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    The Amish Christmas Letters
    The Amish Christmas Letters
    The Amish Christmas Letters
    Ebook374 pages6 hours

    The Amish Christmas Letters

    By Patricia Davids, Sarah Price and Jennifer Beckstrand

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    In this Amish romance anthology, three cousins in different states share holiday cheer and tales of new love through a delightful letter-writing tradition.

    Marybeth's Circle Letter by Patricia Davids

    To win a friendly competition, matchmaker Marybeth Martin must bring one more couple together by Christmas. Her only prospect is a man more interested in a nanny than a wife—until his little girl shows him the light.

    Love Delivered by Sarah Price

    Struggling farmer's daughter Katie Mae Kauffman discovers that she and a local widower can harvest more crops—and profits—by working together. But she'll have to put pride aside to make room for unexpected love.

    Sealed with a Kiss by Jennifer Beckstrand

    Corralling an unruly brood of seven is not babysitter Carolyn Yutzy's first choice for celebrating the season—but the sparks between her and their handsome uncle may be the best gift either has received.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKensington Books
    Release dateSep 25, 2018
    ISBN9781496717641
    Author

    Patricia Davids

     USA Today best-selling author Patricia Davids was born and raised in Kansas. After forty years as an NICU nurse, Pat switched careers to become an inspirational writer. She enjoys spending time with her daughter and grandchildren, traveling and playing with her dogs, who think fetch should be a twenty-four hour a day game. When not on the road or throwing a ball, Pat is happily dreaming up new stories.  

    Read more from Patricia Davids

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    • 5/5
      What a great combination of Amish authors, and loved these novella, just the right length to pull me in, and keep my attention.With a general theme and relationship between each of these authors tell their own story, and with enjoyable results.What they have in common is a circle letter, before the phone was affordable families and friends used these, and I remember my Mother-In-Law looking for hers to come from her college friends.By the time I finished this book I wanted to continue with these now mutual friends, and hope to reconnect with these characters in future books.Of course, I wondered if Felty Jr with be with us again, miss my Annie Bananie.I received this book through Net Galley and the Publisher Kensington, and was not required to give a positive review.

    Book preview

    The Amish Christmas Letters - Patricia Davids

    Bios

    Marybeth’s Circle Letter

    PATRICIA DAVIDS

    This story is happily dedicated to Sarah Price. Thanks for thinking of me, girl.

    Chapter 1

    November 24

    My dearest cousins,

    I write this letter with a deep and growing sense of doom. Christmas is but four weeks away, and it appears I shall be the one to host Great Aunt Ingrid for her fortnight holiday visit to Sugarcreek this year. No single event fills my heart with dread as much as knowing I will be subjected to her constant criticism, fault-finding and disapproval for two full weeks during the season when joy should fill our hearts and homes. Do I dare mention her horrible fruitcakes? I know it is unchristian of me to feel that way. I can’t help it. Pray that God gives me the patience to endure this trial, or that by some miracle I find one more couple to prod into declaring their love for each other before Christmas Eve.

    As you may have surmised, Cousin Wilma has for the first time in four years facilitated more matches than I did this year, and she must soon be declared the winner of our annual contest. It is truly humbling to know how badly I misjudged Sarah Troyer’s affections for the handsome Isaac Stutzman, while Wilma correctly read that the young woman’s eye was on Isaac’s plain-looking and shy brother Carl. Her idea to have Carl build an array of birdhouses for Sarah’s garden was a stroke of genius. I was unaware they were both bird-watchers. Who knew the sight of a blue-winged warbler could unlock a shy fellow’s tongue?

    I know this game of ours must seem silly to you, but our hobby does help pass the extra time that two old maids sometimes have on their hands. Before you insist that my advanced age of thirty-two is not ancient enough to be declared an old maid, let me assure you that I am content to wear the label. Both Wilma and I have accepted that God’s plan for us does not include husbands, but we enjoy helping other people discover the best qualities in potential mates. I still believe in love, although it has never come my way. I reckon after having Great Aunt Ingrid stay with her for the last four Christmases, Wilma will be glad of the respite, but Ingrid really does like Wilma better than she likes me.

