An Amish Christmas Quilt (11 page)

C
HAPTER
2

“Laurel, this is the second batch of sugar cookies you've burned this morning.
Was en der weldt
is the matter with you?” Laurel's
aenti
June stood with her apron stretched about her vast frame and arms akimbo.

Laurel started guiltily, then smiled at her aunt. She could never measure the amount of love and cheer that June had brought to her family when her
mamm
had died four years ago in a sled accident. June had come and taken up the care of the infant Lucy, nurtured a grieving teenage Laurel, and worked to soothe the anger and heartache of their
fater
in the loss of his wife. Now, the older woman was a cherished part of the home and family—one whose empathetic nature kept her attuned to the unspoken thoughts of her charges. She could discern the slightest ripple in the family's usual placid sea of routine life.

Laurel had managed to avoid her
aenti's
gift of discernment lately by sheer force of will, but today, she was distracted. She was to meet Matthew at Bishop Umble's at 1
PM
, and she had to make it look like a chance meeting, should anyone from the community be about. Fortunately, there was a quilting frolic at Deborah Esch's
haus
that morning, and Laurel knew she could slip away on some excuse once the women were talking and eating.

“You're moon-eyed, that's what,” Aenti June pronounced when Laurel nearly upset the small container of teaberry candies used to sprinkle on the cookies.

Laurel straightened slowly. Denying her
aenti
would only produce more suspicion. “Why would you say that? Who is there for me to be moon-eyed over?”

Lucy rolled her eyes as she sat at the table decorating, and Laurel gave her a warning look.

Aenti June shook her grizzled,
kapped
head. “
Ach
, only a dozen or so willing, single men—eligible too. Any one might make a fine husband, but I think you've got your eyes set and that's the problem.”

Laurel bit her lip for a moment, then stopped immediately, knowing her
aenti
knew that it was a nervous habit of hers.
Maybe Aenti June would understand. . . .
The tempting thought drifted through Laurel's mind even as she discarded it. She doubted that even June understood the mysterious reason Luke Lapp and John Beider never spoke to one another—certainly no one else seemed to know. And June would stick by her
bruder
, of that Laurel was sure.

Laurel tried to shrug in a casual manner and plopped two raisin eyes on a gingerbread man. “Well, perhaps you're right—it's making the right choice that's the problem.” Lying didn't come easily to Laurel's lips, but she hoped the half-truth would divert her
aenti
into a lecture on choosing a mate.

“Well, not that I've ever been married, but I've thought a bit about the subject and I know that picking the right man can be . . .”

Laurel breathed a silent sigh of relief and avoided the merriment in her little sister's blue eyes. Aenti June was in full lecture mode, and Laurel sat down at the table to ice molasses cookies, letting the older woman's words drift somewhere off into the far distance.

 

Matthew rolled over wearily when he heard his
fater
call him from below. He hadn't gotten to bed until nearly four because the decoy mare actually did foal, with a nasty presentation, but praise Gott, things had turned round and both mare and filly were doing well.

Matthew gazed at the wind-up clock by his bedside and groaned. 5:30
AM
. He inched up in the bed as his fourteen-year-old younger
bruder
, Simon, burst through the door without knocking.

“Matt, what's wrong? Dat's ready to start chores.”

“Go away.”

Simon adjusted his round glasses and sat down to bounce with vigor on the end of the bed. “Out late with Laurel Lapp?”

Matthew hurled a pillow at his brother's head with alacrity. “Shut up. I've told you to never mention her name anywhere in this house.”

Simon shrugged, adjusting his glasses and throwing the pillow back. “Dat's gonna find out.... What's the difference? You can't expect to have the engagement announced in church without him or Mamm hearing.”

Matthew clutched the pillow over his face and groaned.
Simon is right, of course. And it's not like I haven't imagined the scene already a thousand horrific times.... Her
fater
will kill me
. . . .
My
fater
will kill me. . . .

He lifted the pillow with a sigh. “Go on down and fend Dat off for a minute, will you, Simon? I'll get dressed.”

Simon obeyed with a residual bounce and Matthew lay back in the bed for a brief moment when the door banged closed
.
He drew his bare arm over his eyes and prayed silently.
Derr Herr, take care of this situation. Be in charge of this, sei se gut, because I don't know how to work it out....

