A Boy's Amish Christmas

highlight_author

Patricia Johns

highlight_reads

16,6K

highlight_chapters

highlight_author

Patricia Johns

highlight_reads

16,6K

highlight_chapters

🏙️ Contemporary

CHAPTER ONE

BRETT ROCKWELL GLANCED over his shoulder at the back seat of his Ford F-150, where his nephew sat. The five-year-old’s hair was pushed up in tufts around his noise-canceling headphones. Brett had been warned that he wouldn’t take them off for anything. The headphones helped with his aversion to noise, Brett’s brother told him. Damian was a sensitive kid.

Snow spun from the sky in a heavy veil, and Brett leaned forward trying to peer past the whipping flakes. His ranch was still a good two hours away. He didn’t like the prospect of driving through a blizzard at night, especially not on these narrow roads this far into the country. Even the two-lane highway was narrow.

It was a good thing that Brett knew the area. The Butternut Amish Bed and Breakfast wasn’t too far from here, and if they stopped for the night there, they could carry on to Brett’s ranch in the morning. Brett was pretty sure the kid would enjoy seeing horses and buggies out here in Pennsylvania’s Amish Country, but the Amish weren’t out this evening.

Brett was looking forward to a couple of weeks with his nephew while his brother and sister-in-law were traveling for the campaign. Dean Rockwell was a senator with an election coming up, and he’d agreed to some pre-Christmas appearances. They’d all meet up at Brett’s ranch for Christmas Day. Dean and Bobbie’s teenage children were skiing with friends over the holiday, and Brett was getting some quality time with five-year-old Damian. That was what the Rockwells did, especially during election time—they pulled together.

His GPS prompted him to turn at Butternut Drive. The pickup truck’s tires crunched onto snowy gravel, and Damian roused in the back seat. Brett glanced in the mirror again to see the boy pull off his headphones momentarily.

“Are we there yet?” Damian asked.

“Change of plans,” Brett said. “We aren’t going to make it to my ranch tonight. We’re going to try and stop at a little Amish bed-and-breakfast that I know about out here.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a place with a warm bed,” Brett said. “I’ve eaten there before a couple of times, but I didn’t stay the night. The lady who owns it is very nice.”

“How long until we get there, then?”

“The GPS says three minutes.”

Brett was almost on top of the white wooden sign before he spotted the dark green letters that read Butternut Amish Bed and Breakfast through the snowfall. He glanced into the rearview mirror and watched as Damian put his headphones over his ears.

“You might find it quiet enough to take the headphones off more, Damian,” he said. “I know you hate too much noise, but out here, it’s pretty quiet. These are Amish people. No radio or TV or YouTube or anything like that. These are the quietest people around.”

Damian didn’t touch the headphones, and maybe he hadn’t even heard. Brett knew that the headphones were more than a comfort for the kid—they were a necessity a lot of the time. He had some symptoms of autism spectrum disorder, and those headphones helped him to filter out all the extra noise and distraction that he couldn’t handle.

Brett slowed and turned into the drive. For the first few yards, it was all trees, and then they emerged into a wide-open yard, covered in snow, surrounding a large white two-story farmhouse with a broad veranda out front. The veranda looked like it had been recently swept clear of snow, and a broom was propped next to the front door. A whisper of smoke crept up from the chimney. They were one week from Christmas, but the only decorations he could see were some evergreen fronds bound together with twine and tied to the front of every third veranda rail.

There was a hatchback car parked in the drive next to a buggy that wasn’t hitched up, its shafts resting in the snow. To the side he could see a small fenced field with a large bale of bright fresh hay sitting in a feeder in the center. A quarter horse was munching on the feed, not seeming to mind the falling snow one bit, and a long-eared donkey stood doggedly next to him.

“Hey, look out there,” Brett said. He’d been trying to get Damian to engage with something—anything—ever since they’d left Pittsburgh. Brett wasn’t sure if he was missing his mom and dad or his nanny the most. Brett had drawn the line at bringing the nanny with them. It was almost Christmas, and he got to hang out with this kid for the next week and a half and celebrate with him and his family, and he was determined to make the holiday as wholesome and filled with the Christmas spirit as possible. And in his books, dragging a nanny along with them wouldn’t fit the bill. But he wondered now if he’d been too idealistic when he made that call.

Brett parked next to the hatchback and turned off the engine. Damian unbuckled his seat belt, and he opened his own door at the same time that Brett did. Damian jumped down onto the snowy ground.

The side door to the big white house opened, and an elderly Amish woman in a dark red dress with a white apron appeared in the doorway. She wore her white hair pulled back under a kapp, and her eyes sparkled behind a pair of rimless glasses. Her name was Belinda Wickey, and she was well known in this area for being both an Amish matchmaker and the owner of an in-demand bed-and-breakfast.

