Merry's Christmas: Two Book Set (Amish) (16 page)

Charity wiped her hands. It was always a bit tough to answer that sort of question with Bethany. “Probably not.”

“Probably?”

“You heard the bishop. He told everyone that there shouldn’t be any division between any of the families about whatever gets approved.”

Bethany hiked a brow. “Oh, I heard. I also heard him say how nobody is supposed to judge anybody about any of it, but I still wonder if they do. Then again, maybe I’m judging them for thinking they’re judging me. Then they’re judging me back, knowing I’m judging them for judging me.” She puffed her cheeks out like a blowfish. “Or...maybe it’s just a big screechy cat fight in my head and not really happening at all.”

Charity flustered a little. “I guess it’s hard to tell when you don’t really know for sure what anybody else is thinking. But I don’t judge you, Bethany.”

“I know.”

“Look how conservative we all are, but Dat and Opa, they don’t judge your family either. You know you’re always welcome here.”

There. It was a something of a dodge, but it seemed the only way to answer without getting too far into the one thing they’d agreed to disagree about. Concentrate on chopping. The less said the better.

A knock sounded at the door. Charity’s attention snapped toward the entry’s window.

Daniel.

Charity transferred a mound of prepared apples into a bowl. “Would you?”

Bethany toweled off her hands, then opened the door. She traded an empty bushel basket for the full one in Daniel’s arms. “Thank you, Daniel. I trust you’ll refill this one.”

Daniel accepted the empty basket in stride. “This and five more in the morning.”

Charity cleared a spot on the counter near the sink. It wasn’t easy to be so very nonchalant when Daniel Yoder was around. For some reason, it  helped to have something to do with her hands. “There’s another basket by the fencepost outside, empty except for a few stones, I believe. Tell your mother these will be put up and ready for sale tomorrow.”

Daniel smiled back at Charity. “Do you ever stop?”

So. He’d noticed. She returned a wry grin. “I manage to stop on occasion. To sleep.”

Daniel nodded pleasantly. “Tomorrow morning, then. After breakfast?”

Charity hoisted the new bushel to the side of the sink for washing. “I’ll already be off to town, but the boys will let you in, then.”

Disappointment flickered across Daniel’s face as he bade them goodbye and closed the door in leaving. Wordlessly, Charity began to pluck out the freshly picked fruit.

Bethany reeled around to Charity, agape. “It’s as plain as day that he’d like to call on you. Why do you discourage him?”

Charity bridled a smile as she twisted an apple stem. In a way, it felt good to harness Daniel’s appeal. She let it sparkle inside her till the stem broke free. “Bethany, think about it. Have you ever met a man who didn’t enjoy pursuit?”

Bethany joined Charity at the window, tracking Daniel as he crossed the yard, past Aaron and Isaac where they added to the woodpile. “You know he’s interested and still, you don’t—” Just then, the Bright’s horse and buggy pulled into view. “Oh, there’s your father, now.”

Charity watched as Daniel set the bushel basket down and began to help her brothers stack the logs they’d split outside.

Bethany took the sight in. “How long has he been doing this?”

“Doing what?”

Bethany cut her eyes toward the yard. A hint of mischief glimmered. “Pretending that you don’t know is not so very far from fibbing.”

Charity savored her secret. “Amish men are raised to be helpful.”

“There is firewood to be stacked outside plenty of houses around here,” Bethany teased. “Why choose yours?”

Charity drifted to the stove, as much to change the subject as to feed the dwindling fire. “Perhaps he has business with my father.”

two

H
ope Bright pulled her favorite cloche hat down over her shoulder-length tresses, keeping pace with the pedestrian throng. Manhattan traffic was slowed to a near standstill. It was another half a block to the crosswalk and there just wasn’t time to go all the way around. Horns blared insistently. Finally, there it was. An opening. She dashed in front of a taxicab and gamely wove her way across the street. Only a true New Yorker would attempt such a thing.

A truck driver rolled down his window to bark at her. “Whaddaya got, a death wish?”

“Sorry!” Hope grinned at the guy as she passed. Men weren’t nearly as testy when she was in girlier clothes. But there hadn’t been a spare second to change from her sensible shoes or the waitress uniform that hung beneath her warm woolen jacket. Happily, she dashed to the sidewalk stand across the street where a darkly handsome Russian immigrant, Ivan Kaslov, buffed a businessman’s shoes. Ivan would be happy to see her, no matter how she was dressed.

With a squeeze to Ivan’s arm, Hope enthused at his customer. “Look at that shine!  Have you ever? I can actually see myself in your shoes, like a mirror.” Hope hurriedly tugged on Ivan’s arm, “Ivan, come on. Let’s go!”

