The Sound of Sleigh Bells (4 page)

She pulled a business card out of her satchel and rose. “I’m Elizabeth Hertzler. Call me Beth. I’d be interested in talking with him.”

He scratched his head. “You own a store in Pennsylvania?”

“Yes, but I also supply Amish and Englischer stores with Amish products—from indoor and outdoor furniture to swing sets to picture frames.” She passed him a catalog. “If you need it, I have a skilled Amish person who can make it.”

“I doubt he’d agree to sell like that. He handpicks his pieces of wood and takes months to create them. He went down a gorge last winter to get this one. He and his brother used a rope, a draft horse, and a lot of determination to drag it out.”

“And then you hide it under a blanket.”

The man laughed. “I guess so. He hasn’t ever complained. Still, I’m not sure how it got shifted to this spot. Since most of his work depicts winter scenes, they catch more attention in cold weather. I put them near the entry of the store at Christmastime, and they sell pretty well then.”

“I’m not interested in selling this one, but I’m sure I can find stores that would carry his work and display it in good view year round.”

“I thought you owned a store.”

“I’m not sure my bishop would allow us to carry this type of work.”

“His bishop lets him make it.”

“Your friend is Amish?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe that’ll help my position if I try to convince my bishop. Regardless, I want this one. How much?”

“Seeing how you like it so much, how about a hundred dollars?”

“A hundred dollars?”

“Too much?”

“Too little. Why would you undervalue his work?”

“It’s art by a man no one knows. I get the best price I can.” The man smiled. “But if you think you can do better, I’ll give you his address.”

“I’ll take the info with me. Unless it’s on my way, I won’t have time to talk with him this trip. Does he have a phone?”

“Nope. His bishop is strict about phones. Why’d you ask where he lived if you’re not planning to go see him?”

“It’s just a natural question. If I’m hoping to do business with someone, it helps to have an idea of their vicinity. Just like before I leave, I’ll get your store’s phone number and street address.”

“I’ll jot down all the info you need.” He grabbed the carving off the floor. “And I’ll get my nephew to carry this out for you. I’m guessing you have a driver.”

“She’ll be here in a few minutes. In the meantime would you care to look through our catalog?”

“Don’t waste any time, do ya?” Pete took the catalog and flipped through the pages.

No, she didn’t like wasting time, but her heart and body had demanded she spend over a year grieving. Still, it seemed Lizzy had been right; she should have gotten out among people long before now. Who knows what detours she might have missed while on her road of isolation?

A
fter removing the entire window unit, Jonah straddled the sill. With one leg inside the schoolhouse and one outside it, he looked up from his work. A row of horseless carriages filled the front lawn of the school. Inside the pasture fence stood a dozen grazing horses, patiently waiting for their owners. Half a dozen workers on the roof hammered away. Under the massive oaks, women filled the picnic tables with breads, cheeses, and vegetables fresh from the gardens, and children played games, enjoying the last weeks of summer break.

The community worked on this old one-room schoolhouse each year before classes began. Sometimes Jonah wondered if it would be easier to build a new one, but anytime the subject came up, the Amish school board voted against it.

The nonstop hammering overhead drowned out the voices of the women and children. With a small claw bar in hand, Jonah removed each nail from the window and checked the soundness of the framing. His mind still lingered on the woman he’d seen at Pete’s a few days ago.

Those deep blue eyes against black lashes had almost knocked him over, even with his cane to steady him. Her soft yet deep and confident voice still filled his head. It was embarrassing to give her a second thought, let alone
every
thought. She wore black, the color of a brokenhearted widow. She could have been grieving for a family member, but something about her said the pain she carried was different from that of losing a relative. He guessed she’d lost a large piece of herself. But the rest of her stirred him—as if she needed someone, a friend or relative, to help her sand away the pain etched into her life and dig deeper to carve a new scene.

He’d never considered sanding off someone’s old life, not even when they’d lost a loved one. It seemed to him the past carvings should be preserved and a new spot found for fresh carvings. Or perhaps new carvings should include the old carvings. But to remove what had been and start fresh? He was mistaken about that. Had to be.

“Jonah.” His grandmother spoke over the loud banging. She held out a cup of water.

He hadn’t realized she’d come into the schoolroom. He wiped his brow. “Denki,
Mammi.”
He took a long drink. “Even sitting in a window doesn’t provide enough of a breeze in this heat.”

“Only bad shepherds use entrances other than the door. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

“Yes, she did. That you’re a troublemaker.” He tried to keep a straight face but wasn’t able to hold back his laughter.

“How many window units will you need to replace?”

“All of them. The sashes are too rotten to make it through another school year, but so far all the casings have been completely sound.”

“So you’ve been at this for a couple of days?”

“Ya.”

“You met the new teacher and had help, then?”

He wasn’t fooled. She knew he had plenty of help from the men in the community. Her curiosity centered on the new teacher.

“Yes to both, Mammi. Every man in our community has come to help as time allowed. Right now they’re either helping the women with other things or on the roof repairing bad shingles.”

“Your presence here has caused a fresh buzz among the young women.” Mammi motioned out the window. “You need to find one who suits you before you’re too old.”

