The Amish Christmas Kitchen (6 page)

C
HAPTER
10

D
aniel was waved off by Edward when he would have helped carry wood to the bonfire setup.

“
Geh
make out with Clara,” Edward suggested with a grin, and Dan rolled his eyes in response. He'd forgotten that Edward had spent some time in the Englisch world working on the gas rigs, so his vernacular was just a bit inappropriate.

“Yeah,” Daniel replied. “Like you wouldn't kill me for that.”

“I wouldn't,” Edward said in a surprisingly level voice. “My sister-in-law needs a
gut
kiss, I think. And Sarah agrees. Tonight while you're skating together might be the right time.”

Daniel shrugged, watching the smoke from the fire mingle with the cold of his breath in the dusky air. “Sometimes I think I'm getting close and then—well, she's off like some wild thing that I cannot ever hope to match.”

“You've been listening to Clair Bitner, haven't you?” Edward asked.

“Well, it's true either way, and I—” He broke off as the women and children started coming from the cabin.

Soon, many others from the community had gathered, holding the young
kinner
back from the allure of the fire and busily tying on skates to the soles of their solid boots and high black shoes. Daniel realized that old married sweethearts and young couples as well as children were taking to the large space of clean ice, and he automatically scanned the dimly lit crowd for Clara.

He finally saw Sarah, holding little Anne up on double-bladed skates. “Sarah,” he called. “Do you know where your sister is?”

“Inside. Alone. She wanted to finish the last of the cookies.” She gave him what appeared to be an encouraging smile and he nodded and turned toward the cabin.

He walked up the back steps quietly and then gave a soft knock on the door. He heard her footsteps as she crossed the kitchen, and he whipped his hat off.

She looked up at him blankly, obviously surprised, and he smiled down at her. “You're missing all the fun.”

“
Kumme
in. I've got to get the last lot of the sand tarts out of the oven before they burn.” She turned away from him and hurried to grab a pot holder from the table. He came in and shut the door, hanging up his coat and hat as she pulled the cookie sheet from the cookstove.

He gazed with some astonishment at the array and number of cookies she'd managed to bake with Sarah—gingerbread men with raisin eyes, almond shortbread, jam thumbprints, pinwheel cookies, sea foam, and Amish snowballs. “Wow,” he said in open admiration.

She smiled at him then, blowing at a tendril of loose blond hair that had worked itself loose from her
kapp
.

He walked toward her, moving slowly, and reached out to tuck the loose curl of hair behind her ear. Then he gently traced the shell-like contours of her small ear with his fingertips, lightly touching her until her gray eyes half closed and her breathing came rapid and shallow.

“You touched me like this today,” he murmured. “Do you know what that did to me?”

Her eyelids flew open and she took a step backward, but he wasn't going to let that stop him.

“
Ne—ee,
” she stuttered.

“It turned me upside down inside, Clara. I felt like I was coming apart and didn't even remember how to breathe. Why did you do that, hmmm?” He stepped closer to her once more, and he watched her swallow, a gentle movement down the ivory fineness of her throat.

“I—you were in pain.”

“And you didn't want that?” He lifted his hand to stroke down the line of her throat, stopping at the collar of her dress but so wishing that he might go further.

“
Nee
.”

“Then don't let me be in pain now, sweet Clara.”

“What—I mean—does your arm hurt?”

He smiled at her tenderly. “
Nee,
but I hurt. . . .”

Her beautiful cheeks pinkened; she obviously knew what he meant and yet she stood steady.

“Clara, let me kiss you. Just one time. Please . . .”

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and he made a choked sound from the back of his throat. He didn't care that he was begging; he felt as if he'd die from want if she denied him. But she lifted her chin slightly, a faint permission—and he took it with frantic movements, slanting his head, deepening the kiss; he drank from her like summer dandelion wine, all sweetness and wet heat.

The cabin door banged open, bringing in a rush of cold air and his
bruder
Paul, bawling like a young calf. Daniel broke away from her in mute frustration, torn between the dazed expression in Clara's eyes and the obvious immediate need of his younger sibling.

Paul's tears won out based on pure insistence. “What is wrong?” Daniel asked above the din.

