An Amish Christmas Quilt (10 page)

C
HAPTER
10

Seth waited patiently . . . for the crowd to drive away, for the neighbors to go home after celebrating with cookies and cocoa in Ben and Miriam's kitchen, for Mose and Lovinia Miller to depart with Leah and Dan Kanagy. At long last, Emmanuel, Sol, and Lucy were tucked into bed and Ben and Miriam made themselves scarce by going upstairs. In the hush of the late evening, as logs crackled in the fireplace, Mary finally joined him on the love seat.

“What a night!” she murmured as she sank into the cushion beside him.

“Who knew?” Seth asked quietly. “I—I wouldn't have missed this for anything, Mary, and I'm so glad ya talked me into—”

With a gentle finger across his lips, she shushed him. “I've got something for you,” she whispered mysteriously. She went over to the wrapped presents arranged beneath a huge, blooming Christmas cactus on a plant stand, and pulled the largest, bulkiest one from behind the others.

Seth's eyes widened. When she offered him the bundle, wrapped in deep green paper, the weight and the plush give of the contents made his thoughts race. “Mary, I wasn't expectin'—ya didn't need to—”

“You have no idea how much I needed to work on this,” she replied in a light yet serious voice. “I made it as my thanks for all your help since we arrived in Willow Ridge, but I . . . well, I just wanted you to have it, Seth. I'm not trying to
commit
you to anything or—well, just open it!”

He held Mary's bright-eyed gaze for a moment as his finger found the taped seam of the paper. When Seth saw the rolled fabric edges of deep green, and then the large squares with a circle of house and diamond shapes around a center star of red and green, he stood up. “Grab the end! I've got to see this!” he said as he unfolded it. “Nobody's ever made a quilt especially for me!”

His heart thumped hard as they held the quilt between them. While he was no expert on sewing, he sensed that Mary truly had a talent for creating wonderful gifts . . . a reflection of the heart and soul she had poured into this quilt.
What if you'd followed your doubts about Sol instead of believing in that dream about the angel? You'd be so alone now, and Mary would be so disappointed in you. . . .

Seth smiled. It was time to celebrate, rather than to mull over how he'd almost turned Mary away. No other young woman had ever made his heart thrum with such excitement yet such a sense of peace. She was gazing at him with her deep green eyes, her flawless face alight with a future he wanted to share.
Please, Lord, don't let me say or do anything stupid.

“This is the most beautiful gift anyone has ever given me,” he murmured. “
Denki
so much—and I hope, in time, maybe it'll be you sharing it with me. Cuddling underneath it on a cold winter's night.”

Her cheeks grew pink but her gaze remained steady. “We could try it out now, maybe.”

“Oh, more than maybe,” Seth replied. “But first let me fetch what I brought for you.”

His heart was thumping wildly. He'd made a play and Mary had responded in the best possible way, as though being with him
mattered
to her. When Seth returned to the love seat with his papers, Mary had arranged the quilt so they could sit on it and then wrap the sides around them as they talked. It was a promising, positive invitation for him to pursue his feelings for her even as she honored her time of mourning her husband.

Seth let Ben's advice resonate in his mind as he unfolded the sketches he'd drafted earlier in the week. He desperately hoped Mary would like what she saw.

“Seth, it's a house! My new house,” she said as she held the paper. Her hands trembled and her eyes filled with tears as she ran her finger over the layout of the simple single-story home. “Oh, but this makes it feel real and—and
possible
, Seth,” she whispered.

“With God, all things are possible,” he murmured, although quoting the Bible was the farthest thing from his mind as he sat close to Mary.

“
Jah
, they are,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye. “After all, He got you through the Nativity tonight without embarrassing yourself. Matter of fact, when you rescued Lucy from the cow poop and quieted the dog and kept our little show going, you were my
hero
, Seth. And when Dat made his scene—”

“How will ya resolve your conflicts with him, Mary?” Seth asked quietly. “When he hears I've designed you a house, he'll only get angrier, ain't so?”

Mary slowly let out her breath. Then she rested her head on his shoulder. “It's like Miriam—and Mama—have told me. Dat will always be Dat. I can struggle and fuss until I'm blue in the face and it won't change him,” she said softly. “I told him and Mama the kids and I would spend Christmas Day with them at Leah and Dan's. We'll talk things out, but I'm not changing my mind. I'm staying here in Willow Ridge—because I have family
here
, too. Close family who'll look after us through thick and thin.”

Seth badly wanted to kiss her, but this wasn't the time. “
Jah
, you do,” he replied. “And you have
me
. . . if you want me.”

“I do,” Mary whispered. “Or at least I want us to give it a chance while you build this sweet little house. So tell me what we've got here, Seth,” she insisted. “Help me see these sketches as rooms where we'll eat our meals and tuck the kids into bed and greet the sun as it comes in through the windows each day.”

