Free Christmas in Apple Ridge by Cindy Woodsmall Page A

imagined every step of his story. What a beautiful way to share his experience, though the adventure sounded awfully dangerous for a man his age.
    She pressed the letter to her chest. He didn’t just carve life out of stumps of wood; he carved it into her soul.
    Drawing a deep, relaxing breath, she caught a fresh glimpse of the box on the kitchen table. She’d been so interested in reading his letter and so fixed in his words, she’d forgotten about the accompanying gift. Lifting it, she noticed two things: Lizzy hadn’t opened it, and Jonah had written a note that read: “From the same tree as the carving you bought.” Beth removed the brown paper wrapping and opened the cardboard box.
    Inside lay a hand-carved gift box. The image he’d carved thrilled her. She clutched it against herself and hurried down the steps, then ran across the road and let herself in at Lizzy’s. The bishop sat across the table from her aunt with a cup of coffee in his hand. Papers were spread on the table between them.
    It took only a brief glance to remember her aunt was planning her annual communitywide dinner, dessert, and hayride. Each year she invited all the Amish singles from communities far and wide to come. Those who lived a good distance away would stay for at least one night, often two. For all Lizzy’s years of living single, she seemed to have matchmaking in her blood, and many a couple had found each other through these events.
    Too excited to ask how the plans were coming, Beth thrust the box toward Lizzy. “Look.” She cleared her throat, trying to regain some sense of calm. “Look at what Jonah carved. Did you tell him?”
    A look passed between her aunt and the bishop, but Beth didn’t care if he minded that Jonah had sent her a carved gift.
    Lizzy’s eyes brimmed with tears even before she looked at the item. “Tell him what?”
    “Is something wrong?” Beth glanced at the bishop.
    “The excitement in your eyes and voice.” Lizzy rose and cupped Beth’s cheeks between her hands. “That’s all.”
    Realizing anew how her sorrow and guilt grieved Lizzy too, Beth hugged her. She’d tried to spare her aunt as much as she could with her silence, but it must not have been enough.
    As Beth stepped back, Lizzy wiped the tears from her face. “Let’s see what has you glowing.” Her aunt peered inside the cardboard box and touched the carved sleigh and its two riders. “No, Beth, I didn’t tell him.”
    Beth brushed her finger along the side of the sleigh. “He even carved sleigh bells just like the etched bronze ones I love so much.”
    “What didn’t your aunt tell him?” Omar asked.
    Beth took the box with her as she moved to a kitchen chair. “I know you remember when my family could barely keep food on the table.”
    “I remember. Blessings galore but hardly any money.”
    “Well, whenever Daed asked what I wanted for Christmas, I always wanted a sleigh ride. But we didn’t own a sleigh, and he must not have known anyone who did, because year after year Christmas came and went without me getting a sleigh ride.”
    “But he tried other things.” Lizzy suppressed a smile.
    Recalling half a dozen inventive ideas her father had come up with instead, Beth broke into laughter, and Lizzy joined her. How long had it been since she remembered something fun … and guilt free?
    “Ya, he did. One year he fastened a saucer sled behind a horse and put me in his lap.” Beth rubbed her head, mocking pain. “If you know anything about saucers, you know we were bound to fly into something at full speed. And we did, but between our heavy clothing and the thick snow, neither of us was seriously hurt.”
    Lizzy took a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee before setting it in front of Beth. “If I remember right, one year he attached a tarp to the back of a wagon, but the rope broke and slung you and your Daed into the road.”
    “We must have skidded on our backsides twenty feet before stopping.”