Читать книгу Her Amish Christmas Choice - Leigh Bale - Страница 13

“Hallo?”

Julia Rose jerked, startled. The two nails she’d been holding between her pursed lips dropped to the wooden planks of the front porch and bounced off into the weedy flower bed.

She swiveled around on the rickety ladder and caught a glimpse of a tall man standing directly behind her. She didn’t have time to return his greeting. The leather gloves she wore were overly large and caused her to lose her grasp on the heavy hammer. It followed the nails, thudding to the wooden porch below. The ladder wobbled and she fought to retain her grip on the tall post she’d been holding upright with her left hand. For fifteen minutes, she’d struggled to get it in just the right spot so she could nail it into place. Now, it slid sideways. Without its support, the heavy canopy above sagged dangerously near her head. The overly stressed timbers gave a low groan and she widened her eyes.

“Acht gewwe!” the man called in a foreign language.

A sickening crack sounded above and Julia scrambled down the ladder. Like a zipper coming undone, the nails holding the awning to the side of the building pinged into the air as the canopy tore away from the outer wall and knocked her to the ground. She gasped in pain as the ruined wood continued its descent toward her.

With a cry of alarm, she curled against the side of the wall, protecting her head with her arms. She was vaguely aware of the man shielding her, taking the brunt of the weight against his own back.

“Oof!”

She glanced up and found his face no more than a breath away. She gazed into his eyes, catching the subtle scent of licorice. His muscular arms held her tight as another piece of the canopy bludgeoned him with a shocking thump. He jerked at the impact but made no sound. For several seconds, they both held perfectly still. She felt uncomfortable with his close proximity but couldn’t move away just then.

“Alles fit? Are you all right?” His voice sounded low and calm, like the approach of thunder off in the distance.

“I think so.” She stared in fascination, captivated by his piercing blue eyes… The kind of eyes that could see deep inside a person’s heart and know exactly what they were thinking. In those brief moments, she took in his plain clothes, his angular face, short auburn hair and a faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. No doubt he spent hours working outside in the sun.

“Mar-tin! Mar-tin, are you okay?”

Julia looked up and saw a boy of approximately fifteen years standing in front of the ruined porch. Dressed identical to the man, his short, stocky build was accented by plain black pants, a blue chambray shirt, black suspenders and a black felt hat.

They were Amish!

“Ja, I’m okay, Hank.” The man holding onto Julia let her go and moved back with a slight grimace.

She scurried to safety, standing beyond the reach of the broken canopy. With her out of the way, the man jerked to the side and let the remaining boards sag to the ground. They hung there like a great, broken beast.

“It’ll be all right now. You’ll be okay.” The boy named Hank patted Julia’s arm, looking directly into her eyes as he earnestly searched her expression for distress.

Hank was a stranger and again she felt uncomfortable by the invasion of her personal space but saw no guile in his dark eyes. He looked genuinely concerned for her welfare. His brown eyes slanted upward and he had an open, childlike expression. As she took in his reddish-blond hair and small, flat nose, she recognized instantly that Hank must have Down Syndrome.

“Y-yes. I’m fine,” she said.

He smiled wide, pushing his wire-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose. He looked so innocent and sincere that she had to return his infectious smile.

“Mar-tin, she’s okay. How about you? Are you okay?” Hank asked, his accent heavy.

“Ja, I’m all right,” the man named Martin said.

But Julia had her doubts. He stood slowly and sidestepped the rubble, stumbling before he regained his footing. As he rubbed his left arm, a flash of pain crossed his face. He clenched his eyes closed for a brief moment but didn’t utter a single word of complaint. His black felt hat had been knocked from his head. He opened his eyes and glanced at her, a look of worry creasing his handsome forehead.

“You are not injured?” he asked, his voice tinged with an edge of authority.

She shook her head. “No, thanks to you.”

She coughed and waved a hand at the dust filling the air. Martin had used his own body to shield her from the heavy boards. She considered what might have happened if he hadn’t been there.

He stood up straight, his great height a sharp contrast to Hank’s. “You should rope off this area so no one walks by unaware and puts themselves in danger.”

“Yes, I’ll do that. Th-thank you,” she said, still breathless and amazed by the ordeal.

“You’re willkomm.” He brushed the dust off his clothes.

