A Wells Landing Christmas Read online

  She nodded, and he turned the buggy around. Just how far could an Amish man go on a winter day with no shoes and no coat? Far enough, he supposed, that he could freeze. Well, maybe not literally. He didn’t know much about such things. After all, he never planned on going out without shoes or a coat on a day when the temp dropped to or below freezing. He had read the weather report in the newspaper, and it was supposed to warm up nicely by the afternoon. But for now, it was fairly cold. Forty degrees at the most. Could a man freeze or get frostbite from forty-degree weather?

  They rode along in silence. Zeb searched for something to say. Something that would give her peace and comfort, but there were no words.

  He and Ivy had agreed to watch opposite sides of the road, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from straying to her side. He didn’t want to miss anything. The Lamberts’ farm, the old Yoder place. It was empty. Could her grandfather have gone in there to rest out of the cold?

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she wanted to stop and look when another sign caught his attention: Mayfield Cemetery.

  It was an Englisch cemetery, not as fancy as some, but better than most. And it gave him an idea.

  “Ivy?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Is your grandmother buried here in Mayes County?”

  “Jah.”

  “Do you think maybe your grandfather could be there?”

  She pushed herself up in her seat, the sparkle returning to her blue, blue eyes. “Maybe.”

  “Let’s go see.” He turned the buggy around and circled back to the side road and headed across to the Amish cemetery. It wasn’t far from her house, and Yonnie could have walked there this morning without any problems. Well, Zeb supposed he would be cold. But it wouldn’t have taken him long.

  Half a mile later, Zeb turned again, then a quarter mile and a turn once more. It seemed to take forever, but he could see the thin wire fence that surrounded the final resting place for most of the Amish residents of Wells Landing.

  “Is that—?” He thought he saw a flash of blue.

  “Jah.” Ivy sat up in her seat, her blanket pooling around her feet. “Dawdi,” she called. “Daw-di!”

  The old man was sitting on the ground in the second row toward the back side of the cemetery. Just as Ivy had said, he was wearing no coat and no shoes. But he had stopped long enough to don his hat before wandering off.

  Yonnie looked up as Ivy called his name. There was no recognition in his actions or posture. He was too far away for Zeb to read his expression.

  “Dawdi!” Ivy was up and out of the buggy before Zeb had even stopped all the way. He should have expected it. But he hadn’t, and he was thankful that he hadn’t accidentally run over her feet.

  She called his name again as she ran toward him.

  Zeb crawled down from the buggy a little slower, using the time to take in the situation. Her grandfather appeared to be unharmed. From what Zeb could see, there was no blood on him. He didn’t appear to be injured in any way. In fact, he seemed as fine as fine could be.

  So why had he run off this morning?

  Zeb followed behind as Ivy launched herself at her grandfather, hugging him close before pulling away to assess any damage.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked, hugging him close once again.

  “I wanted to see your grandmother.” He said the words as if they were the most logical ones on earth. Where else would he be?

  “Dawdi, we were supposed to be at church this morning. Did you forget?”

  Zeb stopped next to them as Yonnie pushed back his hat and scratched his bald spot underneath.

  “We were?”

  “I’d take that as a yes,” Zeb said.

  Ivy glared at Zeb, then reached for Yonnie’s arm. “Are you hurt?”

  “Why would you ask something like that?” He pulled away from her. This time he was the one with a sharp look.

  “You’ve been gone for hours.” Ivy’s voice cracked. What little composure she had managed to pull together slipped.

  “I’m fine, I tell you.”

  “Your feet are freezing. We’ll be lucky if you don’t get pneumonia.”

  “Quit your fussin’ and help me up.”

  Zeb stepped forward and offered the old man his hand.

  Yonnie took it, and Zeb helped him stand, but not before he noticed the smears of blood on his feet. The man had walked at least three miles this morning. It wasn’t feasible to think he could march around town for so long without a scratch. “Come on,” Zeb said. “Let’s get you home.”

  * * *

  Dawdi acted as if nothing was wrong the entire trip back to their house. Ivy was torn between wanting to hug him or lock him in his room for the rest of his life.

  “Next time,” she said, “next time you have to tell me before you leave the house.”

  “Bah.” Dawdi brushed away her concern as if it were for nothing. But it was something to her.

  “Do you realize that we missed church?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but her anxiety was rising. Missing church was frowned upon. The bishop would most likely be at their house first thing in the morning to make sure they were fine, not ill, and didn’t need anything. She needed a very good reason for missing the service, and My dawdi forgot what day it was and I overslept wouldn’t exactly cut it.

  No one missed church unless they were in the hospital. Or dead. She and Dawdi were neither. But Cephas Ebersol was a fair bishop. That didn’t mean she wanted him coming over, worrying about them, or worse . . . calling her mother in Indiana.

  “I did when you told me.” He slid down from the buggy and landed softly on the ground. He winced as his cut feet touched the dirt.

  Ivy’s anger and frustration melted away. He couldn’t help that his mind didn’t always stay on track. She had no idea where to turn. They were simply making do. She just hoped the bishop would understand.

