A Wells Landing Christmas Page 13

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Thinking about it,” she repeated. “What does that mean?”

  “I guess it’s a fancy way of saying I don’t know.”

  “Do you want to?”

  He thought about it a moment. Thought about lying, telling the truth, or telling part of it, and then decided. “Sometimes.” It was the closest to the truth he would come. He did think about it. There were times when he longed for Pinecraft. Not the beaches and the perfect weather, but the people, their faith, and the laid-back lifestyle they lived.

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. No one would understand. He had all but turned against his upbringing. He hadn’t jumped the fence, but he had done something almost just as bad. He had taken up with some Beachy Amish. And if his father ever found out . . . He shuddered and took another drink of his coffee.

  He should be brave enough to stand up and tell his father that he was beginning to think about God and Jesus in a different light. Not that he thought his father was wrong for what he had raised him up to believe, but maybe, just maybe there was something else out there. Something more. That was what he’d found with the Beachys.

  He should have told Ivy right then, about saved by grace and knowing that God’s love was always with you. It was about more than always doing the right thing. It was about a love so pure and true that nothing in this world could tear it down. That was powerful love, and he wanted Ivy—he wanted everybody—to experience the joys of that love. He didn’t wonder if he would make it to heaven. He didn’t worry about his loved ones. He knew. God had promised him as much. The thought was liberating and binding all at the same time. It freed him from unnecessary fears and bound him forever to God.

  But he didn’t say any of those things. He turned to Ivy and said, “It’s beautiful there. The people are always nice, and the weather is always perfect.”

  She nodded toward the window, where the sleet was still coming down. “I can’t say much for the weather, but the people are pretty nice here too.”

  He resisted the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. He had given up that right a long time ago. If it had ever really been his. Instead he had stepped back, moved away, and wrapped his scarf around his ears. “I guess I should be going.”

  But he didn’t want to leave. He could have stayed there all night, watching the fire flicker shadows across her face. He wanted another chance to see the girl he had once known. Once loved. But he didn’t have the right.

  Especially not if he truly planned on returning to Florida. He couldn’t connect with Ivy, then walk away when it suited him.

  That’s exactly what you did last time.

  And look where it had landed him.

  He took another sip of coffee and wished that he could push the tractor to a faster pace. Thankfully the roads weren’t slick. Yet. Once the sun went down completely, they would be, and it was sinking fast.

  Or maybe it felt like he was moving so slowly because Ivy had filled his thoughts once again. Sweet, beautiful Ivy. There had been a time when he had thought they would be the next big couple in Wells Landing. The next Caroline and Andrew, the next Emily and Elam. But it seemed that wasn’t in God’s plans for them. He’d headed off to Florida, and she had . . . well, if the rumors were true, she had turned a little wild.

  He’d heard all sorts of things, but the ones he heard the most were that she wore jeans, drove a car, and had kissed three boys. He wasn’t sure he believed any of them. Or perhaps he simply didn’t want to. She was better than that. She was good and wholesome. She was godly. Plus he couldn’t see her mother allowing her to drive around in a car. Lots of girls wore jeans under their dresses. Well, mostly the Mennonites over in Taylor Creek. But then she told him that her mother had moved away. She had gotten married and headed for Indiana.

  Zeb shook his head. She had met a man, fallen in love, married him, and moved in less than two years. The thought made his head spin. Maybe that was the problem. Ivy’s was spinning too.

  Finally his drive came into view. Zeb said a quick prayer of thanks and pulled the tractor into its spot next to the hay barn. Now that he was home, he had his own chores to do, but he’d rather be over with Ivy. He wanted to be there to make sure her grandfather got back home safely, that she had a warm supper, a nice bath, everything she needed.

  He shook his head at himself and headed for the barn.

  “Hey.” Obie nodded and shot him a smile. “About time you got here. Clara Rose was beginning to worry.”

  “The roads aren’t bad yet.”

  “But they’re going to be?”

  Zeb nodded and picked up the pitchfork. He headed toward the hay barn.

  They worked side by side in silence. Half an hour? An hour? He wasn’t sure. Then Obie spoke, breaking the quiet. “You’ve got something on your mind, brother.”

  That was the problem with having a twin. They might be two separate people, but they had a connection that others would never be able to understand.

  “Do you believe all that stuff everyone’s saying about Ivy?”

  Obie thought about it for a moment. “I haven’t given it much concern.”

  “Would it matter to you if it were true?”

  “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

  Maybe even a third and a fourth.

  But for some reason he felt like Ivy didn’t deserve the rumors. She hadn’t done anything to make him believe that she was guilty. She may not have joined the church, but he had never seen her in jeans, there was no sign of a car, and, well, he didn’t want to think about her kissing other guys. Which was ridiculous. They had made their choices, and he didn’t have the right to question who she kissed or how many she kissed.

  “You spent some time with her last year. You said yourself you were trying to make Clara Rose jealous.”

  Obie grinned. “And it worked too.”

  “Are you one of the three?” The question was quietly spoken.

  “No.” Obie’s smile turned into a frown. “I know that you two had a thing.”

  “It wasn’t a thing.”