“Mar-tin, I saw what happened and came to help.” Hank’s face was lit by an eager expression.

“Ach, you sure did. I’m glad you were here.” Martin rested a hand on Hank’s shoulder and the boy smiled at the man with adoration. The two looked alike, yet Martin didn’t seem old enough to be Hank’s father. Perhaps they were brothers?

“Thank the gut Lord no one was seriously injured today.” Martin flexed his right arm as if testing it for soundness. He arched his waist, his blue chambray shirt stretching taut across his solid chest.

Hmm, very odd. Though she understood his comment, she realized he was mixing English with some other language.

He looped his thumbs through his black suspenders. The tips of his heavy work boots were almost covered by the hem of his plain gray pants. A brisk October wind ruffled his short hair, but he didn’t seem to feel the chill. Within two weeks, it would be November. Julia pulled her own jacket tighter in front of her, ever conscious that winter was fast approaching.

When the man reached to scoop up his hat and placed it on his head, she tried to look away. Since she’d never seen an Amish man before—even when she’d lived in Kansas, where she knew a few settlements existed—she couldn’t help staring. When she and her mom had recently moved here to Riverton, Colorado, she hadn’t expected to find any Amish. But more than that, she wondered what he was doing here at her place.

“Who are you?” she asked, trying not to sound rude.

He bent over and tossed the heavy post aside, his movements strong and athletic. “I am Martin Hostetler and this is my younger brother Hank. Carl Nelson, the attorney in town, told me you are looking for a handyman to fix up your place. I’ve done work for Carl in the past. If the owner of your business is available, I’d like to speak with him about a job.”

Him. He thought the owner of the store was a man.

A stab of pain pierced Julia’s heart. Her father had never owned this rundown hovel; he’d died just eleven months earlier after a valiant battle with pancreatic cancer. Both Julia and her mother missed him more than they could say.

“I’m the owner, Julia Rose,” she said, lifting her chin higher and trying to force a note of confidence into her voice.

After her father became sick, she’d supported her parents off the proceeds of her handmade soap. Mom had lupus and couldn’t help much. As an only child, Julia had stepped in to care for them. It had been a meager living but Julia was grateful her mother had taught her the craft. She’d learned to make lotions, creams, facial masks and lip balms, too. But if they didn’t get the soap store up and running within the next six weeks, she wouldn’t have time to make more soap, which could jeopardize her wholesale contract.

“Ach, you are the owner? But I thought Walter Rose still owned this building.” Martin blinked, gazing at the drab brown structure with surprise.

“That’s right. He was my grandfather. But he died a couple of months ago and left everything to me.”

“Ach, I didn’t know. Mr. Nelson didn’t tell me that. My condolences.”

“Ja, my condenses, too,” Hank said, struggling to pronounce the word with his thick tongue.

Julia couldn’t hold back a small laugh, to which the boy smiled. It was a blunt, open smile that sparkled his dark eyes and lit up his face with joy.

She glanced at Martin, seeing the genuine compassion in his eyes. She also felt sad for her grandfather’s passing but couldn’t really miss him. Not when she’d never met the man. Now that she was twenty-three, she mourned the fact that she’d never gotten to know her grandpa. As an only child, she had lived a rather lonely life and longed for family and friends. She thought she’d found that when she became engaged to Dallin almost two years earlier. But it didn’t last. And all she knew about her grandfather was that he had not gotten along well with her father. At all. The two had a falling-out years before her birth and hadn’t spoken since. She had no idea why.

“Mr. Nelson sent you here?” she asked.

“Ja, he said you need a handyman to help with repairs.”

Carl Nelson was the only attorney in town and had contacted Julia after Grandpa Walt died. Located at the end of Main Street, the store was rundown but spacious, with lots of potential for growth. Her grandfather had lived in the two-bedroom apartment upstairs, which included a small bathroom and kitchen-living area. But they had no electricity in spite of having turned the power back on. Julia wasn’t sure, but she thought there was a problem with the fuse box. Apparently, the same situation had existed while Grandpa Walt had lived here. She and her mother had arrived in town two weeks earlier and were still using the gas and kerosene lamps he’d left behind.

