Christmas in Apple Ridge (4 page)

“Whoa.” He chuckled and pressed his back against the door, holding it open for her. “A woman on a mission.”

Embarrassed she hadn’t seen him in time to slow down and use her
manners, she dipped her head. “Denki.” She intended to be polite and keep moving, but when she glanced at his face, his golden brown eyes stopped her cold. Intrigue collided with unease, and she told herself to go into the store. Yet she simply stood. He was in his mid to late twenties, Amish, and clean-shaven, like all single Amish men.

And something about him had her mesmerized. Did she know him?

His pursed lips did not hide his smile or his amusement at her gaping.

Stop gawking and go inside, Beth!

She cleared her throat, lowered her eyes, and slipped past him. Disobeying the wisdom she’d gained about single men, she turned to see him again. His smile was gone, but his eyes lingered, taking her in as much as she took him in.

Had they met somewhere? Maybe on one of her trips through the Ohio Amish community? He seemed oddly familiar.

Moreover, he felt …

An image of Henry moved into her mind, and she came to herself.

He remained at the doorway. “Can I help you?”

“No, I … I’m just here to look around.”

“There’s the main room, which you’re in, and a few rooms off to the sides. There’s also more upstairs, including seasonal items. Pete’s in the back with a customer, but he’ll be out in a bit.”

“Denki.” Horrified at how brazen she must appear, she made a beeline to the stairs.

Once out of his sight, she found her breath and her good sense
again. She’d simply remain upstairs for a bit and hope he’d been in the process of leaving when she nearly ran him over. Rattled, she closed her eyes and tried to even out her breathing. She’d felt a spark of interest for a man once before. He’d been a stranger to her too, and nothing would ever cause her to let down her guard like that again. Ready to forget and focus on her job, she began looking around the shop.

Searching through each room, she spotted nothing outstanding. Pete carried mostly antique pieces, all ordinary, but she couldn’t stop walking the aisles of the rooms again and again. Old and new mattresses were propped against the walls, along with bedsprings and slats. Arrays of floor lamps with Tiffany-style stained-glass lampshades were scattered throughout, some old and some quite new. An Amish-made twin bed sat in one room with the dresser and matching hope chest in a separate room. The store carried a variety of items, but if this was how the management organized things, the sales weren’t what they could be.

While all the rooms were much the same, she kept returning to one specific room. What continued to draw her back to this area? There had to be something. Threading her way through the packed aisles, she looked behind the bulky furniture. Under a draped quilt between a bed and a hope chest, she spotted the edge of a striking piece of wood, maybe part of a buffet.

She eased the quilt up. Surprised at her find, she sank to her knees.

A carving. More intricate in detail than anything she’d ever seen.

Unlike ordinary artwork, it was made from a log and sat on the ground like a small upturned stump. It stood about a foot high and was a foot in diameter. On it the artisan had created an entire scene of
Amish children playing in the snow on a hillside. The artist hadn’t used paint, but she could easily see the carefully fashioned snow. A man stood off to the side, leaning against an intricately carved tree. She ran her fingers over the work, the details of which she couldn’t believe or even have imagined possible.

“You like it?” A man’s voice echoed through the room, but she didn’t look up and was barely able to make herself respond.

“It’s amazing.”

“The Old Man himself made that. He’s been carving since he was five. I think he might just have the hang of it.”

“I’d say so, yes. Why are you hiding it up here?”

“It’s a Christmas scene. Nobody buys winter stuff in August.”

“I think people would purchase this any time of the year.”

“You gonna buy it?”

Beth looked up to see a man in his sixties standing in the doorway. “Do you have more than this one piece?”

“Not right now. He probably has more in his shop. Most of what he makes is smaller. He’s really good at making canes and walking sticks. We sell a lot of those.”

“And this ‘old man’ is a friend of yours?”

“Yep. Probably the best one I’ve ever had.”

“Does he live around here?”

“Not close, not far. And I can’t see how that should make a difference on whether you want to buy it.”

She pulled a business card out of her satchel and rose. “I’m Elizabeth Hertzler. Call me Beth. I’d be interested in talking with him.”

He scratched his head. “You own a store in Pennsylvania?”

“Yes, but I also supply Amish and Englischer stores with Amish products—from indoor and outdoor furniture to swing sets to picture frames.” She passed him a catalog. “If you need it, I have a skilled Amish person who can make it.”

“I doubt he’d agree to sell like that. He handpicks his pieces of wood and takes months to create them. He went down a gorge last winter to get this one. He and his brother used a rope, a draft horse, and a lot of determination to drag it out.”

“And then you hide it under a blanket.”

The man laughed. “I guess so. He hasn’t ever complained. Still, I’m not sure how it got shifted to this spot. Since most of his work depicts winter scenes, they catch more attention in cold weather. I put them near the entry of the store at Christmastime, and they sell pretty well then.”

“I’m not interested in selling this one, but I’m sure I can find stores that would carry his work and display it in good view year round.”

“I thought you owned a store.”

“I’m not sure my bishop would allow us to carry this type of work.”

“His bishop lets him make it.”

“Your friend is Amish?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe that’ll help my position if I try to convince my bishop. Regardless, I want this one. How much?”

“Seeing how you like it so much, how about a hundred dollars?”

“A hundred dollars?”

“Too much?”

“Too little. Why would you undervalue his work?”

“It’s art by a man no one knows. I get the best price I can.” The man smiled. “But if you think you can do better, I’ll give you his address.”

“I’ll take the info with me. Unless it’s on my way, I won’t have time to talk with him this trip. Does he have a phone?”