“Matthew!” His
fater'
s voice broke into his thoughts and he hastily jumped up to pull on his pants and shrug into his shirt and suspenders. Hopefully, the meeting with the Bishop that afternoon would go well and the man would offer some wisdom.

 

It had barely gone eight o'clock in the morning when Laurel packed up the last plate of cookies to take to the quilting. She heard the gay ring of sleigh bells and glanced out the kitchen window to see her
fater
drive the sled and horses out from behind the sawmill.

She watched her
dat
, a tall, bulky man with a graying red beard, as he climbed down from the driver's seat
. Ach, if only Daed would explain what there was or wasn't between him and John Beider, then perhaps I could approach him and talk....
Laurel sighed aloud at the thought. Her father had become even more reserved since his election by lot as a deacon of the church and after her mother's passing.

She pushed aside the unhappy thought as she listened to her father stomp his boots outside the front door. Aenti June was upstairs bundling Lucy for the ride to Deborah Esh's
haus
.

“Ready to go?” Her
dat
poked his head inside the open door and Laurel nodded, catching up the basket filled with cookies.

“
Jah,
Fater.”

“
Gut
. Be careful to stay on the cut ruts in the ice. I've got a big order for kitchen cupboards to go down the mountain or I'd drive you myself.”

“
Ach, nee
.” Laurel smiled hastily. ‘You know I've been driving since I was seven. You needn't worry.” She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Her
mamm
had known how to drive a sled well enough too, but there was no accounting for sudden snow squalls on the mountain.

She moved impulsively and laid her hand on the dark heavy wool of her
fater's
black coat. “We'll be fine, Dat.” She swallowed hard; it was difficult sometimes—how much she missed her
mamm
.

He grunted. “
Jah
. . . as Derr Herr wills.”

Laurel nodded as Lucy clambered nosily down the stairs, breaking the quiet moment.

Soon they were piled in the sled with Aenti June balancing the cookie basket on her ample lap and Laurel at the reins. Lucy cuddled between them, waving a dark mitten back to where their father stood watching them go in the crusty snow.

 

Luke Lapp swallowed hard when the sled carrying the remnant of his family turned the bend in the road and was obscured by pine trees.

It was always like this when he watched a sled slide away—Meg's face would come to mind, her blue eyes bright and sparkling, her fair hair escaping her
kapp
in dear, curling disobedience....

He blew out a harsh breath and turned back to the house, deciding on a quick cup of coffee before finishing his cabinetry order. The house was awful, as usual, in its quietness when no one was about, but he told himself that Derr Herr was with him and that had to count.

He poured a quick mug, then slid down at the wooden table he'd carved for Meg when they'd first married. Absently, he let his callused fingers play over a well-hewn knothole in the wood; it resembled the blackened target of a shot gun and for a
narrisch
minute he was transported back to boyhood. He and John Beider had always gone out together for hunting season, enjoying the talks and long tramps through the tumbled leaves and powdery snow of the woods. It seemed like an eternity ago....

He drew too quick a sip of coffee and burnt his mouth, bringing him painfully back to the present.
Ach
, John had been a rare friend, brooding but faithful, yet like Meg, John too was lost to Luke through time and the heartless beat of an unforgiving past.

C
HAPTER
3

“It's a fine filly you brought through last night.”

Matthew heard his
fater
's praise through the tired fog in his brain as he leaned against the barn rail watching the new mother mare clean her baby with diligence.

“
Jah, danki
.”

His
dat
clapped him on the shoulder, and Matthew heard Simon laugh when he jumped. He glared at his younger
bruder
and longed for the warmth of Laurel's arms about him, a fair fantasy to ward off the chill of the icy morning.

“I thought I'd best mend fence with you
buwes
today out in the north pasture. It should keep us busy until suppertime,” his
fater
mused. “Your
mamm
's baking beans and bacon.”

