The Amish Christmas Sleigh (5 page)

He grinned down at her. “
Jah!
” he roared, and this time she did laugh, relishing the taste of the fresh snowflakes that filled her mouth, and loving that he didn't hesitate to accept her invitation.

C
HAPTER
8

S
ebastian entered her small cabin with gratitude for the snug warmth of the banked fire and woodstove. He watched Kate take off her wet boots, then did the same himself, except he noticed the skirt of her dress was soaked.

Her gaze followed his to her skirt. “I need to change,” she said. “I'll only be a minute; then I'll start on supper.”

He nodded and watched her head for her bedroom. He tried to ignore the shadowy images of her that he recalled from his bed the day he'd kissed her. He also tried to do the polite thing and avert his gaze, but he failed. In truth, he could barely drag his eyes from the swing of her hips when she went to the small bedroom, closing the door with a soft
click
.

He went and built up the fire, glad of something to do with his hands. When she'd invited him to dinner tonight, he'd jumped at the chance. The idea of going home alone, especially after what he'd witnessed in the hospital, didn't appeal to him. Seeing the sick children had taken a toll on him. He was glad he'd been able to bring them a little cheer, and he made a promise to himself to pray for them. Yet the trip had also given him a sense of helplessness. There was so much the children needed that he couldn't give them, and their pain tugged at his heart.

Having Kate with him had been more helpful than he would have guessed. He'd sensed she would be wonderful with the children, and she was. What he hadn't expected was how right she felt by his side. How her quiet, calm presence during each visit had given him the support he needed to keep his emotions steady as he interacted with the children. They had felt like a . . . team. One that he wasn't ready to split up just yet.

The fire had started to blaze by the time Kate reentered the room, clad in a bright cherry-red dress and fresh white apron. He couldn't help but notice she'd changed her stockings, too. Just as he couldn't help noticing—appreciating—the full curve of her calves as she passed by him.

“That didn't take long,” he said, pulling his gaze from her legs and reminding himself to keep his observations in check.

“I'm a fast dresser. Doesn't take any time to pull one dress off and put on another.”

His eyes widened at her offhand comment. So much for keeping his thoughts pure. “
Gut,
” he muttered, trying to shove away the tempting images her innocent words conjured up in his mind. It wasn't working out too well.

“Have a seat,” she invited. “I'll whip us up some supper. How do ham steaks and fried potatoes sound?”

“Great.” He pulled out a nearby kitchen chair to sit on, catching her smiling at him over her shoulder before he lowered his frame on the seat. She seemed happy . . . happier than he'd ever seen her. He had to admit he was pretty happy himself. Kate was the first woman who made him feel content simply being in her presence. Watching her do the homey task of cooking supper soothed his mind and soul.

She stretched, arching the small of her back, to lift a container from a high shelf. As she strained to reach it, he jumped up from the chair and came up behind her. “I'll get it,” he said, his chest nearly pressing against her back. He leaned forward—a little more than he should—and caught the scent of her. As his fingers touched the metal tin she had been trying to retrieve, he glanced down at her smooth neck and swallowed. He didn't want to move away . . . and the memory of how she had responded to his kiss slammed into him. He cleared his throat as he took a step back and handed her the tin. Then he hurried back to the table and sat down, gathering his wits about him.

“Here,” she said, coming to the table, her voice matching the cheery expression on her face. If she'd been affected by their nearness a moment ago, she was hiding it well. He, on the other hand, was struggling to hide the
definite
effect she had on him. “They're something different,” she said. “Russian tea cakes. I hope you like them.” She pulled the lid off the tin and handed the container to him.

He breathed in the delicate scent of powdered sugar and looked down to see what looked like tiny snowballs nestled against one another. “
Ach
. . .” he murmured. “They look delicious.
Danki,
Kate.”

She smiled brightly, then returned to her cooking. “There are chopped walnuts in them,” she said over her shoulder. “And plenty of butter and powdered sugar.”

He lifted one of the delicate cakes and popped the whole thing in his mouth. It melted delectably. “They're marvelous,” he said, reaching for another. “Although I'll admit, I've never met a cookie I didn't like.”

“Why do you like them so much?” Kate asked as she shook the pepper shaker over the ham.

His fingers paused halfway to the tin, and he suddenly lost his appetite at the memories her casual question provoked. He lowered his hand to the table and put down the tin. “My
mamm,
I suppose. She was a wonderful cook and an excellent baker. She loved to bake cookies for us,” he said, after gathering his thoughts.

