by Kelly Irvin
She’d been kissed and she still knew how to kiss back. Given the chance.
He felt different than Eli, not better or worse, only different. And nice.
Very nice.
“Are you going to answer me or just sit there looking at me with that goofy stare?”
“Sorry, I’m worn out from making all those popcorn balls and gingerbread men.” Embarrassment coursed through her, as warm as the thought of his lips on hers. Think, think. Her scattered thoughts hopscotched from one to ten and back. Think, think. “How is it at Michael’s? The house is quiet without you. I—we—miss you.”
“You have chocolate on your lip.” He pointed with his trembling index finger so close he almost touched her mouth. His gaze flitted to her eyes and then back to her mouth. He smiled. “Fudge?”
Nodding, she eased back and wiped at her face with her apron. “Or it could be brownie or chocolate chip cookie or toffee bar.”
He laughed, but his gaze remained on her lips.
More heat, this time blazing. Her fingers lingered on her mouth, covering it. “There’s something about Christmas Eve, isn’t there?”
He nodded, the humor in his face fading. “Chockful of memories.”
“Eli loved the holidays.”
“So did Marian. She started making gifts in August. The house always smelled like peppermint. The candy cane cookies were her favorite.”
“Eli liked the gingerbread men.”
“So you made those for every one of the kinner.”
“I did.” She smiled. He smiled back. Such a sweet smile. He should do it more often. “We should be making new traditions, not stumbling around in old ones.”
He shrugged. “At our age the trick is to balance the two. What’s your favorite cookie?”
“Snickerdoodles.”
“I like the thumbprint cookies.”
Laura studied her hands. Could two old fogeys make new memories together? Jennie and Leo stood at the refreshment table sharing a cup of mulled cider and laughing over something her youngest, Frances, had done. They looked as if they’d been married all their lives and not a little over two years. They had their second chance at love and it looked good on them.
Old memories and new ones. A balance.
Laura shifted on the hard bench. Zechariah said nothing. He seemed content to watch the children play Simon Says and Here-We-Go-Round-the-Mulberry-Bush in the space where the program had taken place. Two girls played tic-tac-toe on the chalkboard. Botching abounded.
Their youthful exuberance brushed its wings against Laura’s skin. Joy and energy mingled. She could walk home if need be, walk to Jamesport and beyond. Christmas joy was like that.
“I figure I won’t see you tomorrow.” A peculiar hesitancy crept into Zechariah’s voice. Laura glanced his way. His cheeks had turned ruddy. His gaze didn’t meet hers. His shaking fingers grappled with a canvas daypack that lay at his side. “So I’ll give this to you now.”
He laid a small, plain package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine in the space between them. He shoved it toward her with one knobby finger. She glanced around. No one paid them any mind. “I don’t have anything for you.”
“Don’t make a big thing out of it. You already gave me the one thing I wanted.” He rubbed his hands together. “Open mine now.”
Whatever was he talking about? Either he’d lost his mind or her memory had gotten so bad she didn’t remember giving him a gift. “Now?”
“Are you hard of hearing?”
Laura swiveled so she gave her back to Ruby and her other daughters, who gathered with grandbabies in their arms, laughing and talking, giving no notice to her doings. She ripped the paper away to reveal a small pink bag. Inside the bag, small, pink binoculars.
“They’re small but powerful.” Zechariah’s grin held glee. “Just the right size for a woman’s hands. Look, they fold in the middle. They have a good field of view up to one thousand yards. They’re light too.”
“For bird-watching?”
“Nee, for peeking in windows and spying on people. Of course for bird-watching. And seeing other wildlife while you’re out there.” He crossed his arms and leaned back. “You seemed interested and the bird count at Swan Lake in January would be the perfect place to start. Last year we counted 243 trumpeter swans and 50 bald eagles, not to mention all the owls and snow geese.”