Tell me what we've got here, Seth.
Many romantic, far-reaching ideas sprang to mind, but he decided to keep the images simple for now. Mary had used
we
rather than specifying just herself and the kids, and that was all the confirmation he needed to ride the wave of happiness that welled up inside him. As he pointed out where the stove would go, and how her washing machine would fit into the mudroom off the porch, and the half bath he'd tucked in beside the pantry, Mary settled against him.

“This is a cozy little home, with just three bedrooms,” he pointed out. “But someday, should ya want to expand and add another floor, I've designed the house so it'll look like that was your plan all along instead of appearin' that ya tacked on more rooms willy-nilly.”

“Seth?”

“
Jah
?” he whispered, hardly daring to breathe.

“This is the best Christmas gift ever.” Mary shifted so she could hold his gaze. “My heart's telling me to just go ahead and build the expanded version . . . but my head's warning me to take it slower. What do
you
think?”

Seth could read all sorts of wonderful things between those lines, but he proceeded with caution. “I think you're right on both counts—and you're curbin' that impulsive streak your
dat
keeps harpin' on,” he replied with a smile. “I'm glad I'll be in the picture at least long enough to build it for ya, no matter what happens after that.”

“That's all I'm asking.”

He let out a long, contented sigh. “That said, Miriam and Ben would let ya stay here while we get to know our hearts and minds—and while Sol and Lucy and I get used to each other. It would save me rippin' off the original roof later, to rebuild this house. And it would save you the hassle of havin' all that remodelin' done after you've moved into it, too.”

Mary's sweet face lit up and she gazed at him so intently, Seth felt her probing his soul. “You're a wise man, Seth—but without the fake beard and costume,” she added with a chuckle. “And you know, when Lucy climbed into your lap this evening, and Sol sat alongside you, I . . . I could already see us and
feel
us as a family. Right there in front of God and everybody!”

Seth slipped his arm around Mary's shoulders. When she tucked the Christmas quilt more snugly around them, he had visions of a different angel from the one who'd come to him in a dream—for Mary was solid and real, the sort of woman who would make his life richly satisfying every day. He, too, had felt a special glow when the kids had joined them on the hay bales, choosing
him
to sit by while their mother cradled the baby. And the whole town of Willow Ridge—and Mary's parents—had witnessed it.

What could possibly be more powerful than God's love come down to earth on Christmas, and the love a family shared on that most sacred of days?

Seth sighed happily. He was pretty sure he had the answer to that.

A CHRISTMAS ON ICE MOUNTAIN

K
ELLY
L
ONG

P
ROLOGUE

 

Fifteen-year-old John Beider clasped the five dollars he'd earned for a day of helping his community's healer, Grossmuder May, search the snowy mountainside for winter herbs and roots. The money represented the last installment he needed to purchase
auld
Possum Johnson's gun—a twenty-gauge shotgun of legendary renown on Ice Mountain. John had haggled with Smucker Kauffmann for the past two years over the gun and had finally gotten the store owner to agree to sell, and at a fair price. But eighty dollars was no easy thing to come up with, even for someone as hardworking as John, and his greatest fear was that, despite his down payments, Smucker might sell on an impulse for a higher price. Only John and his best friend, Luke Lapp, knew about the deal he'd worked out with Smucker, and tonight was the final payment.

John took the heavily salted front steps of the Kauffmanns' store two at a time and burst into the over-heated, scent-filled air, angling past late-evening shoppers and chatting women, and making his way to the back counter of the store. He glanced nervously up the wall to the bracket mounts where the gun usually hung. His stomach dropped.... It wasn't there.

Without hesitation, John drew himself up to his full height and strode to the counter.
Auld
and grumpy, Amos Smucker was there too, but John could only stare at Smucker, who looked troubled.

“Where is it?”

Smucker sighed. “Now, John . . .”

“Don't ya have any manners,
buwe
?” Amos asked in irritation. “I was here first.”

“What did you do with it?” John asked again, trying to keep his voice calm.

In his mind's eye, he tried to focus on the gun as he'd envisioned it a hundred times over . . . fine stock, clean barrel, and the distinctive Buffalo nickel that Possum Johnson had carved a spot for in the forearm of the gun after he'd “brought down a twelve-point buck as big as a buffalo” with the weapon. John had grown up on the legends and had wanted the reality, but now . . .

“Are you going to tell me straight?” he asked Smucker. “How much higher did you sell it for?”

“John, I . . .”

“
Ach
, don't go apologizin' to this whelp, Smucker. Tell him the truth. . . .” Amos spun on John. “It was Luke Lapp, your so-called friend, who bought that gun no more than fifteen minutes ago. So, there.” The old man snickered.

John felt his head swim in confusion. Luke—but why? Why would his best friend betray him in such a way? He staggered away from the counter, ignoring Smucker's urging to wait. But John knew what he had to do—a friend who'd betray another was no friend at all. And he would never forget....