He felt Kate's eyes on him and tried to resume his former jovial air, but it was gone, evaporated like the ice in winter inside Ice Mountain's mine.

“Do you—get to see your
mamm
much?” Kate asked, angling her body away from the stove to face him.

He shook his head. “
Nee . . .
” Normally he would stop there. Whenever anyone asked him questions about the past, he dodged them. He'd become adept at avoiding revealing too much of himself. But now . . . ensconced in Kate's small, warm kitchen, with the taste of sweet powdered sugar still on his tongue, the comfort and safety he saw in the depths of Kate's eyes made him, for the first time, want to talk. He trusted Kate . . . and he never gave his trust easily. But how could he let her into the darkness he kept buried from everyone? He wasn't sure he could.

He sensed her waiting for some sort of expansion on his answer and he almost closed his eyes against the swamping pain that childhood memories of his mother brought up in him. “I—uh—my mother and I don't see each other. It's my doing. . . .” he finally managed.

Kate put a lid on the frying pan, and he saw her give him a sympathetic glance. “I'm sorry for bringing up hurtful things, Sebastian.”

“No—no, you didn't know.”

She put the spoon down and clasped her hands together, not looking at him. “
Jah
. But I shouldn't have pried. I know you value your privacy.”

His heart pinched. In the span of a few minutes, the ease between them had grown strained . . . and it was his fault. She'd asked a simple question, and now she was the one feeling bad about it. Without thinking, he stood and walked to her. He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him.

He'd meant to crack a joke and give her a wry grin to break the awkwardness between them. But as he gazed down at her, his heart—and mouth—overtook his mind. He pressed a quick kiss to her surprised lips. Her very soft, welcoming lips.

“That's for your Russian tea cakes,” he said quickly, coming up with an excuse for kissing her. Still feeling the heat of her lips on his mouth, he moved away from her, not trusting himself not to kiss her again or take her into his arms. He knew that he'd found something wonderfully special with her. What he didn't know was how he was supposed to handle it.

 

Kate tried to be casual after his impromptu kiss, but she secretly rejoiced.
Surely he must have some feelings for me. How easy it would be to love him . . .
Love? Was that what these mixed feelings of joy, comfort, safety . . . attraction . . . were? She snuck a glance at him as he savored another cookie. Everything about him was so perfect—not just his handsome looks, but the gentle heart and giving spirit that lived beneath the surface. How could she not love him?

But . . . how could she tell him without sounding desperate or immature? They had only known each other for a short time, and while feelings couldn't be measured by the ticking of a clock, he might not agree. And she couldn't bear to ruin this evening.
I must bide my time and give him a chance to grow to know me better . . . .
And once more, as she cooked, she thanked
Gott
for her job as Sebastian's
hauskeeper.
She realized she was also thankful that Sebastian was willing to reveal some of the sadness of his life with her, and surely, she would one day understand more. She'd grieved for the loss of her own parents for years and still missed her
mamm
on certain holidays, but
Gott's
will was His own even if she couldn't understand it at times.

She brought two plates of piping hot food to the table, and Sebastian sat down with his earlier sadness seemingly passed. They prayed and then he began to gently tease her and she realized with some deep intuition that he was flirting with her.
Me . . . Kate Zook
.

“You're blushing,” he said with a smile as he forked up some of the tender potatoes. “Why is that?”

“
Ach
. . . the heat from the stove is—was . . .” She broke off helplessly, a novice when it came to idle words, but he didn't seem to mind at all.

“
Jah
. . . the heat from the stove, which is over there, would surely affect a woman over here.” He grinned at her, and she couldn't help smiling back at him.

“I would think you know well enough why I'm blushing,” she said evenly. “I bet Tabitha Deitweiler would blush, too, if she'd been kissed by you. . . .” She clapped a hand over her mouth in abject horror and he started to laugh.

“Kate Zook, you were eavesdropping! Where were you?
Ach,
I know—the second pantry.”

She dropped her head to hide her face in her hands, but he put down his fork with a
clink
and pulled her hands away. “I feel terrible,” she moaned, not wanting to look him in the eye.

“Don't.” His voice lowered to nearly a whisper. “I'm happy that you were interested enough in me to eavesdrop.” He continued to gaze at her. “Kate,” he whispered, all laughter gone from his voice.

“
Ach . . .
” she whispered, unsure what to do, then she turned to look at him and saw that his own cheeks were flushed and his pupils were dilated and she understood what he wanted, perhaps even needed. She drew a deep breath and half-closed her eyes, then tentatively pressed her mouth to his.

