The Amish Christmas Kitchen Read online

  Clara didn’t know how her sister could work in the chaos of the confines of the cabin. Elijah, her nephew of five, was in and out of everything and his little sister, Anne, was right behind him. But Sarah and Edward acted as if the constant babbling and tumult was of no special concern. Born parents, Clara thought ruefully as she scrubbed her hands. I wish I had gotten the chance to parent someone other than a goat, but Seth died before I could—we could . . . She flushed as she turned from the sink and found Daniel’s keen emerald eyes on her. It’s almost like he can tell what I’m thinking. . . . Then she told herself that she was being ridiculous and moved resolutely to the table.

  Daniel was seated sideways to the table, his bent legs sprawled, and she found that she had to move between his knees in order to reach his arm properly while Edward held up a lantern. Was it her imagination, or did Daniel move his knees ever so slightly to press against the length of her skirts so that she felt caught in a wicked flash of delight, wondering what his bare skin would feel like in such a position. She knew her cheeks flamed, but then she lifted the rag and revealed the deep gash in his arm. She swallowed hard as Sarah considered and probed, then felt herself grow weak and faint.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah, I—”

  “Just sit down right here,” Daniel whispered low and she found herself seated on his knee like some child preparing for a bedtime tuck up. “It’s a nasty cut and my own fault. I don’t want you to faint over it, though.”

  “I—I’m fine.” She struggled a bit to rise but found herself inexorably trapped with the pressure of his muscular thigh beneath the curve of her bottom as his free arm cuddled her firmly in cozy proximity.

  “You are indeed fine,” he purred close to the shell of her ear and she blew out a held breath, amazed that he would risk such talk even beneath the clamor of the children playing at banging wooden spoons against upturned pots.

  “Daniel . . .” she gasped.

  But then she saw the muscles in his fine jaw tighten and glanced back to the table in time to see Sarah begin to stitch his skin with a whiskey-soaked piece of thread and a sharp needle. Clara thought she might faint, but then her queasiness fell away in a rush of intimate concern for Daniel’s pain. The noise of the children and the presence of Sarah and Edward seemed to fade away in her consciousness as she instinctively looped an arm around Daniel’s broad shoulders.

  She felt him shiver at her touch and leaned closer to him in concern. “Is it very bad, Daniel?” she whispered.

  “Very,” he said tightly, not looking at her.

  She ran a finger around the curve of his ear and watched him close his eyes in what she thought was abject misery.

  “Ach, Daniel . . .”

  * * *

  He was miserable, consumed with raw, aching desire and frozen in a situation where he could do absolutely nothing to assuage his want. Was Clara Loftus really sitting on his knee, leaning close enough so that he could feel her light breath in his ear? Was she making tiny circular patterns around the back of his neck with slender fingers that seemed to touch him in perfect strokes until he felt like he wanted to scream?

  He squeezed his eyes shut and tried doing multiplication tables backward in his head. “Are you all right, Daniel?” Sarah’s clear voice broke through the haze in his brain. “I’ve finished. Five neat stitches, if I do say so myself.”

  He almost cried out when Clara got up from his knee; he was utterly bereft and had forgotten completely about the pain of having his skin stitched.

  “Yeah.” He swallowed, drinking in Clara’s every movement with his eyes. “Uh, danki, Sarah. What do I owe you?”

  “A sled ride with my baby sister,” Sarah said brightly.

  Daniel smiled slowly, ignoring Clara’s mingled expression of both surprise and ready denial. “You know,” he said casually. “A gut sled ride might help me forget the pain of my arm.”

  Blinks bleated loudly, adding to the tumult of the room, and Daniel watched in fascination as Clara hesitated, then nodded her kapped head. “If it’ll help your arm,” she had to half yell. “I guess one ride wouldn’t hurt.”

  * * *

  Before they could bundle up and go outside, little Elijah insisted on being able to break the Shatter Candy with his sister, Anne.

  “Very well,” Clara agreed, smiling down at her niece and nephew. They really are dears, she thought as she placed the cookie sheet on the cleaned kitchen table. “Use the bottom of the wooden spoons,” she instructed as the kinner scrambled close. “All right . . . Geh!”

