The Amish Christmas Sleigh (3 page)

C
HAPTER
4

W
hen the service started with its usual progression of hymns, Sebastian longed to let his eyes slip closed in weary lassitude, but for some reason he couldn't fathom, his hands tingled when he remembered the firm feel of Kate's waist as he swung her down from the sleigh. He sighed inwardly—maybe Tim Garland was right—he was woman-crazy. He choked back a laugh, then thought with seriousness that not many women would have shown the courage Kate had to admit that they'd been prideful. . . .
I admire her for her gumption, that's all.

Then he tried to focus as Bishop Umble took his place before the community to speak. The
auld,
long-bearded man paced before the group with his gnarled hands folded behind his back while his wise eyes seemed to take in everyone gathered.

“In the book of Hebrews, we read that ‘Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see . . .'”

Sebastian recalled the verse and thought of its absolute truth, but knew he did not always live by it. Still, he leaned forward a bit, anxious to catch each word of the sermon despite his uneasy feeling that he had a migraine headache coming on.

He started to pray, asking
Gott
that the migraine might pass him by, because he knew how much work he needed to get done the next day, then he abandoned the petition as Bishop Umble's words struck home.

“So what do you hope for?” the bishop asked. “The rest of the world might hope for riches, freedom from sickness and disease, or even a bigger home, but you,
Amisch
men and women of Ice Mountain, what do you hope for in your secret hearts?”

The question hung in the chill air and haunted Sebastian. He knew what he wanted, but it could never be. Never. What was done was done, and though
Der Herr
might forgive his sin, he must always bear the consequences of his actions.

Sebastian gazed down at his folded hands in front of him, and the rest of the sermon slipped away from his consciousness. Hours later, he got to his feet to file out of the barn, and his head throbbed with the beginnings of pressure and pain.

 

Kate saw Ben ensconced at the children's table among his young friends, then went to help Ann Kauffman with the serving. In the summer months and springtime, it was much easier to have the community gather for Sunday dinner following service, but in the winter, folks had to eat in shifts but usually congregated in groups according to age and interests. The young men would stand and hold their plates while the graybeards would eat at the main table. The women would usually serve and then eat last.

Ann Kauffman smiled tiredly when she saw Kate. “
Ach,
would you go into the second pantry and get more sugar?
Danki,
Kate . . .”

The “second pantry” ran adjacent along the wall to the first pantry and was in truth simply another closet filled with kitchen supplies, though having a second pantry was of great use to many a
haus frau
.

Kate forgot to grab a lantern in her haste to help and found herself in the nearly dark pantry, looking for the sack of sugar, when she froze in mid-movement. Through the thin side wall, she heard the unmistakable sound of Sebastian's deep voice coming from the other pantry. And she found herself helplessly eavesdropping . . .

 

“Uh, I'm afraid I didn't bring a light, and it's impossible to know where the canned pears are with as many
gut
things as your cousin Ann puts up every year.” Sebastian kept his voice level, not wanting to offend the pretty nineteen-year-old Tabitha Deitweiler, a young relative of his hostess. But the girl was, without a doubt, taking distinct advantage of the dark to touch his chest.

“I apologize,
Herr
Christner . . . I had no idea you were in here,” she purred, letting her fingers rise to stroke his throat.

Yeah, right . . .
He felt annoyance begin to compound the headache he had originally sought refuge from in the small, dark room and carefully caught her wrists.

“Listen . . . Tabitha. There's many a man who would no doubt love a few stolen moments with you, but I should warn you that some might try to take advantage of your willing—er, the situation.”

He could envision her pout as she pulled her hands free from his, only to have another go, this time encircling his neck.

“You sound like my
fater,
” she whined.

“I'm
auld
enough to be your
daed
. . .”
If I'd been as promiscuous as you probably are at your age . . .

“But I like older men,” she said, obviously straining for his mouth and hitting his chin.

He put her firmly from him and reached behind her to open the door, letting in light from the kitchen. Mercifully no one was near the pantry or he'd have been accused of philandering, and somehow, all he could think of was Kate Zook and what her reaction would be to that kind of a situation.

“Go,” he commanded the petulant Tabitha.

She huffed and obeyed. “You're no fun,” she hissed over her shoulder, but he was simply glad to lean against the shelf for a moment, deciding that his migraine was worsening and that he'd have to make his excuses and go home.

