An Amish Country Christmas (22 page)

Chapter Seven

“I could bring us out some cookies, or make cocoa—”

“I’m full as a tick after that fine dinner, Nazareth,” Tom replied as he stood beside
her. “But thanks for thinkin’ of me, as you always do. How about if we just sit by
the fire for a spell?”

Nazareth reveled in the way her hand felt so small and protected when Tom wrapped
his larger, work-worn fingers around it and led her toward the love seat. Oh, but
she’d imagined this scene a dozen times, and she reminded herself not to let her daydreams
overrule common sense. She’d been in love with Tom Hostetler for months, but until
he’d opened that lawyer’s letter, she’d figured her feelings might be filed away for
years. He had a lot more to consider right now than her girlish fantasies, however.

As they settled on the small upholstered sofa, Nazareth pointed toward the big picture
window. “Off they go!” she murmured as Vernon’s sleigh cut through the snow behind
his big black horse.

“
Jah
, that’s quite a nice rig Vernon’s had restored.” Tom’s smile creased the lines around
his eyes and mouth. “He’s head over heels for your sister, ya know. Wasn’t expectin’
to do anything during this visit but catch up with me, yet here he is ready to court
again. It’s
gut
to see him so happy.”

“Jerusalem will put him through some paces, but she’s mighty glad he’s stayin’ over.”
Nazareth smoothed the folds of her apron, still relishing the way her hand felt in
Tom’s. “The two of us have been
maidels
for more than half our lives now, so we’ve got some . . . rethinkin’ to do.”

Tom nodded, gazing at the fire. His brown hair and beard were shot through with a
few strands of silver and his face was chapped from working in the winter wind, but
he radiated a kindness . . . a compassion that had drawn her to him from the beginning.
“The four of us have that in common,” he remarked quietly. “None of us figured on
so many possibilities poppin’ up these past couple days. But I believe it’s a sign
that God’s not nearly finished with us yet, and that He doesn’t want us to get too
comfortable or complacent.”

A short laugh escaped her. “Well, that letter you and your kids got sure turned a
few fiesty horses out of the barn.”

“
Jah
, and like that old sayin’ goes, there’s no gettin’ those horses back in after the
door’s been left open, either.” Tom focused intently on her. “While I had to leave
a message for my girls and Rudy, tellin’ them I was sorry they’d lost their
mamm
, Pete’s response tells me I’ve not heard the last of their accusations about her
leavin’ the family. Guess that goes with the territory.”

“Oh, Tom,” Nazareth said with a sigh. “I’m sorry you’re goin’ through such difficulties
all over again. Your kids have no idea what Lettie’s leavin’ has done to
you
. They’re only seein’ their own loss . . . and the way it must look to other folks.”

“Lucky for me, my friends here in Willow Ridge understand what-all I can’t do for
myself. Can’t tell ya how many meals I’ve eaten at the Sweet Seasons,” he remarked.
“But I get a lot more than
gut
food there. Miriam and her girls, and the other fellas who eat there so often, have
gotten me through the tough times. And now that you’re sittin’ here next to me, Naz,
I can’t begin to tell ya how . . . peaceful I feel. It’s been a long, long time since
I felt this happy.”

When he grasped her hand between both of his, her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s
wings. “It’s not right for me to be glad that Lettie has passed on,” she whispered.
“And I hope that doesn’t make me sound like a—”

He shushed her with a gentle finger on her lips. “Don’t worry yourself over that,
Naz. Ya didn’t know Lettie, so why would ya feel any grief over her passin’?” he asked.
“You’re such a comfort that Lettie’s death doesn’t bother me near so much as it would’ve,
had I been facin’ it alone. And I can finally allow my feelin’s for ya to take their
natural course.”

Oh, but she needed to hear that. For several moments they sat holding hands, treasuring
this time together. The flames popped and crackled as logs settled in the wood stove
. . . the aromas of brisket and baked vegetables lingered after dinner . . . the steady
ticking of the mantel clock became the heartbeat of the entire house as a cozy warmth
wrapped around them like an invisible afghan.

Did she dare say the words that tingled on her tongue? Nazareth took a deep breath.
She’d lived too much of her life alone to spend even another day—another minute—with
her emotions locked away like the linens she’d embroidered for her bride’s chest when
she was a girl. “I . . . I love ya, Tom.”

