The Amish Christmas Sleigh

The Amish Bride of Ice Mountain
The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain
And read more by Kelly Long in
An Amish Christmas Quilt

 

 

 

 

 

 

The
A
MISH
C
HRISTMAS
S
LEIGH

KELLY LONG AMY LILLARD MOLLY JEBBER

KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

A S
LEIGH
R
IDE ON
I
CE
M
OUNTAIN

P
ROLOGUE

 

T
he heavy tread of his black boots barely made an impression in the hard-blowing snow, but he loved a roaring gale of a storm, especially on this, the most holy of
nachts
. He'd nearly gained the porch of the small cabin when he pulled the wooden
boppli
sled from his thick bag. His blue eyes shone beneath the blur of white as he felt the just-right weight of the sled, meant to pull a baby on fun-filled jaunts.

Then his steps slowed as he caught sight of the scene inside. He peered in the lighted cabin window at Fran Zook, her head bent in her hands while her husband, Daniel, attempted to comfort her.

Seeing the grieving couple shook him as he stood holding the sled in the snow. He whispered a soft prayer, and the sudden light of a single star pierced the whipping snow surrounding him. He knew he'd been both heard and answered. He mounted the steps and gently laid the sled down on the porch. With a deep breath, he gave a muffled knock to the thick wooden door and then backed away.

When Daniel Zook opened the door, the blustering cold slammed into him. He shivered hard as he bent to pick up the sled.

“What is it?” Fran asked wearily, and he saw her gaze straying with tear-reddened eyes to the empty cradle in the corner.

“A
boppli
sled,” Dan answered. His voice shook on the reply.

Fran sobbed aloud. “
Ach,
how could he do this to us? What a cruel gift, and after the funeral today, too . . . she looked so small.”

“I know,” Daniel said, but he didn't put the small sled down. He turned to his grieving wife. “Yet maybe, maybe, Fran, there is promise in the gift—”

“
Nee
.” She choked on her tears and stared at him with an angry glare. “There is not. Burn that sled. I don't care.” She glanced listlessly at the cradle again.

Dan looked at the sled in his hands. He understood his wife's pain. He shared it with her. Only time would heal his wife's heart . . . and his.

Instead of following her wishes, though, he crept through the storm to the shed. He went inside to the back corner, behind a wooden shelf filled with tools. He set the sled down, found an old tarp, and covered the gift carefully.

C
HAPTER
1

 

T
he mountain snow was dazzling to the eyes and the senses, and thirty-four-year-old Sebastian Christner still had child enough in his heart to enjoy the brisk intake of breath that filled his big lungs and made him dig his hands deeper into the pockets of his heavy black wool coat.

“Give us a push,
Herr
Christner!” one of the Mast
buwes
called to him in ringing tones from the top of the hill. Sebastian broke into a smile. Growing up, he'd been the eldest of a whole brood of children, and sledding held wonderful memories for him.

He waded through the knee-deep snow and started up the sledding path where many of the
kinner
were playing, rosy-cheeked, against the background of a bright blue sky. Sebastian caught hold of the back of the big runner sled loaded with three boys in all manner of bent elbows and knees and gave an easy push. The sled was off, and exultant whoops of joy echoed back up the hill. Sebastian swept his gaze across the tilt of the land for another sled. Then he saw a single child, a young
buwe,
sitting on a tree stump, cheering as wildly as his feeble limbs would allow as each sled took off.

Sebastian plowed through the snow to the child's side and sank down on his haunches. He searched the pale little face that turned to him with its gap-toothed smile.

“Hiya,
Herr
Christner.” Nine-year-old Ben Zook's voice was high and thin, but his dark brown eyes were steady.

“Be you cold, child?” Sebastian asked, noticing the faint tremor of the boy's arms and mittened hands where he held his crutches.

“Only a bit. My sister brought me up here to watch the sledding while she does the wash. She said she'd be no more than an hour.”

Sebastian quickly unbuttoned his coat and slung it over the child's frail shoulders. “Sisters forget sometimes.”

“
Ach, nee,
” Ben replied, visibly luxuriating in the new warmth as he snuggled deeper into the folds of the coat. “Kate never forgets me. She says I'm in her heart.”

Sebastian smiled and thought of the kind girl, though he couldn't seem to bring to mind her features at that moment. Rather, he had a mental impression of quick, able-bodied movement, a sturdy build, and dark brown hair. He half-shook his head—what Kate Zook did or did not look like was of no matter to him.

“Would you like a ride?” Sebastian asked, pushing aside his idle thoughts of little Ben's sister.