Ivan continued to buff the already gleaming shoes. “I have to finish.”

Hope fished some cash from her pocket and tucked it into Ivan’s. “And that’s why this particular shine is on me.” Gratefully, the businessman acknowledged his satisfaction. Hope took Ivan’s hand and pulled him into a trot. “Come on!”

“Hope, wait!” Ivan called out, but it was to no avail.

Hope only increased her pace. She knew Ivan well enough to guess that he’d match her stride as she ran down the street, dodging pedestrians in her way. “Come on! We’re almost there.”

Indeed, they were only a few short blocks from her destination. They would not miss what she’d come for, not if she could help it. She skidded to a stop at a rail separating them from the enormous Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. Just then, a workman on a cherry picker leaned over to place a shimmering star on top.

Energized, Hope turned to Ivan. “See, Ivan? We would have missed it.”

Ivan caught his breath. “I think they will leave it up for a while.”

Hope shook her head, pointing to the peak of the towering fir. “Not the tree, Silly.  The star. It’s a very special thing in this city. We’d have missed when they put the star on top.”

“Hope, do you think we could—”

“Back home, we didn’t put up Christmas trees.  Just greenery and candles. Fresh dipped. None of the electric kind.”

“That really is great, but I want to—”

“Oh! You know what we should do? We should come skate here, maybe Sunday after—”

All at once, Ivan turned Hope by her shoulders. He drew her into an unexpected kiss. His lips were warm and sweet till he pulled away, holding her face in his hands. “Hope, will you marry me?”

Stunned, Hope struggled to orient herself. She took a step back. “What?”

“Look, I know. It is sudden,” Ivan admitted, “but think about it, will you?”

Hope’s stomach tightened. Ivan really was a great guy. She’d truly enjoyed his company over the passing months, but there was no way she was ready to get that kind of serious. “Ivan, I... I like you. I really do, but—”

“Many marry on much less,” Ivan continued. “Six months, we have known each other.”

She stifled a groan. Why couldn’t she stop the clock, or better yet turn it back? She liked him enormously. But marriage? Marriage required a commitment that she just couldn’t bring herself to make. “I’m so sorry, Ivan. I just... I can’t.”

“Hope, I love you. I know we can make this work.”

Hope’s mind raced. He didn’t understand. How could he? Her heart pounded within her. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, Ivan, but...”

This was coming out ridiculously wrong. It sounded so sappy and cliché. Where were the right words? Impossibly lame explanations clamored for her attention. This hadn’t been the first time she’d had to curtail a relationship. But Ivan’s sweetness made it that much harder than it had been with other guys.

From the beginning, she’d promised herself they’d just stay friends. With most guys that hadn’t been a problem, but she could see in Ivan’s pooling eyes that, for him, it was. She swallowed, desperate to moisten her parched throat. “I think I need to take a step back from this. From us.”

Ivan’s lips parted. His head tipped to one side. “From this...” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What is this?”

“I guess it has to be goodbye, Ivan.” There, she’d been honest. She’d done the right thing. Now what? How awful was it to leave him when she’d just dragged him away from his work, all the way to Rockefeller Center? Then again, how could she stay? She could not lead him on another moment. Slowly, she willed herself to take a step back. Her other foot quickly followed. “I’ve got to go.” Overwhelmed, she turned and hurried away.

As much as Hope was tempted to look back, she trained her eyes forward. Looking back would not make this parting any easier. That was for certain. Ivan would be standing there, forlorn, begging her to reconsider with those soulful, dark eyes of his. She had learned that much from past experience. A clean break would be best. It was, in fact, the only way.

Hope hurried back across town as fast as her legs would carry her. She turned the final corner. There it was—her safe haven: Manhattan’s Café Troubadour. The restaurant had long been her financial constant amidst the ups and downs of musical gigs and off-off Broadway Theater. The place would be teeming with customers. She could throw herself back into her work and regain her emotional footing.

A bell rang as Hope pushed through the Café’s front door. Full-figured waitress Myrna Jeffries sang a holiday carol for the crowd. A blind pianist, Shep Thomas, accompanied her on a baby grand. An assistance dog curled at Shep’s feet. Ah. She was home free.

Myrna broke the lyrics with a nod toward the pianist. “You play it, now, Shep.” When Shep smiled back, the stage lights glinted on a gold-rimmed front tooth in his mouth. Smoothly, Myrna turned back to the crowd.

Hope hurried behind the business side of the counter. “Excuse me, Little Momma.” She scooted sideways to get past a very pregnant young woman. Leanne King was just about as saucy a Southerner as she’d ever met in New York City. Then again, it couldn’t be easy to be in Leanne’s condition at only seventeen.