“She looks like Mrs. Claus,” Damian said thoughtfully.

“Don’t tell her that,” Brett said with a chuckle. “She’s Amish. I’m pretty sure they don’t do Santa here. But she’s a great cook and the nicest lady you could ever meet.”

“Santa skips them?” Damian asked.

Okay, this had just taken the wrong turn. “Uh... No, he doesn’t skip them, exactly, but he’s sneakier out here. And they don’t believe in Santa, so... Don’t worry about it, Damian. Santa will make it to the ranch, okay? I know for a fact!”

“And you know that lady?” Damian asked.

“A little bit.” This bed-and-breakfast was pretty well known.

Damian accepted that, and fell into silence.

“Hi, Belinda!” Brett called. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Brett Rockwell. I came out here for your Amish feast last spring?”

“Of course, Brett! I wouldn’t forget you that easily.” Belinda smiled warmly. “It’s good to see you. How is your ankle?”

Right. He’d been nursing a sprained ankle his last visit. Just an accident at the ranch that was taking its time to heal up. It was impressive that she’d remembered.

“Much better, thanks,” he said. “I’m sorry to just arrive with no reservation, but the roads are pretty bad, and I was hoping you might have a room for us.”

“Of course,” she replied. “I have another guest, but there is a free room. You’re very welcome to it.”

“Thank you.” And he meant it from the bottom of his heart. “I really appreciate it.”

“I’m just glad you made it this far, and I’m thrilled you’ll get to experience a proper stay here. Come on in and get warm. This little fellow could probably use a cookie. Are there any allergies? My cookies are all nut free, and while I don’t have gluten-free cookies, I do have some gluten-free apple crisp.”

“No, no allergies. And that all sounds wonderful. I think you’ll find us pretty easy to please.” But as the words came out, he wasn’t so sure that it was true. Damian found a change of plans difficult.

He went around to the back of the truck and pulled out their bags, Damian watching closely.

Belinda stepped back to let him inside, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Damian looking up at her quizzically.

“And who is this?” Belinda asked, fixing Damian with a grandmotherly smile.

“I’m Damian,” he said, then lowered his voice. “And if it matters, I’ve been very good this year. You know...if you wanted to pass that along.”

Brett stifled a laugh. So the kid was playing it safe, was he?

“Have you?” Belinda didn’t seem to follow what Damian was thinking. “I’m very happy to hear that. The world needs more young men like you who behave well. We really don’t have half enough of boys like you.”

“Do you bake the cookies?” Damian asked cautiously.

“Do I ever!” Belinda replied. “I have some cookies on the counter.”

“Do you have reindeer?” the boy whispered.

“Reindeer? No, they aren’t too common here in Pennsylvania, dear. I have a donkey, though!” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “His name is Eeyore. And next door, my neighbor has chickens and five cows.”

Damian didn’t seem to know what to make of that, so he put his headphones back on again without response.

Belinda gave Brett a curious look.

“They cancel the noise,” Brett said. “He gets overwhelmed with too much going on around him.”

“Oh...poor little man,” Belinda tutted softly. “Maybe cookies will help.”

Brett wiped his boots off and carried on through to the kitchen. It smelled like cinnamon and cloves, and he noticed a pretty woman sitting at the table, a steaming mug in front of her. She must be the other guest Belinda mentioned. She wasn’t Amish—she wore a cowl-necked sweater and a pair of blue jeans. She was petite and blond, and she had a young look about her that was betrayed by the depth of her blue eyes, and she regarded him pointedly.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello.” She put her hands around the mug, as if she were warming her fingers.

“This is our other guest this week,” Belinda said, bustling up behind him. “Meet Emaline.”

“I’m Brett,” he said. “This is Damian. We’re only passing through, so we shouldn’t be in your way for too long.”

Was there a husband or boyfriend with her? He instinctively looked at her ring finger and saw it was bare. That didn’t tell him much, though. But her name sounded familiar—it wasn’t a common one, and he was sure he’d come across it before...but where?

“It’s no problem. I’m here for a few days for work,” she said.

She nudged the plate of cookies that sat beside her toward Damian and gave him a welcoming smile. Damian pulled his headphones off and smiled back shyly. Yeah, all it took was a pretty woman, apparently.

“You want a cookie?” Emaline asked.

Damian took one and shoved it into his mouth.

“Good, huh?” Emaline asked.

Damian nodded.

“I also have cinnamon buns, blackberry cobbler, apple crisp and three kinds of pie,” Belinda said. “But don’t fill up too much, because tonight’s dinner is going to be roast beef, and I expect with that blowing snow, everyone is going to want to eat hearty.”

