The Sound of Sleigh Bells (7 page)

M
AYBE THAT’S WHY
I’
M NOT REALLY INTERESTED IN CARVING FOR MONEY OR MAYBE
IT’S BECAUSE THAT ONE WORK ABOUT WORE ME OUT
.

I
SPOTTED THE LOG A LITTLE LESS THAN TWO YEARS AGO WHILE RIDING BAREBACK THROUGH THE WOODS
. T
HAT’S A GREAT PASTIME OF MINE
. I
LIKE GETTING OUT BY MYSELF
. S
OMETIMES
I
PACK A TENT AND A BIT OF FOOD AND MEANDER HUNDREDS OF ACRES FOR DAYS BEFORE RETURNING HOME
.

T
HE MOMENT
I
SAW THAT FALLEN TREE, EVEN AT A DISTANCE
, I
T BURNED INTO MY MEMORY
. B
UT IT LAY IN A GORGE WITH NO EASY WAY TO GET IT OUT
. T
HE LAND BELONGED TO A WIDOW WOMAN PETE KNOWS
. S
HE DOESN’T ALLOW CUTTING OF TIMBER ON HER LAND, EVEN WHEN IT’S A FALLEN TREE
.

W
ELL, YOU CAN IMAGINE THAT
I’
D HAVE MUCH RATHER LEFT IT THERE THAN TRY TO PULL AN ENTIRE TREE UP THE SIDE OF AN OVERGROWN CRAG
. S
O
I
LEFT IT
.

B
UT AS THE MONTHS PASSED
, I
COULDN’T GET THE RICHNESS OF THAT PARTICULAR TREE OR THE POSSIBLE CARVINGS THAT COULD BE MADE FROM IT OUT OF MY MIND
.

I
VISITED THE WIDOW AND ASKED IF
I
COULD CUT THE LOG INTO SECTIONS, BUT HER HUSBAND NEVER WANTED ANYTHING CUT FROM THAT FOREST AREA, AND SHE HAD TO HONOR THAT
.

F
OR A SECOND TIME
, I
DECIDED TO LEAVE IT, BUT AS YOU CAN TELL FROM THE PIECE YOU FOUND AT
P
ETE’S, DEAD WOOD HAS A STRONGER WILL THAN
I
DO
.

S
O WITH MY CANE IN HAND AND A ROPE OVER MY SHOULDER
, I
DESCENDED INTO THE CANYON IN HOPES OF BEING MIGHTIER IN MUSCLE THAN
I
AM IN WILL
.

I
T WASN’T TO BE — NOT THAT
I
ACTUALLY THOUGHT IT WOULD
. B
UT SOME THINGS IN LIFE ARE JUST THAT WAY
. T
HEY DEMAND MORE OF YOU THAN YOU HAVE, AND EVEN KNOWING YOU’LL LOSE, YOU HAVE TO ATTEMPT IT ANYWAY
. O
R IS THAT JUST ME?

W
ELL
, I
NEED TO GO BEFORE SUPPER CATCHES FIRE…AGAIN
.

J
ONAH

Beth paused, soaking up his humor and openness. The carving hadn’t caught her eye, as he’d said. It had snagged her heart. She should tell him that. He hadn’t told her how he got that log out of the forest. How odd to bargain with an old woman who would let him have the felled tree but wouldn’t let him cut it while it remained on her property. And Beth had to set him straight about the piece she’d brought home—she didn’t intend to sell it.

She read his letter again.

In spite of the freezing winds that continually circulated inside her, warmth spread across her chest. Her hidden guilt had isolated her in ways she’d never imagined possible, but the letter eased her loneliness a little, and she felt something besides regret and her sense of duty to those around her. Was it possible every hidden part of who she’d once been—her heart, passion, and ability to connect—had not been fully destroyed after all?

Then a memory returned, and she saw herself on bended knee in the pouring rain.

For her part in Henry’s death, she should be too numb to want a new friendship. Her relationship with Henry had shown her things she hadn’t known about herself. She wasn’t good at loyalty, yet she knew without it friendship was simply heartache waiting to happen. If she were capable of true devotion, Henry would be alive. When he died, she’d vowed to remain single forever.

But Jonah was old, and he would never need to test her endurance for commitment. She trusted that as an Amish man, he had plenty of family and friends who possessed strengths he could rely on. Surely even she could give what little he was asking for.

She opened a drawer and pulled out her best stationery.

O
n his back porch Jonah sipped a cup of coffee, watching as the first rays of daylight illuminated the canopy of leaves on the massive oaks. The deep greens of summer foliage carried the first hints of changing to gold, yellow, and red. Each year the sight begged him to watch endlessly. The colors of summer slowly faded, allowing the true color of the leaf to shine through. And then one day he’d wake to find their color had grown no brighter, and soon the radiant golds, reds, and yellows would tinge with brown, bringing with it a different type of beauty.

The front door slammed, and someone stomped through his home like a horse, vibrating the house. Jonah angled his head toward his left shoulder. “Coffee’s on the stove.”

“I have a wife who makes mine, and she does a right good job.” His brother walked through the french doors and onto the porch with a cup of Jonah’s steaming coffee. “But I thought I’d make sure yours weren’t poison.”

“Ya, just in case I rise early every day to brew toxins for myself.”

Amos sipped the drink and made a face. “Broken buggy wheels, I think it might be dangerous to drink this stuff.”