She gasped against his lips as he pulled her out of her chair to sit firmly on his outstretched knee. She felt his arm encircle her waist and draw her close as he deepened the kiss. She wasn't a small woman, but in his arms and pressed against his broad, lean body, she felt positively delicate. Her heart began to thump in earnest at his encircling nearness.
Yes . . . this is love.

 

Sebastian was torn between sensations: the gentle softness of her bottom against his knee, the tender pressure of her hesitant kiss, and the fullness of her breast pressing on his arm. He forgot about
rumspringa
and all the other girls he'd ever kissed until time collapsed into one heated funnel of touch and taste and yearning.

He realized after a few moments that he needed to set her from him because he couldn't act on the clamorous drive of his thoughts, but she made such a sweet sound of protest between her soft lips that he groaned and kissed her even more deeply.

“Kate,” he rasped, finally lifting his head. “I'm not asleep now. We cannot play at this—it's like playing with hellfire.”

She stared at him, as if dazed, and he really wanted to sweep her up in his arms and carry her into the next room and . . .
Hellfire indeed.

He stood up abruptly, and she would have probably toppled to the floor had he not caught her and set her evenly on her feet with gentle hands.

“Kate, I've got to go.
Danki
for the food and—everything else.”

He watched her for a second and her jewel-blue eyes clouded as if in sadness or disappointment. “You do think me another Tabitha, I'm afraid.”

He stepped close and caught her sweet face between both his hands. “Don't say that—ever. Maybe I haven't spoken it right, but it's not your kisses I want, Kate—it's all of you. Your generous heart, your tender soul, and your everlasting kindness—you make me feel alive inside, and that's something no one's been able to do for a very long time.” He kissed her once more, rough and hard, then slipped on his boots, grabbed his coat and hat, and went out into the cold evening air.

 

Kate left the dishes to soak in the sink and took a single lamp into the bedroom. She undressed and pulled on a flannel nightgown, then climbed quickly into the chilly bed. She hugged the quilts about her, tenderly savoring everything Sebastian had said to her after supper.
All of me . . . he wants all of me.
She smiled to herself; it seemed that
Der Herr
was making her dreams come true, and even if she didn't understand everything about Sebastian, she knew he was a
gut
man and that she'd love him for all time.

C
HAPTER
9

O
n Sunday morning, Sebastian was up before the dawn, thanks to the first full
nacht
's sleep he'd enjoyed in a long time. And he knew it was because of Kate and the growing feelings he had for her.

He dressed quickly, then hurried over to the dark workshop, nearly jumping out of his skin when Tim hailed him from the darkness.

“Sleep right, did ya, boy?”

Sebastian mentally tried to slow his pulse. “Do you have to do that?” he asked in exasperation as he turned on the lights.

“Do what?” Tim asked lazily.

“Skulk around in the dark . . . you know I hate that.”

“And you knows I got hoot-owl eyes, boy. So, what's the problem? Land 'a mercy, anyone would think you wuz in luv, you're so jumpy.... Oh, now, wait jest a minute here. . . .”

“I don't want to hear it,” Sebastian retorted, switching on the computer and sitting down to check for new toy orders, though he knew he couldn't work on a Sunday.

Tim poked his head in front of the screen, and Sebastian groaned. “Yer in love, ain't ya? Admit at least that much.”

“All right. If you will go away and let me work—I'll tell you.”

Tim withdrew his head. “All righty. Tell ol' Tim all about it.”

Sebastian drew a deep breath. “I'm going to tell Kate about my past.”

Tim staggered backward and collapsed into a chair. “I thought you were in love, not plumb crazy. What would you do something like that for?”

“You heard me. I finally found the woman I love, Tim. And if I'm reading her right, she loves me.” He remembered the sweet innocent passion in Kate's kiss, the loving emotion she had expressed in their passionate embrace. He didn't have to hear the words from her to know how she felt. She'd shown him. And now, he'd have to show her . . . by telling her the truth. “I'm not going to lose her. I want to marry her. She deserves to know.”

“When you gonna do it?” Tim asked with the ominous tone that implied Sebastian was facing sure execution.

“I don't know for sure, but soon.”

Tim bowed his head and Sebastian frowned. “Now what are you doing?”

“Shut up, boy. Can't ya tell when a body's prayin'?”

Sebastian turned back to the screen with a sigh and discovered himself mentally praying, as well.

 

On Sunday, Kate rose early and set about making some gingerbread to take to the Masts' when she picked up Ben. She felt so alive in her spirit that her fingers seemed to fly at their task, and she soon had a basket filled with fresh gingerbread squares topped with a dusting of powdered sugar.

