A Lancaster County Christmas Read online

  Jaime threw the car into park and grabbed the owl whistle. “This won’t take long.” The wind whipped into the car as she opened the door, ripping the car door from her hand.

  Heavy snow bit at her as she hurried up the porch steps. She had just reached the porch when she thought she heard C.J. yelling. Before she could turn around, Tucker bounded past her and jumped up on the front door, barking. Jaime grabbed Tucker’s collar to pull him back as the door opened. She was relieved to find the Amish mother from the doctor’s office. She had the right house!

  “Here,” Jaime said, teeth chattering, as she thrust the whistle in the Amish mother’s hands. “Your son left it at the doctor’s office.”

  She spun around, hurried down the porch steps, and stopped in her tracks, stunned. Her car had disappeared.

  As Zachary Zook hung a horse harness on a peg in the barn, he could have sworn he heard a car pull into the driveway. A gust of wind swirled past him as he slid open the barn door, knocking off his black felt hat. There was a car! A fancy-looking red sports car with a black convertible top. As he bent down to pick up his hat, a blur in a red coat emerged out of the driver’s side and dashed up the stone path to the farmhouse. In the next instant, a big yellow dog bounded out of the car, chasing the red coat. And then a man jumped out of the passenger side of the car and ran behind the dog, hollering for it to come back.

  Zach looked back at the car and saw it start to move—in reverse—and pick up speed until it crashed through the fence and rolled down the hill, finally coming to a stop as its back tires slid into the pond that Sol kept stocked with trout. It happened so fast that Zach didn’t even have time to think—he felt as if he were dreaming. The woman in the red coat started to scream and ran toward the car. Zach ran after her, yelling as loud as he could, his words ringing through the bitter air, his mouth exhaling a frozen cloud, but she didn’t stop. The snow, in parts, was at least four or five inches deep. He finally tackled her right before she reached the pond. The dog caught up to them and barked at Zach.

  “Let me go!” the woman called out in a muffled voice, facedown in the snow. “My car! My beautiful car!”

  She struggled to try to get up, but Zach wasn’t letting her go. He was pretty sure she was crazy and would end up drowning if he let her get near that half-sunk car.

  “At least let me get my camera!”

  “Where is it?” he asked, keeping her pinned to the ground.

  “Front seat. Black bag! I have to get it before it gets wet! I need it!” She stilled for a moment and Zach released his grasp, slightly. By now the man had caught up to them. He stood staring at the car in the pond, stunned.

  “If you promise to stay put,” Zach told the woman, “I’ll try and get it. But you have to promise me you’ll stay away from that pond. One step in and you’ll sink like a stone and I have no intention of rescuing you.” He relaxed his hold but waited to make sure she wasn’t struggling before he finally released her.

  She scrambled to her feet and glared at him. “I promise, I promise! I’ll stay put! Now go, quick! Before it’s too late!” She pointed to the car.

  “Jaime! You can’t expect this poor boy to risk his life in a freezing cold pond just to get your camera!” the man said in a firm voice.

  She looked Zach up and down. “He’s no boy! He’s a grown man.” She glanced at the man. “And I didn’t ask him to. He offered.”

  Despite these bizarre circumstances, Zach felt a warm glow of pleasure at being called a grown man.

  “Somebody needs to get my camera! Or I will go in there and get it!” She took a few steps closer to the pond.

  The warm glow Zach felt instantly vanished. She shocked him, this English woman. The way she was pointing at the pond, she seemed like a queen directing her faithful manservant. Queen Bee, Zach named her. He rose to his feet, found his hat, and put it back on, all the while watching her suspiciously. “You stay there. Right there.”

  The man started coming toward Zach, but he waved him off. At least Zach had boots on. The man was wearing loafers. “Just keep her away from the pond’s bank. It’s steeper than it looks.”

  The woman frowned but didn’t budge. Zach walked carefully to the edge of the pond, grateful that the car door was above the waterline. He turned to look back at her to object, but she only pointed again to the car.

  “I have to have that bag!” She walked a few steps closer to the pond until the man grabbed her arm.

