An Amish Christmas (25 page)

Meg stopped what she was doing. “Nina? My Nina, with the inn?”

“The very one.”

“Whatever for?”

He sat down next to her and removed the towel from her hands. Then he placed one of her hands in his. “Last night, after you and I talked, I discussed some things with Catherine. She talked to Nina, and we figured it out.”

“Figured out what?” Meg was hard-pressed to imagine James and the two women conferring.

“First of all, Nina left this morning for Philadelphia to spend Christmas with some relatives. That’s where she’s from originally. Anyway, she has an old friend there, this really successful guy who owns six or seven restaurants and a few specialty food stores. She took along some of the stuff you’d given her and drove it right to his house for him to taste. The guy really liked it. He wants to place an order for the restaurants, plus some to sell at the food stores. A huge order, Meg. Really huge.”

Meg stared at him in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

He held up one hand as if taking an oath. “I swear I am not joking.”

“That’s incredible. That can happen just like that?”

He shrugged. “I guess so. Nina knows the guy, he liked what he tried, he ordered a bunch.”

“But wait.” Meg seemed to deflate. “I can’t deliver that order. I have no place to bake or anything else.”

“Now comes the best part,” James said, smiling. “Catherine and Nina have lived here an awfully long time, and they know everything and everyone. It didn’t take them long to come up with an answer to that. Seems there’s a little restaurant about twenty miles from here that’s only open for breakfast and lunch. It caters to the businesses in the area, but there’s no night life there. The man who owns it is willing to rent you the
kitchen from five
P.M
. to three in the morning. You’d get in there at night, do your baking, and be out before they open. It’s pretty cheap, because it’s found money for him—obviously the kitchen isn’t generating any income in the middle of the night. So everybody’s happy.”

“But James,” she protested, “where are we living? How is this possibly going to work?”

He stood up and started pacing. “Look, Meg, we both know going to your parents’ house is a move of total desperation. We can’t go there. We shouldn’t. And now we don’t have to.” He stopped in front of her. “If we have income from this Philadelphia thing and Nina’s orders, and we use whatever we have left in the bank, we can stay in this area. There are some efficiency apartments that we can rent by the month. We’ll work like dogs to see if we can build something. By the spring we’ll know one way or the other. If we fail, we’re no worse off than we are now, right?”

Meg stared at him. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you? I can’t believe it.”

He sat back down beside her. “This is truly the least I could do—to try and help you achieve something that you want.”

“But what about the kids?”

“The kids’ll be fine. They’ll start at a local school after New Year’s, so their days are already set. With your night hours and whatever else—they’ll just put up with what they have to put up with.” He smiled. “I think they probably would have flipped out if this had come about a few months ago. But they can do it now.”

“You feel certain?”

He nodded. “More than that. I talked to them about it just before supper. They’re game.”

“You’re joking! And nobody said anything to me?”

“I asked them not to. I wanted to hear what happened with the Philadelphia guy first.”

Meg ran a hand through her damp hair. “I am—I’m dumbstruck.” She paused. “What are
you
going to do? This can’t work if you have nothing to do.”

“Where’d you get the idea that I’d have nothing to do? To begin with, I’ll be your business manager. Your job is to bake. I need to do the paperwork, order your supplies, do shipping, handle everything other than making the food. The biggest thing I need to do is get you new clients. Somebody’s got to be selling.”

“I guess that makes sense …” she said slowly.

“And I’ve come up with a second job to do at the same time.”

“Really?”

“You’ve seen the furniture they make here? One day I was helping Joseph Lutz move some things out of his basement, and I saw he had about half a dozen bureaus down there, these incredible handmade chests of drawers. We got to talking about all the carpentry work the Amish men do to supplement their incomes. Some of them do it at home, and sometimes they work directly for factories.”

“You’re going to become a carpenter?” Meg sounded exactly as skeptical as she felt.

He laughed. “No, I’m not good enough for that. But hey, we come from North Carolina, the furniture capital of the country, and I know people who can connect me to the right places.

“I want to help with this stuff, to sell it to people who are dying for it even if they don’t know it right now. I know the carpenters we’ve met have some distribution already, but I’m hoping I can expand that.” He paused. “I want all of us to maintain our connection to these people. And in a small way it could encourage their financial independence. It could make money for us and for them.”

“Wow,” Meg breathed. “This is a lot to take in.”

“From talking to Joseph and David, I understand now how much work goes into the furniture. It’s rare to get something of this quality at such decent prices.” James laughed again. “I should know, considering all the overpriced junk I insisted we buy for our house. But I also like the idea of supporting their work. It’s kind of the least I can do for the community. They saved us—in more ways than one.”

“So I guess you’ll have plenty to keep you busy.”

“Yes. Although the focus has to be on your new business.”

James looked her directly in the eyes. “Please let me help make this happen for you. You deserve it. And I owe it to you. We both know that. Please, Meg, give it a chance.”

Meg sat in silence. He had covered every angle and every possible objection. He truly wanted her to allow him to do this for her. When he asked her to give it a chance, he wasn’t just talking about the business. For the first time since Thanksgiving she saw genuine remorse in his eyes. She also saw fear that she would say no.

She considered the extraordinary generosity behind the offer. Here was a guy who, until a few months ago, was a powerful executive. Now he was encouraging her to follow her own small dream. And he was willing to give it everything he had to make it work for her. It reminded her of why she had fallen in love with him in the first place.