She went out into the cold and harnessed Janey to the sled, then set out with a smile on her face to the Mast home. She thought the morning had never seemed so bright and once or twice had to shield her eyes from the snow glare but she still couldn't keep from smiling.

When she arrived at the Mast home, Ben was, of course, unhappy at having to leave his friends, but the promise of gingerbread and the possibility of making snow angels on the way home were enough to persuade him, so they bade good-bye cheerily to their friends.

Once they'd come to a clearing between two large pines, Kate drew rein and got out, going around the side of the sled to lift Ben into her arms. It was a favorite tradition between the two of them, ever since Ben's accident, that they would make snow angels despite the difficulty with Ben's legs.

“Hurry up, Katie,” he urged while she brushed a crumb of gingerbread away from the corner of his mouth.

“All right,” she replied, then carefully laid him down in the fresh, unmarked snow on his back. He immediately began to flap his arms, and Kate moved to help him slide his legs back and forth to make the angel's skirt. She laughed at the pleasure in his brown eyes as he stared up at the bright blue sky and barely noticed that they weren't alone until someone gave a loud whoop behind her, which made her jump and turn.

“
Ach,
Bishop Umble,” she gasped. “You gave me quite a fright.”

“Sorry,” the
auld
man said with a smile. “But I simply love making snow angels.” He promptly proved this love by dropping backward into the snow next to Ben, and they all three laughed out loud like children. Kate wished everyone might have the unusual privilege of seeing their aged leader so enjoying flailing about in the snow, but eventually he sat up with care, so as not to disturb his angel's body.

“
Ach.
” He smiled. “That does a soul
gut!
You know, sometimes my life is like making a snow angel—I want everything to be kept neat and perfect with nothing to mar the plans I've outlined, but then
Gott
sweeps in and turns everything upside down.”

“Then what do you do?” Ben asked seriously, struggling to sit up until Kate helped him.

“Why,
sohn
, that's when I've got a decision to make. Am I going to accept the change
Gott
has brought, or am I going to fight Him until things look and go the way I expect and want?”

“But isn't it easier to accept than to fight?” Ben asked as Kate lifted him carefully into her arms. She looked down at the less-than-perfect images in the snow.

“Some prefer the fight, my
buwe,
but never know the freedom in surrender and acceptance,” Bishop Umble said. He smiled at Kate. “Gotta get home to the missus. A
gut
day to you both.”

Kate looked down at Ben in her arms, noting a new freckle on the bridge of his nose. She hugged him tight and he wriggled in her arms. “The bishop is funny, isn't he, Kate?”

She walked with him back to the sled. “Sometimes, but he's also very wise. Now, let's go home and have some cookies.”

“Gingerbread and cookies?
Ach,
boy,” Ben cheered. “What are we celebrating?”

Kate smiled. “Just being alive . . .”
And in love!

 

On Monday morning, Kate squared her shoulders when she entered Sebastian's cabin and decided to tackle the gloomy and piled-up living area. She first surveyed the vague shapes of furniture buried under clothes and papers. There appeared to be a comfortable cushioned couch and an old chair and a massive desk. She decided to start with the desk and possibly try to organize some of the papers that protruded from drawers and cubbyholes in the beautiful old piece of furniture.

She was an hour into organizing things into piles when she realized she kept bumping her arm on the stuffed middle drawer. She gave it a hesitant pull and realized it was stuck. She sighed and gave one more tug and the wood gave, leaving her on her backside with the drawer full of papers. She had to laugh at herself. She had gotten to her knees to replace things when a crumpled sheet of light blue paper caught her eye in the back of the drawer space. For some strange reason, she felt her heart begin to pound as she reached for the paper, but she felt drawn to it nonetheless.

So far, she'd organized things by brief glances but when she touched the blue paper, she felt the urge to read it and pulled it hesitantly toward her. She reached up and adjusted the lamp, then felt a hesitation in her spirit, a sense that she should leave the crumpled page alone, but she rationalized that one look could not hurt. She unfolded the page and realized that a newspaper clipping was crumpled inside the official-looking print of the paper.

To her great surprise, she realized that it was a parole letter for one Sebastian C. Christner. . . . Her eyes skimmed the document, and she felt a sickening in her stomach when she saw the words “speeding” and “involuntary manslaughter.” Then she turned her attention to the newspaper piece. The faded headline seemed to glare menacingly up at her—“Amish Man Kills Amish Woman.”