“I definitely need a handyman,” Julia said as she explained the situation to Martin. “With my father being sick and not enough money to pay the bills, we had to shut off the power back home in Kansas. I’ve contacted an electrician here in Riverton, but it’ll cost a lot to replace the fuse panel and upgrade the system. We need to wait until I have more funds. But it’s no matter. We kind of got used to doing without electricity. We live a simple life.”

He nodded. “You are better off without it and I don’t need it for my work.”

“That’s good. Paying you is my priority right now, so I can get my studio and store up and running. Do you know carpentry work?” she asked, wondering how he could do the job without a power drill and electric saw.

Another nod, a slight smile curving his lips. “Ja, and plumbing, but I don’t use electricity.”

Though she’d never met an Amish person, she’d heard the use of electricity was against their religious values, or something like that.

“But there’s just one thing you need to know… Hank works with me. I promise he won’t be a bother or slow me down. Is that okay?” Martin asked.

As he listened to this exchange, Hank’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging slack. His expression looked so intense that she didn’t have the heart to say no.

“Of course. That will be fine,” she said, realizing she had no one else to hire. Not in a town this size. Thankfully, the money Grandpa Walt had left her would allow her to pay a handyman.

Hank’s eyes sparkled with pure delight. “Ach, I work hard, too. I help a lot.”

She returned his smile, a feeling of deep compassion filling her heart. She liked this boy and his brother. All her life, she’d wished she had a brother or sister of her own. Someone to help look after her ailing parents. Since her breakup with her lying ex-fiancé, she’d felt so alone and it warmed her heart to see how kind these two brothers were to each other.

“Gut. What needs to be done?” Martin asked.

Julia shrugged, brushing at her faded blue jeans. “As you can see, the front porch is falling apart, there are two gaping holes in one of the walls of my workroom, and I need to install counters, cabinets and shelving in the area where I plan to make and sell my soap.”

Martin nodded, seeming to mentally calculate how to accomplish these tasks. “You make soap?”

“Yes, among other things. I sell my products nationwide. But since the soap needs to cure for four or five weeks, I’m eager to get some made before my next contract comes due the first of February. I supply handmade soaps to KostSmart.”

He looked at her without recognition. Obviously, this Amish man didn’t get out much if he’d never heard of the giant supermarket chain. But since they didn’t have a KostSmart here in Riverton, she figured it was unimportant. As long as the town had a postal service, she could ship her goods anywhere in the world.

“Follow me.” Julia slipped through the front door. “The porch is the first thing I need repaired, so we can walk inside without fearing for our lives.”

“Ja, I see that.” Martin showed a wry smile as he trailed after her. Upon entering the spacious room, he pulled the hat off his head. Hank did likewise, copying his brother’s every movement.

Wow! They sure were polite. Dallin, her ex-fiancé, had never treated her so courteously. Never said please or thank you. Never asked how she was. How it hurt to discover he was coming over not to spend time with her, but to be near her former best friend, Debbie. But Dallin had loved kids. Julia had longed for a family of her own and thought she would have it with him. Losing her fiancé and best friend all at once had broken her heart and left her feeling more alone than ever before.

She mentally shook her head. No! She was not going to think about Dallin. She’d already cried buckets of tears over him. She and Mom had a fresh start and it didn’t include her two-timing fiancé and ex–best friend. But he’d taught her one important lesson: never trust a man.

“Exactly how skilled a carpenter and plumber are you?” she asked.

“I am skilled enough for the work you need done.” Martin’s voice was filled with confidence and a sweeping honesty. But Dallin’s lies had taught her to question everything.

“Can you expand on your experience, please?” she asked.

“Ja…” Martin took a deep breath. “I have helped the men in my Gmay build seven barns, nine houses, a variety of sheds and outbuildings and many pieces of furniture in my father’s home.”

“What is a Gmay?” she asked.

“The Amish community here in Riverton. Members of our congregation follow the same Ordnung and attend church together. We also rely on one another in all facets of everyday life,” he said.

“Ordnung?” she asked, enthralled by his use of new words and curious to know their meaning.

“The unwritten rules that govern our community.”

“Oh. Then, I suppose you are skilled enough,” she said.

Still, a lance of skepticism speared her. Although the building she owned was quite shabby, Julia had a vision of a happy place to live. Some nails and paint could transform this store beautifully. She was determined to make it work. Determined to secure a future for her and Mom. She must! She was alone now and had promised her father before his death that she’d look after her mother. After all, Mom was the only family she had left.