Leanne bussed a table into a large rubber tub.  “What in green goobers are you doing back? Didn’t you just finish your shift, like, half an hour ago?”

Hope reached for the heavy tub. “Yeah, but—”

Curiosity crept across Leanne’s face. “Wait a sec. No, no, no, no, no. Weren’t you going someplace with Ivan?”

Hope wrestled her emotions into a smirk. It was something of a challenge, given the catch in her throat. “Ivan and I...well, we’re not so much anymore.” Again, she reached for Leanne’s tub of dirty dishes. “You shouldn’t be lifting that. Gimme now. Come on. Here.” With that, Hope took the load from Leanne and headed back toward the kitchen, belting out in spot-on harmony with Myrna’s continuing carol.

Leanne quickly snagged her, lowering her voice confidentially. “Hey, you’re not gonna tell Frank you caught me snoozin’ back there, are you?”

Hope stopped. She balanced the tub on the counter and leaned toward the girl confidentially. “No, but you can’t keep that up. You’ve got no business, pushing eight months pregnant, sleeping on the cold, hard pantry floor.”

“I leaned on those flour sacks. I put plastic on them. You do what you gotta do.”

“You know, something tells me that the Health Department wouldn’t be so down with that.”

Earnestly, Leanne hung onto Hope’s arm. “Please...please don’t rat me out to Frank. I already got myself kicked out from that room I had. Last thing I can afford is to get booted from here, too.”

Hope wrestled with the soft spot she had in her heart for Leanne. As snarky as the girl could get, she did respect her for carrying her baby all alone. Still, Frank would have a conniption if he ever happened upon her sleeping arrangements. “Okay, but you’ve gotta know, you can’t keep stowing away in the pantry. You could get the place shut down. Then where’d we all be?”

“I got no place to go,” Leanne pleaded.

“What about the women’s shelter? You try that?”

Leanne peeked through the windowpane in the kitchen door. “What, are you kiddin’ me? My folks probably have them looking for me all over those kinds of places. Anywhere there’s a database.”

“Would it be so bad if they found you?”

“Hope, how many times do I gotta tell you? I can’t go home yet. Not till I pop this melon out of my pooch.”

Everything in Hope wrangled over what to do. “Leanne. Sweetie—”

“They don’t know, okay? And if there’s any way I can work it, they never will.”

Oh.
Hope nodded. “You’re giving up the baby.”

Shame slouched across Leanne’s face. “Course, I am. I have to. Then, I can go home.”

“All right. Okay. Till that day comes, you’re staying with me.” Not waiting for an answer, Hope hoisted the tub and pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

No sooner had Hope appeared than chief cook, Frank Abernathy, spotted her from the stove. “I thought you clocked out, Hope. You know I can’t pay no double shifts.”

Hope set the tub on the counter by the stainless sinks. “I’ll still make plenty in tips, busy as you are.”

Frank nodded. “Fine by me. Long as that’s understood.”

Leanne trudged up the stairs to Hope’s third-floor brownstone apartment. What a day it had been. The building wasn’t much to look at, what with the high price of living in Manhattan. Her feet sure were barking. They were like thirsty dogs, yapping at her with every step. “That elevator ever work?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Hope fished out her keys. “I like to think of it as my own private stair machine. Think how much we’re saving on a gym.”

Panting, Leanne reached the landing. She took her nylon duffel bag off her shoulder.

Hope unlocked her unit. “You could have let me carry that for you.”

Leanne rubbed her lower back. “Not like I got that much.”

Hope swung the door open and gestured for Leanne to enter. “Be it ever so humble...” Hope snapped on the lights.

Leanne wandered inside. It was a pretty decent place. A potted red poinsettia was on the table, just like the kind her mom always put out in December. Handmade quilts were draped around, even on the futon she spotted in the spare room. Watercolors of country landscapes hung on the walls, signed with Hope’s initials. It was actually kind of homey. “You paint?”

“Used to. Haven’t in a while.”

“Not too shabby, in an Old MacDonald, retro kind of way.” Leanne peered through the door to Hope’s spare room. “So, this is where I’ll park it, back here?”

“My roommate, she’s touring with a show for a couple more months. Pretty much garage sale chic in there, but—”

“No, no. It’s great. Really great.” Okay, maybe she’d overstated that. It wasn’t great compared to her room at home, but it did look fairly awesome now. It was a far cry cleaner than the dump she’d been thrown out of, and it sure beat the stuffings out of the cold pantry floor of the Café Troubadour. This was definitely a place to stay, just as long as Hope would let her. She set her duffel bag down in the closet and followed Hope back into the living room. “I promise I won’t be a bother.”