  “You stay put!” Zach yelled.

  The wind was howling around them, but she actually listened to him and took a step back.

  “Please! I have to have my camera.”

  It figured, Zach thought. Something stupid like a camera. He waded into the icy water, stepping gingerly so he didn’t slip in the muck, and tried to yank open the car door. It wouldn’t budge, so he grabbed the handle with both hands and pulled with all of his might.

  As it flew open, he slipped backward, seat first, into the murky water. The shock of the cold hit him and his chest felt pinched for air.

  Can’t breathe. Can’t feel anything. I’m paralyzed. I’m dying.

  But then—a gasp! His breath came out in short, frozen bursts, and his chest rose and fell heavily as relief flooded through him.

  I’m alive!

  He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then slipped again as he tried to regain his footing.

  The big yellow dog jumped into the water like it was a hot summer day, swam over to him, and planted himself, giving Zach the boost he needed to pull himself to his feet.

  Zach tried to act fast before he turned into a frozen ice block. He grabbed the black bag, turned off the ignition, and practically leaped onto the shore. He threw the bag at the English man’s outstretched arms and made a dash to the farmhouse.

  Sol and Danny had just emerged from the woods that ran along the top ridge of the farm and stopped for a moment to look over the valley as it filled with snow. It was Sol’s favorite spot on earth. From that vista, he could see from one end of his farm to the other. It gave him a deep-down satisfaction, that one speck on the planet. Even today, with the wind biting and the snow falling hard.

  Danny tugged at his pant leg. “Mom will be upset.”

  Sol nodded. “You’re right. She’s probably ready to send Zach out on a search party for us.”

  They had gotten distracted by a gory sight at the bobcat trap. It took awhile to find the trap in the new-fallen snow, but when they reached it, Sol found that the trap had been tripped. The animal had gotten away, leaving behind its bloody stump of a paw. The bobcat had chewed his paw off to save himself.

  Sol had crouched down to examine the paw, to identify it as definitely belonging to a bobcat. This particular bobcat was the craftiest one he had ever tangled with. It found its way into Mattie’s henhouse on a regular basis, helping itself to plump hens. With the kind of winter storms they were due to have, he knew this cat would be looking for a meal. He set that trap just yesterday, thinking it would tempt a hungry cat.

  He let out a soft sough.

  “Dad, that’s not good, is it? An injured bobcat?”

  Sol looked up at Danny. “Nope. Not good at all.” He was sure the jaws of the trap must have cut the bobcat bone-deep. It would be crippled and bleeding, struggling hard to survive. And vicious.

  “I feel a little sorry for it.” Danny looked to Sol to see if that was all right.

  Sol nodded that it certainly was. Anyone who grew up around farm animals couldn’t side with a bobcat in the long clash of species. But it was another thing entirely to know a creature was suffering.

  “Should we tell Mom?”

  Sol sighed. “I sure don’t want to but I probably should.”

  Danny tugged on Sol’s pant leg again, snapping him back to the moment at hand. Sol straightened up and started down the hill, bracing himself against the wind with Danny following close behind him. They took a moment to stop at the next ridge to look over the valley. Then, as they started do
wn the hill again, Sol saw the headlights of a car drive up the lane and come to a stop by the house. They picked up their pace after they saw some people get out of the car.

  Then Danny suddenly let out a yelp. “Die Kaer!” The car! He pointed down the hill, a horrified look on his face. The car was heading backward, fast, right toward the pond.

  By the time they reached the pond, Zach was bottom first in the water, somebody’s big dog was swimming toward him, an English woman in a red coat stood at the pond’s edge yelling directions, and an English man was beside her, looking mortified. Sol hunted for any kind of branch or stick that he could hold out to Zach. By the time he found something that could suffice, Zach was up and slogging through the snow and ice to reach the edge, then running up toward the farmhouse.

  Sol’s bewildered gaze shifted from the dog, shaking itself and getting everyone splattered with cold water, to the man, who had a very apologetic look on his face, to the back of the woman in the red coat. She remained facing her car in the pond, sadly shaking her head. Sol was flummoxed, unsure of what to say or do next.