Martin glanced around the enormous room filled with boxes, broken furniture and piles of junk.

“Except for the old woodstove, I’d like everything hauled off to the dump,” she said.

“Ja, I can do that. Hank will help me,” Martin said.

Hank nodded eagerly. Julia didn’t see how they could carry everything off without a truck, but she didn’t say so. She had already cleared tons of debris from their living quarters upstairs and stacked it neatly in the backyard until they could haul it off. When she considered the bit of money Grandpa Walt had left her, she didn’t want to spend it on a car. Although she had a driver’s license, they’d sold their broken-down truck to pay bills many months ago. When she and Mom had moved to Colorado, they’d shipped their few possessions here, then traveled to town via bus. The general store, post office and bank were within walking distance, so they shouldn’t need a vehicle.

“What do you charge?” She braced herself, but there was no need. Martin requested such a low hourly rate for himself and Hank that she was compelled to offer more.

Martin shook his head. “Ne, the price I have asked is sufficient for our needs.”

“But…but I don’t want to cheat you,” she said.

“You won’t. I trust you. It is a fair price for both of us,” he insisted, his gaze never wavering.

Hank didn’t say a word, just gawked at his brother with complete confidence.

“All right. When can you start?” she asked, hoping he didn’t let her down.

“Right now. But we don’t work on Sundays. I’ll get my tools.”

He headed outside with Hank. She watched them through the grimy windows that desperately needed cleaning. While many people worked or played on Sunday, she figured Martin and his family must go to church. With her father’s death and mother’s illness, she’d been thinking about God quite a bit lately. She’d been hungering to know and understand His place in her life. She’d even considered going to church, to see if she could learn more about Him, though she hadn’t had time to act on that goal yet.

It was then she noticed a horse and buggy-wagon, tied beneath the tall elm tree that edged the five-space parking lot in front of the store. Martin reached into the back of the wagon, lifted out a large wooden toolbox with a handle on it, then headed back toward the store with Hank trailing after him like a waddling duck.

With a measuring tape, Martin calculated the expanse of the porch and made some notes with a pencil and notepad. Placing his hands on his narrow hips, he studied the wreckage. Hank copied his brother’s stance, his pudgy hands on his thick waist. Standing side by side, the two brothers looked endearing. When Martin jerked on a pair of leather gloves and started stacking debris off to the side of the building, Hank did likewise.

Soon, Martin appeared at the front door. “I’m afraid the lumber is rotted clear through.” He met Julia’s gaze.

“What do you recommend?” she asked.

“I should install new lumber and then paint it to match the rest of the store. It’ll be more sound and last you for years to come.”

Again, she was struck by his self-confidence. “All right. If you’ll go to the building supply store, just tell Byron Stott what you need and to put the charge on my account. I’ve already made arrangements with him and he knows I’ll have someone coming in to buy supplies for me.”

She didn’t tell him that she’d also warned Byron not to let her new handyman cheat her. Byron knew he must provide her with a receipt. She’d trusted money to Dallin once and it had quickly disappeared. She wouldn’t do that again.

Martin nodded, then turned on his boot heels and went outside. Hank was poking the dirt with a long stick but came running when his brother called him. As the two climbed into the buggy, Julia folded her arms, thinking it was much too cold in the shop. Soon, the snow would fly. She should speak with Martin about obtaining firewood for the old black stove. Hopefully he would know where she could buy fuel at the lowest price.

Turning, she glanced out the window, noticing the horse and buggy had disappeared from view. Trust. It wasn’t a new notion to her, but something she no longer freely gave to everyone she met. Dallin had betrayed her trust, but she was willing to try one more time. She just hoped Martin Hostetler didn’t let her down.

Martin stood inside the building supply store and gazed at the stacks of two-by-fours he intended to buy. Wearing his heavy leather gloves, he lifted several boards onto his flat cart and thought about the woman who had just hired him.

Julia Rose was pretty, with a small upturned nose, a stubborn chin and soft brown eyes that showed intelligence and an eagerness to succeed but also a bit of self-doubt. With her russet hair pulled back in a long ponytail and no makeup, she looked almost Amish. But not in the blue jeans and shirt she was wearing. And most definitely not without the white organdy prayer kapp that all Amish women wore.