This was just what Brett and Damian needed—a little break from the hustle and bustle of the city. Damian had gone to kindergarten for the first time that year, and Brett had been told that it wasn’t a raving success. He had a support teacher who helped him to navigate school, but it hadn’t really been enough. With twenty-five other kids in the class, he’d been permanently overwhelmed. That broke Brett’s heart just a little bit.

The sound of boots echoed on the step, and the door opened without a knock. A moment later an old Amish man appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a black dog with a crust of snow on its back. Snow dusted the shoulders of the man’s black woolen coat, and his woolen hat was covered in snow, too. His ears were bright red from the cold, and he looked a little different. It took Brett a moment to realize that this was the first old Amish man he’d ever seen with a shaved face. Beards meant a man was married—Brett knew that much. Did that make this old guy a bachelor?

“Oh, Eli, you’re here,” Belinda said. “These are my newest guests, Brett and Damian. And this is Eli, my neighbor, and his dog is named Hund.”

Brett gave him a nod, and then the two old people broke off into a conversation in Pennsylvania Dutch. The old man brushed the snow off the dog’s back, and then Hund sauntered over to the wood stove and lay down in front of it.

Damian put his headphones back on and helped himself to another cookie. Brett took a cookie, too. He met Emaline’s gaze as he took a bite. Emaline...the name still nagged at his mind as familiar. Where had he heard it?

The cookie was shortbread with some gingerbread spice added in. Delicious. Emaline cocked her head to one side, regarding him thoughtfully as he ate.

“You’re Brett Rockwell,” she said.

So she recognized him, too. Maybe this would clear up the mystery.

“Guilty as charged,” he said, attempting to joke.

“You look taller in person,” she said.

“Do I?” He shrugged. “I don’t normally hear that.”

She didn’t elaborate, and Brett felt his optimism start to wane. He liked getting out and doing things with real people, but every once in a while, he was reminded that families like his didn’t get that luxury too often. Their combination of wealth and social standing made them the center of a lot of public interest.

“I feel at a disadvantage here,” he said. “You seem to know quite a bit about me.”

“From the news,” she said.

He chuckled uncomfortably. “Don’t always believe what you see in the news.” The news stories about him hadn’t been flattering, and not all of them were true.

She smiled, then lifted her mug and took a sip. The old Amish couple were still discussing something animatedly. They had moved over to the window and were peering outside.

“I suppose it’s possible to get things wrong,” she said. “That’s what retractions are for.”

Yeah, he had a lot of strong opinions about the press and their ability to plaster a story on the front page, then print a retraction on page six. The Rockwells had decided years ago to keep a cordial relationship with the press. It was easier than trying to fight them off at every turn. His senator brother was the one who had to tangle with them most often, not Brett. Unfortunately, there had been a few news stories about Brett that had centered around some drunken parties, a rather loud scene at a restaurant, a fistfight at a bar and an ex-girlfriend who sold her story to the press about how he was a hopeless alcoholic. All of that had been true.

“What brings you out to Amish Country a week before Christmas?” he asked, attempting to change the subject.

“I’m an influencer,” she said.

“Yeah?” That didn’t narrow it down at all.

“I’m a travel vlogger—I do stories on Pennsylvania tourist attractions, mostly. Though I’d like to branch out to do stories in other states.”

“Right. I knew I recognized your name. You do those TikTok videos about packing light and airport drama.”

“You’ve heard of me!”

“Yeah. I enjoy your stories. I come across them on social media a lot. You do a lot for Pennsylvania tourism.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I actually went to journalism school.”

“Really?” That did surprise him. Maybe it shouldn’t. Everyone had interesting backgrounds if you took time to ask. That was something his brother had taught him.

“Yep. It’s tough to break in, though, and this pays pretty well if you have a knack for the tech side.”

“Which you seem to.”

“I definitely do.” She cast him a smile. “But this is some extraordinary luck meeting you here... I’d love to do some short clips about a Rockwell in Amish Country. People would click on that, for sure.”

“No, thanks.”

“You’re photogenic. I’m thinking of some snowy background and that cowboy hat on your head. My viewers would gobble you up.”

“Yeah, that’s the fear,” he said with a bitter laugh. “No, thanks. I’m keeping out of the public eye these days.”

“Don’t you ever want to put out the real story about you?” she asked.

“Who says the one already out there is wrong?” He was getting irritated now.

She shrugged. “Because the stories I’ve seen about you were obviously just for drama and intrigue. No one is that interesting, Brett Rockwell. Including you.”

He had to laugh at that. She was right—he’d turned things around, and he’d quit drinking. The reporters never got it right, and never handled his life fairly. They went for the story, not for the balanced truth. But who said he wanted every last bit of “truth” about him out there for public consumption? Something could be true and also private. Besides, this wasn’t just about him—Damian deserved a proper Christmas. And he wasn’t about to let anyone target Damian for a news story.