“Oh, Naz, I—” He embraced her so suddenly, so tightly, she wasn’t sure if her arms
and hands found the best places. But she held on to his sturdy body as though she’d
never let him go. “I’ve loved ya for so long, but there wasn’t the right time to say
it. Couldn’t leave ya hangin’ while I was unable to marry ya, or—”

“We’re not past that part yet,” she murmured as her head found his shoulder. “Our
friends understand that we have feelin’s for each other, but you’ll still need to
be proper about assumin’ your duties as bishop.”

“
Jah
, now more than ever I have to rise above the low road Hiram took these past several
months. Jeremiah, Enos, and Vernon’ll advise me about takin’ on my new responsibilities,”
he remarked quietly. “And it’s probably best if I follow their guidance, far as how
I behave with you, too. If they say you and Jerusalem should be bunkin’ elsewhere,
that’s how it’ll have to be.”

“We understand that, Tom. We’ll do everything ya need us to.”

He hugged her close again, sighing as he nuzzled her temple. “Right now, though, it’s
just you and me, Naz. My heart’s hammerin’ and my thoughts are whirlin’, and I don’t
wanna do the wrong thing by—”

Nazareth placed her hand alongside his dear face and kissed him on the lips.

Tom sucked in his breath.

She returned his startled gaze. Where on Earth had she gotten such nerve? Wasn’t the
man supposed to do those things first? Would Tom think she was a loose woman, pushing
for physical affection when they’d just agreed that he had to be above moral reproach?

A smile eased over Tom’s face. “Well, now. That cuts right to the point, ain’t so?”
he whispered. “Less talk, more action.”

“I couldn’t wait,” Nazareth whispered. “Couldn’t resist.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Oh, but you’ve made me feel like a man again, Naz,”
he murmured. “Maybe . . . maybe ya ought to kiss me again, to be sure I understood
your meanin’ that first time.”

A giggle escaped her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Tom’s lips sought hers,
tentative and sweet, before he settled in for an unhurried exploration of her mouth.
Nazareth followed his lead, wondering if she would pass out of this world from sheer
delight. Years of lonely resignation to her fate as a
maidel
floated away and she was a young girl again, kissing a beau—except this felt so much
better. She trusted Tom. Had none of those girlish doubts about his intentions or
whether she dared to hope his feelings for her would last beyond this kiss, this moment.

“Oh, Naz.” He tucked her head against his shoulder. “I’ve been waitin’ a long time
for that. It was even better than I believed it would be.”

Her heart thrummed with quiet joy. “
Jah
, it was, Tom.”

He gazed at her with eyes as dark and warm as melted chocolate. “Be patient while
things unfold these next weeks . . . maybe months,” he whispered. “I promise ya, we’ll
be gettin’ back to this lovey-dovey stuff, because it’ll bring us a whole new life—better
than what came before.”

Nazareth flushed. “It’s not like I’ve had much of that, ya know.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he teased. “You’re a natural, at bein’ a bishop’s wife and
at bein’ my woman, too, Naz. Can ya hang on for me, til the time’s right?”

A bishop’s wife . . . my woman, too
. Oh, but her soul sang as she got warm all over. “It’s not like other fellas are
bangin’ my door down,” she said with a laugh.

“Their loss. Lucky for me I spotted ya even though I was lookin’ down too much, feelin’
the weight of Lettie’s leavin’ as somethin’ I might’ve brought on.”

“Put that behind ya now. I can’t understand why any woman would forsake ya, Tom,”
she replied.

He kissed her again. Then, with a sigh, he glanced at the clock. “Got some cows in
the barn that’ll be bawlin’ soon, wonderin’ where I am. The milkin’ sorta sets my
schedule—”

“And I want to help with it. Might come a time when ya get called away, a bishop seein’
to a member’s concerns, and I’ll need to see to your chores. Best if the cows get
used to me bein’ around them, too.”

Tom’s eyes widened with gratitude. “You’re like a miracle come into my life on the
coattails of Christmas. Bless ya, Naz.”

“Bless ya right back, Tom,” she whispered. “I hope to make your life a wonderful-
gut
place every single day, from here on out.”