  “Come on,” she said, looping her arm through his and helping him toward the house. “Let’s soak your feet in Epsom salts.”

  Behind her, Zeb cleared his throat. Then she heard his footfalls following them. She didn’t say anything. It wasn’t that she wanted him to come in; she was just tired. Tired of worrying, tired of pretending, tired of a lot of things.

  They entered the house one behind the other. Zeb helped Dawdi settle in on the sofa. Chester hopped up next to him, marking him with a loud purr. Ivy made her way into the kitchen and ran the tap water until it was warm. She had no idea how bad the cuts on his feet were. Bad enough that they had been bleeding. This would help. Then she would find them all something to eat, and after that . . . well, they would just have to wait and see.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Ivy was calmer by far, but exhausted from the day. She carried their pie plates and milk glasses into the kitchen.

  She quickly filled the sink with warm, soapy water and dropped the dishes into it. She wanted to crawl into bed and forget that today had ever happened. Except it was barely two o’clock in the afternoon and she couldn’t go to bed. Maybe she could talk her grandfather into dozing with her.

  Then what are you going to do? Tie a bell to one of his toes?

  His feet weren’t as bad as they looked. Mostly small cuts and a lot of blood. She had patched them up as well as she could and called it done.

  “When are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  Ivy jumped, splashing suds as Zeb came into the kitchen behind her. Her first instinct was to send him back into the other room to sit with Dawdi, but that seemed a bit excessive even to her. She let out a small laugh. It was meant to sound carefree. Instead it came out strangled. “There’s nothing going on.” But her words rang as the lie they were.

  “Uh-huh.” Zeb turned and leaned his backside against the counter next to where she stood. He crossed his arms and watched her.

  “Nothing, really.”

  “Try again.”

  She stared out the window over the sink to the backy
ard and beyond. She could feel his gaze upon her, searching, watching as she stared at nothing. Typical for Oklahoma, the sun was shining, but the wind held a vicious bite. It must feel extra cold to Zeb. “How are you adjusting to the weather since you came back?”

  “Not what I want to talk about.”

  “Hmm?” She looked at him then, tearing her gaze from the landscape to settle on him. If she was being completely honest with herself, he was even more handsome now than he had been when he left. The last two years had taken some of the wild from his gaze. He was steady and true, the kind of man a girl could depend on for always. She hadn’t seen that in him before he left.

  “How long has he been getting lost?”

  Ivy sighed. She should have known he would go for the direct approach. “A couple of weeks.”

  “Try again.”

  She heaved another breath in and then out. “Since this summer. It started off small. I would lose him in Walmart or the Super Saver, then he started losing his way coming home, losing track of the time.” She shrugged. “Things like that.”

  “Ivy.” He shifted as if he wanted to take her into his arms. She moved a couple of steps away from him just in case. There would not be a repeat of the other day.

  “I appreciate your concern, Zeb. But this is something I have to deal with myself.”

  “Says who?”

  “I do.” Her mother was gone. She alone was responsible for her grandfather’s well-being. If Zeb couldn’t see that, how could she explain it?

  “This is a family problem.”

  “Do you see any family around here?” It might be a family concern, but she was all the family her dawdi had left in these parts. His last living sister had up and moved to Ohio just last year.

  “And how are you handling this on your own?”

  She bit back a sigh. No sense in letting him see how tired and worried she was. What good would it do to spread her troubles to others? “Just fine.”

  “Uh-huh. I suppose that was why you were running all over the county today looking for him. That was why you had to miss church, because you are handling it so fine.”

  Church. She had practically pushed the thought from her mind. She had enough trouble today, no sense borrowing some from tomorrow. But tomorrow would come, and with it the deacon. Maybe the bishop. Possibly both. And they would want to talk about Dawdi missing church. Why he wasn’t there and how she needed to make sure that she got him there every week. It was her responsibility, and if she couldn’t handle it, she would have to arrange something so he didn’t miss. Or move to Indiana. That was one thing she couldn’t bear to think about. Indiana. Moving was a little too much like giving up. She’d had enough troubles in the last two years. She didn’t need to add “being a quitter” to the list.

  “So he has a couple of setbacks. It’s not all the time.”

  Zeb shot her a grim smile. “You just keep telling yourself that. You say it enough times and maybe it might be the truth.”

  * * *

  The knock sounded on the door just after nine. Just like Cephas to be early. He was one of the hardest working men she knew, their bishop. He was fair and caring. He had concern for his members, more than any other bishop she had ever met. But with that concern came knowledge and knowing and finding out all of Ivy’s secrets. That was something she couldn’t allow to happen. Not yet anyway.

  “Cephas,” she greeted him as she pulled open the door.

  She had already sent her grandfather over to Bacon Dan’s to pick up some eggs. He would be home shortly. It wasn’t that far, after all, but if she knew her dawdi and the talkative Bacon Dan, they might linger for hours.

  Or he might leave right away and forget himself on the way home.

  She pushed that thought out of her mind and smiled at the bishop. “Come in. Come in.”

  The bishop stepped into the warm house, bringing with him some of the cold winter air. Ivy shut the door behind him. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “That would be good, danki.”