“My skate broke and now I can't skate and I cried in front of the other fellas. They'll never let me forget that and—”

“Wait.” Daniel put up a weary hand. “I bet Sarah's got extra skates lying around, and I'll take you out to your friends and have a word with them. Okay?” He looked at Clara. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

She nodded and Daniel went out to help his little
bruder
.

* * *

Clara touched her lips with shaking fingertips. She was staggered by the intensity of Daniel's kiss and felt shaken to the core.

She understood the kiss of a man and had enjoyed kissing Seth a great deal, but she'd never known herself to so hungrily return a kiss.
I'm wanton,
she thought frantically.
Wanton . . . wanton . . . wanting the touch of a man who is not my husband and—

“Clara,
geh
on outside,” Martha Umble ordered, closing the door behind her. “I'll see to passing out the cookies. You have some fun and skate. I'll be joining you later.”

Clara agreed, still feeling rather dazed, and went outside, carrying her skates. Many folks were still on the ice, skating in the cheerful glow of the bonfire, while still more were heading in, seeking a cookie and some hot cocoa.

She was debating about actually going out on the ice, not wanting Daniel to think that she was pursuing him in any way, when he skated up to where she stood in the snow.

“Need some help with your skates, Clara?” he asked in a perfectly natural tone so that she wondered if the kiss in the kitchen had actually shaken him as much as it had her.

But then he bent to help her on with her skates, the firelight playing on the dark sheen of his hair, and he looked up at her. She saw the slow simmer of heat in his green eyes and bit her lip in uncertainty, but he quickly took her hand and pulled her out onto the ice. For all his size, he was a masterful and easy skater, guiding her effortlessly out beyond where the
kinner
were darting to the shadowed outskirts of the frozen field.

They skated in pleasant unison for a few moments, and as she listened to the movement of their blades on the ice, she thought back to all the times she'd skated as a younger girl, longing for someone to want her and to skate with her as a sweetheart. Seth had died before they could ever skate together as a couple, she thought, and was about to speak when Daniel brought them to a gliding standstill.

She looked up into his handsome face, illuminated by the light of the moon and stars. “Look, Clara, I'm sorry about earlier with Paul. I couldn't let him cry. . . .”

“I like you all the more for helping him,” she said in a sudden burst of honesty.

He smiled at her. “
Danki
. . . and I—uh—wanted to say that I thought it was perfect that our first amazing kiss was in a kitchen surrounded by cookies.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It seems to suit us, I think.”

“Daniel, I want—”

“Another kiss, perhaps? I do, too, my sweet Clara.” He bent his head but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “What is it?” he asked.

“Daniel, I can't do this. It's not fair to you. I—our first kiss will have to be our last. I'm sorry. . . .” She turned and skated quickly from his grasp before she could change her mind, then gained the bank on the far side of the field. She stumbled into the snow, and Sarah caught her arm.

“Clara, what is it? Why are you crying?”

“Crying? I'm not.” But then she reached to feel the tears that were quickly changing to ice on her cheeks. “I—Sarah, can we just
geh
inside? I'm rather tired.”

“Of course,” Sarah said in a bewildered tone.

All Clara wanted was to get away from the ice and the haunting emerald eyes that she knew followed her through the firelit
nacht
.

C
HAPTER
11

D
aniel was too deeply asleep, worn out with grief over Clara's words, to try to wake from the dream he was having.

* * *

Clara settled between the comfortable pile of quilts and crisp sheets with a faint sigh. It was long after midnight, and she and Sarah had put the last touches on restoring the kitchen to order while Edward had gotten the
kinner
ready for bed.

“Oooh, this is like
auld
times, isn't it?” Sarah yawned from her place in the big bed.

“
Jah,
” Clara said quietly, unable to truly think of much more than the shine of Daniel's eyes.

“What happened with you and Daniel tonight on the ice?”

“Nothing, really. I told him that I wasn't interested in—well, pursuing a relationship.”

Sarah gave a delicate groan of frustration. “But, Clara, why?”

“Because what if there's another tree?”

“Another tree?” Sarah asked, puzzled.

“Like the one that killed Seth. Another tree or an illness or an accident, then what?”

“Clara.” Her sister's voice was gentle. “You can't live and be afraid constantly. Loving someone is always a risk, and there's the potential for pain, yes. But love is worth it.”