Chapter Eight

“What a glorious day! The other three seasons are fine, but only a snowy winter’s
afternoon shines this way,” Vernon proclaimed. “Geddap, Samson! Let’s show this special
lady a fine time.”

As the sleigh bells jingled to the rhythm of the horse’s trot, Jerusalem couldn’t
quit grinning. The years she’d lived as a
maidel
with her sister, resigned to spending her days in the schoolhouse or with her women
friends, faded away. Hiram Knepp’s dismissal of her feelings blew off with the
whoosh
of the wind as they pulled past the corner of Tom’s stable. For sure and for certain,
Vernon Gingerich knew how to make a woman feel special.

Was this bishop as wonderful as he seemed? Was he especially attracted to
her
, or did he enjoy every woman he met? As his huge black Percheron headed across the
open pasture, Jerusalem warned herself not to lose her common sense or her heart,
for the higher her pie-in-the-sky hopes rose, the farther they might fall.

“Oh, but this is a sight,” she murmured, gesturing at the picture-postcard panorama.
From this hilltop, they could see miles of glistening whiteness in every direction,
punctuated by farmsteads with deep red barns, tall white homes, and their windbreaks
of evergreens. Clusters of silos and sheds dotted the distant landscape, with a backdrop
of blue sky so brilliant it made her squint. “Haven’t taken in such a perty view in
a sleigh for more years than I care to count.
Denki
for this ride, Vernon.”

“It’s my pleasure, dear heart. Anything that makes your eyes shine is worth my time.”
He gave the horse its head and settled back in the dark red upholstered seat. “This
sleigh belonged to my favorite uncle. I didn’t know it then, but when I had it refurbished,
God must have been planning this outing with you. While I look for any excuse to drive
it, occasions like this are meant to be shared, don’t you think?”

Truth be told, Jerusalem
couldn’t
think.
Dear heart
, he’d called her... “You’ve got that right, Vernon. And it gives Tom and my sister
a chance to talk for a while, too,” she replied. “My word, but he’s had a lot dumped
in his lap this past week, what with Hiram gettin’ the boot and Lettie’s passin’.”

“Tom’s an exceptional soul. He’ll handle whatever life brings his way, and Nazareth’s
company will be a timely blessing, as well.” When Vernon smiled, the lines around
his blue eyes crinkled merrily. He scooted closer to her. “But it’s
you
I want to hear about, Jerusalem. Dozens of fine women have tried to catch my eye
since my Dorothea died six years ago, but the moment I saw you it was spontaneous
combustion. I sincerely hope you feel that same sort of . . . heat.”

This man’s words were warming her, all right. Jerusalem glanced away from his earnest
expression, telling herself to breathe—and not to fan her face with her hand. Was
Vernon full of himself? Or was he cutting to the chase?

“Think I told ya we sisters came to Missouri from Lancaster County, with nephews lookin’
to start fresh where land was affordable. On New Year’s Day, Ben married Miriam—the
gal who owns the Sweet Seasons Café—and the younger two, Luke and Ira, have been buildin’
a gristmill on the riverbank.” She met his eyes again. “Nazareth and I like Willow
Ridge so much we’ve not even considered going back East, even though our nephews would
get along fine without us.”

“Aunts are special people,” Vernon replied. “My aunts, Nettie and Florence, came to
live with me after their homes washed away in the flood of Ninety-three, along with
Florence’s son, Abner. I shudder to think how alone I would’ve been after my wife
passed, without their company. We weren’t able to have children, you see.”

“Ah. That makes it harder when ya get . . . to a certain age.”

“Thank you for not calling me
old
,” he teased, elbowing her. “Right now I feel about twenty, no matter if my crow’s-feet
and white hair indicate otherwise.”

“Hah! I wouldn’t be twenty again,” Jerusalem countered. “Too many important life decisions
need to be made at that age, when ya don’t know spit about anything. And it wasn’t
like the fellas were poundin’ my door down back then.”

She nipped her lip. Why had she revealed the fact that no one had been interested
in her when she was of courting age?

“Are they now? Pounding your door down, that is?”