  It was Danny who knew what to do. Danny went up to the woman and patted her back, like a parent consoling a child. “Es ist nur eine Kaer. Es ist nur eine Kaer.” It’s only a car. It’s only a car.

  As Zach hurried to the farmhouse before he froze like a popsicle, he rushed past Mattie, who held the door open for him.

  “Get by the stove!” she ordered. She shut the door behind him, and blocked the blast of frigid air. She guided him to a chair by the stove and pushed him into it, yanking off his shoes and socks. His teeth started chattering as he felt the heat from the stove; it seemed like pinpricks on his hands and feet.

  Sol came through the kitchen door next.

  Over her shoulder, Mattie said, “Sol! Go get some dry clothes. Quick!”

  Sol bolted up the stairs, two at a time.

  Mattie started to unbutton Zach’s shirt, but he shook his head and jutted his chin in the direction of the kitchen door. Danny had come into the kitchen with the English couple and their dog; they all stood staring at Zach. Even the dog.

  Mattie turned to the Queen Bee. “Would you get that afghan from the couch in the other room?”

  The Queen Bee disappeared for a moment and returned with the afghan.

  Mattie took it from her, then asked, “Would you mind turning around so we can get my cousin’s wet clothes off?”

  The woman flushed a deep red and spun around to face the wall, still hanging on tightly to her black bag.

  Zach’s hands felt like they were burning hot, they were so cold. Strange, he thought, how hot and cold felt like such similar pain.

  “Come on, lift up,” Mattie said. He raised his arms and she tugged his shirt up over his head. “There,” she said triumphantly, as she tossed the shirt on the floor. She wrapped an afghan around his bare chest and he leaned closer to the stove to try to capture its warmth. “You’ve got to get those wet pants off, Zach.”

  “You t-turn a-around t-too,” he chattered.

  Mattie rolled her eyes and turned around. With uncoordinated, shaking fingers, Zach unhooked his pants and tried to yank them off, but he couldn’t bend very easily, he was still so stiff and cold. Sol came down, just in time, and helped by pulling. Zach stepped gingerly into the dry pants Sol held at his feet.

  Mattie piled more blankets on top of Zach and told him to stay by the stove until his teeth stopped chattering. With the wet clothes off of him, he was getting feeling back into his hands and feet. Warmth had started to creep over his body.

  “Seems like a funny time of year for a swim,” Sol said, toweling off Zach’s hair. “Even for you.” He left the towel hanging over Zach’s head.

  Zach snatched the towel off and managed a grin. A good sign! His face was thawing. “You’ll think it’s even funnier,” he tried to say though his mouth felt stiff, “when you throw out a line next summer, hoping for trout, and you end up reeling in a car.”

  He stole a glance at the Queen Bee—this woman who nearly caused him to freeze to death tonight. He did a double take when he saw what she was doing. She was holding the baby barn owl, rocking it gently, as calm and soothing as a seasoned Amish mother. Mattie and Sol and Danny were watching the girl too, plus the man who was with her. All five of them seemed surprised to see the tender look on her face as she gazed at the owl.

  Suddenly, she looked up, her large blue eyes round with wonder. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Her eyes shifted from Zach to Sol to Danny to Mattie before resting on the English man’s. “It’s just the most beautiful thing in the world.”

  C.J. was, as usual, the one who thought to start proper introductions, taking a bit of the discomfort out of the air. For that, Jaime was thankful. C.J. made noises about trying to call for a cab and Mattie dismissed his words with a wave.

  “No one is going anywhere in this storm,” she told him, setting two more places at the table. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

  The storm had hit with a vengeance in the last half hour. Whiteout conditions. The snow was blowing sideways and drifts were already piling up on the driveway.