They weren’t just binoculars. They were an invitation into Zechariah’s life. A passion he wanted to share—with Laura. A vaguely familiar tingling feeling zipped up her spine. Her breath caught. That feeling of anticipation. She ran her fingers over the shiny pink. “I feel bad that I didn’t get you anything.” Her voice sounded funny in her ears. Like the young girl she’d once been. The girl who saw the possibilities and longed to experience them. “But danki. You’re sweet.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things lately, but sweet’s not one of them.” His face went scarlet. “And you did give me something.”
“I know my memory isn’t what it used to be, but—”
“You didn’t treat me like a big baby.” His gruff voice grew rougher than steel wool. Laura had to bend closer to hear him. “You gave me cover to run away from home that day. You understood why I needed . . . to go. Besides, I also ate two gingerbread men and a caramel popcorn ball when you weren’t looking.”
“You did not!”
“Your little ones are quick to share.”
A pause filled with the squeals of small children and the big ones’ laughter. The socializing could go on for hours. Her gift to Zechariah had been a simple one of faith. He needed someone to have faith in him. “With age comes wisdom. Maybe our kinner will figure that out someday.” The sight of Zechariah marching back into the house, head held high, later that afternoon had done her good. He even remembered to return the plastic container, freshly washed by Jessica, and the pot holders. He looked younger and walked straighter. Never mind that he still ended up at Michael’s house. The point had been made. “How is it going at Michael’s?”
“Fine and dandy.” His eyes darkened. Lines around his mouth and eyes deepened. Sadness fought with his attempt at lightheartedness. “Michael’s fraa is a gut cook. She has a kind disposition. She’s not as cranky as Rosalie. But then she doesn’t have twins to feed in the middle of the night. Which means no boplin screeching either.”
“You miss Mia and Mary.”
“I do.” He didn’t try to dress the words up. “I miss . . . everyone.”
“Me too.” She didn’t offer to sort out what she meant by that.
Zechariah’s eyes narrowed. He laced his fingers in his lap. His legs crossed at the ankles, then uncrossed. “So maybe you’ll go see the swans.”
“I’ll try. Tamara may be gone by then.”
“By then Rosalie will be able to care for the boplin on her own.”
“It’s time to go.” Michael tucked his arm in his coat as he walked toward them. His fraa, Cathy, trotted behind him, shooing along their two children. They were about the same age as Delia and Samuel. “It’s starting to snow and the roads are icy. The kinner are tired.”
Zechariah stood, his back to his grandson. “If you don’t be sad, I won’t either. Merry Christmas.”
A golden promise from a man who surprised her. Few could at this late date. A lump lodged in Laura’s throat. She managed a nod. “Merry Christmas.”
He wrestled with his coat. Cathy insisted on helping him. He rolled his eyes and batted her hand away. “I’m not one of your kinner.”
“Groossdaadi!”
They bantered their way through the crowd toward the door.
Laura smoothed her fingers over the soft pink bag. Her own binoculars. “Zechariah.”
Tossing his gray wool scarf around his neck, Zechariah turned. So did Michael and Cathy. Ignoring their curious gazes, Laura focused on Zechariah. “I might need to borrow that new bird guide you have.”
“You’re welcome to it.” His tone was brusque, his
gaze caught somewhere over her shoulder. “I can bring it to you—”
“Groossdaadi.” Michael broke in.
“I’ll come by for it.” Laura shot Zechariah a look he would understand. “It’s no problem.”
“See you then.”
The promise of those three words was the best gift of all.
TWENTY-FIVE
SOMETIMES IT DIDN’T PAY TO SHARE SECRETS. EXASPERATED, Laura retied her bonnet and tried to ignore Mary Katherine’s chatter. She found Zechariah’s gift of binoculars to be so interesting she’d been talking about it for five miles now. Quiet to contemplate all the meanings of a Christmas gift would have been preferable. But catching a ride with Mary Katherine made Laura’s current mission easier. She didn’t want to explain a stop at the dawdy haus to Ben and Rosalie. Ezekiel had stayed home with the head cold and cough that was going around. That gave Laura the opportunity she needed. She climbed into Mary Katherine’s buggy after the children’s Christmas Eve program at the school and settled under the thick fleecy blanket. What did the binoculars mean?