Jerusalem blinked and then swatted his arm playfully. “And what if they are? Or what
if I’m a nag, or too set in my ways to change? Truth be told, I’m not sure I want
to be trainin’ a fella to my way of thinkin’ at this stage of the game.”

Vernon’s laughter rang around them, sounding as merry as the sleigh bells. “Maybe
I’m just as comfortable in my rut as you are, my dear—not eager to upset my routine.
But you know what they say about a rut. If you remain there, entrenching yourself,
it eventually becomes your grave.”

When he focused on her, unwavering and intense, Jerusalem couldn’t look away. “Well,”
she murmured, “I for one don’t intend to die anytime soon.”

“If you do, I’ll be a sorry . . . lonely man, Jerusalem.”

Her mouth dropped open. How did this eloquent fellow keep answering her objections
without a moment’s hesitation? “I . . . I don’t know what to say. And that hardly
ever happens—just ask the folks who know me.”

Chuckling, Vernon tugged on the reins. When the sleigh stopped, they sat in a hollow
of the field, shielded by a row of spruce trees that whispered in the wind. Not a
house was in sight. “Maybe you don’t need words,” he whispered. “Maybe you’d rather
say it this way.”

When his lips gently found hers, Jerusalem nearly fainted. Vernon eased away to look
into her eyes, and then kissed her again with a sweet thoroughness that made her soul
sing. She recalled a few neighbor boys sneaking kisses back in the day, but
nothing
had ever made her feel so vibrant . . . so desirable.
So needy
.

With a gasp she backed away. “This feels sinfully delicious. Maybe we shouldn’t be—”

“Nonsense,” he murmured, cupping her face in his gloved hand. “God created men and
women to be together, to please each other and to bless His name by bearing good fruit—whether
it be by teaching young scholars or shepherding a flock of church members. Whatever
abilities we develop from the gifts He’s given us are an offering to Him. Didn’t Jesus
command us to love one another, after all?”

There was no getting around that one, was there? “
Jah
, that He did. But when things get outta hand—”

“I think we’ve got things well in hand, Jerusalem.” Vernon lightly placed his other
palm on her cheek, framing her face as he gazed at her with a tenderness she’d never
known. “And while it may be too soon to call this
love
, I hope you’ll at least give me the chance to explore that possibility. Life can
be short, or life can be long. Either way, it’s best when shared with someone who
matters. And you
matter
to me, Jerusalem.”

Again her mouth dropped open. She’d never had a man render her speechless . . . and
it felt better than she had expected. After all, if she insisted on talking, Vernon
wouldn’t have as much chance to kiss her again, the way he was now. Slowly, mesmerizing
her with his mouth, he coaxed her closer . . . entreated her to open her heart and
soul to him. Jerusalem let her head fall back against his arm. What would it be like
to feel this shimmery, this giddy, every day of her life—every time this man kissed
her?

It was too soon to be thinking that way. But what if it might be a long-lost dream
about to come true, if she gave it half a chance?

Once again Jerusalem eased her lips from Vernon’s, and then she scooted a few inches
away from him. “Maybe we’d ought to get on with our ride,” she suggested, and then
she laughed. “That sounded like an old schoolteacher talkin’, ain’t so? If you’re
thinkin’ to get serious about me, Vernon, you’ll have to deal with my tendency to
call things like I see them, and then to . . . suggest improvements.”

Vernon clapped the reins lightly on the horse’s back. “You can take the teacher away
from her class, but you can’t take the
class
away from the teacher,” he teased as the sleigh began gliding across the snow again.
“I knew from the moment we met that you’d be no man’s doormat, Jerusalem. And while
I, as a bishop, believe wives should submit to their husbands, I also know that when
a husband makes all the decisions—has all the power—a marriage can become badly out
of balance.”

Well, that sounds reasonable enough.
Jerusalem focused on the exquisite beauty of the landscape and the way the black
Percheron’s gait and strength were making this ride so wonderfully smooth. Better
to listen rather than to talk sometimes, as men tended to reveal their true selves
when she didn’t reply to every little thing . . . allowed them to fill in the blanks
of their conversation.

“My Dorothea was a quiet woman, but she had ways of making her wishes known,” Vernon
continued. “Because we had no children, we were especially close. I adored making
her laugh . . . making every day a blessing for her, the way she did for me. I miss
doing that,” he reflected quietly. “I miss sharing my innermost thoughts as much as
I miss sharing . . . my bed.”

