Her Amish Christmas Choice

“Gut. What needs to be done?” Martin asked.

Julia shrugged, brushing at her faded blue jeans. “As you can see, the front porch is falling apart, there are two gaping holes in one of the walls of my workroom, and I need to install counters, cabinets and shelving in the area where I plan to make and sell my soap.”

Martin nodded, seeming to mentally calculate how to accomplish these tasks. “You make soap?”

“Yes, among other things. I sell my products nationwide. But since the soap needs to cure for four or five weeks, I’m eager to get some made before my next contract comes due the first of February. I supply handmade soaps to KostSmart.”

He looked at her without recognition. Obviously, this Amish man didn’t get out much if he’d never heard of the giant supermarket chain. But since they didn’t have a KostSmart here in Riverton, she figured it was unimportant. As long as the town had a postal service, she could ship her goods anywhere in the world.

“Follow me.” Julia slipped through the front door. “The porch is the first thing I need repaired, so we can walk inside without fearing for our lives.”

“Ja, I see that.” Martin showed a wry smile as he trailed after her. Upon entering the spacious room, he pulled the hat off his head. Hank did likewise, copying his brother’s every movement.

Wow! They sure were polite. Dallin, her ex-fiancé, had never treated her so courteously. Never said please or thank you. Never asked how she was. How it hurt to discover he was coming over not to spend time with her, but to be near her former best friend, Debbie. But Dallin had loved kids. Julia had longed for a family of her own and thought she would have it with him. Losing her fiancé and best friend all at once had broken her heart and left her feeling more alone than ever before.

She mentally shook her head. No! She was not going to think about Dallin. She’d already cried buckets of tears over him. She and Mom had a fresh start and it didn’t include her two-timing fiancé and ex–best friend. But he’d taught her one important lesson: never trust a man.

“Exactly how skilled a carpenter and plumber are you?” she asked.

“I am skilled enough for the work you need done.” Martin’s voice was filled with confidence and a sweeping honesty. But Dallin’s lies had taught her to question everything.

“Can you expand on your experience, please?” she asked.

“Ja…” Martin took a deep breath. “I have helped the men in my Gmay build seven barns, nine houses, a variety of sheds and outbuildings and many pieces of furniture in my father’s home.”

“What is a Gmay?” she asked.

“The Amish community here in Riverton. Members of our congregation follow the same Ordnung and attend church together. We also rely on one another in all facets of everyday life,” he said.

“Ordnung?” she asked, enthralled by his use of new words and curious to know their meaning.

“The unwritten rules that govern our community.”

“Oh. Then, I suppose you are skilled enough,” she said.

Still, a lance of skepticism speared her. Although the building she owned was quite shabby, Julia had a vision of a happy place to live. Some nails and paint could transform this store beautifully. She was determined to make it work. Determined to secure a future for her and Mom. She must! She was alone now and had promised her father before his death that she’d look after her mother. After all, Mom was the only family she had left.

Martin glanced around the enormous room filled with boxes, broken furniture and piles of junk.

“Except for the old woodstove, I’d like everything hauled off to the dump,” she said.

“Ja, I can do that. Hank will help me,” Martin said.

Hank nodded eagerly. Julia didn’t see how they could carry everything off without a truck, but she didn’t say so. She had already cleared tons of debris from their living quarters upstairs and stacked it neatly in the backyard until they could haul it off. When she considered the bit of money Grandpa Walt had left her, she didn’t want to spend it on a car. Although she had a driver’s license, they’d sold their broken-down truck to pay bills many months ago. When she and Mom had moved to Colorado, they’d shipped their few possessions here, then traveled to town via bus. The general store, post office and bank were within walking distance, so they shouldn’t need a vehicle.

“What do you charge?” She braced herself, but there was no need. Martin requested such a low hourly rate for himself and Hank that she was compelled to offer more.

Martin shook his head. “Ne, the price I have asked is sufficient for our needs.”

“But…but I don’t want to cheat you,” she said.

“You won’t. I trust you. It is a fair price for both of us,” he insisted, his gaze never wavering.

Hank didn’t say a word, just gawked at his brother with complete confidence.

“All right. When can you start?” she asked, hoping he didn’t let her down.

“Right now. But we don’t work on Sundays. I’ll get my tools.”

