Christmas in Apple Ridge (7 page)

T
he clip-clop of a horse and buggy on the road filtered through the open window of Beth’s office. She’d moved the wringer washer outside that morning so she could both wash and hang the laundry before being stuck in this tiny room all day. Now she sat at her desk, shuffling endless amounts of paperwork. Buying-and-selling trips were much more fun than this, but since so many Amish could no longer make a living farming, many depended on her to sell their handcrafted products. She loved being a source of help for her people, but it required her to be behind this desk a lot.

Sitting back, she studied the details of the carving. For the tenth time that hour, she ran her fingers over the tracery. How could anyone make such intricate cuts into a block of wood?

When someone knocked on the door, she came to herself and returned her focus to her work.
“Kumm rei.”

Her aunt opened the door, holding up a stack of letters.

“Denki.” Beth pointed to a tray on her desk.

Lizzy placed them in the holder. “Jonah Kinsinger wrote a letter.” She took the top envelope off the stack and held it out.

“For me?” Beth stared at the envelope. The bishop hadn’t budged on giving them permission. “He’s probably wondering what Omar has decided. I don’t know what to say to him. I can’t do anything to help him sell his work. I did my best to convince Omar. You even gave it some effort.”

“I didn’t just give it
some
effort.” Lizzy pointed the letter at her, wagging it as if it were her index finger. “I went to see Jonah as you asked. I brought some of his work back. And then I showed the pieces to Omar and talked to him about it, just the same as you did.”

“I tried to convince him. You straddled the fence.”

“He’s our head, the top church leader over several districts. Is it our place to try to change his mind and heart? Shouldn’t that be left in God’s hands? We presented our request, and he doesn’t feel he can allow such a thing, at least not yet.”

“Omar closed the door, so that’s the end of it? It’s over?”

“He’s a good man, Beth. Always has been. I believe if we’re all praying, God will side with whoever’s right, and Omar is the kind of person who will hear Him. Now rest in that, and answer Jonah.”

“I don’t have anything but bad news to share with Jonah.”

“That’s ridiculous. At what point did you become so negative? You have friendship to offer along with your love of his work. I’d say that’s not
all
bad news.” Lizzy held the envelope out to her again.

Looking at her aunt’s face, she couldn’t help but smile. “Denki.”

“Gern Gschehne.”

Laughing at the sassy way Lizzy chose to tell her she was welcome, Beth watched as she closed the door.

Maybe her aunt was right. She did have friendship to offer. And maybe the old man just needed a friend.

She slid her finger under the seal and realized it was already open. Either it had never been closed properly, or her aunt had already read it. Although either of them opened whatever store mail came in, it wasn’t like Lizzy to open Beth’s personal mail. But, after all, Jonah Kinsinger was a business relationship.

After pulling out the letter and unfolding it, Beth wondered if he’d written the letter himself or if he’d dictated it to someone, because the printing seemed awfully neat for an elderly man. Then again, each word seemed as perfectly chiseled as his woodwork.

Beth paused, soaking up his humor and openness. The carving hadn’t caught her eye, as he’d said. It had snagged her heart. She should tell him that. He hadn’t told her how he got that log out of the forest. How odd to bargain with an old woman who would let him have the felled tree but wouldn’t let him cut it while it remained on her property. And Beth had to set him straight about the piece she’d brought home—she didn’t intend to sell it.

She read his letter again.

In spite of the freezing winds that continually circulated inside her, warmth spread across her chest. Her hidden guilt had isolated her in ways she’d never imagined possible, but the letter eased her loneliness a little, and she felt something besides regret and her sense of duty to those around her. Was it possible every hidden part of who she’d once been—her heart, passion, and ability to connect—had not been fully destroyed after all?

Then a memory returned, and she saw herself on bended knee in the pouring rain.

For her part in Henry’s death, she should be too numb to want a new friendship. Her relationship with Henry had shown her things
she hadn’t known about herself. She wasn’t good at loyalty, yet she knew without it friendship was simply heartache waiting to happen. If she were capable of true devotion, Henry would be alive. When he died, she’d vowed to remain single forever.

But Jonah was old, and he would never need to test her endurance for commitment. She trusted that as an Amish man, he had plenty of family and friends who possessed strengths he could rely on. Surely even she could give what little he was asking for.

She opened a drawer and pulled out her best stationery.

O
n his back porch Jonah sipped a cup of coffee, watching as the first rays of daylight illuminated the canopy of leaves on the massive oaks. The deep greens of summer foliage carried the first hints of changing to gold, yellow, and red. Each year the sight begged him to watch endlessly. The colors of summer slowly faded, allowing the true color of the leaf to shine through. And then one day he’d wake to find their color had grown no brighter, and soon the radiant golds, reds, and yellows would tinge with brown, bringing with it a different type of beauty.

The front door slammed, and someone stomped through his home like a horse, vibrating the house. Jonah angled his head toward his left shoulder. “Coffee’s on the stove.”

“I have a wife who makes mine, and she does a right good job.” His brother walked through the french doors and onto the porch with a cup of Jonah’s steaming coffee. “But I thought I’d make sure yours weren’t poison.”

“Ya, just in case I rise early every day to brew toxins for myself.”

Amos sipped the drink and made a face. “Broken buggy wheels, I think it might be dangerous to drink this stuff.”

He took a seat in the rocker, and it moaned under the weight of him. At six foot seven inches, his brother was one of the largest men Jonah had ever known. He had the hands of a giant and a heart to match.

“I don’t get it.” Amos motioned toward the field. “It’s a bunch of trees with leaves.”

Jonah laughed. “And yet you join me and insult my coffee nearly every morning.” Mist rose from the bottom land along the foot of the mountain until the top edge of the fog disappeared into the surrounding air as if it’d never existed. The early morning sun would soon burn off the remaining vapor. In spite of the birds chanting loudly, the morning seemed to hold on to a peaceful quietness.

Amos finished drinking most of his coffee before tossing the drips off the porch. “My gut can’t take too much of that stuff.” He placed his hands on the arms of the rocker and pushed himself up. “We got work to do. Oh, wait.” He dug into his pants pocket. “Speaking of my wife, she checked your mailbox yesterday.”

Jonah took the letter.

“It’s from a girl.” Amos’s teasing grin didn’t hide the seriousness in his eyes.

Jonah read the return address. “No, it’s from Elizabeth Hertzler. You saw her in my driveway about a month ago.”

“She was a nice-looking woman but a little older than I’d hoped you’d find.”

His brother had shared his opinion for two reasons—to voice his concern and to let Jonah know he supported whatever he wanted. “Go gather eggs for Mammi and Daadi while I read my letter.”

Amos left, whistling as he tromped through the house. Jonah ripped open the top of the envelope and pulled out the parchment-looking paper.

Jonah laughed out loud, and the wind running through the leaves made it seem like the oaks joined him. Her truthfulness by itself kept him chuckling. He hoped Beth could see the majesty of the great outdoors. He refocused on the letter.

“Jonah!” Amos hollered. “Daylight’s burning.”

Jonah folded the letter and shoved it and the envelope into his pocket. Beth’s voice on paper didn’t sound like she had in person. When here, she seemed nervous and scattered, but on paper she sounded serene and centered. After he finished at the sawmill for the day, he’d write to her again.