“What are you doing?”

Sebastian's voice was low and confused, and she looked up hastily to see him standing near the desk in his hat and coat, his long dark pants covered with a dusting of snow.

“I—I was cleaning and found this. I'm sorry . . .” She held the papers up to him and swallowed.

He stared down at her outstretched hand, then took the papers from her. “I was just coming in to tell you the truth about this, Kate.”

She rose to her feet and hugged her arms about herself. “I guess I find that hard to believe.”

“Why? Because now you think I'm a murderer?”

She shivered in spite of herself. “Are you?”

He glared at her, his normally light eyes darkened with pent-up emotion. “I need to explain.”

“All right,” she said slowly.

He sighed and took off his hat, running his hand through his hair. “I was nineteen and it was my
rumspringa.
I had been drinking a bit at an
Englisch
party . . . wearing
Englisch
clothes . . . Someone offered to let me take their sports car for a ride. I remember that the roads were icy—but I didn't care. I thought I could handle the vehicle. I came around a sharp turn too fast and hit an
Amisch
buggy head-on. . . . I remember hearing a child scream, and then I got out and went to the buggy. The horse was dead, but the buggy . . . the buggy. Well, the mother had been killed instantly by the collision, and the children with her—there were two of them—they'd been bumped around but were all right. I—I knew them. They were from my own community. My family and the church forgave me, but I had to get away and start over. I haven't seen them since.” He drew a harsh breath. “I spent six years in prison and then was on parole. It was in prison that I learned how to carve toys. . . .”

Kate's mind telescoped back to the buggy accident that she'd been in when her parents died.... “It was the same,” she said, feeling curiously disembodied from the words.

“What was the same?”

She lifted her head, knowing that tears streamed down her face, but she didn't care. “A car was going too fast and hit our buggy. I was all right, but my
mamm
and
daed
were . . . and Ben was hurt. It was the same as you. . . . It could have been you driving and destroying my family.” Her voice rose, becoming shrill.

“Kate, I . . .” He held out his empty hand in obvious supplication, but she shook her head.

“You tricked Ben and me, and I don't know why,” she cried.

“
Nee,
” he ground out, lowering his arm. “I did not.”

“Ben trusted you—he loves you like a father. And I . . . How could you?”

“Kate, I did wrong. I know I did. I can never forget it, but we could build a new life together and . . .”

“
Nee,
” she sobbed, running forward to push past him blindly and get to the front door. “I quit this job, Sebastian, and you need never pick up Ben again!” She opened the door and ran out into the snow, leaving her cloak and bonnet behind.

 

Sebastian squeezed the papers in his hand, then slowly stumbled forward to stroke the warmth of her cloak. He swallowed hard as tears burned the backs of his eyes.

“It didn't go well, boy?” Tim asked softly from somewhere behind him.

“
Nee,
” he choked, bowing his head.

“ 'Tis sorry I am, Seb. Truly.”

He nodded and half-glanced at his friend. “It's no more than I deserve.”

Tim shuffled forward and tugged at his coat sleeve. “That ain't the truth, boy. God wants you to forgive yerself, to have an abundant life.”

Sebastian dragged in a harsh breath. “
Gott
wants me to pay penance and I will. I'll keep up with the toys, but after Christmas . . . after Christmas, I'll move on to some other community—and try to forget her and the
buwe
.” He turned from the door and laid a weary hand on Tim's shoulder, then dropped the papers on the neatened desk, walking away and not looking back.

 

Kate fell facedown in the wet snow halfway home from Sebastian's cabin, but she didn't bother to get up. Instead, she turned her cheek to the coldness and let the sobs shake her body. She cried with all of the grief that she had kept pent up for so long, realizing she'd never taken or even had the time to do it before. She'd gone from nurtured child to practically being Ben's mother, and it was so hard to be a full-time caregiver sometimes.... Then as her tears slowed, she realized that she was crying for Sebastian and the pain he'd endured, as well as the pain she'd heaped upon him, denying him any grace, and only being consumed with herself. It was a striking enough thought that she got her hands and knees in the snow, and suddenly, with clarity and insight, she remembered the snow angels and Bishop Umble's words about fighting
Gott
. She understood that she'd been fighting for a long time and it was Sebastian's pain that had finally allowed her the release she needed. And she realized that she was not about to let him suffer any more. Getting to her feet, she hastily swiped her sleeve across her face and knew she had to go back and tell him she'd been wrong. She decided to race home and change first since she was soaking wet and freezing cold, and she slogged through the snow, praying all the while.