Amish Christmas Memories. Vannetta Chapman

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      “My last girlfriend.”

      “Oh. Well, I can’t remember my last boyfriend, so you’re still a step ahead of me.”

      Caleb cleared his throat, returned the pitcher of milk to the refrigerator and then sat down across from her again. When he clasped his hands together, she knew she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. She suddenly felt defensive and bristly, like a cat rubbed the wrong way.

      “My parents wanted to give you a few days to adjust, but I think there are some things you should know.”

      “There are?”

      “Our community is quite conservative—we’re a branch of the Swiss Amish, as Bishop Amos explained.”

      “He’s a nice man.”

      “As long as you’re staying...well, this is awkward, but...”

      “Just spit it out, Caleb.” She’d had this sort of conversation before, though she couldn’t remember the details. Somewhere in her injured brain was the memory of someone else trying to set her straight. Why did people always think they knew what was best for her?

      “Our women always keep their heads covered—always.”

      “Oh.” Rachel’s hand went to her hair, which was unbraided and not covered. “Even in the house?”

      Caleb glanced at her and then away. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Depends, but my point is that for some reason you weren’t wearing a kapp when I found you.”

      “Maybe I lost it.”

      “And your hair was down—you know, unbraided, like it is now.”

      She pulled her hair over her right shoulder, nervously running her fingers through it. “Anything else?”

      “Your clothes are all wrong.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Wrong color, wrong...pattern or whatever you call it.”

      “The color is wrong?”

      “We only wear muted colors—no bright greens or blues.”

      “Because?”

      “Because it draws attention and we’re called to a life of humility and selflessness.”

      Rachel jumped up, walked to the sink and rinsed out her cup. When she had her temper under control, or thought she did, she turned back to him. “Any other words of wisdom?”

      Caleb was now standing, too, but near the table with his arms crossed in front, as if he was afraid she’d come too close. “Not that I know of...not now...”

      “But?”

      “Look, Rachel. I’m not being rude or mean. These are things I think you’d be better hearing from me than having people say behind your back.”

      “Is that what type of community you have? One that talks behind people’s backs?”

      “Every community does that, and it’s more from curiosity and boredom than meanness.”

      “All right, then, tell me. What else do I need to know? So I won’t incite gossip and all.”

      “It’s only that you’re obviously from a more progressive district.”

      “Oh, it’s obvious, is it?”

      “And so you might want to question your first instinct for things, stop and watch what other people do, be sensitive to offending others.”

      “You are kidding me. That’s what you’re worried about?”

      “I’m worried about a lot of things.”

      “I’ve lost my entire world, everyone I knew, and you’re concerned I’ll offend someone?”

      “I’ve hurt your feelings, and I didn’t mean to do that.”

      “That’s something, I suppose.”

      “But you’ll thank me tomorrow or the next day or a week from now.”

      “I’m not so sure about that, Caleb, but there is one thing I do know.” She stepped closer and looked down at her hair, which was still pulled forward and reached well past her waist. When she glanced back up at him, she saw that he was staring at it. She waited for him to raise his eyes to hers.

      He swallowed and shifted from one foot to the other. “There was one thing you wanted to say?”

      “Ya. Your old girlfriend?”

      “Emily?”

      “The one who told you that you were stubborn and old-fashioned.”

      “That would be Emily.” He reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck. When he did, she smelled the soap he’d used earlier, noticed the muscles in his arm flex. His blond hair flopped forward, and it occurred to her that he was a nice-looking guy—nice-looking but with a terrible attitude and zero people skills.

      “Between you and me—she was right. You are stubborn. You are old-fashioned, and you should keep your helpful hints to yourself.”

      And with that, she turned and fled down the hall, feeling better than she had since Caleb had rescued her from the snow.

      * * *

      The next morning, Caleb took as long with his chores as he dared. There was really no point in avoiding Rachel. She lived in their house now, and he would have to get used to her being around.

      His mind darted back to her long hair. It wasn’t brown exactly, or chestnut—more the warm color of honey. It had reminded him of kitten fur. As she’d stood next to him in the kitchen, he’d had the irrational urge to reach out and comb his fingers through it. The moonlight had softened her expression, and for a moment the look of vulnerability had vanished. Sure, it had vanished and been replaced with anger.

      He remembered her parting words and almost laughed. He’d only been trying to help, but he’d never been particularly tactful. The fact that she’d called him on it...well, it showed that she had spunk and hopefully that she was healing. He decided to take it for a good sign rather than be offended.

      When he walked into the kitchen, he noticed that her hair was properly braided, and she’d apparently borrowed one of his mother’s kapps. Unfortunately, she wore the same dress as the day before. She gave him a pointed look, as if daring him to say something about it, but what could he say? It really wasn’t his business. He’d done his duty by warning her. The rest was out of his hands.

      Everyone sat at the table, waiting on him, so he washed his hands quickly and joined them. After a silent prayer, he began to fill his plate. He heaped on portions of scrambled eggs, sizzling sausage, homemade biscuits and breakfast potatoes, which were chopped and fried with onions СКАЧАТЬ