 

Kate waited with bated breath until she heard Sebastian's heavy footsteps exit the first pantry. She felt like giving Tabitha Deitweiler a firm swat on the backside for waylaying Sebastian, and she knew a certain pride in his more-than-honorable response. But it made her wonder exactly what kind of girl he would like to meet in a dark room—not that she wanted to be that kind of girl.
But still, the idea is—interesting.
She felt herself flush and happened to run her hand across the middle shelf, coming in contact with a large sack. She poked a finger inside, then tasted it, realizing she'd found the sugar. She hurriedly grabbed the sack and headed back out into the kitchen, deliberately concentrating on Ann's bustling form and feeling a little embarrassed at her eavesdropping.

“
Ach, danki,
Kate. Now, if you might go round and refill the sugar bowls, I'd be grateful,” Ann said in passing.

Kate hurried to comply with her hostess's wishes, but when she happened to glance around the room, she realized Sebastian was nowhere in sight. She did notice Tabitha Deitweiler, though, making eyes at one of the King youths, and Kate wanted to wring her neck. Then she quickly sought prayer in response to her uncharitable thoughts and finished with the sugar bowls.

 

Kate noticed Fran sitting down alone on one of the Kauffmans' living room couches.
Now is as
gut
a time as any to tell her that I'm starting work tomorrow, I suppose . . .
But she felt nervous as she approached her cousin's wife and also knew why—the only “rent” she and Ben paid for their cabin was the help that Kate gave to Fran around her
haus,
and working for Sebastian would surely make that more difficult. In fact, Kate knew that many women wondered what there was for her to do for Fran, with such a small household, but Kate knew Fran still sometimes suffered from depression over the loss of her baby and found it difficult to manage now and then.

So, Kate approached the other woman with hesitation. But, to her surprise, Fran gave her a wan but welcoming smile and motioned for her to sit down.

“Is everything all right?” Kate asked cautiously.

“I'm not feeling too well, actually. I think I ate too much of that delicious ham. . . . But I've been wanting to talk to you, Kate.” She lowered her voice. “You see, what Bishop Umble said today about faith and being sure of what you hope for really seemed to speak to me, to my life and the way I've been living.”

“How so?” Kate wondered aloud with interest.

Fran's eyes teared up a bit. “I realized that I've been living too much in the past and have not been grateful enough for the present moment. I know that what I want is to be happy and have peace now and to let the past go. And you're part of my peace now, Katie . . . I—I haven't always been kind to you or even nice at times, but it was because I was so blanketed in my own sorrow. I want to tell you now that I'm so glad you and Ben are here, and I want you to know that I think I'm going to be able to give you more time to work in your own life because I feel ready to be a wife again to Daniel and to keep his home.”

Kate stared at Fran in disbelief at
Gott
's provision.

“What's wrong?” Fran asked rather anxiously.

Kate smiled widely. “Nothing. But I have some news to share with you, too. . . .”

C
HAPTER
5

O
n Monday morning, Kate nervously gathered cleaning supplies in a bucket and hitched up the small cutter sled that she used to take Ben to school.

“Do I get to
kumme
to
Herr
Christner's today after school?” Ben asked eagerly as they started off.

“I'm not sure; I'll find out,” Kate answered in absent tones, her mind on doing a good job.

She dropped a still-questioning Ben off at school, grateful for the Mountain
Amisch
teacher, Jude Lyons, as he came to help her
bruder
down and up the specially built ramp at the school
haus.

Then she drove on, guiding the horse and sleigh out to Sebastian's cabin. She tied the horse to the hitching post out front, then climbed the steps, clutching her supply bucket while a moment of nerves almost prevented her from knocking on the door.

But Kate gasped when the cabin door was eased open and she saw Sebastian wince at the shaft of incoming light. He looked terribly sick, his auburn hair clinging to his forehead in damp swirls; he had dark bruise-like circles beneath his blue eyes, and his chest and feet were bare.

“
Kumme
in,” he muttered hoarsely.

“Uh—
Herr
—I mean, Sebastian, are you ill? Should I go and fetch Sarah King?”

Sarah, the new young healer on Ice Mountain, had taken over for beloved
Grossmuder
May, who had passed away the previous spring.

He waved away her words weakly and widened the door an inch more. “
Nee,
it's just a migraine. I get them now and then.... I told you to start today and you can.” He visibly shivered at the cold and she hastened inside.

She heard his grateful sigh when he closed the door on the daylight; the cabin was in darkness with the shades drawn and no lanterns lit.

She took a hesitant step forward and ran full-tilt into his bare chest. It was like touching oak covered in warm satin, and she jerked her hand back instinctively.

“Uh . . . sorry,” he mumbled. “I'll light a lamp.”

She waited while she sensed him move deeper into the room, and the flare of a match soon became the warm glow of a lantern. But Sebastian rubbed at his temple as if even the small circle of light was too much.