She looked at him and nodded. Relief flooded his face. He put his arms around her and brought her close. She rested her head against his shoulder, inhaling his familiar smell, feeling his hand stroking her hair. It had been a very long time since they had sat like this.

She couldn’t say she was going to forgive and forget all he had done, all he had put them through, but she was willing to try. And up until now that had been something she hadn’t even dared to hope she would ever feel again.

Christmas Day was overcast, the air outside frigid. Gusting wind created swirls of powdered snow lifted from the ground. Inside the house the Lutz and Hobart children were sitting near the fire, listening to Old Samuel reading from the Bible. Lizzie occasionally wandered over to stir the contents of the large pot on the stove, a thick pea soup. Despite their having recently consumed lunch, the soup would remain there, warming all day, for anyone who cared to take a bowl. Lunch had been even more crowded than usual, with nearly thirty adults and children feasting on turkey and ham, German potato salad, carrot-and-raisin salad, green beans, noodles, potatoes, cheese, bread, chocolate cake, and carrot cake.

The sky grew dark enough for Catherine and Meg to set out candles to add to the light of the kerosene lamps. As she moved about the house, Meg kept glancing out the window at the Mustang parked at the far end of the dirt drive. James had
driven it back to the farm yesterday. He had told her the repair shop had done an excellent job. It did indeed look like a new car, every surface polished and gleaming—almost like a crouching animal, she thought, lying in wait.

David explained to Meg and James that the family celebrated Christmas for two days and normally would exchange gifts on the second day. However, since the Hobarts were leaving the following morning, they would share gifts today. When Old Samuel finished his reading, adults and children alike sang a hymn. Then everyone scurried to retrieve the presents they planned to give and reassembled several minutes later, the children bright-eyed with anticipation.

The gifts for the Lutz children were in bags or plain paper wrapping. Rachel received a book and a new dress made by her mother. All the boys got socks. For Amanda, there was a quilt made by Catherine and several china plates to add to her collection for when she got married. Aaron was thrilled to receive a much-begged-for skateboard of his own, and Jonathan got a pair of binoculars for his new hobby of bird-watching. Eli and Benjamin got shovels and trowels. The children had made special cards and ornaments for one another. Meg and James were touched to see they had included Lizzie, Will, and Sam, providing each of them with angels and stars.

Watching Aaron examine his new socks, Meg remembered the years her parents had given her socks or something equally practical for Christmas. Why had that felt so empty and disappointing when this felt so loving?

“For you,” Catherine said, handing a large, flat package to Meg. “From all of us.”

Meg pulled away the brown paper to reveal four large cookie sheets.

“To get started,” David said. “Proper tools are important.”

Meg fought the tears that threatened to fill her eyes. She hugged the pans to her. “I’ll think of you with everything I bake. Which I would have done anyway.” She smiled. “This is the most wonderful present. I’ll treasure them. Thank you.”

“And for James,” David said, handing him a bag.

James reached in to pull out a can of WD-40, pliers, and a screwdriver.

“You need to keep things running smoothly,” David said with a smile. “This will help.”

James laughed. “You’re right, as usual. Thank you.”

Meg had knitted mufflers for David, Catherine, and all their children. Knowing they would not wish to draw undue attention to themselves, Meg had chosen black wool for the adults and dark gray for the rest. Sam had done an excellent job in buying the wool, the assignment she had given him when he made the trip to the store with Leah and Old Samuel. The yarn was so perfect, so sturdy yet soft, that Meg was certain Leah had been the one to make the selection. Meg had made the scarves in her room to keep the gifts secret. All of the recipients seemed genuinely pleased.

She and her family had agreed that they wouldn’t exchange gifts among themselves. The children had accepted the news without a word of complaint.

Which was why Meg was so surprised when James handed her a small brown cardboard box tied with a red ribbon. “I know we said we wouldn’t,” he told her, “but this is different.”

Puzzled, Meg untied the ribbon and opened the box. She reached inside to lift out the object within. Her eyes widened as she realized what it was. “Oh my …” she breathed. “Did you make this?”

“Joseph helped me,” James said. “Okay, he helped me a
lot.
”

Meg turned it around in her hands to look at it from all angles. It was an almost perfect replica of a telephone table, an old-fashioned combination of a wooden chair attached to a table designed to hold a phone, and beneath it, a space for a phone book to rest. Back when Meg and James were still college students, before they started dating, Meg had come upon the full-size version of this telephone table in the street, abandoned by a curb. It wasn’t particularly well made or of good wood, but Meg was intrigued by its art deco design and the fact that the need for such an item had long ago passed into oblivion. She dragged it back to her college dorm to keep. Although the bulky piece served little purpose, mostly taking up precious space in her small room, she loved it for its charm and impracticality. The idea of sitting in one spot for no other purpose than talking on the phone, and the idea that telephoning had once been a major activity requiring your full attention—she was taken by the romance of the entire notion.

When she and James married, the telephone table came to their apartment. James thought it was ugly and useless. From the day they moved in, he had asked Meg to get rid of it. She adamantly refused. It was both a reminder of her life as a student and a beloved orphan she had saved from destruction. But eventually, she’d allowed James to shove it into an out-of-the-way spot. When they moved to their first house, he protested
that it was an eyesore, and it was relegated to the basement. By the next move, Meg realized the table would never see the light of day again. When James asked if she would please donate it to Goodwill, she gave in, hoping someone else would love it as she had.

Here it was now, a five-inch replica, every detail exact. James had carved it out of plywood, then sanded and shellacked it until it shone.