Leigh Bale - Her Amish Christmas Choice

“Why does it matter if Julia isn’t Amish?” Hank asked with a frown.

Linda shook her head and shooed Hank’s question away with her hand. “She’s not of our faith. She’s not one of us.” Handing plates of pie to Emily to pass around the table, she leaned against the counter and faced Martin again. “So, tell us something about this woman boss of yours.”

Taking a bite of buttered potato, Martin kept his voice slow and even, trying not to say anything that might overly alarm his mother. “She and her mudder live a simple life like us. They don’t wear makeup or fancy clothes. Nor do they own a car or use electricity. Julia has even asked me a couple of questions about our faith. And she’s devoted to her mudder , who is sickly.”

Linda winced with sympathy. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She has lupus. Julia’s father recently died of cancer. Julia’s been earning a living for them and taking care of her parents. From what I can see, she’s a gut , hardworking woman.”

“But she’s not Amish,” David said, his bushy eyebrows raised in a stern look that allowed for no more discussion on the matter.

Linda stepped near and rested a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “ Ach , you’ll be careful not to be drawn in by her, won’t you, sohn ? I couldn’t bear to lose you. You’ll remember what your vadder and I have taught you and stay true to your faith.”

He met his mother’s eyes, his convictions filling his heart. He could never stand to hurt her by chasing after an Englisch woman. “You don’t need to worry about me, Mamm . I will only marry someone of our faith. This I vow.”

“ Gut. It’s too bad you can’t convert Julia to our faith.” Linda showed a smile of relief and finally sat down to eat her own supper. The conversation turned to what the younger children were learning in school.

Martin ate his meal, listening to the chatter around him. He’d done his best to alleviate his parents’ concerns but knew they were worried. And he agreed that it was too bad Julia wasn’t Amish. If she were, his parents would have no reservations about him working with her.

As he carried his dishes over to the sink for washing, he listened to Hank’s incessant chatter and a feeling of expectancy built within his chest. He couldn’t wait to return to work in the morning and be near Julia again. And though he refused to consider the options, he knew deep inside that it had little to do with the money he would earn and more to do with his pretty employer.

But he meant what he’d said. He would marry an Amish woman or not at all.

The following morning, Julia glanced at the clock she’d hung on the wall in her spacious workroom. She blinked, hardly able to believe it was barely five o’clock. She’d been up for two hours already. Like many mornings, she couldn’t sleep, so she’d started work early.

After she completed several tasks, faint sunlight filtered through the dingy windows, highlighting the bare wooden floors with streamers of dust. She really must wash the windows today, before she painted the walls. That should brighten things up quite a bit. With the delays from yesterday, she feared Martin might not have time for everything needing to be done. Careful not to let Mom work too hard, Julia had helped her clear most of the boxes and junk out of the room, stacking them in the backyard. Above all, her priority was to get the soap room operational. But a hole in the roof could create worse problems down the road.

Squinting her eyes, she worked by kerosene light. She’d acquired an old stainless steel sink from the discount store in town and wanted it ready once Martin built the cabinets she required. Using a mild cleanser, she scrubbed at a particularly grimy spot. The sink’s two spacious tubs would accommodate the big pots she used for soap making.

Martin would be here in a few hours to finish the porch. Then he’d check the condition of the roof. After that, she wanted him to—

Tap-tap-tap.

She looked up, thinking the sound came from above. Had Mom awakened early and was doing something inside their apartment? She caught the deep timbre of a man’s voice coming from outside but wasn’t sure. It came again, followed by Hank’s unique accent. She glanced at the wall clock and discovered it was almost eight. Ah, her handymen were already here and the sun was barely up.

“Be careful with that paint, Hank. You don’t want to spill any.” Martin’s muffled voice reached her ears.

Sitting back, Julia set aside the soft sponge. In her warm slippers, she padded over to the window and peered out.

Martin and Hank stood side by side in front of the porch as they perused their handiwork. Each of them held a brush that gleamed with white paint. Martin also clutched the handle of a paint bucket. No doubt they’d been trimming the porch and front of the building. A feeling of elation swept over Julia. She couldn’t wait for it all to be finished.

Martin had rolled the long sleeves of his shirt up his muscular arms. A smear of white paint marred his angular chin. Hank also wore several smatters of paint on his forearms and clothes. In the early morning sunlight, Julia caught the gleam of bright trim on the post nearest to the window but couldn’t see the rest of the porch from this angle. And all that work had been done while she was cleaning the new sink.

Hmm. Dallin had never worked this hard. He’d rather laze around and borrow money from Julia, which he never paid back. Maybe it was a blessing she hadn’t married him after all.

Walking over to the front door, she flipped the dead bolt, turned the knob and stepped out onto the porch. In that short amount of time, Martin had climbed to the top of the rickety ladder leading up to the roof. Hank held the ladder steady from below. Busy with their labors, they hadn’t noticed her yet. She watched as Martin dipped his brush into a bucket of paint he’d set on the pail shelf, then touched up a spot high on the side of the awning. As he concentrated on his work, he pressed the tip of his tongue against his upper lip.

The ladder trembled.

“Hold it steady, Hank. Just a few more spots and we’ll be finished. Then we can start on the roof.” Martin spoke without looking down.

Fearing she might break his concentration, Julia didn’t say anything. A tabby cat crossing the road caught Hank’s attention. Julia knew the animal was named Tigger and belonged to Essie Walkins, the elderly widow who lived two houses down. Tail high in the air, the feline picked its way across the abandoned street. No doubt it was hoping to cajole Julia out of a bowl of milk. She’d fed the cat many times, much to her mother’s chagrin. Sharon didn’t like strays.

Seeing the feline, Hank abandoned his post and hurried toward Tigger. Without the boy’s weight to hold the ladder steady, it shuddered uncontrollably.

Julia gasped as Martin grabbed on to the gutter to keep from falling. She rushed over and gripped the sides of the ladder, staring up at him with widened eyes. The ladder stabilized but too late. The bucket of paint plummeted to the ground with a heavy thud. Julia scrunched her shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t get hit in the head by the falling object. Spatters of white struck the outer wall of the building, the mass of paint pooling in the middle of the wooden porch.

“Oh, no!” Julia breathed in exasperation.

Martin stared down at her with absolute shock. Likewise, Julia was so stunned that she was held immobile for several seconds. Then, Martin hurried down the ladder, his angular face torn by an expression of dread.

“ Ach , Julia! Are you all right? The bucket didn’t hit you, did it?” He rested a gentle hand on her arm, his dark eyes filled with concern as he searched her expression.