Her Amish Christmas Choice Page 2

  “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.

  Chapter Two

  “Who is that?”

 
Julia turned and found her mother standing beside her in the spacious workroom at the front of the store.

  It was lunchtime and Julia was getting ready to make sandwiches when she thought perhaps she should ask her new workmen if they were hungry. Gazing out the wide windows, she’d been watching Martin and Hank tap-tapping with hammers as they rebuilt the front porch. Or rather, Martin did most of the work while Hank hopped around in a circle, chased a stray dog and laughed out loud at absolutely nothing at all.

  “They’re our new handymen. The man’s name is Martin Hostetler and that’s his younger brother Hank. Mr. Nelson recommended them to us,” Julia said.

  Her mother frowned. At the age of forty-four, Sharon Rose was still fairly young but she had lupus and not much stamina. Though she never wore makeup and insisted on keeping her long, graying hair pinned in a tight bun at the back of her head, she had a pretty face with soft brown eyes. Dressed like Julia in blue jeans and tennis shoes, Sharon took a deep breath and let it go.

  “But they’re Amish,” she said.

  “Yes, that surprised me, as well. But Martin rescued me when the porch canopy fell on top of me and he says that he’s an experienced carpenter and plumber. Apparently, he’s helped build numerous structures.”

  The scowl on Sharon’s face deepened. “I have no doubt that’s true. The Amish always help each other build their own homes and barns. But isn’t there someone else you can hire?”

  Julia figured Mom had acquired knowledge about the Amish sometime during her life. But her mother’s doubt caused a lance of uncertainty to spear Julia’s heart. She was trying so hard to be a savvy businesswoman and to keep her promise to her father. Had she made a mistake by hiring Martin without knowing more about him? No, she didn’t think so.

  “Not that I know of. Mr. Nelson told me he would send us one of the best carpenters in the area. He said the man would work hard and wouldn’t cheat us,” she said.