An Amish Christmas Quilt (16 page)

C
HAPTER
11

John soberly helped Ellie into the cutter sled. Matthew and Simon were seated in a second sled behind. It was quarter to two in the afternoon and an eight-minute ride to Luke Lapp's. John bit the inside of his mouth against the cold and thoughts of Luke Lapp as his soon-to-be kin. He hadn't set foot in the Lapp cabin for nearly forty years—even when Meg had died, he'd only gone to the service at the cemetery.

“Are you going to pick up the reins?” Ellie asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“What?
Ach, jah
. . .” He released the brake and called to get the horse moving.

He listened to the comforting sliding sound as the sled cut through the snow and tried to calm the nervousness he felt inside.
How will it be to have Luke's daughter in the haus? To invite the Lapps to every picnic and frolic . . .

“For our
sohn's
sake, I hope you will give up this feud with Luke Lapp.” Ellie's voice was quiet.

John looked at his
frau's
set profile and some imp of pride made him tighten his jaw. “I am accepting Luke's daughter as my own—that will have to be enough. More than enough.”

“Huh,” Ellie snorted in obvious disdain, then did not speak again until they pulled up to the Lapp cabin.

“The bishop is here already. We'd best hurry. Forgive me, John, for telling you how to manage your life.” Ellie patted his hand and he squeezed her fingers in return. It felt good to walk in unity up the steps as Matthew and Simon followed behind.

 

Luke knew he should be downstairs already to greet the
buwe
who would be his son-in-law, but Lucy had caught his hand and pulled him back inside of his room.

He glanced rather shyly at her little blue dress, wondering how Laurel would look in the traditional marrying color.
Surely I've seen her in blue before....

“
Daddi
,”
Lucy spoke up, her small voice demanding his attention.

“What is it?”

“I think you should give Laurel something of Mamm's to go with her wedding dress.”

“What?”
The child is right; I should have thought of it myself. Instead, I've avoided my daughter, likely shamed her. . . .

“Something of Mommli's, like one of her handkerchiefs.” Lucy ran to the dresser drawer where he kept some of her
mamm's
things.

“This one,” Lucy cried, pulling out a dainty scrap of fabric, carefully edged with a single strand of blue.

I can remember Meg using that....
He cleared his throat as Lucy laid it in his hand. “Perhaps you are right, little Lucy. I'll take it to Laurel and you go down and greet our guests.”

“All right. But only for a minute. Then I get to walk downstairs with Laurel.” The child snatched the kitten box from the bed and hurried away, leaving Luke to stare at the handkerchief. He brought it instinctively to his nose and caught Meg's scent—faint, but like lilacs in May. Then he steeled himself and walked down the hall to Laurel's room.

 

Laurel started at the knock on her door and glanced at the wind-up clock on the dresser. She'd thought she still had a few minutes. She drew a deep breath and stepped away from the small mirror to open the door. When she saw her
fater
, she bowed her head. They hadn't spoken since coming down the mountain from Grossmuder May's, and Laurel still felt embarrassed by the situation her
dat
had found her in with Matthew.

“Laurel, I know our time is short. I wanted . . . to apologize for my temper this morning, and I wanted to give you this to keep to remember your wedding day.”

She looked up and saw the dainty handkerchief in his hand, recognizing it as her
mamm's
. Suddenly she felt as if she were a little girl again, sobbing when she skinned her knee or found a wounded bird. Her
fater
had been there to bind up every wound. She stepped into his arms and was engulfed in his embrace.

“
Kumme
,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat. “You'll muss your hair and dress. It's beautiful that you are, and I'll not guard against vanity in saying it. Matthew Beider is a blessed man.”

“
Danki,
Daed,” she whispered. She wanted to say more as a kaleidoscope of images of the strong man before her seemed to swirl in her mind. She had his red hair; she knew she had his strength and would be a
gut
wife, even in a strange household.

Lucy's urgent chirp broke the moment. “Daed, you must go down. It's time for Laurel and me.”

Laurel watched her
daed
nod and turn away, his broad shoulders down bent for a moment before he straightened and she heard his heavy footsteps descend the wooden stairs.

Laurel smiled down at Lucy, and the little girl caught her hand, swinging it in excitement. “You look pretty, Laurel.”

“So do you, sweetling.”

“
Gut
. Let's go.”

Laurel drew a deep breath, standing in the doorway of her old bedroom, poised on the precipice of a new world, then slowly stepped forward into her future.

 

Matthew wanted to scratch his right shoulder badly but decided it wouldn't do to fidget while the bishop was in the middle of the wedding sermon's admonitions and exhortations. Matthew felt that the whole thing had been going on forever, but Laurel's beautiful face and her downcast eyes, as she sat in a hard-backed chair opposite him, were enough to make any man anxious. He'd spent so much time fantasizing about her, but now that the wedding was at hand, his head throbbed at the idea of the wedding
nacht
itself. And he still couldn't banish the image of his
daed
and Laurel's potentially brawling across the wedding cake once the bishop was through. He was pondering how pink icing would look against black wool when the bishop's stern voice broke into his thoughts.