“I—I don't know that.”

Sarah cuddled closer to give her a hug. “But you will, sweet sister. You will.”

* * *

“
Gott
says, ‘Behold, I make all things new.' ”

Daniel tried to focus as Bishop Umble expounded upon the message the following morning. In truth, though, it was difficult to do anything more than think of Clara, who was sitting with the other widows somewhere behind him.

Bishop Umble's voice carried across the expanse of the Troyers' snug barn and Daniel felt himself caught by the wise
auld
man's words.

“How does
Gott
make something new out of something old? Or unwanted? Or unloved?”

Unbidden, Daniel found himself having to blink back tears.
How I wish I could take back that hasty proposal of two years ago and spend the time wooing her . . . . Why didn't I think? But maybe,
Gott
can even make that time new again. . . . Give me a second chance. . . .

“
Gott
is the
Gott
of second chances,” Bishop Umble said. “He takes what we think is a mess in our lives and cleans it up—makes it new. Remember that today.”

Daniel closed his eyes and prayed, longing for the truth of
Gott
's newness in both his and Clara's lives.

* * *

She'd been married in the spring on Ice Mountain—surely one of the busiest and most beautiful times of the year. But Seth had persuaded the bishop, and Sarah had helped her to make up her dress—a vivid royal blue. A welter of pink apple blossoms had fallen on the ground as she'd walked to the Kauffmans' barn. It was strange, how Daniel stood as Seth's attendant, yet she couldn't remember him at all—only Seth's dear, sweet face and the new warmth of the day....

A blast of cold air broke into her thoughts as the barn doors were slid open, signaling that church was over. She rose and found Daniel staring at her across the expanse of backless benches and bustling people. She stared back, feeling mesmerized, then Sarah touched her arm.

“Clara, are you ready?” her sister asked.

“
Jah,
sure.”

“Edward will take you back up the mountain after dinner.”

“Excuse me, Sarah—I couldn't help overhearing. If you don't mind, I'll see Clara home,” Daniel said in a brisk tone.

Clara turned 'round to stare up at him.

“
Ach,
that will be great.”

Clara felt her sister's unladylike poke and frowned. “I suppose,” she muttered.

Daniel smiled. “It'll be my pleasure.”

* * *

That afternoon, Daniel blinked in the snow glare and pulled the brim of his hat down a bit further. He had to glance over Blinks's head to get a look at Clara, and her beautiful mouth appeared set as it usually was
. Unless she's kissing me, then her lips are soft and wet and . . .
He drew himself up sharply; he needed to focus on talking with her.

“You know, I've been thinking,” he began.

“And . . . ?” she asked in a stiff little voice.

“It's simple, really. If I win the cookie bake off, then you have to agree to court with me.”

She sniffed delicately. “But you won't win.”

“
Ach,
but there are always miracles at Christmastime.” He grinned, admiring her pluck.

“And when I win?” she asked after a moment.

“Then I agree to leave you to your baking and goat and cabin and never bother your—uh—person again.”

“Done,” she snapped.

“You want to shake on that?”

“
Nee
.”

“All right,” he agreed. “A man, er, a woman's word is her bond.”

They arrived at the little cabin, which somehow looked a bit forlorn, and his heart ached at leaving her there all alone except for a goat as company. But he knew that she'd push him away if he pressed to stay for a while. So, he merely offered his hand and helped her to the door. Then he unlatched the wood and peered around inside, satisfying himself that all was safe.

“
Gut
day then, Clara Loftus. I guess I'll see you at the bake off. Would you care for a ride that evening?”

He was sure she'd refuse, but then she nodded slowly. “
Jah,
but only so you can know you're riding with the winner.”

“I'll take my chances on that. Until later, sweet Clara.”

He stepped out to the sled, feeling that things were pretty much all right with the world for once.

* * *

When he'd gone, Clara lit the woodstove and set about fiercely cleaning the little cabin, even though she knew she was breaking the Sabbath by working so heartily on a Sunday. But she didn't want to have time to think. And, when all was in perfect neatness, she drew down her recipe box and began to study its contents with grim intensity, knowing she had a bake off to win—even if it would break her heart.