She was Englisch. A woman of the world. Yet, Martin couldn’t help admiring her spunk. The way she’d stood on that rickety ladder and gripped the hammer told him she was determined. In fact, she reminded him of his mamm, who had raised six children and still worked beside his daed after twenty-eight years, doing whatever needed to be done without complaint.

“Whatcha gonna make?” Hank asked in Deitsch, the German dialect his Amish people used among themselves.

Martin turned and found his brother standing beside him. He was as sweet and sincere as they came. The Amish only went to school through the eighth grade. Now that Hank was too old for that, Martin had taken him under his wing. Both his parents tended to lose their patience with Hank and his penchant for getting into trouble, but Martin had deep compassion for his younger brother and had recently started taking the boy with him.

“Remember, we’re making a porch overhang for Rose Soapworks?” Martin said.

“Ja, that’s right. I remember now,” Hank said, his thick voice filled with a happy lilt. Nothing seemed to ruffle the boy’s feathers. He was always in a good mood.

Pushing his cart, Martin headed toward the aisle where sheets of metal siding were stacked in tidy order. He was careful not to buy too much. He’d been pleasantly surprised when Julia Rose had told him to come pick out the supplies he would need and he didn’t want to betray her trust.

“Julia’s gonna like the porch we make, huh, Mar-tin?” Hank said, speaking his name as if it were two words.

“Ja, I hope so. But you should call her Miss Rose.”

“How come? I like her name. Julia. Julia. Julia,” Hank repeated in his heavy staccato voice.

“It’s not good manners for you to call her by her first name. She’s a grown woman and you’re still a youth. It’s proper for you to call her Miss Rose.” Martin stepped past the boy, pushing his cart as he went.

With dogged determination, Hank hurried after him. “I like her last name, too. Rose. Rose. Rose. How come she’s got two first names?”

“I don’t know but Rose is her last name.” Martin didn’t try to overexplain as he rounded the corner and quickly filled a paper sack with nails and lag bolts. He was used to his brother’s incessant chatter and didn’t let it bother him. He selected several pieces of flashing to sieve off water during rainstorms.

Hank grinned and slid his dirty fingers beneath the suspenders crossing his shirtfront. He’d removed his leather gloves and tucked them into his waistband. “We’re gonna get enough money to build your barn, huh?”

“We’re working toward that goal and a little extra so Mamm can make you a new coat and vest for Church Sunday,” Martin conceded.

“Ach, a gray coat ’cause I look gut in gray. Julia sure is schee. Don’t you think so?”

“Miss Rose,” Martin corrected.

“Ja, Miss Rose sure is schee,” Hank said.

Yes, Julia was pretty, but Martin didn’t say so. It wouldn’t be proper, especially since she was Englisch. Even now, he couldn’t forget the soft feel of her during those few scant seconds when he’d held her in his arms, or the fragrance of her hair, a subtle mixture of citrus. And the moment he’d looked into her beautiful brown eyes, he’d felt something shift inside his heart like the cracking of a giant oak tree’s trunk beneath a bolt of lightning.

No! He mustn’t think such things. Julia wasn’t Amish and he didn’t want to do anything unseemly that might get him into trouble with his parents or church elders.

Hurrying to the front of the store, he set the bag of nails on the counter. Byron Stott, the proprietor, stood behind the cash register. He pushed a jagged thatch of salt-and-pepper hair out of his eyes and glanced at Martin.

“Anything else you need?”

“Ne, this is all. Please put everything on Julia Rose’s account,” Martin said.

Byron lifted a bushy eyebrow in curiosity. “So, she hired you as her handyman, did she?”

Martin nodded.

“And me, too,” Hank chimed in.

Byron grunted. “She told me someone would be coming in.”

Martin stood silent. Though he had lived in this community over ten years and knew the townspeople quite well, he was Amish and understood the expectations of his faith. He should keep himself apart from the world and not become too friendly with the Englisch townsfolk.

Moving around Martin’s cart, Byron lifted and moved each item to access the price tag. The beep of the scanning gun filled the air in quick repetition.

“You gonna ask Julia to drive home with you from the singings?” Hank asked his brother.

Noticing that Byron was watching him with amusement, Martin’s face flushed with heat and he quickly turned away. “Ne, of course not.”