“Kate, I'm going to lie down and sleep this off. Feel free to work as little or as much as you like—you can just straighten up a bit maybe. I'm sorry things are such a mess.... I, uh . . . sorry—I feel dizzy. . . .”

He fled the dim circle of light and soon she heard a door close, leaving her clutching her bucket handle in indecision.
Perhaps I really should go to Sarah King; she could at least send him something to ease his pain. . . .

Her mind made up, Kate set her cleaning supplies down and quietly slipped from the cabin.

Sarah King lived about half a mile from Sebastian in a rather secluded cabin. Kate knew she could take the horse and sleigh most of the way there but would have to hike the last hundred feet or so. She was glad she'd worn her sensible black boots, even though they only covered her up to her ankles. Still, her knitted stockings were warm and she hastily moved through the light snow falling to untie Janey, her faithful sorrel horse.

She navigated with ease through the snow on the dirt road that was crisscrossed with other sled tracks fast being filled in by the snow. She passed Ben Kauffman's general store and then the school, and soon she saw the healer's cabin perched on its rocky ledge. She got out and tied Janey's rein to some low-hanging bare branches, then began the climb upward. She slipped only once, sliding down and coming back up with a cold mouthful of snow. She sputtered, floundering, then regained her footing and soon knocked at the wooden door.

Sarah King welcomed her with a bright smile.

“Kate,
kumme
in,” Sarah invited. “Would you like some hot cocoa? I hope everything's going well—Ben's not ill, is he?”

Kate shook her bonneted head, inching toward the open fire's warmth with grateful feet. “
Nee,
Ben is well. It's—it's actually Sebastian Christner. He's got a bad migraine and is feeling quite poorly.”

“
Ach, nee
. . . I hate migraines.” Sarah moved to the large cabinet in the kitchen that was filled with mysterious bottles and vials and dried bunches of herbs. Kate watched as the other girl began to mix various crushed herbs and dried flowers in a small wooden bowl. “Is his stomach upset, too?”

“Uh—I'm not sure, but he said he was dizzy.” Kate felt herself blush, wondering if Sarah was privately questioning how she knew that Sebastian was ill, but the healer seemed to find nothing out of the ordinary and Kate began to relax.

“You'll have to brew him a tea using these herbs—I've got feverfew and butterbur here as well as some mint. Make sure he drinks a full cup and quickly—it should bring him relief in a short time.” Sarah handed her a small brown bag of pungent herbs, and Kate tucked it inside her wool cloak.

“
Danki,
Sarah. I appreciate your help,” Kate said, smiling.

Sarah dimpled in return. “And I appreciate that you have been granted access to the mysterious Sebastian Christner's life. I don't think he would have let you see him sick if he didn't trust you. People don't usually want to be vulnerable unless they're with someone they like.”

Once more, even though Sarah's tone held no curiosity, Kate felt herself color hotly.
To think . . . he might like me.

She bade the healer a
gut
day and felt that she fairly floated out the door, not minding that the once-light snow had now become mixed with freezing rain, making her climb back down to the sled even more difficult. Still, she managed to untie Janey and urge her back out into the slippery lane, anxious now to get to Sebastian with some relief.

 

The persistent striking of ice against the cabin roof only served to aggravate the pain in Sebastian's head; he felt entirely miserable. He lay, alternately shivering and sweating, on his bed, too exhausted to get another blanket from the wooden chest across the room. Instead, he wondered vaguely if it would be inappropriate to holler and ask Kate for a cup of tea—it certainly wasn't something he'd expect from a
hauskeeper,
but then the thought of actually raising his voice made him realize he was
narrisch,
and he drifted instead into a fitful sleep....

 

It was high summer; night—replete with lightning bugs, a chorus of grasshoppers, and the baritone of a mature bullfrog echoing from the creek. The placid moonlit dark was broken only by the soft sounds of pleasure that came from the back of his throat as he kissed the
Englisch
girl he'd just met at a baseball game. He was nineteen and it was his
rumspringa
; he'd stuffed his
Amisch
clothes in the back of his buggy and changed into jeans and a T-shirt for the game. Now he sat with the brown-haired girl near the age-old pond and worked his hands through her hair.

 

When Kate got back to the cabin, she slipped off her soaking boots and longed to strip off her wet stockings but refrained. Instead, she hung up her bonnet and cloak and lifted the lantern to navigate in the direction of where she thought the kitchen might be. Truth be told, it was hard to tell because the cabin was such a wreck—clothes, half-finished toys, and drawings on large sheets of paper cluttered the place. When she got to the kitchen, it was even worse, with dirty dishes overflowing the pump sink, old food in kettles on the woodstove, and again, more drawings littering the table.