  The pounding of the spoons quickly shattered the candy into a myriad of shapes and sizes. Clara redusted the lot with powdered sugar and then allowed everyone to select a piece. She watched Daniel take a large sliver, his white bandage readily apparent on his tanned skin.

  “Mmmm—mmm,” he approved and she had to look away from watching his throat work as he sucked at the sweet.

  She took her own small piece, then let Sarah put the candy up for later.

  “Now”—Sarah clapped her hands—“we need to bundle up for sled-riding. And, Daniel, you’ve got to be careful of that arm.”

  “Jah,” he agreed.

  “Ach, and Clara, I’ve got a surprise for you!”

  Oh boy . . . Clara thought, not liking the secretive smile playing about her sister’s pretty lips.

  “Edward’s frozen over the back field, and we’re going to have a bonfire and ice-skating tonight!”

  “But—I’ve got to get home,” Clara cried in dismay, not liking the feeling of being cornered.

  “I’ll take you home—if you really want to geh.” Daniel spoke softly, but something in his face, perhaps a lingering trace of pain, made her slowly shake her head.

  “Nee, danki, Daniel. I—if Sarah’s planned such a treat, I wouldn’t want to disappoint everyone. I’ll stay over nacht here.”

  She couldn’t miss the look of pure pleasure on his face and was glad when Sarah grabbed her hands in excitement.

  “Ach, Clara, Edward can sleep in front of the fireplace and we’ll share the bed and talk like auld times. And perhaps you’ll geh to church with us in the morning?”

  “Uh . . .” Clara paused, then looked around at the happy, expectant faces surrounding her. Gott has blessed me with family who loves me, and Daniel lo—likes me as well, I suppose. Just as a friend. Surely it wouldn’t dishonor Seth’s memory to spend some time in his best friend’s company. . . . “Jah, I’ll go to church.”

  Everyone cheered boisterously, and Clara felt her cheeks redden, but she met Daniel’s approving gaze and knew peace inside for the moment.

  * * *

  Daniel loved the feel of her as she sat between his legs, her skirts tucked protectively around her, her spine straight. They were on the large runner sled at the top of the snowy pasture hill behind Sarah and Edward’s haus.

  “Relax,” he chided cheerfully, jostling her a bit with his arms as he held the lead rope.

  “I can’t,” he heard her bite out.

  “Why?”

  “Because you—you’re all around me and I’m rather scared of going fast.”

  He felt her sigh at the admission, and he eased back on the rope. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “I won’t let us go too fast, and you can imagine that you’re on the sled alone, okay? Just enjoy the ride.”

  “Jah,” she said, sounding resigned.

  He smiled, determined to make it the most unforgettable sled ride of her life.

  “Lemme give you a push, Aenti Clara!”

  Daniel felt Elijah’s small but strong hands on his back as the sturdy child threw all of his weight against the sleigh. They were off, tipping then sliding down the high hill. Daniel gained control of the sled and rode the brake so that gumdrop-like snow mounds passed leisurely by and the wind blew softly on their faces. They were about halfway down when Clara gasped, then cried out.

  “Ach, no!”

  “What?” Daniel glanced around and tried to see if she’d been hurt i
n some way. “What is it?”

  “Blinks—dead-ahead!” she screamed.

  “We’ll turn,” he promised, then felt the sudden, jarring impact as they plowed into a snowbank.

  Clara groaned, and Daniel saw Blinks standing to their left, completely unscathed. He felt Clara shaking while Blinks bleated a rapid song.

  “Clara, are you all right?” Her shoulders still shook against him, and he anxiously ran his hands up and down her arms.

  “I’m—fine,” she gurgled. “I’m just laughing, that’s all.”

  “Ach . . .” He relaxed and reached to pet Blinks’s head. “I’m glad.” Then, at the unfamiliar sound of her melodic laughter, he found himself joining in, full of amazing good cheer on account of a wonderful woman and a pain-in-the-neck goat.

  CHAPTER 9

  Daniel walked home later that morning feeling as if anything were possible now that Clara seemed to be softening toward him. Then he walked into his daed’s store and mentally groaned. He’d forgotten that once a month on Saturday, his fater got together a crew of friends to sit around and play checkers and talk. The local customers were used to the loud, masculine laughter and the wait for their purchases to be rung up, but Daniel tried to avoid the whole thing. He always managed to get sucked in and then riled up with enough advice about life, love, and women to choke a horse. So now, he tried to back out of the door without being seen, but it was too late.