  “What do you want to call it then?”

  There were several names, but thing wasn’t one of them. “We had a relationship.” Now they had an understanding.

  “How can you call it a relationship? You never got to go out in public together. And it was going to be a while before she could join the church and date. How does sneaking around make a relationship?”

  “I loved her!” The words were more of a roar than simply spoken.

  “Loved? As in not any longer?”

  Did he? He wasn’t certain. Leaving her had been the hardest thing he had ever done. But they had both needed space and time to heal. He had gone to Florida and discovered that being that far away was good for him. He wasn’t constantly reminded of her everywhere he went. Those first few months, he thought of her every day. But as time went on, she came to mind less and less. Until he hardly thought of her at all. Her memory had faded to a fuzzy warmth that he examined every so often, but not too closely. This way was more comfortable. Did he love her? He had no idea.

  * * *

  “Tassie!” Ivy smiled and stepped back to allow the petite widow to enter the house. The sleet from the day before had already disappeared, and with any luck tonight wouldn’t fall below freezing and they wouldn’t have to worry about any ice on the roads. “We weren’t expecting you today.” Were they? Dawdi hadn’t mentioned it if he had known.

  “It was kind of a surprise to me too.” Tassie’s brown eyes twinkled merrily in her sweet, wrinkled face. She stepped in from the porch and raised the brown paper grocery sack she carried. “I baked some bread this morning, and I guess my recipe got away from me. Before I knew it, I had two extra loaves.”

  “Jah?” Just how did a bread recipe get away from someone?

  “So I thought to myself that you and your dawdi might be able to use it.”

  “Of course. Danki.” Ivy took the s
ack and carried it into the kitchen. She left it on the table and turned back to face Tassie. “That’s very kind of you. Would you like a cup of coffee?’

  “Jah, please.” Tassie took off her gloves and glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s Yonnie?”

  Ivy filled the pot and waved toward the backyard. “He’s out hanging laundry.”

  “Oh?” Tassie’s eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a man hanging laundry.”

  “We have sort of an unusual arrangement,” Ivy confessed. “He does all the inside chores and I do all the outside ones.”

  “And he’s really hanging laundry?”

  “Honest.”

  “This I got to see.”

  Tassie rushed to the back door. She peeked out the window, shaking her head and letting out a small chuckle. “Beats all I have ever seen.”

  Ivy smiled to herself. She supposed that it was something to see. Most Amish men didn’t touch the laundry, except to put their soiled clothes with the rest of it.

  “He’s a hard worker, your dawdi.”

  “Jah.” He used to be. Before his shoulders slumped and his eyesight turned bad. These days he was content to cook, clean, and attend the occasional auction. “Where’s Karl?” The question surprised even her. She hadn’t noticed his absence until now. But she had thought her dawdi and the widow were trying to set her up with Karl. If he wasn’t here and the widow was . . .

  Nah.

  “He had some work to finish at home. I came over just for a bit, you understand.”

  “Of course.” She studied the widow’s face. But she was giving nothing away.

  Outside the window, her grandfather picked up the laundry basket. He propped it on his hip as he hobbled toward the house. But he stopped short when he saw Tassie standing there.

  “Hello, Yonnie.”

  Dawdi nodded. “Tassie.”

  “I brought you by some bread. Made it this morning, I did.”

  “Danki.” Dawdi took off his hat, then unbuttoned his coat. He hung it on the peg next to his hat, then turned to Ivy. “Is that fresh coffee I smell?”

  “Jah. Would you like a cup?”

  “Very much so.”

  A few moments later, they were seated around the table, steaming cups of coffee in front of them and a plate of iced sugar cookies for them to share.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Tassie chirped.

  “Jah?” Ivy said.

  “We could play Uno. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  Ivy wasn’t sure how much fun Uno with three would be, but Tassie seemed so captured with the idea, all she could do was nod.

  “I’ll get the cards.” Dawdi stood and made his way over to the cabinet drawer where they kept such things.

  “Are you planning on decorating for the holidays, dear?” Tassie shifted in her seat and watched as Dawdi retrieved a pad of paper and a pencil for them to keep score and headed back to the table.

  Ivy glanced around the room. She hadn’t given much thought to Christmas decorations in her own home. She had noticed all the ones at the retirement home, but the Englisch ones and the Amish ones were as different as east and west. Amish Christmas decorations usually included a nativity scene, candles, and greenery. Some of the fancier folks even used the battery-operated lights to offer up a sparkle for the season, but she had never bought any of those.

  Why hadn’t she put up any decorations this year? Because she had been busy. Sort of. Maybe preoccupied would be a better word. She had definitely been that. But after her trips to the retirement center, putting up pinecones and cedar boughs seemed sort of . . . bland.

  What would happen if I bought some of that Englisch tinsel and strung it about? As far as she knew there was nothing against it in the Ordnung. A Santa Claus or even a snowman might be pushing it, but tinsel was just shiny fluff. What could be the harm in that?

  Maybe she could get some for her house and Ethan Dallas’s room at the home. That way if someone saw her buying it, she could say it was for him. Then she could add some sparkle to the holiday season. Maybe that was what it needed. That and nothing more.