The child's face flushed a rosy red and his eyes shone. “
Ach, jah
. But Kate said not to go down with anyone. I might get hurt.”

“I'm sure she meant the bigger
buwes
. . . I'm an
auld
hand at sledding, and I'll make sure you're safe.” Sebastian got to his feet and easily swept Ben and his crutches up into his arms.

“
Kumme,
we'll borrow the runner sled.” Sebastian laughed, his heart full, as the child snuggled against his chest.

He hailed the Mast
buwes,
who gladly loaned their sled. With Ben still in his arms, he dropped down on the solid wooden slats and carefully positioned the child between his legs, minding the crutches, and grasping the lead rope.

“Ready?” he said to Ben.

“
Jah!
”

Sebastian leaned his weight forward a bit and they were off, skimming down the path, until the trees became one big, thrilling blur.

Ben squealed in excitement, and Sebastian couldn't contain a hearty laugh as the sled dipped and flew. He held the lead rope easily but had to give a sudden tug to the right when a girl with her hands on her hips suddenly stepped into the path in front of them.

A spray of snow flew into the air as the runner blades cut hard. By sheer will Sebastian was able to keep the sled from tipping. Even so, he lost his black-brimmed hat in the process and was wiping snow from his eyes when a soft voice carried to him with vigor in the cold air.

“Benjamin Zook! Do you know you might have been hurt or worse? What were you thinking?”

Sebastian smiled upward as a flurry of skirt approached. “It was my fault, truly. I encouraged him to have a go.”

“
Jah,
well . . .”

Sebastian looked up as Kate Zook's voice suddenly trailed off. He froze, caught by the intensity of her jewel-blue eyes as she stared down at him.

 

At twenty-six, Kate Zook knew she was not only approaching spinsterhood by her community's standards, but that she had more worries to deal with than she could handle. Yet, at that moment, all she could think of was the fact that she'd never been this close to Sebastian Christner before. Sure, there'd been a time she'd served him lemonade at a summer picnic and his shoulder had accidentally grazed her breast . . . her heart thumped now at the memory she'd nursed, spinning it into a fair yarn in which he'd turned, apologized, and asked her to marry him. But he'd done no such thing, and his shoulders were so broad and strong that he probably hadn't noticed the incidental touch in the first place.
But I did . . .

“Uh . . . Kate?” Sebastian's deep voice cut into her thoughts. “I think Ben might be getting cold.”

She moved with alacrity, feeling her face flush with remembrance as she bent to lift her younger
bruder
from the sled, the boy still clad in Sebastian's heavy black coat. She noticed the manly scent of pine soaping that clung to it, sending her senses into a slow simmer.

He rose to his feet to tower over her as she held Ben. Sebastian's auburn hair had a faint curl to it and his blue eyes seemed to glow with some secret merriment as he stood, coatless in the cold, his red shirt and black wool pants making him stand out with a cardinal's beauty against the white of the snow.

But she couldn't focus on Sebastian, although she wished she could let her gaze linger on his fine form a little longer. She needed to get Ben inside, and she gave Sebastian a brief nod as she turned to go, almost staggering in the snow under the additional weight of the man's coat that swallowed her brother's thin frame.

Sebastian stepped in front of her, his arms—strong arms, she noticed—outstretched. “Here, let me carry him inside,
sei se gut
.”

She turned slowly as Sebastian reached out large hands to scoop Ben from her arms. It was a relief in more ways than one, she thought ruefully. She'd been both literally and figuratively carrying Ben since the buggy accident that took their parents' lives—leaving her unscathed but Ben permanently disabled at the age of two. She hadn't known what to do until her cousin Daniel and his wife had invited her to come and live on their property on Ice Mountain in a small abandoned cabin. But even now, with the community's help, she often found she had little money to plan for Ben's future . . . Yet, still, surely
Gott
had a plan . . .

“Your thoughts run deep this morning?”

Kate snapped her head up at the question from the tall man beside her who was moving easily through the snow.

“Kate's always thinking hard,” Ben explained.

“Ben, I . . .” She swallowed, unsure how to respond.

“Don't tease your sister,” Sebastian whispered sotto voce with a sidelong glance at her that set her heart thumping.

“I wasn't.” Ben smiled. “Kate's smart.”

Sebastian nodded politely. “I'm sure she is.”

Kate longed for some clever retort to come to her tongue or some flirting manner to suddenly enchant her, but she was what she was and she could only mumble a vague invitation for tea and cookies. To her immense surprise, Sebastian accepted.