An Amish Country Christmas (20 page)

Tom shook his head, wondering how—once again—Vernon had turned a touchy situation
to his own advantage by allowing a woman to decide his fate.

“Well . . . since you asked so nicely, I suppose I could. But don’t let it happen
again,” Jerusalem warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of upsetting the woman who’ll be cooking my breakfast.”

Jerusalem’s laughter rang around the rafters of the barn. “
Jah
, Hiram never knew how close I came to tinkerin’ with his food a time or two. But
let’s not talk about him anymore. He’s history.”

“
Gut
idea, Sister,” Nazareth replied. “No need to spoil all this fun we’re havin’.”

Tom had released the first cows and was wiping udders on the next group, hooking them
up to the milking machine. Had Vernon set up that little situation to impress Jerusalem?
To get her attention? Tom decided not to ask, even when he and Vernon were alone,
for what man hadn’t put his foot in his mouth a time or two?

When the women finished tending their goats, they insisted he and Vernon come in for
breakfast before they plowed the lane—mostly because Jerusalem and Nazareth wanted
to ride on the horse-drawn blade. And in snow this deep, their added weight would
keep the wide plow bar steadier so fewer trips would be needed.

Tom moved with swift efficiency through the rest of the morning’s milking, feeling
more lighthearted than he had in years. Lettie had taken no interest in the outdoor
chores unless he absolutely needed her assistance, after their sons had married and
moved away . . . but there was no need to think about her, either, was there?

She’s history. Best to move on, because a whole new future has opened up . . .
And even though that future included a lot more responsibility for all the souls
in Willow Ridge, Tom felt confident that he could handle whatever came his way. God
was always at work in earthly affairs, even when situations didn’t appear to be going
well. He’d gained even more respect and trust from his district’s members these past
few months when Hiram was behaving so arrogantly—as well as more experience at dealing
with renegade behavior.

As he entered the kitchen behind Vernon, Tom closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The
aroma of cinnamon, and French toast frying in butter, and maple syrup warming on the
stove—and bacon—made him all the more grateful for Nazareth’s company. She was still
wearing his old work clothes, with his blue bandanna handkerchief tied snugly over
her head and coiled hair, yet she looked so at home in his kitchen, as though she’d
cooked here for years...

“It’ll be on the table in about five minutes, fellas.” Jerusalem smiled at them, looking
particularly perky in his loose blue sweatshirt with a red kerchief covering her steel-gray
hair. “We got enough goat’s milk to make another batch of cheese, so be thinkin’ about
what you’d like us to make from it.”

Tom settled into his chair at the table to put his shoes on, thinking he must be the
luckiest man on the face of the Earth. His morning chores were done, his home smelled
heavenly, he was surrounded by the love and laughter of good friends. He spotted a
long white envelope on the countertop nearest the door.

“Guess I’d best solve the mystery of what that attorney sent me,” he remarked as he
went to fetch it. “Probably another one of those advertisements offering to help me
sue somebody—like I’d be interested in such a thing.”

“
Jah
, I wonder how my name gets on their mailing lists,” Vernon remarked. “It’s not like
we Amish put any store in the English legal system.”

Tom’s fingers shook a little as he tore open the envelope. His eyes skimmed past the
letterhead.
Dear Mr. Hostetler, It is with sincere sorrow that I must inform you of the death
of Lettie Marie Hostetler Redd . . .

Tom froze as solid as the hydrant pipe on the north side of the barn.

Chapter Five

Nazareth heard Tom suck in his breath. When he didn’t let it out again, she quickly
shut off the gas burner. “What is it, Tom? You’re white as a sheet.”

No answer. He was staring right at her, yet didn’t seem to see her.

