The Amish Christmas Kitchen (7 page)

C
HAPTER
12

T
he school Christmas pageant and Cookie Bake Off were set for the following Friday evening. Daniel busied himself at work and helping out in the store, trying not to think about Clara up in the high timber alone. But he wanted to give her space and time to think.... And, he wanted to bake his raisin-filled cookie recipe to perfection. He never would have guessed that his future love would be riding on a cookie, but it was nonetheless.

Friday morning dawned bright and clear, and Daniel went down before anyone else was awake to make the all-important batch of cookies. He'd just started the filling, using a combination of black and golden raisins, when his da shuffled out into the kitchen.

“Still courtin' by cookin',
buwe?
”

“Maybe, Da,” Daniel laughed, flouring the table.

“Well, the angel says that ya can't force the widow's hand. She's got to choose. Do you understand?”

His grandfather scratched his beard and ambled back out of the kitchen as Daniel's hand hovered over the secret ingredient that made the cookies so
gut. She's got to choose....
Bowing his head for a moment, he pushed aside the container, knowing he was leaving the contest wide open for Clara to win—and for him to lose—forever.

* * *

Clara was plagued by an insistent thought, but she tried to push it aside a hundred times.
Leave out the secret ingredient in the praline cookies? Let Daniel win, and then he . . . and I
. . . He'd be so happy, she thought with sudden clarity, and pushed the glass jar away from her.

Blinks bleated.

“
Ach,
shush,” Clara scolded lightly. “I know what I'm doing.”

She finished the rest of the recipe, then baked the cookies and pulled them out to rest on cooling racks while she went about her normal chores. And then, somehow, the day had flown by and she had to hurry to finish getting ready to go to the school with Daniel.

He arrived on time, as usual, and she had just put on her bonnet when his firm knock sounded at the door. She gathered up her foil-covered cookie platter and opened the door. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but after not seeing him for nearly five days, she was unprepared for his quiet words of greeting.

“Hello, Clara. You look beautiful tonight.”

“
Danki,
” she said, feeling shy around him. She wet her lips and indicated her cookie tray. “I made the pralines.”

“And I made my raisin-filled cookies.”

She wondered why he sounded faintly sad, but then he smiled as usual and helped her into the sleigh. They were both quiet on the way down, but it was a comfortable silence—like that of two old friends, she thought, wondering why the thought depressed her. She stroked Blinks's fur with her free hand and the goat
baa
ed gently into the
nacht
air.

* * *

The schoolhouse was ablaze with lantern light when they arrived, and folks were pulling up before the garland-wrapped front step banisters and exchanging festive greetings.

“I'll stable Blinks with my horse,” Daniel said as he helped Clara down. He turned for a moment to watch her mount the school steps, feeling that he was letting her go forever and it hurt him deeply inside. But, just the same, he went through the motions of housing the animals and returning the greetings that came his way.

He met his
mamm
on the way in and quickly took the cookie plates from her hands as she juggled two of his fussing siblings at her skirts. “I'll put the cookies on the table, Mamm,” he said.

“
Jah, sohn
.” She leaned close. “And
gut
luck to ya tonight.”

He smiled and entered the school to discover a wonderland of light and decorations. Although his people normally didn't decorate much for Christmas, Jude Lyons and the
kinner
had outdone themselves with green and red loops of cut paper, festive ribbons, and a large hand-painted banner that hung atop the long tables lining the walls where the cookies were being placed by eager participants.

Obviously, the idea of a Cookie Bake Off appealed to the bakers of Ice Mountain, as nearly everyone he knew had turned out to pay their dollar entry fee and accept a number for their tray.

He saw that Clara must have already placed her dish and was seated near Sarah and Mary, the schoolmaster's wife, in one of the many folded wooden chairs assembled in neat rows. He wanted to wish her luck and then prayed that she'd lose somehow as he made his way to the back of the room, where the young men usually stood for such doings.

The judge was Bishop Umble, and he was taking a long time savoring his job. There was a sense of expectancy and fun in the air as the bishop teased and took drinks of water between tastings. At long last, he reached the last plate of cookies and took a bite. Then he held up his aged hand for silence.

The room rumbled to an excited quiet as the bishop began to speak. “Well, this was no easy decision, I'll tell you. The bakers of Ice Mountain have truly outdone themselves tonight. But there can be only one winner.”

Daniel noticed that Clara had turned in her chair and was looking at him. He smiled at her, feeling as if they were the only two in the room for the moment.

The bishop cleared his throat. “And the winner is—”

A blast of cold air and the loud bleating of what sounded like a herd of goats shook the room. Blinks ran in and headed for the first table of cookies, neatly overturning the whole setup and proceeding to munch with enthusiastic relish. Then Clair Bitner's Teddy, Benny, and Scruffy followed, each tearing up a table and feasting on the creations of the evening. It happened so fast that the audience sat stunned; then pandemonium ensued as the men made a mad scramble for the goats and the ladies for their respective cookies.
Kinner
joined in the free-for-all and sampled cookies from the floor, then started sliding them across the polished wooden boards like hockey pucks.