The singings were usually held after church services and included all the young people who were of dating age. As a group, they spent the evening singing or, if weather permitted, playing volleyball outside. They enjoyed refreshments afterward and frequently the young men drove the young women home in their buggies. Alone. This form of Amish dating frequently resulted in marriage. But at the age of twenty-five, Martin had long ago stopped attending such events because the girls were too young and immature to hold his interest.

“How come?” Hank persisted.

“Your kind can’t marry outside your church.” Byron Stott spoke as if it should be obvious.

“Oh.” Hank’s mouth rounded in confusion. He stared at the man, the tip of his tongue protruding between his lips. “But what if she becomes Amish? Then it would be okay. Right?”

Martin didn’t respond but he saw Byron’s curious stare. This wasn’t the first time that Hank had embarrassed him in public.

“Since you don’t want her, I’m gonna invite her to the singing. We can make her Amish and then she’s gonna be my girl,” Hank said in a happy voice.

Byron flipped a lever and opened the till on the cash register as he laughed out loud. “A grown woman like Julia Rose isn’t gonna join the Amish and she definitely won’t be your girl.”

Martin bristled at the proprietor’s unkind words but remained mute.

Hank scowled. “How come? I’d treat her real gut. Just like my vadder treats my mudder. She is his queen. And that’s how I’d treat Julia. Like a queen.”

Byron just snorted and looked away.

Martin didn’t say a word. He didn’t want to hurt his brother’s feelings. Familye and marriage meant everything to the Amish people. Telling Hank that he would probably never marry and have a familye of his own wouldn’t be nice.

Not when Martin had failed to secure a wife for himself. He knew he should have wed long ago. It was the expectation of his people. He’d stepped out with every eligible Amish woman here in Riverton and those living in the nearby town of Westcliffe, too. A couple of years ago, he’d spent several months with his relatives in Indiana, seeking a suitable Amish wife. But he’d failed miserably. It seemed either the woman didn’t want him or he didn’t want her, with nothing in between.

He thought about Julia Rose again and the way the sunlight gleamed against her russet hair. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he finally found someone he wanted to marry…and she happened to be Englisch? Such a relationship would never work. Either Martin would be shunned for marrying outside his faith, or his wife would have to convert. He couldn’t see either scenario happening between him and Julia Rose. Besides, his faith was too important for him to give up.

His thoughts were ridiculous and he almost laughed out loud at his silly musings.

Byron completed the tally, made some notes on a ledger, then handed a long receipt to Martin.

“Give this to Julia. She’ll be expecting it,” Byron said.

With a quick nod, Martin folded the receipt and tucked it inside his black felt hat since he had no pockets.

“Ach, I don’t see why I can’t invite Julia to the singings just because she isn’t Amish. I’m gonna ask her to be my girl. You just wait and see,” Hank mumbled as they headed outside.

Martin was not going to comment. Not in a million years. Hank saw mostly the good in other people and didn’t always understand social mores. Although their mother was accepting of Hank’s Down syndrome, she had confided to Martin once that she feared she had been punished by Gott for doing something wrong. Martin had comforted her, believing it was just the way Hank was. The boy was so eager to please and rarely showed anger or malice. He brought so much joy into their lives that Martin thought he was a blessing, not a punishment.

The buggy-wagon was parked off to the side where Byron Stott had constructed a hitching tether for his Amish clientele. Hank skipped along beside Martin, stopping to inspect an ant crawling across the pavement. Martin quickly loaded his purchases into the back of the wagon, waited for Hank to get inside the buggy, then took the lead lines into his hands and slapped them against the horse’s back. As he turned onto the street and headed toward Rose Soapworks, he let the rhythmic clop of the horse’s hooves settle his jangled nerves.

For some reason, Hank’s senseless chatter upset him today. It had never bothered him before. Martin usually had a quiet heart. But somehow, meeting Julia Rose had unsettled him more than he’d realized.

He’d recently purchased sixty-five acres of fine farmland just two miles outside of town. In the spring, he planned to build a barn and raise horses and a familye of his own. But just one problem: he had no wife. No one to build a house for. No one to love and dote on the way he longed to do. No reason to work so hard for the land he’d just acquired. And no one to love him in return.

But he was determined to change all of that. And soon.