“My word,” Jerusalem murmured. “I hope it’s not serious-bad news—”

“Oh, my,” Tom rasped. The letter fluttered from his hand to the floor. “I—I think
I need to sit down—”

“Seems like a fine idea,” Vernon said as he gently guided Tom to the nearest chair
at the table. “We’ll get you a glass of water—”

Nazareth was two steps ahead of the bishop’s suggestion and moved the glass from her
place to where Tom could reach it. Her mind spun with all sorts of emergencies and
disasters that might have happened to his kids, or to kin that he’d mentioned in Indiana.
But surely those folks would have called or written the news themselves rather than
going through a lawyer. His expression had turned to a blank mask of shock, such a
contrast to the joy that had shone in his eyes when he’d entered the kitchen moments
ago. She wanted to snatch that letter up off the floor. But it wasn’t her place to
butt into his business.

“If you’d like a moment alone,” Vernon continued with quiet urgency, “we’ll wait in
the front room.”

Tom blinked, exhaling. “No, I . . . maybe you’d better look at that letter, Vernon,
to be sure I’m not mistaken. It says . . . it says Lettie has passed on.”

Nazareth gasped and looked at her sister, who was gazing right back at her, wide-eyed.
All the possibilities—the prayers and dreams she’d dared to imagine—danced in her
mind, but this was no time for such girlish folly. Tom had loved his wife deeply and
he’d been shattered by Lettie’s desertion and the divorce. He’d lived without her
for nearly a year now, but that didn’t mean his broken heart had hardened against
her. Lettie probably hadn’t had the faintest idea—hadn’t cared—that Tom, true to the
Old Ways, had forgiven her even though he hadn’t understood why she’d left him.

Nazareth stepped behind his chair, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. “Tom,
I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

“This is quite a shock,” Jerusalem whispered as she, too, stood behind Tom with a
hand on his back. “You’d think somebody would’ve come by the house, or—”

“Do the kids know, Vernon? Does the letter say anything about when, or . . . how?”
Tom asked. “It was like I forgot how to read . . . like my eyes couldn’t focus once
I saw that first line of the letter.”

“Understandably so.” Vernon pulled a chair closer to Tom and then took a pair of rimless
eyeglasses from his shirt pocket.

As the bishop read silently, Nazareth peered at the page but then looked away. Even
if she could read the tiny typewritten print from here, it was wrong to look at it
unless Tom asked her to. When the sizzling food on the stove began to smell too hot,
Jerusalem went to turn off the fire under the fried apples. This was no time to be
serving breakfast, but there was no sense in ruining the food, either.

After several moments, Vernon cleared his throat. “Well, my friend, this attorney
was carrying out wishes Lettie informed him of a while back—that you and your four
children be informed, should anything happen to her,” he explained. “She and the English
fellow she married were killed instantly when an electric power pole landed on their
car in a storm, about a month ago.”

“A month?” Nazareth gasped. “You’d think somebody could’ve gotten word to Tom sooner.”

Vernon shrugged. “We don’t know all the circumstances. The letter mentioned they were
out in Arizona when the accident happened, so it might have taken a while to identify
them. Especially if the car caught fire.”

Nazareth winced and Tom’s body tightened beneath her hands. No matter how cruel Lettie’s
leaving had been, no one deserved such a horrible death. “Oh, my. This brings pictures
to mind I’ll be seein’ for a while, even though I wasn’t there and I never met Lettie.”

Beside her, Jerusalem sighed. “Wonder what God was tryin’ to say by takin’ Lettie
in a car, with electricity . . . two of the worldly temptations we Plain folks avoid.”

Vernon caught Jerusalem’s eye with a silent admonition. “It’s not for any of us to
speculate about, what the Creator’s intentions were.”

“
Jah
, you’re right about that Bishop. I apologize for bringin’ it up.” Jerusalem stepped
away as though she could hold still no longer. Always a woman who had to be busy at
something when bad news came along. “Can I pour anybody some coffee? Or make some
tea?”

“So, what’s to happen to—does she need buryin’, then?” Tom’s voice was barely audible,
but his question made Nazareth want to weep.

Vernon smiled sadly. “The two of them were cremated and scattered, again as part of
Lettie’s wishes. Probably her way of sparing you and the kids having to arrange for
her funeral.”