Daniel sidestepped as much of the mess as he could and got to Clara, who was standing by her chair, desperately trying to scold Blinks. She gave up when Daniel drew near and instead stretched out a hand to him. He took her fingers in his, heedless of the chaos around him.

“I just saw my pralines go down,” she laughed. “But,
ach,
I wanted you to win, Daniel. I knew it would make you happy. So I left out my secret ingredient.”

“What?” he almost had to holler. “I did the same thing so that you would win.”

“But that would mean—” She broke off in sudden thought. “What is your secret ingredient?”

“What's yours?” He laughed.

They both cried out in unison: “Goat's milk!”

Then she was in his arms, hugging him, and he pulled her through the throng and outside into the relatively quiet night air.

“I see we've been working at cross purposes,” he said, loving the feel of her slender form against him.

“But if I'd won, you'd never see me again. Why did you want that?” she asked, pulling back from him.

He grew serious. “Because I wanted you to choose.... Clara, listen. Please listen. Will you marry me? I love you. I think I've loved you for a very long time.”

He felt his chest work when her eyes filled with tears and she withdrew even further.

“Daniel—I can't. I cannot help but think that Seth—well, that he wouldn't approve, what with you being his best friend.
Ach,
I love you, too, but I . . .”

Daniel smiled and felt happiness flood his veins. He framed her beautiful face with both hands and bent close to her. “Clara, listen. Do you know why I came to ask you to marry me two years ago?”

“
Nee
. . . I thought you felt sorry for me.”

“
Nee,
never that.
Nee
. Seth asked me to marry you—to take care of you.” His voice broke. “He wanted us to be together. With his dying breath, he wanted it.”

Daniel saw the burden lift from her almost as if it were a tangible thing, and she melted against him.

“
Ach,
Daniel, then
jah
. Yes, I will marry you!” She threw back her head and laughed exultantly and he kissed her with rough tenderness.

“Let's
geh
tell the bishop,” Daniel said, grabbing her hands.

“No need.” Bishop Umble spoke from where he'd come out onto the school porch. He was munching a cookie and his bright blue eyes shone. “As I said,
Gott
can make all things new.”

Daniel shook the wise
auld
man's hand and Clara giggled. “Who won the cookie bake off?” she asked.

Bishop Umble stroked his beard. “Hands-down—it was the goats.”

E
PILOGUE

 

“I
t's a funny thing,” Daniel said as he stole a too-hot cookie from his wife's baking sheet and popped it into his mouth.

“What's that?” she asked, merely shaking her
kapped
head at his theft as she maneuvered the cookie sheet next to the others to cool.

“I used to love your cookies,” he confided with a grin and a flash of his bright green eyes.

She pouted on purpose. “Used to?”

“Uh-huh.” He swiped a sweet kiss across her lips. “But now I love you even more than your baking.”

Clara giggled with happiness at his words. “I love our Christmas seasons together.”

“And I do, too, sweet Clara.”

His big hands encircled her rounded belly as he bent to nuzzle her neck. “It's the perfect time for baking love. . . .” he said with undisguised heat.

And she turned to begin gathering ingredients in his arms....

A
MISH
S
NOWBALLS

 

Read on for a preview of

 

 

 

 

by Kelly Long
coming next December

P
ROLOGUE

 

T
welve-year-old Joel Umble crept forward on his hands and knees in the thick pine needles, then paused to kneel upright, extending his right palm to the big wolf caught in the steel trap. The animal had nearly chewed its front left foot off in an attempt to escape the cruel teeth of the metal and now gave a threatening growl.

“Kumme, hund,
peace between you and me,” the
buwe
murmured. “I will pray for your healing and set you free.” He swallowed, never breaking his gaze with the large golden eyes, which were dilated with pain and rage. Joel inched closer, praying aloud, until he'd stretched his palm and fingers to their utmost.

Savage white teeth closed with a
snap,
and Joel drew a thankful breath when the long snout and black nose lowered and he felt the brush of the animal against his skin; seeking, scenting, roughly tender . . .

The sudden report of the gun seemed to shake the ground beneath Joel's knees, and his arm was splattered by the wolf's blood. He twisted in surprise and fury as his older
bruder
by two years, Judah, lowered the weapon. “Joel, you're a fool. Praying for a pelt . . . What would our
fater
have said?”

Joel blinked away angry tears and turned back to the dead animal, sinking his hand into the thick gray fur. “Fater did not trap,” he bit out.

Joel heard Judah step closer, the pine crunching beneath his boots. “The wolf was mine and what is mine, I keep. Remember that, Joel.”

“And what is
Gott's?
”

“What He takes, little penitent.” Judah laughed with open cruelty. “Now
geh
back to the cabin; I must skin the beast.”

