An Amish Country Christmas (26 page)

“And Jerusalem, I think you have a great many things in common with Nettie,” Vernon
went on in what he hoped was an encouraging voice. “You both like to cook for me and
cluck over me, for instance.”
And please, Lord, don’t let them start pecking at each other . . .

Jerusalem put on a smile and ventured toward the stove, sniffing deeply. “Mighty nice
to meet ya, Nettie. And I can’t tell ya what a treat it is to be welcomed with soup
I didn’t have to stir up myself.”

Aunt Nettie glanced from Jerusalem back to Vernon. She laughed quietly. “I’m fixing
everybody’s favorite, so I hope you’ll like it, too. Just didn’t realize who I’d be
serving. Kind of took me by surprise.”

“I have that effect on folks,” Jerusalem replied lightly. “If you’d have told me two
weeks ago I’d be visitin’ a man’s home this way, I would’ve denied it as sure as that
cock crowed three times to condemn Peter, in the Bible.”

“And what am I missing out on? Is that you, Vernon?” another voice called from the
direction of the front room.

Vernon excused himself to fetch Aunt Florence. As he wheeled her into the kitchen,
she checked the oxygen bag strapped to the arm of her chair. “I’m home from a wonderfully
productive time in Willow Ridge,” he told her, “and along with seeing my old friend
Tom Hostetler installed as the new bishop there—”

“I recall Tommy from when you two were running around in your
rumspringa
.”

“—I met someone very special,” Vernon continued. He stopped her wheelchair as they
entered the kitchen. “Aunt Florence, this is Jerusalem Hooley—”

His aunt wheezed loudly, pressing her oxygen nozzle further into her nose.

“—and she loves to talk about as many different subjects as you do,” he went on. “I
hope you three ladies will get to be good friends.”

“She’s still got her coat on, like maybe she’s not so sure about staying,” Florence
remarked under her breath. Then she sat straighter in her wheelchair and extended
her hand. “You’ll have to excuse me, Jerusalem. Vernon likes to bring us little surprises
home every now and again, but you take the cake.”

“
Jah
, I can see that,” Jerusalem murmured.

Vernon cleared his throat, looking from one startled woman to the next. Then he laughed,
at himself mostly. “Now that I’ve upset everybody’s apple cart—especially yours, Aunts—let
me tell you how much I appreciate the way all three of you love me and take care of
me, even when I don’t warn you about what I’m going to do,” he said. “Trust the Lord
along with me, will you? I believe He’s leading us all to make some changes, and that
His will and purpose are being worked out even during moments when nobody knows what
to think or say.”

Bless her, Jerusalem chuckled as she untied her bonnet and then handed him her coat.
“You’re a brave man, Vernon, settin’ yourself up amongst three women who could make
ya miserable if we took the notion to—separately, or as a bunch.”

Aunt Nettie grinned as she fished her spoon from the bubbling soup. “I suspect it
won’t be long before we
are
a bunch, hanging together like bananas—”

“Clustered like grapes,” Aunt Florence chimed in as she pointed a playful finger at
Vernon. “So you’d best watch out for yourself, young man. You and Abner are outnumbered
now. Get used to it!”

As the three women laughed, the tension in the kitchen dissipated like the steam rising
from Nettie’s soup pot. Vernon silently gave thanks that they had put their initial
discomfort behind them, because all of them had just taken an enormous step forward.
Jerusalem’s presence in a home where he had gladly let his kinfolk take charge for
these past several years would require a lot of adjustments for all of them.

That startling thought came at him from out of nowhere, but as he considered it, Vernon
recognized the voice of God giving him a prod. He’d been all too happy to immerse
himself in leading the people of Cedar Creek . . . perhaps to avoid the emptiness
he’d felt in this home after his wife had passed on. It occurred to him that he’d
been terribly lonely, even while surrounded by his aunts, Abner, and all of his friends
in town, but he hadn’t wanted to give his feelings a label. Hadn’t wanted to face
the way his grief for Dorothea had lingered for so long, in the secret depths of his
heart.

Vernon smiled at Jerusalem, at the vulnerable yet willing expression on her dear face.
God had given him such a gift this past week by bringing her into his life.

“I’ll go on out and tend to Samson,” he said. “You ladies can get acquainted while
I catch up with Abner—warn the poor boy what he’ll be up against, dealing with four
of us crotchety old senior citizens now.”

“
Jah
, we’re mighty disagreeable,” Aunt Nettie declared, merrily banging the soup pot with
her spoon.