Especially coupled with the kiss. She hadn’t told her friend about the kiss. Absolutely not. Mary Katherine would fall over in a faint, the horse would spook, careen out of control, and the buggy would flip, landing them all in a ditch.
All because of one small, feathery kiss.
They’d kissed like teenagers who’d never done it before. Two people, both married for more than forty years, with sixteen children between them, living and dead, kissed like it was the newest thing since wringer wash machines.
“He gave you binoculars. Pink lady binoculars,” Mary Katherine said for the fourth time. “I’m so happy for you.”
“It’s not a proposal.”
“I know I’ve teased you a gut bit about Zechariah, but I really do want you to be happy and he’s a gut man.” Mary Katherine wiggled in her seat like a little girl at church for the first time. “A little cantankerous, but who isn’t at our age?”
“It’s only a little gift. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure it does. I promise you, it does.”
“He’s old. I’m old. We’ve had our liebs, our kinner. It’s our time to sit by the fireplace and keep our achy bones warm.”
“Is it time for us to have that conversation again about The One?”
Mary Katherine was right. Not so long ago, Laura had insisted Mary Katherine consider the possibility that God might give her a second chance at The One, a man she would love more than she thought possible. She loved Moses with all her heart. Now she loved Ezekiel with the same no-holds-barred intensity. Just as he had loved his first wife and now loved her.
Now the kiss was on the other cheek. The One. Could Zechariah be Laura’s second chance? At seventy-three? It seemed impossible, but with God, all things were possible. “Can we talk about something else?”
Mary Katherine laughed. Her breath filled the night air with puffy white clouds. “I love Christmas, don’t you? It’s so full of possibilities.”
Mary Katherine could read minds, it seemed. Fortunately, her question required no answer.
For a few minutes Mary Katherine prattled on about how many books they had sold at the store and how good business had been for the holidays. Finally her voice trailed away, leaving the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the icy asphalt and the whistle of the wind in the trees.
“For a woman who generally rivals me in the talk department, you sure are quiet.” Mary Katherine’s voice softened. “Zechariah giving you a gift must make you think of Eli. I think of my Moses and I know that he’s happy I’m happy. Eli would be too.”
He would be. But the attention of another man on Christmas Eve, this night of all nights, was strange in retrospect. God’s timing? Christmas Eve was a strange, yet glorious, night for Eli to be taken home. He probably grinned about it still. On the other hand Laura remembered each year how it felt to wake up on Christmas morning and find his hands as cold as ice, his lips blue, and his face lifeless. The dawning realization that those lips would never move again. She would never hear him profess his love in that husky whisper in her ear late at night or feel those lips kiss her neck. His fingers would never trace her collarbone or trail across her cheek as his eyes studied her face, trying to decide where to land the next kiss.
He would never laugh or smile or sing or order or scold or love her again.
She had aged since then. The years had not been kind to Zechariah. Caring for him meant facing a future filled with caregiving. A future where she might lose a loved one once again. Could she—dare she—face that again?
The feel of his lips on hers made her close her eyes and sigh.
Teenagers swooned over kisses, not great-grandmothers. It wasn’t just the kiss, although it was no small matter in its unexpected delightfulness, but the solidarity, the closeness, the sense of life lessons shared. No starting from scratch, but rather diving in the deep end of the lake of life.
“Nee. I’m fine. I keep busy. You know that.” She shivered and tugged the blanket tighter over her lap. If anyone understood how to navigate such a strange new path, Mary Katherine did. She glowed with happiness every time she said Ezekiel’s name. He had diabetes. She delighted in finding new sugar-free dessert recipes for him. She adapted to him and he to her. “The program was very sweet this year.”
“And you handed out at least fifty popcorn balls and a hundred gingerbread men. I believe I saw Zechariah eat two of the gingerbread men and a popcorn ball. He stole them from Naomi.”
“Everyone loves gingerbread men.”