  “Dan! Dan, buwe! Ye’re just in time,” his daed hollered. “Kumme on in!”

  Daniel sighed. His thoughts of spending a few hours relaxing and fantasizing about Clara soon dissolved as he was practically pulled into a chair in the circle of men near the woodstove.

  “How’re ya doin, Danny?” Clair Bitner wanted to know. “And what’s that on your wrist?” He stared at Daniel while stroking Benny the goat’s coarse neck. Teddy and Scruffy lay nearby.

  “Ach, a cut from work, that’s all.”

  “Are you all right, sohn?” his fater asked low, leaning toward him.

  “Jah, Daed. Fine. I just wasn’t concentrating.”

  “Ya got women fever! That’s what,” Bottleneck Joe declared, loud enough to be heard in the high timber.

  Daniel suppressed a groan as Meatball Summerson clapped him hard on the shoulder with a thick hand. “Flee, buwe. Women ain’t nuthin’ but trouble.”

  “Now, now,” Clair Bitner grinned with a gap-toothed smile as he stroked his sparse gray beard. “Mebbe they are but mebbe they aren’t. It all depends on how ya look at things, Dan. Now, if I was ta tell ya a story about a certain woman, ya might have to think twice about things. Because sometimes there’s more to folks than what we figure. . . .”

  Daniel hung his head. He knew what was coming. Some long, tormented tale of the mountain . . .

  Clair cleared his scratchy throat. “Now, you take the panther woman of Tamarack Swamp . . .” He leaned back in his chair, and the others did the same, with relaxing creaks of wood and an expectant mood to set the story. Daniel shook his head but lifted his gaze to the auld man as he began to spin one of the older yarns of Ice Mountain.

  “Ya know that Tamarack Swamp be mostly deserted now—nobody goes in there to hunt, because that swamp runs fiercely deep in some places. A man could get sucked alive into the mud and never be heard from again . . . but I’m getting off the point.... There once was a man and wife who settled on the edge of the swamp. They lived alone; no kinner, no folks and they liked it that way. But things got tough one winter—food was scarce. The fella went out ta hunt day after day and came back empty-handed. Well, it got so bad that they were eatin’ the corn for the stock and then something . . . different . . . began to happen. The woman started to go out at nacht. At first, the man didn’t realize, for she’d wait until he was dead asleep and then take her leave. And, in the morning when the man woke, there’d be a chicken, or a shank of lamb, or a goat.... No offense meant, Benny. The woman pretended she didn’t know where the things kumme from and jest praised Derr Herr like her husband did as they ate the gut food.

  “But then one day, there came a solitary knock at the couple’s cabin door. It was another settler and he held a gun. ‘You folks better be careful livin’ this far back in the swamp,’ he said.

  “ ‘Why?’ the husband asked. ‘Is there trouble hereabouts?’

  “ ‘A big black panther’s been takin’ stock from all around. Big animal, sleek and black as sin. I almost had a shot at it the other nacht, but it was too fast. Took one of my finest layin’ hens. I tracked it out here to the swamp.

  “The husband shook his head. ‘I’ll keep a careful watch. Danki for the warning.’

  “Well, the other settler went away, and the husband, unknown to his wife, set a few metal traps about in the icy snow far out in the swamp. Then he came back to the cabin. Night fell and the husband and frau went to bed as usual. A few hours passed, and then the husband woke to the bone-chillin’ sound of a woman screamin’—that’s how a panther sounds when it’s about to take its prey or is riled up about something. The man saw that the wife was not in the cabin and he grabbed his rifle and ran out, following the blood-curdlin’ screams into the swamp. He got near enough to where he thought the panther was by the yellow shine of its eyes and fired off a shot. The cries stopped and the man’s shoulders sagged. He didn’t know if the panther had killed his wife, and he couldn’t find out the truth until first light.