    My brother, David, is in fine health and says he has no news to share. Does he ever? Please write soon and tell me all about your Christmas plans. Your wonderful, entertaining letters fill me with envy, for nothing much ever happens here in Sugarcreek.

    Yours sincerely,

    Marybeth

    Marybeth Martin removed her previous letter from the mail packet and tucked her new note in with the ones her cousins had included. Circle letters kept her in touch with her distant family members and made sure everyone heard the same news. She sealed the envelope and stuck it in her bag to drop off at the post office after she met Wilma for lunch. When the packet made its way around the family and returned to Marybeth in a few weeks, it would contain all new letters from her cousins to enjoy.

    She slipped on her coat and tied her black traveling bonnet over her white kapp, then opened the door. Pausing on the front porch of her brother’s home, she took time to savor the beautiful day. Indian summer was hanging on by a thread. The trees had dropped most of their brightly colored leaves, and only the dark green of the pines and cedars kept the woods along the ridge from looking bare. The fields still held traces of the fall harvest in the bundles of cornstalks stacked together like teepees, but most of the land sat empty, waiting for the snow to cover it.

    The brisk breeze that fanned her cheeks held the promise of cooler days ahead. She wasn’t ready for winter. The short days and dreary weather left her feeling low and lonely. More so this year than most. It was hard to muster holiday cheer when two weeks with Aunt Ingrid loomed in her future. How could she make a match before Christmas? Should she simply admit defeat to Wilma at lunch today?

    Marybeth shook off her gloomy thoughts. It wasn’t like her to give up. If there was even a sliver of hope, she would find a way. Matchmaking was more than her hobby. It was her God-given gift. Surely someone she knew needed only a tiny push from her to find the love of their life.

    Having renewed her determination, she started down the steps. Her brother had harnessed her mare Trixie to her two-wheeled cart as she had asked him to do at breakfast. David didn’t always remember her instructions, or perhaps he preferred to ignore the ones he didn’t want to carry out. Either way, she rarely counted on his cooperation, but today was a pleasant surprise. He was sharpening an ax at the grinding wheel beside the barn. She waved to him. "Danki, David, I’m happy you remembered."

    Beats being nagged, he snapped without looking up.

    I don’t nag, I simply remind you of things you have forgotten.

    She couldn’t hear his muttered response. Perhaps that was for the best. As an unmarried woman, she lived on the charity of her brother and tried to make the best of it. David was fifteen years her senior and a confirmed bachelor who was becoming more set in his ways by the year. He might miss her cooking if she ever left, but nothing else. He had his own way of doing things that didn’t always mesh with hers.

    Climbing into her cart, Marybeth headed her mare down the lane to the narrow blacktop that ran between Sugarcreek and Berlin. Trixie trotted along at a steady pace and traffic was light. Twenty minutes later, Marybeth turned into the parking lot beside the grocery store. She needed to pick up a few things, and she was early for her date with Wilma.

    Inside the store, she began filling her shopping cart with flour, brown sugar, spices and other ingredients she would need for her holiday baking. She added a large tin of cocoa. There were sure to be skating parties if it got cold enough and hot chocolate was a must. Stopping beside the shredded coconut, she decided on two bags. Cookie exchange parties required several dozen cookies of assorted types to share, and her coconut macaroons were always in demand. She added several assorted cake mixes she could whip up quickly for any spontaneous visits by out-of-town guests. Marybeth was nothing if not prepared.

    Great minds think alike.

    She looked up to see her cousin Wilma pushing a shopping cart toward her. Wilma pointed to the nearly identical items in her own basket.

    Marybeth chuckled. You should have mentioned that you needed groceries. I could have picked up two of everything and dropped it by your house.