  “It’s your turn, dear.” Tassie touched her arm, and Ivy resisted the impulse to pull away. She had been so deep in her own thoughts she hadn’t been paying good attention to the game. She studied the cards in her hand and the discard pile before her. Both her dawdi and Tassie were down to three cards each. Why did she still have such a handful? She threw down a green seven and play resumed.

  “I know it’s not a big place, but after a while . . .” Tassie shook her head. Ivy silently vowed to pay better attention. She had missed the first half of whatever Tassie had been saying. “I feel like I rattle around.” Tassie sighed and played her discard. A blue seven. “It just gets lonely.”

  Ivy tried hard to understand. How could Tassie feel lonely? She was in the dawdihaus, mere feet from the rest of the family. She had her son, his wife, and all their children, including Karl. So many people around all the time. How could she be lonely?

  She supposed it was because she was newly widowed. It had only been six months or so, and Tassie was still wearing her mourning black.

  Her grandfather played a blue draw two and Ivy automatically palmed the cards and looked for one to play. How ironic was it that her grandfather could keep his mind on the game, play the appropriate cards, but there were times when he couldn’t remember what year it was? Or the day. How did she explain that?

  “I’ve been thinking,” Tassie said. “How about I come over on Thursday and we can do this again?”

  “I’m not sure . . .” Ivy started. She didn’t want to make any promises. Thursday would make a week since she had been to the retirement home, and for some reason she was anxious to go back. It was almost as if God was whispering in her ear that the home was where she would find the answers she needed.

  “That would be fine, jah,” Dawdi said.

  “I might have to work,” Ivy warned. With any luck, she would be able to swing by Whispering Pines before she had to come home.

  “That’s all right. I’ll be here.”

  “Good.” Tassie shifted in her seat. “So we’re all set, then?”

  Dawdi nodded, and Ivy followed suit.

  “All set,” he said.

  And that was when she realized it. Her dawdi had a better social life than she did.

  * * *

  “What do you think about the widow Tassie Weber?” Ivy asked Zeb the next day. Once again he had come over to help her with her chores. It wasn’t as cold out as it had been the last couple of days, but she craved the company more than the actual help.

  “I think she’s a nice woman.” He poured the fresh water into the pan she had put out for the chickens and tried not to smile as they tumbled over one another to get to the metal bowl.

  “No. What do you think of her?”

  Zeb frowned and turned his attention away from the hens. “I’m not sure I understand what you want to know.”

  “She’s been coming over to visit. With Dawdi.” Ivy cast a sidelong look at him. Was he shocked? He didn’t appear to be so. Was she the only one surprised by Tassie’s interest in her grandfather?

  “Oh, jah?”

  Ivy nodded. “I thought perhaps . . . well, she brought Karl with her the first couple of times, but yesterday . . .”

  “Karl? Her grandson Karl?”

  “Jah.”

  Zeb’s handsome face split into a grin. “Really?”

  “Don’t laugh.”

  Chickens fed and watered, the two started back to the barn, side by side.

  “I’m not laughing.” But he was.

  “I think she’s interested in Dawdi.”

  Zeb sobered a bit and seemed to think about it. “Why not? Your dawdi is still handsome enough. He’s having a little bit of trouble getting around, but not as bad as some.”

  Once inside the barn he returned the bucket to its place on the wall with the other tools, then settled down o
n one small stack of hay.

  “Would you be serious?” She grabbed his arm and shook him a bit.

  “I am being serious. What’s the problem with her liking your dawdi?”

  What was the problem? Well, it was . . . and . . . there were times when . . . okay, so she couldn’t find the words for the problem, but it was there all the same. Ivy settled down near him. Not on the same bale, but close enough. “She says she’s lonely. She lives in a house with all these people. How can she be lonely?”

  This time Zeb’s expression definitely turned serious. “It’s possible,” he said.

  Ivy studied him, wondering where the dark clouds that shadowed his features had come from. Or maybe that was just the changing lights inside the barn. “Something happened in Florida.”

  He shook his head, and just like that the sun shone on his face and the darkness disappeared. “Nah,” he said. “Just life.”

  “And Florida?”

  “What about it?”

  “You never answered me. Do you mean to go back?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “I’m sure it makes one to your family.” She stood to put some distance between them. She wanted to touch him, to see if he felt the same as he had back then, the same as the other day when he had kissed her. It was an impulse, she understood that, and he had promised it wouldn’t happen again. But there were times . . .

  “What about you?” he asked. “Does it make a difference to you?”

  She stopped, searched for an answer, then shook her head. “Nice try, Zeb. You’re not going to put this on me. Not this time. Leave if you want to leave, or stay if you want to stay, but make that decision on your own and leave me out of it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ivy knocked on the door and waited for Ethan to answer. She’d heard talk this morning at the bakery about a Christmas present exchange tonight. Everyone in her youth group had been invited. Everyone but her.

  She tossed her head and told herself it didn’t matter. Because it didn’t. They could do whatever they wanted. She had her own plans.

  She shifted the book she held under one arm and knocked again.