“Or her way of disappearin’ once and for all, without havin’ to come amongst us ever
again.” Tom straightened in his chair, turning toward the stove. “
Jah
, I’ll take some of that coffee, Jerusalem. And let me say I’m mighty glad to have
my best friends gathered around me at such a . . . time as this. If the kids were
here, they’d be scrappin’ and fussin’ all over again, just like when I had to tell
them about their
mamm
takin’ off.”

“Could be the snow postponed their mail delivery,” Nazareth murmured. “Otherwise,
you’d think one of them would’ve called—”

“The only phone message this mornin’ was from my milk truck driver, sayin’ he’d be
here to pick up my tanks as soon as the roads are cleared.” Tom looked at Nazareth,
smiling wanly. “Truth be told, I can hold off talkin’ to the kids. And it’s fine by
me that the roads out their way are most likely drifted shut like ours are. Gives
everybody a chance to think things out . . . to let the old wounds settle down again.
If that makes me a thoughtless
dat
, then—”

“Nobody’d believe such a thing about you, Tom,” Jerusalem insisted as she brought
them cups of coffee. “Lots of things in this life go better if we have a chance to
pray over them before we turn our thoughts loose on anyone else.”

“Amen to that,” Vernon stated quietly. “And a moment of prayer for Tom and his family
seems appropriate right now, too. It’s the least we can do—and the most powerful thing
we can do.”

Nazareth bowed her head.
Help me be the kind of friend Tom needs now, Lord, instead of pushin’ for what I’ve
so wished could happen between him and me. Your will be done . . . and forgive me
for bein’just a wee bit happy that maybe I’ll have the chance to be more than his
friend . . .

Tom stirred beneath her hands so Nazareth lifted them from his shoulders. Vernon cleared
his throat, and the powerful silence that had joined the four of them lingered for
a bit as they blinked at each other.

“I feel better already,” Tom murmured. “And if Lettie’s affairs are already bein’
taken care of, well—there’s not a lot we can accomplish by sittin’ around feelin’
sorry. Mopin’ won’t get the lane cleared out, and there’s no reason not to enjoy that
breakfast that smells so wonderful-
gut
, either. While it’s nice and hot.”

“We’ll have it on the table in two shakes of a goat’s tail,” Jerusalem said. She bustled
to the stove to turn the burners on again while Nazareth refilled everyone’s coffee.

“It’ll be your call as to how we handle this, Tom,” Vernon suggested as the two of
them moved to their places. “Everyone takes these situations in their own way, and
your circumstances are different from most men’s.”

“
Jah
, there’s that,” Tom replied in a pensive tone. “And to ease my own mind, I think
I’ll head to the barn after we eat . . . give all the kids a call. If they haven’t
gotten their letters yet, it’s only right that they hear of their
mamm
’s death from me first.”

“A wise decision. Take all the time you need with that.” Vernon smiled at Nazareth
and Jerusalem as they set out platters of golden-brown French toast, ham, bacon, and
a big bowl of fried apples. “I’ll do my best to keep these ladies entertained.”

“Puh!” Jerusalem teased. “You just want to be in the kitchen while we put that brisket
in the oven and think toward the rest of our dinner.”

“Will this involve cookies?” Vernon teased. “Until I’ve sampled every last kind you’ve
baked, I haven’t done your handiwork justice.”

Their laughter lightened the mood, and Nazareth looked up to find Tom gazing at her
with gratitude in his eyes. She smiled back at him, and as they bowed in prayer over
the food, she sensed that this difficult day would go much more smoothly because they
were all together, bonded now by events that none of them had foreseen. What a difference
time and friendship and God’s presence among them had made.

“Mmmm . . .” Tom closed his eyes over the first huge bite of French toast he’d soaked
in warm maple syrup. “Food for the body, and food for the soul. I’ll make it through
this day now, for sure and for certain.”

Nazareth sighed happily. Wasn’t it just the best thing, when her cooking made a difference
in someone’s life?