Matthew nodded, then recalled his planned clandestine meeting with Laurel and the bishop. He snapped to abrupt alertness. “Uh, Daed,
nee
—I mean, um, it's so cold. Why not let Simon and me have at the fences and you could stay in with Mamm and shave a few more shingles for the front roof? Besides—I, uh—have been wanting some alone time to talk with Simon. . . .” Matthew lowered his voice to a whisper. “The
buwe'
s been asking questions about girls lately.”

“Hmm? You don't say . . .”

“What was that?” Simon asked, jumping down from the fence rail.

Matthew caught him by the back of his jacket. “It's all right, Simon. Perfectly normal. Let's get going and give Dat a break.”

Simon opened his mouth, and Matthew closed his eyes, waiting for the words to come that would reveal his love for Laurel. But to his cautious surprise, he opened his eyes to see Simon simply give an exaggerated yawn.

Matthew's stomach dropped back into place and he gave his
bruder
a wry grin.

They headed out to harness the horses while their father went back inside the main house. Matthew cuffed Simon lightly on the shoulder when their
dat
was out of sight.
“Danki
, little
bruder
.”

Simon scowled. “I'm younger than you be, but I ain't no snitch.”

Matthew laughed aloud. “
Gut
. I wouldn't want you any other way.”

 

John Beider entered the warm and fragrant kitchen to find his wife, Ellie, putting the final touches on a cheerful wicker basket with dark green tissue paper. She smiled at him briefly, but he could tell by the way she hummed that her mind was already on ahead to the women's quilting frolic being held that day.

“I could run you over to Deborah Esch's for the doings, if you'd like,” he offered, but she brushed him aside with a quick
buss
on his cheek.

“It's a faster walk and I'm running late already. Mind you stir the beans now and then.”

She bustled to the door and was off in a flurry of her thick cloak. John sighed aloud at the sudden silence of the
haus. I hate to be alone . . . always have, right, Lord?
The sudden echoing report of a shotgun from a distance outside startled him, and he smiled grimly to himself. Somebody hunting nearby most likely. He used to like to hunt—once upon a time, and long ago. But the thought stirred up a flurry of unpleasant memories within him and he blew out a breath of exasperation; there were some places in his mind that he knew better than to tread upon....

“Time I shaved a few shingles,” he muttered aloud, trying to comfort himself with the sound of his own voice. Then a knock at the door gave him welcome diversion. He squinted through Ellie's window curtains and broke into a smile. It was Tab King, a grizzled elder of the community who was always ready for a talk. John began to whistle. The day began to look up a bit.

 

Laurel relaxed into the comfortable hubbub of Deborah Esch's kitchen. A large, wooden quilting frame had been set up, taking up nearly every inch of the room, but the women of the community jostled about with
gut
cheer as they found seats around the beautiful quilt and took up their needles with the ease of long expertise.

Laurel was glad to recognize the pattern in the fabric as Christmas roses. The quilt was for Grossmuder May, the elder and healer of the community, who had been feeling a bit poorly herself the last few weeks with the onset of truly cold weather. The quilt was sure to bring her warmth and a blessing as it represented a truly communal effort. The centers of the roses were red, but the quilted petals were pieced from the scraps of many sewing baskets, displaying a year's worth of the fabric of the everyday life on the mountain.

Laurel found a seat and was about to draw her needle through a piece of light blue chambray when a pleasant voice made her hand freeze over the fabric.

“May I sit next to you?”

Laurel looked up with a hasty smile at Matthew's
mamm
. “
Jah
, of course.”

Naturally, in such a small community, the Beider family was often encountered, but when her
fater
was present, Laurel usually stuck to basic politeness. She'd never had a conversation of any length with Matthew's mother.

Laurel scooted her chair over, accidentally elbowing a rather cranky
auld
woman, Ruth Smucker, on her other side. She muttered a hasty apology and ducked her gaze away from the dark green eyes of Frau Beider—Matthew's eyes. Laurel sought for the whereabouts of her
aenti
as a possible diversion, but Matthew's
mamm
was already speaking.

“I suppose you don't know my secret?” The older woman's voice was low, and Laurel swallowed at the strange words.

“It's simple really—your mother and I, we were
gut
friends before she passed on.”

Laurel stared into the intense green eyes and blinked, trying to recollect ever seeing Frau Beider anywhere around when her
mamm
had been alive.