  “As he was walkin’ home through the darkness, he had the strange feelin’ that he was bein’ followed somehow and he hurried along, but the dog he had with him didn’t bark so he figured it was just his imagination. But when he got home, the cabin door stood wide open and light poured out onto the snow from several lanterns lit inside. The man walked in to discover his wife bleedin’ from her leg and hand. He saw that she’d been shot and that her hand looked like it had taken the brunt of a piece of metal. He looked into her eyes and saw a strange glow, and he knew that his wife was really the panther of Tamarack Swamp.”

  Daniel had to join in with the round of clapping at Clair’s dramatic intonation at the finish of the tale, but then he looked the storyteller in the eye. “So, basically women are no more than animals to be trapped and shot.”

  A hush descended on the store and Daniel knew he’d crossed a line, but he was thinking of Clara and his recent pursuit of her. He fully expected Clair to knock him down a few pegs and waited for the return of words.

  But the auld man merely smiled and stroked Benny’s head. “Ya don’t understand the point of the tale, Dan . . . It’s more about women being both wild and free, as well as wives who make a home and hearth. There’s many sides to a woman—and if you truly love her, you’ll spend a lifetime discoverin’ who she really be . . . that’s all.”

  Dan nodded ruefully, recognizing the gentle truth of the older man’s words. “I’m sorry, Clair. You know I meant no disrespect.”

  There was a brief silence until Clair laughed, breaking the tension and gut humor was restored to all.

  * * *

  Clara sat in her sister’s kitchen with Martha Umble—the bishop’s eccentric but kind wife—and listened to the auld woman as she helped make jam thumbprint cookies for the evening’s skating.

  “Yes sir, when I was a girl, Joel Umble was the finest man on the mountain—still is, truth to tell. Though it would do no good to let him know and give him a swollen head as bishop, mind you.” Martha stuck her finger into the jar of blueberry jam and had a loud taste.

  Clara realized that there was a deep kinship between her sister and Martha and felt happy that they were willing to let her join in the chorus of friendship.

  “Are you going to skate tonight, Martha?” Sarah asked while Clara looked at her sister in surprise. A fall on the ice for one as auld as Martha would surely be dangerous to say the least.

  “What are you talking about, Sarah King? You know I can skate blindfolded if I’ve a mind to. Of course I’ll be skating. And what about you, Clara? Rumor has it herea
bouts that you might circle the ice with Daniel Kauffman a time or two?”

  Clara felt herself flush. There was absolutely no place to hide anything of a person’s private life on Ice Mountain, but she knew that Martha meant no harm.

  “I don’t know. Daniel’s a gut . . . friend,” she finished rather lamely. Is he a friend? What is he to me? And how can he be anything to me when Seth is still my hus—No, he’s not, yet I cannot dishonor his memory. I cannot . . .

  “I can hear your thoughts churn like fresh butter, child,” Martha said, laying a blue-veined hand on Clara’s. “Don’t think so much. Don’t fear. Derr Herr has a plan for your life, and you can’t hurry His hand none, either.”

  Clara wet her lips. “I—I guess I’ve had trouble yielding to Gott much since Seth—well, because of the way he died.”

  Martha nodded, a wise look in her faded brown eyes. “Not only the way, but the timing of his death, I’d imagine . . . with you two married for not nearly a year. Nee, it is hard to understand Gott’s ways and His timing and sometimes everything looks like a mess. But He’s still around. Still has your hand, child. You’ll see. You can mark my words on that.”

  Clara nodded, feeling some of the ice in her heart begin to melt under the other woman’s tender instruction. She realized that what her sister said about her becoming reclusive was more than true. I never let anyone in when Seth died. I didn’t want to talk about it, but now . . .

  Blinks baaed loudly, disrupting her thoughts. She realized that much to the kinner’s delight, the goat had edged a cookie sheet to the side of the table and was making merry with some of the raspberry jam thumbprint cookies.

  Clara sighed and swatted her away, then helplessly joined in the infectious laughter surrounding her.

  CHAPTER 10

  Daniel was waved off by Edward when he would have helped carry wood to the bonfire setup.

  “Geh make out with Clara,” Edward suggested with a grin, and Dan rolled his eyes in response. He’d forgotten that Edward had spent some time in the Englisch world working on the gas rigs, so his vernacular was just a bit inappropriate.