  Jaime handed the baby owl back to Danny. She fought back a growing desire to pull out her camera and start snapping pictures, but she knew that the Amish eschewed being photographed. She had always been fascinated by these people—an interest she had shared with her mother. She looked around the house, trying to memorize every feature. It was low-ceilinged with small rooms. Everything had a secondhand look—the faded linoleum, the crooked blue cover on the couch. The only item of value in the room seemed to be a distinguished grandfather clock that chimed every fifteen minutes. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was unremarkable. A harvest table with ten painted wooden chairs. Simple pine cupboards that lined the walls. Pale green formica countertops, outdated by decades. It was really old-fashioned, complete with stacked firewood on the porch. But the house was orderly and clean and comfortable and quite nice in every detail. It reminded Jaime of the summer cottage that her mother had rented for a week each summer for the two of them. Life pared down, scaled way back. There was no TV, no microwave, no computer. Were the Amish happier, living with so much less?

  An awareness bounced into her mind. There were no Christmas decorations. None! No Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, no cheerful presents, no gaudy lights hanging outside, no stockings on the chimney. It was two days before Christmas and there was not a single sign of it anywhere. She knew the Amish celebrated Christmas. But how? These were Jaime’s thoughts as she looked around the room.

  Mattie finished setting the table and turned toward them, a satisfied look on her face. “It’s nice for us to have company.”

  “But we’re intruding,” Jaime said. “If we could just get to a phone, we could call for a tow truck.”

  “The phone shanty lost power this afternoon when a tree branch went down on it,” Mattie said.

  “Phone shanty?” C.J. asked.

  “The only phones we’re allowed to have are kept outdoors, shared by neighbors, in a shanty,” Mattie’s husband said, pointing a thumb at the window. “About a half mile down the road.”

  Jaime banged her palm against her forehead. “My cell phone! If I could just get to it, I could call.”

  Zach gave her a suspicious look. “And where would that be?”

  “In my purse,” Jaime said. “In the car. Front seat!”

  “No,” Zach said, shaking his head firmly. “No way. Not happening. N.O.” He spelled the letters in the air as if he were writing on a chalkboard.

  C.J. ducked his head, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. It annoyed Jaime to see how amused C.J. was by Zach’s boldness. That boy wasn’t just bold, he was downright rude. So much for the stereotype of quiet Amish children! And he looked at her with undisguised interest, as though she were some kind of curious wildlife. How old was he? Sixteen? Seventeen? It was hard to tell with his Beatle hairdo, floppy bangs hanging down his foreh
ead.

  By the way that boy was glaring at her now, it was as if he was daring her to ask him to go back into that pond and fetch her purse for her. What was his problem, anyway? She was more than capable of retrieving it herself. She’d done crazier things than dipping in an icy pond while trying to snap photographs of wildlife. Besides, she had offered to go in to the pond herself! He was the one who insisted that she stay on the shore.

  Sol snorted. “By now, it’s either sunk or frozen until April.”

  Jaime regarded Sol, not appreciating that sentiment. Earlier this afternoon, at the doctor’s office, she admired what a gentle and loving father he was, but now, in his home, with these unexpected visitors, she wasn’t sure what she thought of him. She could tell he viewed them with minimal tolerance, or at the very best, as an inconvenience. He had hardly said more than a word to them, and she caught him frowning at Mattie as she set two extra place settings. She was starting to think he had the personality of a prison warden. Stiff, grim, unsmiling. But she had to admit he was exceptionally good looking.

  “You remind me of someone I photographed once,” she told Sol. “A calendar model. Mr. September.”

  As soon as she said the words, she wished them back. She was afraid Sol was going to choke. His lips crimped together while his Adam’s apple bobbed. C.J. pinched his lips together in a line, as if trying not to laugh.

  Then came a burst out of Zach, a guffaw that would have put Santa Claus to shame. “Mr. September!” he cackled out. Finally, his fit of laughter broke off into helpless snorts.

  Jaime’s face felt beet red. She should have kept her mouth shut. Saying “Mr. September” out loud did sound ridiculous. From now on, she was just going to answer questions.

  But Sol did remind her of Mr. September! Her best-paying freelance job to date had been to photograph college fraternity boys for a calendar used to raise funds for a charity. Shave off Sol’s silly horseshoe beard, give him a styled haircut, and he was a dead ringer for that photo of Mr. September—a handsome young man with a head of thick dark hair, in jeans, leaning against a split-rail fence.