“Uh—
jah
—what, sir?”

There was a general murmur of laughter from the limited number of guests behind him, and he threw Laurel a look of apology.

“I said,” Bishop Umble continued, “that my expectations for your marriage involve you keeping ‘the love of your espousals' over the years. Do you not agree?”

“I agree,” Matthew answered, ignoring the bishop's hazardous grammar.

“And how will you do that, young Matthew Beider?”

Matthew resisted the urge to run a finger under his seemingly too tight collar and thought hard. The bishop was known for putting people on the spot, no matter the occasion.
Please, Derr Herr . . . give me the answer, an answer. . . .
And then a calm filled him, soothing, like the breeze of a summer's day, and he looked at Laurel and smiled.

“Well, it's not looks that keep a relationship strong, though my wife will have plenty of those.” A titter ran through the small gathering and Matthew felt a growing confidence. “And it's not
kinner
, because I know firsthand how much trouble a
buwe
can bring to his parents
. Nee
, perhaps the answer lies in the smallest of things—being friends as well as lovers, telling the truth no matter the cost, remembering to laugh together as well as to cry. Listening to the rain with each other, praying, dreaming, working, and believing in what Derr Herr can do with the future.” He trailed off and realized that the room had grown silent. He glanced around, feeling as if he'd rambled on, when the bishop took out a large handkerchief and spoke with a loud sniff.

“Anything else you can teach us, young man?”

Matthew realized it was a serious question and thought hard. “No grudges.” The words were out of his mouth before he considered their implication.
Was en der weldt
was wrong with him?
No grudges . . . and both of our
faters
sitting right here . . .

But the bishop latched with preaching verve on to the simple phrase like a wolf with a bison bone, and Matthew literally bit his tongue, though he knew it was too late. Still, when he looked at Laurel, her eyes held him and he felt cherished inside. At least she was pleased with him . . . and maybe that was all that mattered.

C
HAPTER
12

Laurel snuggled closer to Matthew in the sleigh. The wedding and rather stilted eating of Aenti June's delicious cake afterwards all seemed to have passed in a blurred dream. And now, she clutched her brown satchel, which held most of her possessions, and was headed for a new home. She swallowed back tears at Lucy's emotional farewell, then blinked, not wanting Matthew to see her cry on their wedding day.

“At least they didn't fight,” he said, navigating the horse around a bend in the road.

“Jah
,” she agreed. “Though I think they stayed as far apart as possible, even with the bishop's admonitions.” She glanced at him shyly. “I loved how you answered when Bishop Umble questioned you.”

Matthew caught her hand and pulled it to his lips. “Derr Herr gave me that answer, sweetheart, but I meant it and I'll try to live by it.”

She nodded. “
Danki
. Me too.”

She watched the snow being thrown up by the horse's hooves and wet her lips in the cold air. “What will it be like, living with your folks, I mean?”

He sighed, which didn't do much to reassure her. “I expect it'll take some getting used to, but don't worry, they'll be kind to you— no matter how Daed might feel about your
fater
. And,
kumme
spring, we'll have a cabin raising and you'll be mistress of your own
haus
. It's only for a short while.”

“I know. I don't mean to sound nervous, but I am I guess. Still, it's Christmas in a few weeks. My favorite time of year . . .”

“My
mamm
's too and this year, I will not have to go hunting for a tree with Simon alone. You'll come, sweetheart, and save me from my little
bruder,
who thinks he's an expert on all holiday traditions.”

Laurel laughed out loud, the sound carefree and full even to her own ears, and suddenly, all things seemed new and possible.

 

John bowed his head for silent grace, thinking how strange it was to have a girl sitting next to Matthew. His
frau . . .
John had always wondered what it would be like to have a daughter. His
buwes
were
wunderbar
of course, but girls seemed different in their gentleness and manner. And now
,
Gott had blessed his table with Laurel Lapp—
nee
, Beider. It made him feel both anxious and responsible at the same time.

He asked Ellie for more bread after grace was finished, then noticed the cloud of silent tension that seemed to fill the room. It bothered him. He glanced at Laurel in her wedding dress, her head bent, taking small bites of food, and realized it would be difficult for anyone to leave home and come to a strange
haus
to live.

He sought for something to say, but Simon beat him to it. “It's weird that you're here.” The
buwe
gestured to Laurel with his chin while he chewed.

John saw Laurel flush and Matthew give his
bruder
an icy glare.

“Uh—” John interrupted. “What Simon means, Laurel, is that we are happy to have you here, truly. You must move about and
kumme
and go as you please. Think of this as your home . . .” he finished lamely as he realized how he must sound as her
fater
's enemy.

