalyn’s lips. She poured hot water into two mugs and put them on the table. She took a canister of cocoa mix from the cabinet and brought it to the table with the cookies. She opened a drawer and removed two spoons. Just as these deliberate little stall tactics were driving Marcus to say something—anything, to end the maddening silence—Rosalyn sat down and gestured for him to take the seat beside her.
“When I look at you, Marcus,” she said in a low voice, “I see a very capable horse trainer with cat-green eyes and killer dimples who’s too handsome for his own gut—so attractive I can’t believe he wants to be with me,” she added humbly. “I also see a man who’s sincerely interested in the welfare of Willow Ridge, a man with ideas and the energy to carry them out. But the thought of joining the Old Order makes him really, really nervous.”
Marcus let out the breath he’d been holding. “You’ve got that right. I wish I could just take my vows without questioning—”
“But you should question!” Rosalyn insisted as she grabbed his hand. “Why do married men grow beards but never mustaches? Why must Amish women always go along with what their men say? Why is it so wrong to read the Bible for ourselves instead of believing that our bishop and preachers are the only ones who can interpret it?”
Rosalyn exhaled forcefully, as though her outburst had surprised her as much as it had him. “A lot of things about our faith bother me, Marcus, but I’m not supposed to question them,” she said in a calmer voice. “I took my vows because it was the path I was expected to follow as an obedient daughter. You’ve spent some time on the English side of the fence, so be very sure you can live with the Ordnung before you commit yourself to it.”
Marcus sensed it had taken every ounce of Rosalyn’s courage to voice her frustrations about the Amish faith. She was handing him a ticket out, but when he gazed into her ardent brown eyes, he didn’t want to sacrifice a lifetime of loving her for the sake of some unwritten man-made rules about Old Order religion. “Do you regret being Amish?” he asked softly.
Rosalyn appeared startled by his question, but she considered it. “It’s what I know. The Amish faith gives me a framework to build a solid, stable life on,” she replied. “I sometimes envy English women their conveniences and their independence, but I wouldn’t last a day in their world. I don’t know how I’d survive on my own.”
Marcus cocked his head, amazed that she’d even thought about these matters. “You could live English with me, Roz,” he whispered. “I’ve got a gut job with Wyatt, and now that your dat’s skipped out, I’m sure your sisters would understand—would still love you—if you decided to leave the church.”
“I’m not wired that way. I made my promise to God, and I intend to honor it.”
Nodding, he studied the sturdy hand that held his. Rosalyn had answered in exactly the way he’d expected, without berating him for asking such a question. She’d stated her case, so he knew what his options were. He admired her even more—for her integrity, and for accepting her place in a world that tilted in favor of men and the rules they made.
Marcus stirred some hot chocolate mix into their hot water and placed a mug in front of her. “Shall we drink a toast?”
Rosalyn’s eyes widened. “To what?”
He raised his mug, hoping he expressed his sentiments in a way that appealed to her. “Let’s drink to our first Christmas Eve together, and to a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, shall we?”
She tapped her mug lightly against his and sipped her cocoa. “Now let’s toast to your birthday, Marcus—and your best year ever,” she proposed.
His pulse pounded harder as their mugs clinked again. Rosalyn was gazing at him as though she expected him to take another turn . . . until he finally asked the question that hovered unspoken between them.
Marcus grinned when something occurred to him. “When I mentioned courting you a few minutes ago, you didn’t answer me, Roz.”
“You didn’t ask. You just said what you wanted—before you moved on to the part about other folks not seeing anything gut about you.”
He set down his mug so he wouldn’t drop it. She nailed you again, Hooley. It was all about you.
When Rosalyn raised her mug again to drink more cocoa, he had a feeling they’d play cat and mouse all evening unless he sent the game in a different direction. Why was this relationship such a challenge? Other girls had always—
She’s not like the others. Rosalyn’s genuin
e. She holds you accountable. Rather than hiding in denial, sweeping her emotions about her dat and her religion under the rug, she’s choosing to move on—and she’ll take you with her, if you’ll go.
Marcus leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Please, Roz, may I court you?” he whispered.
Her face glowed from more than the candlelight. “Jah, I’d like that, Marcus. More than anything.”
“More than getting married?” he challenged before he caught himself. He really had to stop smarting off if she was to take him seriously.
Rosalyn laughed. When she teased his dimple with her fingertip, Marcus was afraid to move for fear he’d lose the moment and the endearing smile on her lovely face. “Some women say the courtship’s the best part—all the fun of sleigh rides and picnics and such without the responsibilities of being a wife,” she said lightly.
When her expression grew wistful to the point of appearing worried, however, Marcus sensed she’d hit a bump in her emotional road. Her hand dropped away, and he immediately missed the contact of her skin against his.
“Are you afraid I’ll change my mind—run off again—if I get crosswise with Ben or Tom after I’ve joined the Amish church?”
Rosalyn shook her head, no longer meeting his gaze. “If we’re confessing our deep, dark secrets, I’d be wrong not to mention mine.”
Marcus’s eyes widened. What could a sweet, sheltered young woman like Roz be hiding? When she swiped at a tear, he got very concerned. She wasn’t the type to gain his sympathy by crying.
“When I was young, my mother . . . well, she lost some babies—”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“—and she got to the point where she didn’t want to go to bed at night, because . . . well, Dat . . .”
The fear and pain in Rosalyn’s voice painted a picture of a father—a marriage—no daughter should ever find out about. No wonder she favored a never-ending engagement. But Marcus didn’t intend to remain single and celibate, nor would he sleep in one room while his wife slept in another.
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