He headed outside with Hank. She watched them through the grimy windows that desperately needed cleaning. While many people worked or played on Sunday, she figured Martin and his family must go to church. With her father’s death and mother’s illness, she’d been thinking about God quite a bit lately. She’d been hungering to know and understand His place in her life. She’d even considered going to church, to see if she could learn more about Him, though she hadn’t had time to act on that goal yet.

It was then she noticed a horse and buggy-wagon, tied beneath the tall elm tree that edged the five-space parking lot in front of the store. Martin reached into the back of the wagon, lifted out a large wooden toolbox with a handle on it, then headed back toward the store with Hank trailing after him like a waddling duck.

With a measuring tape, Martin calculated the expanse of the porch and made some notes with a pencil and notepad. Placing his hands on his narrow hips, he studied the wreckage. Hank copied his brother’s stance, his pudgy hands on his thick waist. Standing side by side, the two brothers looked endearing. When Martin jerked on a pair of leather gloves and started stacking debris off to the side of the building, Hank did likewise.

Soon, Martin appeared at the front door. “I’m afraid the lumber is rotted clear through.” He met Julia’s gaze.

“What do you recommend?” she asked.

“I should install new lumber and then paint it to match the rest of the store. It’ll be more sound and last you for years to come.”

Again, she was struck by his self-confidence. “All right. If you’ll go to the building supply store, just tell Byron Stott what you need and to put the charge on my account. I’ve already made arrangements with him and he knows I’ll have someone coming in to buy supplies for me.”

She didn’t tell him that she’d also warned Byron not to let her new handyman cheat her. Byron knew he must provide her with a receipt. She’d trusted money to Dallin once and it had quickly disappeared. She wouldn’t do that again.

Martin nodded, then turned on his boot heels and went outside. Hank was poking the dirt with a long stick but came running when his brother called him. As the two climbed into the buggy, Julia folded her arms, thinking it was much too cold in the shop. Soon, the snow would fly. She should speak with Martin about obtaining firewood for the old black stove. Hopefully he would know where she could buy fuel at the lowest price.

Turning, she glanced out the window, noticing the horse and buggy had disappeared from view. Trust. It wasn’t a new notion to her, but something she no longer freely gave to everyone she met. Dallin had betrayed her trust, but she was willing to try one more time. She just hoped Martin Hostetler didn’t let her down.

Martin stood inside the building supply store and gazed at the stacks of two-by-fours he intended to buy. Wearing his heavy leather gloves, he lifted several boards onto his flat cart and thought about the woman who had just hired him.

Julia Rose was pretty, with a small upturned nose, a stubborn chin and soft brown eyes that showed intelligence and an eagerness to succeed but also a bit of self-doubt. With her russet hair pulled back in a long ponytail and no makeup, she looked almost Amish. But not in the blue jeans and shirt she was wearing. And most definitely not without the white organdy prayer kapp that all Amish women wore.

She was Englisch. A woman of the world. Yet, Martin couldn’t help admiring her spunk. The way she’d stood on that rickety ladder and gripped the hammer told him she was determined. In fact, she reminded him of his mamm, who had raised six children and still worked beside his daed after twenty-eight years, doing whatever needed to be done without complaint.

“Whatcha gonna make?” Hank asked in Deitsch, the German dialect his Amish people used among themselves.

Martin turned and found his brother standing beside him. He was as sweet and sincere as they came. The Amish only went to school through the eighth grade. Now that Hank was too old for that, Martin had taken him under his wing. Both his parents tended to lose their patience with Hank and his penchant for getting into trouble, but Martin had deep compassion for his younger brother and had recently started taking the boy with him.

“Remember, we’re making a porch overhang for Rose Soapworks?” Martin said.

“Ja, that’s right. I remember now,” Hank said, his thick voice filled with a happy lilt. Nothing seemed to ruffle the boy’s feathers. He was always in a good mood.

Pushing his cart, Martin headed toward the aisle where sheets of metal siding were stacked in tidy order. He was careful not to buy too much. He’d been pleasantly surprised when Julia Rose had told him to come pick out the supplies he would need and he didn’t want to betray her trust.

“Julia’s gonna like the porch we make, huh, Mar-tin?” Hank said, speaking his name as if it were two words.

“Ja, I hope so. But you should call her Miss Rose.”