 

 

Vernon studied the assortment of cookies on the tray before him, enjoying the quandary
of having too many choices—all of them good. “And what’s in this one?” he asked as
he picked up a dark chocolate cookie covered in a swirl of cocoa frosting.

Jerusalem chortled. “You tell
me
what it’s made of. Gotta earn your keep in this kitchen, Bishop. We don’t suffer
slackers here while we’re cookin’.”

Had there ever been a more delightful, outspoken woman than Jerusalem Hooley? As he
bit in, the rich flavors of cocoa and buttercream frosting covered his tongue, along
with . . . “Is that a marshmallow in there?”

“You’re
gut
at this game, Vernon,” Nazareth said, not missing a beat as she peeled carrots at
the sink. “Probably had a lot of experience at bein’ a cookie tester, I’d guess.”

“Tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.” Vernon sat back in his chair to savor the
moist treat in his hand, as well as the joy of watching two women who worked as a
seamless team. “How do you suppose folks here in town will react to Lettie’s death?
How have things been for Tom these past months after she left him?”

“We’re the wrong ones to ask about that,” Jerusalem replied in a thoughtful tone.
“She’d been gone for several months before we came here from Pennsylvania, so we’ve
only known Preacher Tom as a fella livin’ alone.”

“And he’s done fairly well at it, all things considered,” Nazareth added. “His girls
come by to help with his laundry and cook things for him every now and again. I think
it’s been a blessing that he’s had the Sweet Seasons Café close enough that he can
eat a
gut
meal there most mornings, amongst friends.”

“
Jah
, everyone in Willow Ridge looks after him.” Jerusalem’s brows knit together as she
scrubbed potatoes. “Had to be a difficult situation for Tom, havin’ Lettie up and
leave him with an English fellow. The way I’ve heard it, she took a suitcase and met
him out by the road, and they drove off.”

Vernon winced. Lettie had obviously been seeing that other man before she ran off
. . . had left a marriage and a home—and a faith—that didn’t fulfill her anymore,
after many years of living with Tom and keeping her dissatisfaction to herself. He
felt badly that his longtime friend had been dealing with Hiram Knepp’s escalating
arrogance at the same time. Yet Tom’s ability to cope with his loss and to keep serving
his district affirmed how well suited he was to becoming a bishop.

Vernon vowed to keep in touch, to visit Tom more often in the future. And didn’t he
also have another incentive to come to Willow Ridge? He didn’t know nearly enough
about Jerusalem, but he certainly wanted to. The widows of his district had been trying
to capture his fancy with their baking and little gifts for years, but he’d had feelings
for none of them.

He groaned with the tangy goodness of a lemon sandwich cookie filled with buttercream
and apricot jam. “I was certain that chocolate marshmallow cookie was my favorite,
but now I’ve changed my mind again! This is sheer torture, sampling all these new
treats.”

Jerusalem grinned at him, looking girlish in her red bandanna. “We’re a couple of
merciless, wicked temptresses, Nazareth and I. Might as well call us Delilah and Jezebel,
ain’t so?”

“I like your real names much better. Did your parents catch any criticism for giving
you names that drew attention to you?”

Nazareth let out a short laugh. “
Jah
, the bishop mentioned it might be prideful—not keepin’ with the Old Ways, to name
us for places of the Bible.”

“But by the time all ten of us came along, each called Calvary, Canaan, Judea or such,”
Jerusalem continued, “our names didn’t draw any more attention to one of us than to
the others. And while I know of five Mary Hooleys, nobody ever mistakes me for another
gal named Jerusalem.”

Vernon laughed loudly. “That’s a fine way to look at it. God created each of us as
a unique person, in His own image, so you ladies are yet another example of the Lord’s
diverse nature.”

“We’re no doubt a sign He’s got a sense of humor, too,” Jerusalem said with a firm
nod of her head. “Always up to somethin’, we are.”

“Usually it’s somethin’ worthwhile,” Nazareth chimed in as she placed the blue enamel
roaster in the oven. “But every now and again we test people’s patience. Mostly when
we express opinions and make decisions that wives would probably let their husbands
handle.”