“Puh! Might be just the incentive he needs to get out and court somebody,” Abner’s
mother declared. Then she waved Vernon on. “The sooner you head for the barn, the
quicker we girls can start our hen party. If you’re lucky, we’ll get most of our gossip
out of the way before you come back in, so your ears can stop burning.”

“
Jah
, the talk’ll be all about you, Vernon,” Aunt Nettie teased. “You’ve opened up the
hive now, bringing Jerusalem here. We three will be buzzing like bees for a long while.
Hope you can handle that.”

“I’m a doomed man. I don’t stand a chance,” he jested.

But as Vernon stepped into the crisp winter’s afternoon, he felt truly blessed. The
Lord had just handed him a chance at a whole new life, with a woman who would help
him enjoy it, much as He had created Eve for Adam. His prayers had been answered,
even though—until this past week—he hadn’t really known what he was praying for.

Wasn’t it just like God to see to his needs before he realized how needy he was?

Chapter Thirteen

After a filling dinner of chicken soup with Nettie’s homemade noodles, a relish tray,
fresh rye rolls, baked pineapple, and a rich bread pudding studded with raisins and
apples, both of Vernon’s aunts told Jerusalem to skedaddle.

“We’ve got the kitchen chores under control,” Nettie insisted as she ran hot, soapy
water in the sink. “Vernon’s itching to show you around the place.”

“
Jah
, Nettie washes the dishes and sets them on that drainer so I can dry them and put
everything away,” Florence explained. “Vernon built that low cabinet with the extra
sink and countertop just for me, so I can be as useful as everyone else.”

“That’s mighty nice, but I feel like I’m slackin’ if I don’t help ya redd up,” Jerusalem
protested. It was the cooking and cleaning that made every Plain woman fit in no matter
where she visited, because the same jobs had to be done in everyone’s home around
mealtime.

“Oh, I suspect you’ll take over your own set of chores one of these days, and you’ll
have years and years to clean this kitchen,” Nettie remarked with a knowing smile.
“So for now, be our guest, Jerusalem. We’re real pleased you’re here with us.”

“And don’t think you have to entertain me, either,” Abner said as he rose from his
seat at the table. He was taller than the rest of them, pudgy from eating his aunts’
cooking; a pleasant fellow of about forty, Jerusalem figured. “I’m going to hole up
with my accounts for a while, so that means you’re stuck with Uncle Vernon for company.
Gut
luck with that!”

“Better with me than with you, Abner,” the bishop teased. His blue eyes twinkled as
he gestured toward the door of the front room. “Shall we take their hints and disappear
into the nooks and crannies of this old home? If it’s all right with you, aunts, we’ll
peek at your rooms first and be out of your way in case you’d like a nap.”

“Nap?!” Nettie replied with a hoot.

“Far as I can tell, it’s
you
who snoozes in your office after dinner,” Florence teased as she wheeled over to
grab a dish towel. “You’d have us believe you’re praying in there or studying your
scriptures for Sunday service, but you don’t fool me for a minute, young man.”

Vernon tucked Jerusalem’s hand into the crook of his elbow as they began their tour.
“I can’t win with those three,” he murmured, “so I pretend to go along with them.
You can see how I need someone to take my side, can’t you?”

“Puh! I don’t feel one bit sorry for ya,” Jerusalem said as they entered the large,
cozily furnished front room. “Most of us get what we ask for in this life, ya know.”

“You’re absolutely right, Jerusalem.” Vernon’s secretive whisper made her skin shimmer
as they chuckled over their private joke. He nuzzled her cheek with a quick kiss before
steering her down a hallway to their right. “When we rode in, you probably noticed
how this newer wing of the house is just one level. I added it when the aunts and
Abner lost their homes in the flood of Nineteen Ninety-Three—three rooms with doorways
and a bathroom that will accommodate Aunt Florence’s chair.”

Jerusalem nodded as she gazed at the glossy wood frames around the wider doors . .
. a tidy bedroom with yellow walls, and then a similar room painted pale lavender,
and a larger room at the end of the hall, which served as Abner’s bedroom and office.
“And ya built this wing yourself, Vernon? Do I recall ya sayin’ that ya worked as
a master carpenter before ya took on your duties as the bishop?”

“I had help from some wonderful neighbors, getting this wing framed in and the roof
put on,” he replied as they headed back down the hallway. “But I did all the interior
finishing, yes. Back in the day, I loved nothing better than spending time in my shop,
making pieces of furniture Dorothea wanted, but . . .”