    I’m not so old that I need someone to do my shopping for me. Wilma would be fifty-five in January, but she and Marybeth were great friends despite the differences in age and in looks. Wilma was tiny and spry at five foot one with graying brown hair. Marybeth towered over her at six foot. Her white-blond hair didn’t show a touch of gray, but no one would call her spry. Her brother said she tromped through life. She preferred to think of her manly stride as purposeful. The two women often visited back and forth even though they belonged to different church groups and lived more than ten miles apart.

    Wilma adjusted her glasses as she peered into Marybeth’s cart. You forgot the fresh ginger. You know how Great Aunt Ingrid loves her gingersnaps.

    Marybeth rolled her eyes and headed to the checkout. My cookies won’t hold a candle to yours in Ingrid’s opinion, but I’m not conceding defeat just yet.

    Wilma’s grin widened. Come, come, you must know you are beaten.

    Your overconfidence will be your downfall, Wilma. Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched.

    The checkout line hadn’t moved. Marybeth looked to see what the holdup was. Josiah Weaver was paying for his groceries at the checkout counter two people ahead of her. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was a widower. He had only recently returned to the Sugarcreek area, but she had known him when they were children. She studied him carefully as he counted out his loose change to cover his bill.

    His flat-topped black Amish hat didn’t hide the fact that he needed a haircut, and his winter coat hung loosely on his tall frame. She knew he’d suffered a broken leg and other injures when a car hit his buggy six months ago. The accident had followed painfully close on the heels of his wife’s passing, and Marybeth’s bishop had spoken of Josiah’s trials at a recent church service, asking the congregation to assist him with his medical bills. She, along with other church members, had donated generously to his fund.

    She rose on tiptoe to watch the cashier sack Josiah’s purchases: a jar of peanut butter, grape jelly, celery and six boxes of macaroni and cheese. No wonder he was thin if the meager foodstuff he was buying was his usual fare.

    A girl about four years old clung to his leg like a silent shadow, keeping her face hidden against him. When she did look up, her eyes darted around fearfully. The dark green winter coat the child wore barely covered her wrists. The hem hung loose on one side. The kapp covering her brown hair was a dull gray instead of white. It needed to be bleached and starched. It was clear Josiah wasn’t coping well as both mother and father.

    It took Marybeth all of ten seconds to decide she was looking at her next matrimonial prospect. The child needed a mother. Josiah Weaver needed a wife. Marybeth tapped a finger against her lips. Which of the unmarried women in the area would be a good match for him?

    What are you staring at? Wilma asked, leaning to look around Marybeth.

    Hush. Marybeth turned and pretended to study the candy bar display beside her. I don’t want him to know I’m interested, and I saw him first, Wilma Martin. He’s mine.

    Wilma clapped a hand over her mouth as she chuckled. He won’t do you any good. Christmas is only a month away. I’ll grant you are a skilled matchmaker, but even you aren’t that good. You should concede defeat and prepare to welcome Great Aunt Ingrid for her visit.

    I haven’t given up. Our little contest goes until Christmas Eve. Besides, you have done such an excellent job of hosting Ingrid these past four years that I wouldn’t dare think of trying to take your place.

    Do you even remember how our contest got started? Wilma asked. She was covertly studying Josiah, too.

    Of course, I do. You and I were both wondering which of us Ingrid would decide to grace with her presence ten years ago. I noticed Jenny Yoder making eyes at Herman Beiler, who was making eyes at Constance Miller. You said he would ask Constance to marry him before the end of the summer. I said he would ask Jenny Yoder, and if he didn’t, I would volunteer to invite Ingrid to my home.

    That’s right. How did you get him to notice Jenny? She was such a quiet mouse of a girl.

    By doing my research. I learned Herman had a weakness for flashy horses and strawberry rhubarb pie. Constance was a pretty girl but not much of a cook. My father had just purchased a fine-looking, high-stepping Standardbred that he hoped to resell for a higher price to one of the local boys. I got him to agree that Jenny could drive the animal for the summer. I explained that having all the young men see the horse in action would have a dozen fellows or more competing to purchase him. I told Jenny she was to take a strawberry rhubarb pie as her covered dish at every youth gathering.