Jerusalem sat up straighter, her nerves a-jangle. Vernon’s voice was mellow and clear,
riding the highs and lows of his emotions, which suggested that he was probably a
compelling speaker on a Sunday morning. But this talk of sharing a bed . . .
my word, how will I ever be comfortable taking off my clothes for a man, at my age?

Vernon gazed at her until she figured she’d better look his way.

“Please don’t think I’ll pressure you into having sex, Jerusalem,” he said without
blinking an eye. “But it’s a pleasure I miss. Something I would dearly love to share
with you someday—in the proper circumstances, of course.”

Was he suggesting marriage or was he making a very bold pass? Jerusalem’s thoughts
raced. She’d had such a ready answer for his teasing remarks over the Scrabble board,
but being out here alone with him, talking about physical relations . . . private
pleasures she knew nothing about while he’d taken them for granted most of his life
. . .

“You’re very quiet, Jerusalem.”

She cleared her throat primly. “I don’t make a habit of expressing opinions on topics
I know . . . nothing about.”

Vernon’s eyes widened as he realized what she was saying. “I’ve offended you,” he
whispered. “You and I have so many things in common that, well—I’ve been crass and
thoughtless, and I beg your forgiveness, Jerusalem. I’m
sorry
.”

She heard true contrition in his voice. A man’s admission that he’d been thoughtless
came about as often as snow in July, so Vernon Gingerich was indeed a rare fellow.
“Apology accepted. You’re easy to forgive.”

He drove in silence for a few moments, which made Jerusalem fear she’d turned his
crank the wrong direction. But then, if it bothered him that she’d lived as an honorable
woman, it was better to know that now than later.

“Let me say this,” he ventured in his low, steady voice. “If it’s a matter of inexperience
making you nervous, we can remedy that. If the idea of having sex repels you, or you
have no interest in trying it, that’s a different story.”

Jerusalem sank her fingers into the sleigh’s upholstered seat, mostly to get a grip
on how she should answer that. Truth be told, having a man want her in that way was
making her thrum all over, even if she feared doing something stupid when the time
came to try what he was suggesting. “This old dog still has a few tricks in her,”
she murmured. “Just a matter of how the trainer approaches her and . . . what sort
of enticement and reward he offers, once he’s got her attention.”

For a moment there was only the jingle of the sleigh bells and the
whish
of the sleigh’s runners cutting through the snow. Then Vernon’s chuckle got louder
and the seat vibrated with his mirth.

He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “What a gem you are, Jerusalem. Absolutely
priceless. If—
when
—the time comes for your training, I’ll be sure to have plenty of treats on hand.
Lavish praise works well, too. And repetition.”

“Do it again and again until you do it correctly,” Jerusalem agreed, fighting a smile.
“A school teacher’s way to instill knowledge of any topic, ain’t so?”

“You’re absolutely right, Jerusalem.”

She laughed out loud, no longer nervous. “Commit that to memory, Vernon. Ya just said
four of the most important words in the English language.”

“You’re absolutely
right
, Jerusalem!” he proclaimed. When a fellow in the yard they were passing waved at
them, they returned the greeting. “There! I’ve even got a witness.”

“
Jah
, that’s Henry Zook, the storekeeper. We just gave him somethin’ real interesting
to report to his wife, Lydia, ain’t so?”

As Vernon directed his horse to turn down the next road, Jerusalem felt light and
playful. Truth be told, the two of them had covered some important topics . . . and
in her
maidel
’s heart, she was pleased—flattered—that Vernon was interested in her as a woman.
She’d given up on the dream of becoming a wife, yet that subject shimmered around
them like the tiny snowflakes that sparkled in the wind. When the Percheron started
down Tom’s long lane, two bundled-up figures coming from the dairy barn waved at them.

“See there? We managed to miss the afternoon milking,” Vernon teased. He pulled the
sleigh to a halt several yards from the house. “What would you say to going home with
me, Jerusalem? I’m staying to help Tom with the Sunday service and the Member’s Meeting,
but I would dearly love your company for the ride back to Cedar Creek . . . and so
you could meet my family.”