He paused, shrugging. “It’s not like we need any more furniture.”

Jerusalem nodded, understanding how Vernon’s wife had taken some of his enthusiasm
about working with wood to the grave with her. The large front room was filled with
lovely pieces: a china cabinet made of burled walnut displayed a set of old china
behind its glass doors, and a matching sideboard served as a place for a swiveling
stand where a family Bible rested, open to the second chapter of Luke. Vernon fingered
the dresser scarf, which was embroidered on each end with a manger scene.

“Dorothea made this the first Christmas we were married,” he murmured, “and Aunt Nettie
likes to get it out each year. And the quilting frame,” he continued, pointing to
the work in progress near the big picture window, “is where Aunt Florence spends most
of her time. Her eyesight is still quite keen, thank goodness, as she finds great
joy in finishing quilts after other ladies have made the tops.”

Jerusalem leaned closer to the framed quilt, an appliqued snowflake design worked
in several shades of blue calico. “My word, but that’s a lot of loops and swirls she’s
stitchin’ on there,” she remarked. “Never had the patience to do such intricate quilting.
I’m better with a crochet hook—or a snow shovel,” she added with a laugh.

Vernon led her by the hand into an alcove built around the home’s front door. “You
have more than your share of talents, Jerusalem,” he whispered. “And this happens
to be my favorite—so far.”

When he kissed her, Jerusalem nearly squirmed out of his embrace, thinking that any
of the three other folks in this home might catch them. Vernon sensed her skittishness
and gently tightened his arms around her.

“Nobody uses this door, dear heart,” he said softly, nuzzling her ear. “Even back
when the house was built for my grandparents, people usually came in through the kitchen.”

“True of most places,” Jerusalem replied in a tight voice. “But I feel like my backside’s
exposed—”

“Now there’s a picture,” the bishop interrupted with a wink.

Jerusalem’s jaw dropped and then she swatted him playfully. “You know what I’m sayin’,
so stop makin’ fun of me,” she whispered, fearing her voice might carry out to where
Florence would soon resume her quilting. “I’m not used to spoonin’, especially where
folks might see—”

“Another little adjustment in everyone’s attitude,” Vernon suggested, his eyes a-twinkle.
“I refuse to hide my affection for you, Jerusalem. If that bothers my aunts and Abner,
then
they
are the ones who’ll have to look the other way. It’s my home. And you’re to be my
wife . . . I hope.”

“I’m still thinkin’ that over.”

“That’s why I brought you here. Take your time, my dear.” He ran a finger tenderly
along the side of her cheek. “Ask me anything that comes to your mind, Jerusalem,
for a man and his wife should have no secrets . . . no reservations or unexpressed
desires.”

Jerusalem swallowed hard, nodding despite her nervousness. It was one thing to enjoy
this man’s sensual suggestions at Tom Hostetler’s place, which was like home turf,
but here she was still the guest . . . the young girl looking into the furniture store,
daring to dream of the home she would have someday. This opportunity to marry a fine
man had come to her unexpectedly, years after she’d given up on the possibility of
becoming a wife, and it still scared her if she examined the ramifications of marriage
too closely. Holy matrimony wasn’t a state to be entered into lightly . . . especially
since she’d thrived for so many years as a
maidel
.

Once more Vernon kissed her and then he led her past the old stone fireplace, flanked
with shelves that were crammed with almanacs and National Geographic books about every
place under the sun.

“Dorothea and I spent many a winter’s evening looking at the photographs in those
volumes,” he remarked as they went toward another hallway on this end of the house’s
older section. “It wasn’t as good as traveling to those places, but we at least got
to visit those countries from the comfort of our couch.”

“My family had a lot of those same titles,” she replied, gazing at the parquet oak
floors that led to another secluded room. All over this home, fine craftsmanship showed
off the love and skill that had gone into building it many generations ago. “So this
is your office, where ya take your naps, then?”

Vernon laughed and then winked at her. “All right, I confess. After some of Nettie’s
comfort-food dinners, I catch myself dozing off at this rolltop desk, which my grandfather
made. But I feel as though I’m in the company of good, solid men who sat here as preachers
and bishops before me,” he said in a reverent voice.

“As well ya should, if God chose so many fellas in your family to serve.”

Jerusalem wondered if she dared express the misgivings that had simmered on the back
burner in her mind. Would Vernon think she was nit-picking? Making excuses not to
give him an answer? “I suppose that’s one thing givin’ me pause,” she murmured. “I’m
wonderin’ if I’m cut out to be a bishop’s wife. It’s not like I’m always the biddable,
submittin’ type who’ll say and do what I’m supposed to.”