He must be so involved and focused on his work that he has no time for such things as cleaning and cooking . . . the poor man probably hasn't had a square meal in weeks.
She let her thoughts drift for a few moments until she located the teakettle, then set the lantern down and got to work lighting the woodstove. It took a while to get the water boiling, and in the meantime, she rolled up her sleeves and managed to stack the dirty plates as well as gather together the silverware that was buried in the sink.

When the teakettle whistled softly, she turned with a clean mug and got out the fragrant herbs from her apron pocket. He seemed to have no tea strainer about, so she used a piece of muslin she found in a drawer, stretching it over the mouth of the mug and straining the hot water through the healing herbs. Once done, she lifted the lantern again along with the hot mug, and began to make her cautious way in the direction Sebastian had gone earlier.

She reached what she surmised to be the bedroom door, and realized she had no way to knock with her hands full. She gave the wood an experimental bump with her hip and, much to her surprise, it gave under the pressure, easing open without a sound.

“Sebastian?” she whispered, stepping deeper into the room. She almost tripped over a pair of boots and the hot tea sloshed over her hand. “Ouch!” she said, unable to contain herself.

Then she realized he'd stirred on the bed as she heard the intimate rustle of sheets moving. She swallowed hard, reminding herself that she was there to help him, and lifted the lamp higher.

Sebastian lay facedown on a massive carved oaken bed with his head pillowed on his arms. The sheets were tangled loosely around his hips, and his back was bare, well-defined musculature tapering to lean ribs and waist and then . . . She almost fled the room....
What would Fran say if she knew I was in a room with a half-naked man? And what a beautiful man at that . . . He's so . . .

“Please,” Sebastian muttered suddenly from the bed.

Kate froze in midstep.
Please
.
Please what?

She watched him shift his head a bit, rubbing it against his arms, and realized he must be deep in pain and speaking without thought. Bolstered by the need to help him, she approached the bed once more and set the lamp down on the floor so the light wouldn't bother him too much. Then she gently touched his shoulder, unable to control the shiver of pleasure that went through her at the sensation of his skin beneath her fingertips, before she pulled away.

“Sebastian? I have some tea here for you—it will help.”

He made a choked sound against his arms and groaned. “Please . . . touch me.”

Kate felt her world spin.
What is he saying?

He moved restlessly and some instinct made her put her hand back on his shoulder. Suddenly she became aware of the deep tension in his muscle, and she realized that he must surely be asking for help. She set the teacup on the table beside the bed and leaned over him, thinking briefly of how she'd massaged Ben's legs after the accident. Now, her capable fingers found the knots of tension in Sebastian's back and shoulders with ease and she began to apply varying degrees of pressure. His response made her swallow and silently ask
Gott
for forgiveness....

 

Sebastian knew, in some vague part of his brain that wasn't registering pain, that he was dreaming—dreaming deeply and without restraint in a way he'd not allowed himself to do for a very long time. The feminine touch on his shoulders was fast making his headache recede and was creating in its place a feeling of abandon and wanting that he normally repressed.

He shivered when she touched his neck and couldn't help arching his back under the hypnotic pleasure, then felt her touch his hair for a moment. He turned with a groan, pulling this dream girl down to him, wanting her small and full against him. He eagerly sought her mouth with his own. Her lips were soft, unresponsive even, and he couldn't understand why she didn't give as he was desperately trying to do. He grew frantic, slanting his head and kissing her with all of the finesse that he remembered from
rumspringa
until her soft, hot sigh told him that she was enjoying his mouth.

He ran his hands down her body, and she squirmed against him, further enticing him, though he was surprised that her dress was wet and he felt frustrated by the damp barrier.

“Take this off,” he ordered, feeling a smile touch his lips. It was his dream and he planned on having as much pleasure as his mind could devise.

He cupped his hands around her full, phantom breasts and a squeak of protest ricocheted through his consciousness, causing him to still, then attempt to open his eyes.

His dream fast evaporating, he realized the girl from his thoughts had become a living body that pulled away from him to scramble upright next to the bed.

He lifted his head in the mellow light and stared blankly up at Kate Zook. Her breasts strained against her dress with each rapid breath, and her rich, brown hair had worked loose from her
kapp
to tumble over her shoulders. Even in the shadows, her soft mouth appeared reddened, and he put his fingers to his own lips in both acknowledgment and confusion. He shook his head, his headache fast reappearing, and lowered his hand to the sheets.

“Kate—what? I—
dear Gott
—I'm sorry . . . Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “
Nee,
” she whispered. “I—I brought you some tea for your headache.”

Her voice shook a bit, which made him feel even worse, but he refused to let himself break his gaze with her. “Kate . . . I was dreaming and . . . Look, I—I'll marry you.”