“
Danki
,” she whispered, her slender shoulders still bent toward her plate.

John was relieved when Ellie reached across the table to pat the girl's hand. “It will be well, Laurel. You will see.”

John nodded in quick agreement. He'd have to talk to Simon later about his speech, though he knew the
buwe
meant no harm. But for now, he would enjoy his wife's cooking and the pork chop and apples 'n' onions she had prepared. Things would grow easier in time; Ellie was right, as usual.

 

“I miss Laurel!”

Luke Lapp sighed as Lucy gave an uncharacteristic wail. It made his heart hurt and he glanced in mute appeal to June, but his sister, too, seemed absorbed in the strangeness of the
haus
, bereft without Laurel.

“Lucy, darling, she's but right down the road,” he tried to reason.

“But I want her here.”

Friend, the kitten, meowed, and he latched on to the sound. “There, Lucy, you must not upset your kitten with all of this crying. Friend probably misses Laurel too. You can help her.”

“How?” the child sniffed.

“Why—why—hold her close, speak softly, and—perhaps Aenti June will sleep in Laurel's place in your room this
nacht
.”

Lucy picked up the kitten in gentle consideration, and John saw her glance with appeal in June's direction.

“
Jah
, Lucy—for tonight, to make us both less lonely. I'll sleep in Laurel's bed.” June sniffed. “But tomorrow, you must think of it as your own bedroom and be a
gut
girl.”

“
Jah
,” the little girl agreed, then seemed to think of something. She stared straight at Luke. “Where is Laurel going to sleep at the Beiders'?”

Luke suppressed a groan and tried not to think of a response.

 

Alone in what would be her and Matthew's bedroom, Laurel sat tentatively on the side of the bed and tested its softness. The bed springs squeaked alarmingly and she stilled, biting her lip. She understood well enough what went on between a man and woman on their wedding
nacht
—Aenti June had felt it her duty to educate Laurel in a straightforward, no-nonsense manner.

But now that the moment was at hand, Laurel felt uncertain, though her desire for Matthew tempered the emotion. But how
en der weldt
were they going to have their first
nacht
together on a bed that sounded like an
Englisch
untuned trumpet, with his parents right next door? She sat pondering until she jumped when the door creaked open. Matthew came in, carrying a lantern.

“What's wrong?” he asked with concern.

She gave a half plop on the bed and the springs echoed.

“
Ach
.” He smiled his white smile. “I see.”

He set the lantern on a dresser top and paused to run his hand in obvious appreciation down one of her work dresses, which she'd hung on a peg next to his shirt. She shivered because she felt as if he were actually touching her.

“I have an idea—get up,
sei se gut
.” He reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. Then he surprised her by sweeping all of the bedding and the mattress tick off the bed and onto the floor. “There.”

She giggled and felt more relaxed. This was the Matthew she knew and loved and whom she had risked so much to sneak out and see on chill evenings. She went into his arms easily, standing on tiptoe, and kissing him with an abandon she'd never known before.

He made an appreciative sound deep in his throat, then pulled her down with him to land on the pile of bedding. She bit his lip and noticed him wince; she drew away in embarrassment. “I'm sorry,” she murmured.

He laughed, biting her back. “Don't be silly, Frau Beider, it's my boots that are feeling a bit tight.”

“
Ach
, Matthew, I forgot about your feet—and your dear hands.” She bent her head and lapped gently at the skin on the knuckles of his right hand.

“Laurel,” he choked, after a moment. “Help me undress.”

 

Matthew caught a handful of her red-gold hair. He'd always dreamed of what it would look like unbound, and now it spread in glorious, cascading waves around them both, spilling across his chest and hip, and framing them in a secret curtain of intimacy.

By the shimmering light of the lantern, he watched the rise and fall of her snow-white breast and tried to fathom once more that she was now his wife in every sense of the word.

“Are you sleeping?” he asked, nuzzling the length of her neck and watching the lift of her thick lashes as she smiled.

“
Nee
—dreaming, of you.” Her voice was a languorous whisper that sent chills racing down his spine.

“No need to dream, my love. I'm right here.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes like twin jewels in the lamp light. Then she wriggled from beneath his hand and knelt upward. “I almost forgot,” she whispered in excitement.

“What?” He shivered with the absence of her warmth.

She rose, a slender thing of beauty, and slipped to the wardrobe against the far wall. She withdrew a white bundle and came back to shake it out over his head. He laughed as the cotton settled about his head and shoulders; then he lowered the quilt to peer up at her.

“
Grossmuder May's quilt?” he asked in amusement.

She hurried to join him beneath the comfortable fabric.
“Jah.”
Her teeth chattered. “And our first wedding gift.”

“You are a gift,” he said, pulling her slight form close, then moving to kiss her.

She ran artful fingertips down his bare chest and then lower, and he forgot all else but the blessed night before them.