Vernon shook his head good-naturedly. “Not once have I doubted your faith or your
integrity, Jerusalem. Nor have I questioned your suitability . . . your willingness
to attain the higher level of behavior expected of a bishop’s family. Honesty is a
must in a marriage—in a community of faith—even when the truth you speak isn’t what
others want to hear.”

Jerusalem’s lips quirked. “
Jah
, that’s exactly why Hiram Knepp’s no longer in Willow Ridge. And . . . maybe it’s
because I believed
he
might want me for his wife that I’m feelin’ like a long-tailed cat in a room full
of rockin’ chairs. Waitin’ to get hurt again. Wonderin’ what time will tell about
you
, after this first big bubble of excitement bursts.”

“Who says it has to?” Vernon stood in front of her, taking her hands in his. “When
a man and a woman are meant for each other, they find ways to sustain the excitement
and to never tire of each other’s company. That’s how it was between Dorothea and
me, so that’s why I believe you and I will share the same sort of love and devotion.
It won’t happen overnight, understand. But it will happen if you believe it will.”

Oh, but this man had an eloquence about him, a convincing confidence Jerusalem wanted
to embrace. As he lifted her chin for another kiss, she closed her eyes and allowed
herself to venture into that deeper water they’d discussed . . . telling herself this
man was nothing at all like the banished bishop of Willow Ridge. After all, Hiram
had talked a good line but he’d never once kissed her. And these kisses were the stuff
dreams were made of...

Jerusalem eased away. Took a deep breath to get her bearings again. She focused on
a particularly pretty library table and its four matching chairs, in the center of
the room. “My word, you’ve got such wonderful pieces all through your house, but this
one’s like nothin’ I’ve ever seen, with these carved curlicues along the border and
corners.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he murmured as he fondly followed the pattern with his finger.
“When Dorothea learned she couldn’t have children, I made this table for the two of
us to eat on. We used the larger table, which is now in the kitchen, when we had family
and friends here—and after the aunts and Abner moved in.”

“
Jah
, that would make sense,” she murmured. So many things to know about this man . .
. the life he’d lived with his wife. But she set aside her thoughts to find a smile.
“It was a relief to see that Nettie and Florence and I get along well. Of course,
we were chattin’ about you, mostly, and how I came to Missouri last fall with my nephews.
We aunts have a lot in common.”

“I knew you would.” He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and then led her toward
the door. “Ready to see the upstairs? I’ll let you choose your guest room—back in
the day, this place was built to house a lot of children, so now we have ample space
for visitors.”

The stairs creaked comfortably beneath their weight as they ascended, and again Jerusalem
noted tidy rooms where the furnishings and quilts were old but well tended. Vernon’s
bedroom set was another marvel carved from walnut, and she didn’t have to ask if he
had fashioned it himself. She chose the room farthest down the hall from his, even
though it was the smallest, knowing Abner and the aunts would be well aware of where
she slept. The bright-colored crazy quilt on the twin bed appealed to her, as did
the dormer ceilings and the trio of windows with simple valances made of calico that
coordinated with the quilt.

“Feels real homey in here,” she remarked as Vernon brought in her suitcase.

He chuckled under his breath. “If I took the notion to come calling in the night,
a twin bed would still be large enough, you know. You could sleep out in the loft
of the barn, and I’d be there if I thought you’d welcome me. In our youth, bundling
was still an accepted practice, after all.”

Her eyes widened. Bundling was a form of courtship where young folks slipped between
the sheets fully clothed, usually in the girl’s bedroom. “Not in
our
house it wasn’t!” she clarified. “But then, with so many of us kids at home, we doubled
and tripled up on bedrooms. Come time we were old enough to court, we found other
places to go.”

“And I can imagine you were driven home from many a Singing by many an eager young
man,” Vernon said. “You and Nazareth probably had a lot of secrets to keep for each
other when you were girls growing up.”

Jerusalem let out a short laugh. “We attended the Singings, for sure and for certain,
because all of us Hooley kids loved to sing and socialize. But more often than not,
Nazareth and I went with older sisters and then drove home by ourselves when they
got rides with their fellas.” She paused, choosing words she hoped wouldn’t sound
prideful or vain. “Nazareth and I were the sharpest pencils in the pack, ya see .
. . and we’ve always figured the boys couldn’t handle the way we ciphered so fast
and won the spelling bees and took over classes on days the teacher was sick.”