Mary Katherine cackled. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Did you see Tamara sneak out with Emmett there at the end? That’s a gut sign, isn’t it? She looked like a girl in lieb.”
“I did see them.” Mary Katherine, ever the optimist, saw what she wanted to see. Laura saw a young woman trying to fit in, trying to make her family happy. “They’ve only just met, but I’m hopeful.”
It was Christmas Eve after all, the night of the greatest miracle in history. Jesus, the Son of God, born of a virgin girl and a simple Nazarene.
“You should be. A grand trying to stick to the path. Speaking of grands, why are you going to the dawdy haus?” She clucked at the horse and the buggy picked up speed. Mary Katherine was a writer and all writers were nosy. The curiosity must’ve been killing her. “You know you can’t talk to Hannah.”
“I don’t plan to talk to her.” Laura shouldn’t involve Mary Katherine in her little rebellious plot. Mary Katherine would stay in the buggy, far from the dawdy haus. Laura would only peek to make sure Hannah was doing well. She’d be about three months now. Maybe the morning sickness had passed by now. She was such a skinny girl, she’d probably be showing. Was she warm enough? Did Jacob and the boys leave plenty of firewood for her? “Rachel talked to her yesterday. She said she’s passing the time sewing baby clothes and blankets. She is a gut girl. She’s fine.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
“We may not be able to talk to her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t leave her a little something.” Nowhere in discussing the bann did Ben say anything about Christmas presents. Not a word. “She’s still my great-grand and she still deserves a Christmas.”
The ministers would disagree. Hannah’s sin deserved punishment and that meant no frivolity. She could celebrate the birth of Christ through praise and prayer and thinking about her transgressions.
But one gift wouldn’t offset her penance.
Mary Katherine clucked and snapped the reins again. “That’s the Christmas spirit.”
The dawdy haus was dark except for the flickering light of a lantern in the kitchen window near the back. Mary Katherine pulled up near the front porch so they couldn’t be seen from the main house. “Hurry.” She sounded pleased as a girl going to her first rumspringa party. “You don’t want to get caught, do you?”
A grown woman sneaking around her daughter’s house, trying to leave a package for her wayward great-g
randchild. Eli would have shaken his head and pulled her into his lap for a good talking-to.
What would Zechariah think of it?
He’d looked exhilarated by his mad dash to freedom the previous week. He would approve. She was sure of it. Not that she needed his approval. Still, the idea that he would be first in line to leave a present on his grand’s porch assured Laura she was on the right track.
Her arms wrapped around her package, she tiptoed toward the porch. She peered at the ground in the dark, hoping she didn’t fall into a hole or trip over a branch brought down by gales of frigid wind earlier in the day. Women her age didn’t bounce.
The wind blew almost as hard now, sending a chill through her. She bent against it and trudged forward. An instant later, she smacked against a solid form.
“Hey!”
“Hey.”
“Who is it?” Adrenaline shot through her, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. Shivering, she back stepped. She fought to keep her legs from buckling. “Phillip? What are you doing here?”
The young man ducked his head. He, too, held a package clutched in his arms, but his was much larger. A huge, heavy-looking cardboard box. In the dark it was impossible to tell what it had held in the past. He eased it onto the welcome mat in front of the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Leaving something for Hannah. You shouldn’t be here. If anyone sees you around here, they’ll have to tell the ministers. Hannah’s in enough trouble.”
“I know that. I’m just . . . I’m not . . . I thought . . .” Rubbing his hands together, he backed away. “I wasn’t trying to talk to her. She doesn’t know I’m here, I promise. Please don’t tell anyone. I meant no harm. I didn’t violate the bann. I only wanted to leave something for Hannah.”
In the darkness Laura couldn’t see his face, but his deep voice, barely a whisper in the wind, trembled with anxiety. He spoke the truth. She had no desire to get anyone in trouble. Besides, how would she explain her own presence on Hannah’s doorstep in the dark of evening?
Especially when Phillip apparently had the same idea she did.