C
HAPTER
1

 

Outside the cabin window, the winter stars flashed like crystal shards against the backdrop of sapphire-blue night sky. Laurel Lapp paused with quiet feet on the bottom wooden stair to study the view for a moment.

“Are you sneaking out again?”

Laurel nearly lost her footing at the plaintive whisper behind her and she turned to glare at her five-year-old sister, Lucy.

“You should be in bed,” Laurel whispered back as Lucy cuddled a favorite baby quilt close and took a seat on the second step down.

“So should you.”

Laurel sighed, unable to resist her only sibling's sweetness despite the intrusion. She tiptoed back up the steps and sat down next to her little sister, pulling her close for a moment.

“When are you going to tell Dat and Mamm about Matthew?” Lucy asked.

Never . . . or maybe when we've been married for about fifty years....
Laurel had to smile to herself at the thought of a lifetime with the impossibly handsome Matthew Beider—if only it weren't for her
dat
and Matthew's
fater
as well. But there was no sense fretting over things now; Matthew was waiting.

Laurel bent and gave Lucy a quick
buss
on the top of her silky blond hair. “Go back to bed, sweetling. And
danki
for keeping our secret.”

Lucy nodded with a yawn and rose to pad off with silent feet to their room. Laurel waited until the door closed, then stealthily made her way back downstairs, catching her cloak off its peg, and leaving the warmth of the cabin for the chill of the December air outside. But she smiled as she ran for the line of pines that crossed the back half of her father's land, for she knew how heated she'd become once she reached Matthew's strong arms....

 

“Dat, I've got to go check on that mare—she might foal tonight.” Matthew Beider knew his father didn't like to be interrupted in the middle of a talk, but Laurel would think he'd forgotten her.
As if I could forget to breathe . . .

He'd been in love with Laurel for as long as he could remember, and now that he was twenty, and she eighteen, he wanted nothing more than to marry her and begin a life together on Ice Mountain.

But their fathers . . . Matthew sighed and resisted the urge to run a hand through his black hair. He glanced out the window at the moon and unwittingly drew the attention of his story-loving
dat
.

“Matthew Beider, as I live and breathe, tell me what I'm known best for on this mountain.”

Ach . . . now I've done it. Laurel's going to be cold. . . .
And he had to suddenly force his thoughts back to the moment at hand.

“You're known for being able to talk a man to sleep,” he answered his father, fighting to keep a smile from his lips as he said it—for it was certainly true. John Beider could talk endlessly, seemingly never running out of a story, tale, or plain, homey gossip.

“Right you are,
sohn
. Now I recall a time that . . .”

“Dat, sei se gut
—the mare?”

“
Ach
, go on with ya then. You'd think you was going to meet a girl for all your fuss about that horse.”

Matthew grimaced faintly as he wound his scarf around his neck and waist. He hated to lie to his family, but there seemed to be no help for it. On all of Ice Mountain, probably in all of the world, for that matter, there was only one man that John Beider would not talk to—and that was Deacon Luke Lapp, Laurel's
fater
—and the feeling was quite mutual.

He wished his
daed
a good night and slipped outside. He walked toward the barn, knowing that the mare would be fine for a bit, then took off at a brisk run through the snow, hurrying to make up time on the quarter-mile distance to the Lapp's tree line.

When he got there, he feared she might have already gone, but then he caught a glimpse of her black cloak moving behind a sapling in the shifting moonlight.

“Laurel?” he called softly, her very name feeling like a caress to his mouth.

He watched her step from the tree and was struck, as always, by the intemperate beauty of her face and form. Her eyes burned liked twin blue jewels against the backdrop of her pale-pink skin, her face a perfect oval in the folds of her cloak's hood. She lifted slender hands to fling back the fabric from her face, then ran with her
kapp
strings streaming to jump into his arms.

He caught her full against him with ease and spun her around until they both grew dizzy. Then he stopped, lowered her to the ground, and bent to press his forehead against hers, steadying himself while drinking in the rosewater scent of the silky red blond curls that had escaped from the front of her
kapp
.

“I've missed you this day,” he breathed when she reached up to twine gentle fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Have you?” Her blue eyes flashed merrily at him.

“You're a fever in my blood, Laurel May Lapp, and you know it well.” He lowered his head to steal the first kiss of the evening, the dual sensations of the cold air and her warm lips feeding the fire in his body and brain until he had to break away with a gasp.

He pressed her against his chest, holding her close, letting her feel the rampant beating of his heart, until he'd regained some measure of control. But then she reached to drink from his lips, standing on tiptoe, pressing against him, until he forgot where he was and nothing existed save Laurel.

He heard her voice, calm with soft determination, as if from far away, and he felt himself collide abruptly with the reality of an earthly world beneath his boots.

“We have to tell the bishop about us, Matthew . . . tomorrow.”