He took a seat in the rocker, and it moaned under the weight of him. At six foot seven inches, his brother was one of the largest men Jonah had ever known. He had the hands of a giant and a heart to match.

“I don’t get it.” Amos motioned toward the field. “It’s a bunch of trees with leaves.”

Jonah laughed. “And yet you join me and insult my coffee nearly every morning.” Mist rose from the bottom land along the foot of the mountain until the top edge of the fog disappeared into the surrounding air as if it’d never existed. The early morning sun would soon burn off the remaining vapor. In spite of the birds chanting loudly, the morning seemed to hold on to a peaceful quietness.

Amos finished drinking most of his coffee before tossing the drips off the porch. “My gut can’t take too much of that stuff.” He placed his hands on the arms of the rocker and pushed himself up. “We got work to do. Oh, wait.” He dug into his pants pocket. “Speaking of my wife, she checked your mailbox yesterday.”

Jonah took the letter.

“It’s from a girl.” Amos’s teasing grin didn’t hide the seriousness in his eyes.

Jonah read the return address. “No, it’s from Elizabeth Hertzler. You saw her in my driveway about a month ago.”

“She was a nice-looking woman but a little older than I’d hoped you’d find.”

His brother had shared his opinion for two reasons—to voice his concern and to let Jonah know he supported whatever he wanted. “Go gather eggs for Mammi and Daadi while I read my letter.”

Amos left, whistling as he tromped through the house. Jonah ripped open the top of the envelope and pulled out the parchment-looking paper.

Dear Jonah
,

It was so nice to receive your letter. It’s been a very long time since I enjoyed anything as much as I enjoyed reading about your life. I can understand the desire to camp out in the forest—although I’ll admit the idea of sleeping in a tent sounds dreadful, and a forest has too many creepy-crawlies for my taste
.

Jonah laughed out loud, and the wind running through the leaves made it seem like the oaks joined him. Her truthfulness by itself kept him chuckling. He hoped Beth could see the majesty of the great outdoors. He refocused on the letter.

It’s past midnight as I sit alone in my office. The minutes began ticking by hours ago, and I continue to wrestle with what to share and what to keep to myself. Your carving sits on my desk, and the smoky flame from my grandmother’s kerosene lamp casts its glow over your artwork, causing the
faces to change as the fire burns unsteadily. And the longer I sit here, the more I want to write what I’m thinking
.

I’m glad you shared with me about finding the piece of wood and how you fought with whether to drag it out of the gorge or not. Your carving did not catch my eye as much as it snagged my heart. That log would not let you forget it, and your carving does much the same to me
.

I must dare to be boldly open, so I can tell you that your work causes me to dream. Parts of the dreams are disturbing, but I’d forgotten what it feels like to be stirred by life
.

I find it a little troubling to think a lifeless object can awaken one’s soul, but your work has done that for me. I feel hope once again, and although I don’t deserve it, I’m grateful for it. From the moment I saw this piece at Pete’s, I never intended to sell it
.

You didn’t tell me how you got the tree out of the canyon and back to your shop
.

Looking forward to hearing from you again,
    Beth

“Jonah!” Amos hollered. “Daylight’s burning.”

Jonah folded the letter and shoved it and the envelope into his pocket. Beth’s voice on paper didn’t sound like she had in person. When here, she seemed nervous and scattered, but on paper she sounded serene and centered. After he finished at the sawmill for the day, he’d write to her again.

He set his mug on the railing, grabbed his cane, and walked around the side of the house. Her letter was an odd mix of thoughts and emotions. Even in its brevity it conveyed business, open admiration of his work, and hesitation to share the rawness she felt inside. Maybe that was why she sounded so different in her letter than at the farm.

He’d heard quite a few things inside that note, although he couldn’t identify them. As the day wore on and he cut fresh lumber and sold from the seasoned stacks, his thoughts returned to the letter. He read it two more times, trying to hear what she wasn’t saying. That was what his
Urgrossdaddi
Jonah used to say to him before he died—“If you hear what’s not being said, you’ll hear the heart of the matter.”

She’d written, “The minutes began ticking by hours ago, and I continue to wrestle with what to share and what to keep to myself.” Clearly, she’d struggled to break through the reluctance he saw when she’d visited. Maybe her inability to talk openly was why she’d asked for them to exchange letters. In person she’d been just another woman, but her letter seemed to have touched something inside him.

While Jonah drove the horse and buggy home after work, Amos cracked jokes. “Two snowmen were standing in a field. One says to the other, ‘Funny, I smell carrots too.’”

Cutting and loading lumber for twelve hours straight was exhausting, but Amos rarely seemed tired at the end of a day.

“You don’t always have to entertain me.”

In a rare moment of seriousness, Amos became still. “But when you laugh, I feel like I’ve done something to help ease…” He let the sentence drop and stared out the side of the rig.

His brother’s past recklessness couldn’t be changed. The incident that dogged Amos would never be wiped out, not even through endless moments of amusement. They both knew that. Jonah had forgiven him long before Amos could look him in the eye again, but Amos seemed to find his redemption through the friendship and loyalty he offered Jonah.

“Nothing needs to be eased, Amos.”

Amos scratched his face through his whiskers. “When I grow up, I want to be like you.”

Jonah chuckled. “You’re the oldest of the family, and even your young uns have given up on you growing up.”

“Well, aren’t you just full of good spirit today? So, you gonna write some of that charm and wit in a letter to that woman?”