    So, the boy noticed the horse.

    Then he noticed the girl driving, and then he noticed she brought his favorite treat to every singing and picnic. When she offered to let him drive the horse, he was smitten.

    "Did he buy the horse from your daed?"

    He did and for a hefty sum. My father was very pleased.

    Who will you match Josiah with? Wilma whispered in her ear.

    Marybeth went over the potential candidates in her mind. Anna May Miller is close to Josiah in age. She is twenty-three. I think Josiah is twenty-seven or twenty-eight.

    She knew he was younger than she was because he had grown up in the area and had been several years behind her in school. He took his daughter’s hand and walked out with his bag of groceries. She noticed he walked with a limp.

    How are you going to find out if he is interested in someone already?

    That was a problem. How did she ask a man who was practically a stranger if she could provide him with a potential wife before Christmas? She saw him stop at his buggy. She didn’t have time to waste with social niceties. I’m simply going to ask him. I’ll meet you at the café.

    Marybeth moved her cart out of the checkout line and parked it beside the newspaper display. She hurried and caught up with him as he lifted his daughter into his buggy. May I have a word with you, Josiah?

    Chapter 2

    Marybeth swallowed the lump of apprehension in her throat and composed her features into a friendly smile. A puzzled expression crossed his face but quickly faded. Marybeth Martin, right? You are David’s sister.

    I’m surprised you remember me. She wasn’t. There wasn’t another woman her height in the entire county. He was tall enough that she didn’t have to look down on him as she did most men. It was a welcome change. Up close it was easy to see the strain his injury and illness had placed on him. There were dark circles under his eyes; his cheeks were lean and sunken behind his short beard.

    What can I do for you?

    She cleared her throat, for she was about to stretch the truth. She had several women in mind for him, but they didn’t know that. This must seem strange and perhaps very forward, but I am acting as the go-between for a young woman. I am here to discover if you are in a relationship or if you would be open to meeting her.

    His eyebrows shot up. Marybeth anticipated his surprise. It was unheard of for a woman to send a go-between to gauge a man’s interest in dating her. It was the would-be suitor’s responsibility to find a male relative of the woman and have him discover if she was willing to go out on a date.

    Josiah turned away, unsnapped his horse’s tether, and picked up the weight used to keep the horse from wandering away. I am not interested in dating your friend or anyone else, but if you know someone who can work as a nanny for the next three weeks, I will gladly meet her.

    Marybeth smiled at his daughter. The child hid her face behind his arm, but not before Marybeth saw the fear in her eyes. Her heart went out to the child. I’m sure you can find someone to fill that post without difficulty.

    He put the weight in the buggy. You would think so, but I need someone to start on Monday. I’ll be working the second shift over at the RV factory. That means someone must stay with Simone at my home until nearly midnight, and no one wants to do that.

    Can’t she spend the night with a friend or relative?

    "Nee, please, Daed, I want to stay at home," Simone whispered with a catch in her voice. She was on the verge of tears.

    It’s all right. You can stay home. He patted her arm before turning back to Marybeth. She had a rough time while I was in the hospital. I want her to stay where she feels comfortable. Can you think of anyone for the job?

    His compassion for his child’s welfare touched Marybeth deeply. I can’t think of anyone offhand, but if I do, I will send her your way.

    Danki. He nodded, but she could see he didn’t feel much hope. Tell your friend I’m flattered by her interest and mean no disrespect by my refusal.

    I will.

    He climbed in his buggy and drove away. Marybeth was still standing on the sidewalk staring after him when Wilma pushed her loaded cart up beside her. What did he say? Tell me. Tell me this instant.

    Marybeth chewed on the corner of her lower lip. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding the depth of his desperation. His air of sadness was almost palpable. He’s not interested in dating, but he should be. The child almost breaks my heart. Did you see how frightened she was of everyone and everything? Karen King might be just the woman for him. She has a very kind heart.