“Nope. His bishop is strict about phones. Why’d you ask where he lived if you’re not planning to go see him?”

“It’s just a natural question. If I’m hoping to do business with someone, it helps to have an idea of their vicinity. Just like before I leave, I’ll get your store’s phone number and street address.”

“I’ll jot down all the info you need.” He grabbed the carving off the floor. “And I’ll get my nephew to carry this out for you. I’m guessing you have a driver.”

“She’ll be here in a few minutes. In the meantime would you care to look through our catalog?”

“Don’t waste any time, do ya?” Pete took the catalog and flipped through the pages.

No, she didn’t like wasting time, but her heart and body had demanded she spend over a year grieving. Still, it seemed Lizzy had been right; she should have gotten out among people long before now. Who knows what detours she might have missed while on her road of isolation?

A
fter removing the entire window unit, Jonah straddled the sill. With one leg inside the schoolhouse and one outside it, he looked up from his work. A row of horseless carriages filled the front lawn of the school. Inside the pasture fence stood a dozen grazing horses, patiently waiting for their owners. Half a dozen workers on the roof hammered away. Under the massive oaks, women filled the picnic tables with breads, cheeses, and vegetables fresh from the gardens, and children played games, enjoying the last weeks of summer break.

The community worked on this old one-room schoolhouse each year before classes began. Sometimes Jonah wondered if it would be easier to build a new one, but anytime the subject came up, the Amish school board voted against it.

The nonstop hammering overhead drowned out the voices of the women and children. With a small claw bar in hand, Jonah removed each nail from the window and checked the soundness of the framing. His mind still lingered on the woman he’d seen at Pete’s a few days ago.

Those deep blue eyes against black lashes had almost knocked him
over, even with his cane to steady him. Her soft yet deep and confident voice still filled his head. It was embarrassing to give her a second thought, let alone
every
thought. She wore black, the color of a brokenhearted widow. She could have been grieving for a family member, but something about her said the pain she carried was different from that of losing a relative. He guessed she’d lost a large piece of herself. But the rest of her stirred him—as if she needed someone, a friend or relative, to help her sand away the pain etched into her life and dig deeper to carve a new scene.

He’d never considered sanding off someone’s old life, not even when they’d lost a loved one. It seemed to him the past carvings should be preserved and a new spot found for fresh carvings. Or perhaps new carvings should include the old carvings. But to remove what had been and start fresh? He was mistaken about that. Had to be.

“Jonah.” His grandmother spoke over the loud banging. She held out a cup of water.

He hadn’t realized she’d come into the schoolroom. He wiped his brow. “Denki,
Mammi
.” He took a long drink. “Even sitting in a window doesn’t provide enough of a breeze in this heat.”

“Only bad shepherds use entrances other than the door. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

“Yes, she did. That you’re a troublemaker.” He tried to keep a straight face but wasn’t able to hold back his laughter.

“How many window units will you need to replace?”

“All of them. The sashes are too rotten to make it through another school year, but so far all the casings have been completely sound.”

“So you’ve been at this for a couple of days?”

“Ya.”

“You met the new teacher and had help, then?”

He wasn’t fooled. She knew he had plenty of help from the men in the community. Her curiosity centered on the new teacher.

“Yes to both, Mammi. Every man in our community has come to help as time allowed. Right now they’re either helping the women with other things or on the roof repairing bad shingles.”

“Your presence here has caused a fresh buzz among the young women.” Mammi motioned out the window. “You need to find one who suits you before you’re too old.”

He finished drinking the water she’d brought him and passed her the cup. “If only one of them was half as amazing as you …”

Mammi moved closer. “Stop teasing your poor grandmother and find someone. I’ve seen you carve life out of deadwood. Can’t you try to do that in a relationship?”

“A worthwhile relationship is like finding the right wood. When it’s the right one, I’ll know it.”

“And by the time your idealism blends with realism, you may have missed your chance.”

Using the claw bar, he pulled another nail out of the casing. “So, Mammi, why is there a bee in your prayer
Kapp
about this all of a sudden?”

“The new schoolteacher, Martha.” She tapped him on the arm, and with her eyes she directed him to look outside near the picnic tables.

Martha passed half a sandwich to one of the children.

“While I was talking with her about the upcoming school year, she kept looking your way.” His grandmother held out her hand for the claw bar. He didn’t give it to her.

“Maybe she’s never seen a carpenter with a bum leg and two missing fingers.”

“Nonsense. She was drawn to you. I saw it in her eyes. Now go speak to her. At least give her a chance.”

He removed another nail. “She’s too young.”

“Too young? She’s probably twenty-two, and you’re only twenty-eight.”

“No.” He placed several bent nails in his grandmother’s open hand. “She’s about seventeen, and I’m about forty, figuratively speaking.”

“Well, sometimes older men connect well with younger women.” She wrapped her frail hand around his wrist and pulled.

Giving in to her, he climbed out of the windowsill. If it’d make her feel better for him to speak to the woman, he could do that much. And while pleasing his grandmother, he’d get a bite to eat from the picnic tables.

She brushed bits of wood off his shirt. “At least talk with her a little before deciding she’s not right for you. Tell her you have a question about how she wants something done in her classroom or you want to show her how the window works.”

“I have no questions, and if she needs to be shown how a window works, we need a new teacher.”

“Jonah Kinsinger, you’re as stubborn as your grandfather.”

“You know this, and yet you insist on shoving me into some poor woman’s life.”

She passed him his cane, turned him around, and nudged him forward. “Go. And find the beauty in whatever wood is in front of you.”