“Don't look so puzzled, my dear. It was a secret friendship . . . well, because of our men folk and the silly hindrance of the feud they've kept going all these years.” She shook her
kapped
head. “
Ach
, I mean no disrespect to your
fater
—your
mamm
felt the same way I did and you seem very like her with your strawberry-blond hair and blue eyes. You remind me of how dearly I miss her.”

Laurel wet her lips as the other woman's kind words reached to warm her to her core. Would Matthew's own
mamm
be a possible ally in a future marriage, or more blessed still, would she be like a second mother to Laurel herself? “I—I didn't know. I miss her too, so very much.”

Frau Beider seemed about to speak again when Ruth Smucker gave Laurel a sharp nudge with a bony elbow. “Hiya, quit your mumbling amongst yourselves. I can't even catch a bit of gossip, and I've dropped my needle through. Fetch it for me, girl.”

Laurel stifled a sigh. She was far too tall to go crawling beneath the quilt frame to get dropped needles so she caught Lucy's eye as the child ambled past with a handful of cookies.

“Lucy,” she called. “Frau Smucker's needle's gone through. Would you get it,
sei se gut?”

Laurel watched her little sister scamper to obey, crawling happily between chairs and beneath the stretched quilt to bob up triumphantly a few moments later with the missing needle. Frau Smucker took it without a word of thanks, but Laurel patted her sister's hand.

Lucy dawdled beside her for a moment, staring at Frau Beider, and Laurel began to grow anxious at what might come out of the little's girl's mouth.

“Lucy, why don't you . . .”

“You're Matthew Beider's
mamm
, right?” the little girl chirped.

Laurel clutched her own needle with suddenly damp fingers.

“Jah,”
Frau Beider smiled. “Matthew and Simon's
mamm
. And you're Lucy.”

“My
dat
doesn't get on well with your family, I don't think,” Lucy said matter-of-factly, and Laurel longed to sink into the pegged hardwoods beneath her feet. But Matthew's
mamm
simply smiled and nodded.

“
Jah,
that's so, little Lucy.”

Frau Smucker leaned over with a snort. “Little girls should be in the front room playing. I still can't hear what you're talking about over that child's squeaky voice.”

Laurel frowned in affront, trying to think of a pointed but respectful response on her sister's behalf when Matthew's
mamm
leaned across the quilt.

“Perhaps, Ruth Smucker, you should try listening for the
gut
of what others say, though I would imagine that would be difficult for you to hear as well.” Frau Beider's voice carried, and Laurel struggled not to giggle as Ruth Smucker's rather toothless mouth opened and closed like a gasping rainbow trout at the faint rebuke.

Laurel couldn't imagine what the grumpy woman might have retorted had their hostess, Deborah Esch, not sailed past to grasp Ruth's arm. “Fresh gingerbread and tea, Frau Smucker? I've got a little table all set up in the side room—away from the
kinner
and the noise.”

Ruth Smucker rose with a sniff and a glare and allowed herself to be led away while Laurel glanced back to Matthew's mother. “
Danki
, for defending Lucy.”

Frau Beider laughed. “The Smuckers are meaner than catfish through and through—a little reminder for the good now and then won't ruffle the hairs on her chin much.”

Lucy crammed a cookie in her mouth and stroked Laurel's hand. “I thought only men had beards.”

Laurel did laugh then, though only a bit, because respect for her elders was so ingrained in her being. Yet she couldn't help but see the shine of a smile in Matthew's
mamm'
s own eyes. She felt as if she'd connected with the older woman somehow. She relaxed into the moment, and the morning seemed to fly by as all of the women worked hard to finish the quilt.

Then Laurel remembered the time. She nearly jumped from her spot when she saw that it was approaching 1
PM
.

“Uh, Frau Beider, I'm sorry. I must—um
. . .
”
Go and make secret plans to marry your
sohn
.
Laurel frowned in desperation, but Matthew's
mamm
smiled with indulgence.

“Run along, child. I remember what it was to be young and restless at sitting all day. It has been a pleasure.”

Laurel nodded and murmured a farewell before carefully circumventing her Aenti June in the large kitchen. She grabbed her cloak from a wall peg and slipped out the back door and into the light snow.