    I thought you said he isn’t interested in dating.

    "He’s not. He’s looking for a kinder heeda to take care of his little girl for three weeks."

    Why only three weeks?

    Marybeth fisted her hands on her hips as she gazed at his buggy until he turned the corner. I don’t know. There’s a lot about him I don’t know. This isn’t going to be easy, but I can’t give up. I must find a way to help him.

    Forget it. Let’s get some lunch. I paid for your groceries by the way.

    "Danki, but I don’t think I can forget about the man."

    Wilma’s eyebrows rose a fraction. Really?

    He desperately needs someone to take care of him and his daughter, and not just for a few weeks.

    If you feel that strongly about the man, then you should take the nanny job.

    What? Marybeth looked to see if Wilma was joking. She wasn’t.

    Wilma laid a hand on Marybeth’s arm. My dear, what better way to discover the type of man he is and the kind of woman he needs than to see him and his child daily? What’s stopping you? You have three weeks you can spare to aid them, don’t you?

    Marybeth realized her cousin was right. She did have the time to help him. In the short term and in the long term. She slowly smiled. Wilma, you are a genius.

    Wilma laughed and started walking toward the café. "Nee, but I’m a wunderbar goot matchmaker. Don’t forget I said that when Christmas Eve rolls around."

    * * *

    Josiah sat across the kitchen table from his daughter and watched her stir circles in the macaroni and cheese in her bowl. Very little found its way to her mouth. She worried him deeply. Every day she seemed to fold inside herself a little more. He was afraid one day she would be lost to him.

    What’s wrong, Simone? He knew exactly what her answer would be, but he asked the question anyway.

    Nothing, she whispered.

    Always the same answer if she even bothered to give one. I thought you liked macaroni and cheese? Am I wrong?

    Silence.

    He should be used to it by now, but he couldn’t reconcile the engaging chatterbox she had been at three years old with the mute child she had become within a year. Losing her mother and then having him hospitalized less than four months later had changed his daughter drastically.

    He stirred the unappetizing pasta in watery yellow sauce around on his plate. "Your mamm was a much better cook than I am."

    Simone glanced up at him and then stared at her plate again.

    I look forward to the day when you can take over the cooking. That will be fun for you, won’t it?

    She shrugged.

    He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Every meal since his release from the hospital had been pretty much the same. He tried talking to his daughter and she said as little as possible in return.

    He gave up on eating, rose and scraped his plate into the trash before placing it in the sink. When he turned around Simone was behind him. He took the plate from her. Go get ready for bed. Make sure you brush your teeth. Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll come tuck you in.

    She walked with lagging steps down the hall. At the door to her room she looked back at him for a long time and then silently went inside.

    After washing the dishes and placing them in the rack to dry, he stepped outside. The sun had set, but clouds in the western sky were still ablaze with red and gold colors. He walked to the swing at the end of the porch.

    Emma’s swing.

    His wife had insisted on having one although he thought it was too fancy for an Amish home. A plain wooden bench or chair provided an adequate spot to rest or remove muddy shoes before going into the house. A porch swing invited a person to linger and while away time best spent on other projects. He had brought the swing with him from their last home along with the other furniture, knowing she would never use it again. Even so, he couldn’t leave it behind.

    He sat down and rubbed his aching thigh. The bone had knit with the help of a steel plate, but it ached when he was tired. He closed his eyes and gave a little push, letting the motion bring back the memory of swinging beside Emma and listening to her recount her day or regale him with stories of Simone’s antics. He missed her so much.

    I beg pardon for interrupting your evening, Josiah.

    He opened his eyes. Marybeth Martin came striding through the front yard gate and up to the steps. Annoyed at the interruption, he scowled at her. I thought I made myself clear earlier. I have no desire to walk out with your friend.

    She smiled, not the least bit intimidated by his scowl. I believe you also said you needed a nanny.

    He sat bolt upright. You know someone who will take the job?

    I do. She smiled brightly. Me.