He finished drinking the water she’d brought him and passed her the cup. “If only one of them was half as amazing as you…”

Mammi moved closer. “Stop teasing your poor grandmother and find someone. I’ve seen you carve life out of deadwood. Can’t you try to do that in a relationship?”

“A worthwhile relationship is like finding the right wood. When it’s the right one, I’ll know it.”

“And by the time your idealism blends with realism, you may have missed your chance.”

Using the claw bar, he pulled another nail out of the casing. “So, Mammi, why is there a bee in your prayer
Kapp
about this all of a sudden?”

“The new schoolteacher, Martha.” She tapped him on the arm, and with her eyes she directed him to look outside near the picnic tables.

Martha passed half a sandwich to one of the children.

“While I was talking with her about the upcoming school year, she kept looking your way.” His grandmother held out her hand for the claw bar. He didn’t give it to her.

“Maybe she’s never seen a carpenter with a bum leg and two missing fingers.”

“Nonsense. She was drawn to you. I saw it in her eyes. Now go speak to her. At least give her a chance.”

He removed another nail. “She’s too young.”

“Too young? She’s probably twenty-two, and you’re only twenty-eight.”

“No.” He placed several bent nails in his grandmother’s open hand. “She’s about seventeen, and I’m about forty, figuratively speaking.”

“Well, sometimes older men connect well with younger women.” She wrapped her frail hand around his wrist and pulled.

Giving in to her, he climbed out of the windowsill. If it’d make her feel better for him to speak to the woman, he could do that much. And while pleasing his grandmother, he’d get a bite to eat from the picnic tables.

She brushed bits of wood off his shirt. “At least talk with her a little before deciding she’s not right for you. Tell her you have a question about how she wants something done in her classroom or you want to show her how the window works.”

“I have no questions, and if she needs to be shown how a window works, we need a new teacher.”

“Jonah Kinsinger, you’re as stubborn as your grandfather.”

“You know this, and yet you insist on shoving me into some poor woman’s life.”

She passed him his cane, turned him around, and nudged him forward. “Go. And find the beauty in whatever wood is in front of you.”

As innocent as her words were meant to be, they carried a mild dishonor to him. Aside from a few pangs of loneliness once in a while, he was content being single. As the thought rumbled through him, the memory of the stranger in black stood before him again. She’d captivated some part of him, but it wasn’t her beauty that had piqued his interest. Like an ancient oak, she carried hidden years, and as an artist, he was drawn to it.

He walked outside, and cold liquid splattered over his head and down his neck. “Whoa.”

“Jonah.” Mark’s surprised voice came from above him.

Jonah looked up to see his friend on the roof with an upturned cup in his hand. A couple of men moved to Mark’s side to see what had happened.

Jonah licked his lips. “Mmm. Lemonade.”

Laughing, the men returned to work.

Martha brought him a dishtowel, looking more concerned than amused.

“Thanks.” Jonah wiped his face. “You’re standing in dangerous territory unless you prefer to wear your lemonade rather than drink it.”

She motioned toward the picnic table. “Maybe you’d prefer trying on some food instead.”

Her sense of humor amused him, which would make the chore his grandmother had laid before him easier.

Why was it so hard for married men and women to accept that he liked being single? Only one thought came to his mind—
they
needed to find a better hobby.

C
hildren’s laughter echoed across the snow-covered hills. Beth shivered, watching from a distance. Her feet ached from the cold, and her fingers were numb. A little Amish boy got off his sled and faced her. A younger girl took him by the hand. They stood motionless, watching Beth.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. A man moved among the trees, calling to them. When they didn’t come, he walked closer and called again. The children motioned for Beth to join them, but her legs worked no better than her mouth. As the man drew closer, he smiled and gestured toward the field where half a dozen other children played. Too cold to move, Beth began to recognize the children. She knew their names, didn’t she? But from where?

The frigid air around her seemed too much to bear, but the man and the children appeared as warm as if they sat in front of a wood stove. As if reading her thoughts, the man tilted his head and opened his jacket, revealing heaps of embers glowing in his chest. The children followed suit, showing a bonfire inside their tiny upper bodies.

With stiff fingers Beth unhooked her black cape and looked at her heart. Anxiety spread through her body. Where they had embers and fire, she had frozen tundra.

The man touched his chest and then held out an ember for her. Embarrassed at her frozen soul, she wanted to hold out her hand, but she couldn’t. Even if she could lift her arm, he stood too far away. She tried to walk toward him but couldn’t move. He held out his hand again.

Her jaws fought against the wires that kept them clasped. “I… I can’t.”

He looked straight through her, and she understood that he couldn’t come any closer. She had to be the one who moved. Snow began to fall, and the sky grew dark, but she couldn’t budge an inch. The sadness in the children’s eyes ran deeper than Beth could comprehend. They clasped hands and ran back to the others. The man stood, watching her. A tear slid down his face, and one by one the children faded into nothingness.

His eyes pleaded with her to find the strength to move forward and take the ember, but even as she willed herself to take a step, he too faded away.

Beth sat up in bed, trying to steady her pounding heart.