  “Have a seat,” she invited him, then headed for the kitchen.

  Her hands were shaking as she poured the coffee. She could do this. It was as easy as pie. As soon as she sent Cephas on his way, she had to get ready for work. She had the late shift at the bakery. Not her favorite, but still good. She preferred to be there in the mornings so she could help Esther bake the day’s goods. But that meant being up and out of the house no later than four thirty.

  She placed the mugs of steaming brew onto a tray, then added a plate with a few leftover peanut butter and Christmas sprinkle cookies. She had been experimenting, trying to come up with new recipes and win Esther’s favor. She wanted to keep her job past the holiday season, and she needed all the good points she could get to combat all the negative she was sure Jodie Miller was feeding Caroline and Esther.

  “Here we are.” She smiled, but her lips trembled as she set the tray on the coffee table. She handed Cephas his mug and motioned toward the cookies.

  He accepted the cup, then shook his head at the cookies. “I missed your grandfather yesterday at church. Is he here?”

  “As a matter of fact, no.”

  “He’s not sick?”

  She shook her head.

  “I know he doesn’t drive much these days, but he does still get out in the buggy from time to time, jah?”

  She nodded. He drove all over on the tractor and in the buggy. But she wasn’t going to point that out to the bishop.

  “If he’s not going to drive, I need you to make sure he gets to church on time. Can you do that?”

  “Jah.” The word was barely above a whisper.

  “Why did he miss yesterday?”

  The one question she hadn’t wanted him to ask.

  “He wasn’t feeling quite himself.” It was the closest she could come to the truth without revealing too much. Now if Cephas would accept it as the answer.

  “Not himself? But he wasn’t sick?”

  “No.”

  “Ivy.” His voice was kind, gentle, and she felt tears prick at the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away. She was not going to cry. “Is caring for your grandfather too much for you?”

  She dropped her gaze to her cup of coffee. She could just see her reflection in the liquid depths. “No.”

  “I know your mother left suddenly. I can contact her if you wish. She should know if her father’s having problems.”

  Ivy pulled at her composure, securing it around her like a turtle’s shell. “That won’t be necessary. It was a one-time thing. It won’t happen again.”

  Chapter Ten

  “What did the bishop say?” Zeb asked that afternoon. Once again he had come to help her with her chores. This time she didn’t protest. She needed the help, and there had been a time when she considered Zeb a friend. Friends helped friends. That was just how it worked.

  “He asked me if I wanted him to talk to my mother.” She straightened from smoothing out the new hay in the horse stall and propped her arm on the top of her yard broom.

  “Do you?”

  “No.” Somehow she managed to hold back her unladylike snort.

  Zeb seemed to sense her scorn and stopped his own work. “You have a problem with your mother?”

  Ivy shook her head. She did not want to get into this today. “Of course not.”

  He grinned at her. “If you don’t want to tell me, all you have to say is you don’t want to tell me.”

  “I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Which means yes.”

  She propped one hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes at him. “You are trying to trick me.”

  “And doing a great job of it, as a matter of fact.”

  She shook her head and hung the yard broom back in its place on the far wall. He followed suit with the pitchfork, and together they left the barn. There was a biting cold to the wind, a chilly dampness that hadn’t been there before.

  “Is it supposed to rain?” she asked, l
ooking at the sky. It was gray, but that was normal for this time of year. Still, she would be happy with blue skies all year round.

  “They are calling for sleet tonight and into the morning.”

  Sleet. Ivy made a face. “Why couldn’t we just once have a white Christmas?”

  “It happens now and again,” he said as they made their way to the house.

  “Name one time.”

  “The Christmas of 2000.”

  She rolled her eyes playfully at him. “And you honestly remember that?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Tell the truth.” She opened the screen door and held it for him.

  “Mostly I remember the old folks talking about it. There was a lot of snow that year. And then again on New Year’s.”

  “I don’t care about New Year’s. I just want it to snow on Christmas.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” he said. “The almanac’s calling for a lot of ice, but not much snow.”

  Just then the sky opened up and the sleet began to fall.

  “Come on,” she said. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee to take on the road. You don’t want to be out in this any longer than necessary.”

  * * *

  Zeb took a sip of the coffee from its to-go mug and let its warmth trickle down his throat. He had wanted to stay a little longer, talk with Ivy a little more, but he knew it was better this way. No matter how hard it was for him to walk away. Today she had almost been the same as the Ivy he had known before. He couldn’t say that he didn’t know why the changes had occurred in her, and that made him hate them even more. They had both been through so much, but today it was like having the old Ivy back. He wanted to see more of that girl.

  After they had gone into the house, she had started a pot of coffee and given him time to warm up by the fire. He wanted to stay, talk, just be, but with the turn in the weather, he knew he needed to get home before the roads turned slick. In Oklahoma, sleet could easily turn into snow, which was bad enough, or freezing rain, which was worse.

  “Are you going back to Florida?” She spun to face him, the surprise on her face clearly telling him that she hadn’t planned on asking that question, at least not right then. But once it was out, there it was.