    You? He leaned back in the swing. He hadn’t expected that.

    She folded her hands primly in front of her and cocked her head ever so slightly. Is that so surprising?

    I guess not. David Martin was a successful farmer. There was no reason for his sister to go to work unless she wanted to.

    A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. She quickly subdued it. Please control your enthusiasm.

    She was right. He should be overjoyed, but something about this didn’t seem quite right. Was she here out of pity? You understand this is only for three weeks?

    I do.

    You understand you will have to stay here until almost midnight, Monday through Friday?

    She bowed her head once. I do.

    And you understand that my daughter has some special needs. She doesn’t like change.

    She met his gaze without flinching. I understand. I will take great care not to upset her.

    About the question of pay.

    She waved her hand dismissively. I don’t require payment of any sort. I will take the job on one condition.

    He knew it couldn’t be this easy. What kind of condition?

    I am perfectly willing to care for your daughter and manage the household chores for three weeks without pay if you will agree to go out with the woman of my choosing.

    He folded his arms over his chest. I am not interested in courting anyone. How much plainer can I be?

    Your feelings are quite clear. I am not suggesting that you court this woman. I’m asking you to spend one evening in her company with an open mind.

    Who is she?

    I’d rather not say.

    Why not?

    I don’t want you to form an unwarranted prejudice against her because of my forward behavior.

    Was this her idea?

    Absolutely not. The woman has no idea that I’m here. Just so we know where we each stand, you are desperate. I am taking advantage of that fact. I am also providing a needed service free of charge.

    I wouldn’t say it was entirely free of charge.

    You have me there. A single evening spent with a pleasant companion is a bitter pill to swallow, I’m sure.

    When he didn’t answer she continued. If you find someone to take the job before Monday, feel free to hire them. If you find you have changed your mind about courting someone, I will withdraw my condition and still stay the three weeks.

    When does this outing you insist on have to take place?

    I haven’t had a chance to work out that detail. I wasn’t sure you would agree and actually, you haven’t.

    He rose to his feet and walked behind the swing to lean on the porch railing and look out at his poor excuse of a farm. If he didn’t find someone, he would have no choice but to stay home with Simone and lose the only job he had been able to get.

    His mortgage was already falling behind because he’d been unable to work. To make his payments, he had sold all his livestock except for one buggy horse. The church had taken care of most of his medical bills, but he had paid what he could. There was nothing left. If he didn’t start bringing in some money, he would lose the farm. Simone needed a home and security. He needed to give her that. Otherwise she might never come out of the shell she had withdrawn inside.

    How was turning her over to a woman she barely knew going to help her? He sighed heavily and faced Marybeth.

    She took a quick step forward and held out her hand. Do we have a bargain?

    Chapter 3

    It seems I have no choice. One outing and that’s it, Josiah stressed. Your friend will be disappointed if she expects anything else.

    A joyful smile brightened Marybeth’s face. You won’t be sorry.

    He was sorry already. Reluctantly, he took her hand.

    Her grasp was as firm as any man’s, but her skin was surprisingly soft. He glanced down at her slender, delicate fingers. She had very feminine hands.

    Feminine wasn’t a word he would have used to describe David’s sister. He was used to thinking of her as a plain, no-nonsense madel who spoke her mind as she saw fit. He’d never given her more than a passing glance. Up close he could see her pale eyes were a beautiful clear blue, not cold, but warm, like the blue light of a gas flame. They seemed to draw him in with the promise of comfort.

    Surprised by his fanciful notion, he dropped her hand and took a step back. The RV company sends a driver to pick up their Amish employees and bring us home again. They will pick me up at two-thirty in the afternoon.

    That will be fine. She clasped her hands together tightly. Her voice held an odd breathless quality. She took two steps back and licked her lips, making them glisten rosy pink in the twilight. They were full and soft looking, something else at odds with her manly attitude.

    He focused on the floor instead of her mouth. What was wrong with him?

    She took another step back. "I will . . .

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