Joel got unsteadily to his feet, then walked away from the wolf as his
bruder
passed him with a hunting knife drawn.

C
HAPTER
1

 

M
artha Yoder wanted a bath in the creek. She was tired of cramming herself into the tiny hip tub her family used all winter, and she gathered towels and a clean
nacht
gown and slipped out of the cabin before anyone noticed she was gone. The moon cast a haloed light on the surface of the deep snow as she plowed her way to the small shed where tools were kept. She wanted an ax, in case the deeper part of the creek was still frozen over.

She whistled as she made her way along the moonlit path, the sound comforting in the still of the night—not that she needed any solace to be alone. Caring for her aged
grossmuder
made the winter days long in the cabin, and though there was her
mamm
and
daed
also, Martha was the most able-bodied and handy. And then there was Judah. . . .

Tall, pompous Judah Umble had been pursuing her since she'd turned sixteen, but there was something about him that made her cold at times.... Not the clean cold of a winter's
nacht,
like now, she thought . . . but rather a cold of the soul that she could not quite explain. She pushed away ideas of Judah, not wanting to interrupt her mental peace, and finally reached the creek. Casting a quick, perceptive glance around, she dropped the ax and her armload of things, and began to strip down to her bare skin.

The cold was exhilarating, and she gave a little squeal of delight as she ran and plunged, toes first, into the swirling water. She stood for a moment, her unbound hair caught in the current, and gloried in simply being alive....

* * *

Joel Umble couldn't sleep. It was nigh on ten o'clock, he knew, but the moonlight that slid through the single window of his and Judah's room beckoned him somehow. He knew his
bruder
would scorn him for such ideas as the call of the moon, but for once, he didn't seem to care. He slid naked from his narrow bed and went to the window, the sill just bumping the height of his lean hip. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass and felt his restlessness grow, especially when Judah began to snore.

A brisk walk in the snow, he thought, turning to quickly get into his clothes with as little noise as possible. He'd become adept over the years at slipping out of the
haus,
seeking peace and time alone, away from Judah's cruelty and his
mamm
's anxious thoughts. And tonight was no exception. He crossed the kitchen, stopped to stroke his mother's cat, Puddles, and then went out into the
nacht
.

It was times like this when he missed his
fater
most of all—the great, tall man who'd slung him over a broad shoulder and galloped along like the fastest horse—they'd often shared a walk in the woods together. His
daed
had taught him the ways of nature and the wild, letting Joel see the living
Gott
in every tree, leaf, and creature. It had been a blessing to have such a man in his life, even if it had only been for a short time.

He walked easily now through the deep snow, hands fisted and stuffed in the pockets of his heavy black coat. He pulled his dark hat down closer as the wind picked up, then nearly stopped still when the sound of a woman's voice came to him, high, melodic, carried by the
nacht
air from the nearby creek like a siren's song.

He followed the sound, finding himself strangely drawn, then came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the creek bank when he saw the naked back of the girl. He retreated behind a nearby pine tree automatically but she soon stopped singing, as if aware somehow of his presence.

She turned in the water and he stared, transfixed from his half-hidden position—at twenty years old, he'd never seen a woman's bare breasts before. He didn't count the hired girl's dusky nipples, which pressed through her thin summer dress; no, this was different—painfully different.

“Who's there?”

He caught his breath when he recognized Martha Yoder . . . he realized that he'd been too busy looking at her body to notice her face, but now he turned and pressed his back hard against the tree.

“No one,” he muttered, answering her before he could help himself.

“I'm getting out. Don't tell me it's not you, Judah Umble! How dare you spy on me like this . . .”

Judah?
Ach,
praise
Gott
she thinks it's my
bruder . . . though the image of her white breasts with nipples as red as strawberries was burned into his retinas. He felt hesitantly for the ground beneath his boots and started to move away, when he tripped and sprawled face-forward in the snow....

* * *

Martha was furious. Not only did the man have the nerve to seek her out in broad daylight, now he was stalking her by the light of the moon. She grabbed up her pile of clothing, careless of the pins that pricked her skin here and there and marched over to where he was scrambling to get to his feet.

“
Gut
for you—falling on your face, Judah,” she scolded. His hat had fallen off, and his black hair seemed more tousled than usual in the half light. She hugged her belongings to her and waited for him to rise. He seemed to be taking a long time at it....

“Are you hurt?” she snapped finally in exasperation.

“
Nee,
” he whispered. “Just
geh
.”

She tossed her head. “Judah Umble, I can't leave you lying here in the snow. You'll freeze to death.”

“And you won't?”

“
Nee,
I won't. I've got the blood for it. Now, get up.”

She sighed and reached a single arm down to tug fretfully at his coat sleeve and then lost her balance, her toes colder than she cared to admit. She gave a small cry as she pitched forward on her knees in the snow, and she saw his head turn out of the corner of her eye.

Then she gasped, amazed and shamed. Her lip began to quiver. “Joel?”