“Nope,” Brett said with a shake of his head. “Not interested.”

He just wanted a quiet evening and a rustic good time for his nephew, but it didn’t look like that was going to be possible with an online influencer under the same roof who was looking for content. There was no way that they could spend the night here. Blowing snow or not, he and Damian would have to drive through.

“Damian, we’re not going to stay,” he said. “We’ll head out to the ranch tonight.”

AND AS QUICKLY as that, she’d chased him off. Emaline mentally kicked herself. She was obviously out of practice with actual people who made it to the news. All she wanted was some social media content that would pique interest. She had to keep the likes, clicks and shares up if she wanted to keep growing, and in this business, if she wasn’t growing, she was dropping off the map. Pure and simple.

She put down her mug of tea and leaned her elbows onto the table. Brett hustled Damian away, but the boy looked longingly back at the plate of cookies.

“You could contribute to Pennsylvania tourism,” she said, raising her voice.

“I don’t need to contribute to tourism. I already contribute beef to people’s tables,” he said. “I run a twenty-five-hectare ranch.”

“Good!” She leaned back. “So let’s tell people that. You’re not some rich, out-of-touch part of Pennsylvania royalty, you’re a rancher.”

“I don’t need to announce it to the state for my own personal satisfaction,” he said curtly. “I do what I do.”

Brett headed over to the window where Belinda and Eli stood. The wind whisked the snow past the window in a blinding blur, then slowed again.

“I don’t think we’ll be staying tonight, after all,” Brett said to Belinda. “I’ll pay for my stay, but we’ll head out now.”

“What?” Belinda’s eyes widened. “We have enough bedrooms for everyone. I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear about that. Maybe we had a miscommunication?”

“It’s okay,” Brett said with a softened smile. “It’s not your fault. It’s a bit complicated, though.”

Emaline wished she’d kept her mouth shut and said nothing—at least for the time being. But the damage was done. And she couldn’t help but think that if she’d gotten a job in journalism like she’d wanted to, this would have been a plum opportunity standing right in front of her with a little boy in noise-canceling headphones in tow.

Brett scooped up his bags and looked back at the boy. “Come on, Damian. We’re going to drive through, okay? You’ll see the ranch tonight after all.”

“We can’t stay here?” Damian had sidled over to the warmth of the wood stove.

“Come on,” Brett said curtly.

Damian did as he was told and followed his uncle out the door. Belinda and Eli watched them through the window, murmuring quietly in a mix of English and Pennsylvania Dutch.

“I don’t think he’ll make it in that storm,” Eli said, his voice low.

“No, I don’t think so,” Belinda agreed.

“I’ll have to go put the animals in the stable to weather this storm,” Eli said. “I’ll take care of yours, too.”

“Mighty kind of you, Eli,” Belinda said. “Danke.”

Eli headed for the door. He whistled softly, and the dog looked up from his spot by the fire, then slowly rose to his feet and plodded over to the door. From what Emaline had seen of the pooch, he was loyal to Eli. The old man and his dog headed out, and Belinda stood in silence for a moment until the door slammed shut behind him.

“Men are stubborn creatures,” Belinda said, turning around. “If I tried to stop Eli from taking care of my horse and donkey, too, he’d only argue with me. So I’ll include him in that roast beef supper tonight to thank him for his trouble.”

“He seems like a nice man,” Emaline said.

“Yah, he’s a very nice man,” Belinda agreed. “He’s a bit on the odd side, but nice.”

“How is he odd?”

“He’s stopped doing it now, but he used to have all sorts of animals in his house. Hens, a calf, and once a full-grown sheep!”

“I’d like to see that!” Emaline smiled, and her mind skipped forward to potential video topics, as it often did. “That would make an interesting human interest vlog.”

“What’s a vlog?”

“A video blog.” That didn’t seem to help. “It’s a video where I talk about something and I post it online, and hopefully it gets shared and commented on, and...”

Still, this wasn’t helping. Emaline let it go. “But you were saying about the farm animals in his house?”

“Oh, he doesn’t do it anymore,” Belinda said.

“Why not?”

“Because...” Belinda smiled faintly. “Because of me, I think.”

“You sorted him out, did you?” Emaline said with a short laugh.

“I believe I did.” Belinda leaned toward the window again. “And it looks like Brett isn’t getting too far. I can just see his taillights. He’s stopped.”

Emaline got up and joined Belinda at the window. Eli’s black silhouette was barely visible as he disappeared into the stable. She could just make out the red dots of Brett’s taillights through the snow in the opposite direction. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the vehicle started to reverse. Ever so slowly, it came back up the drive.

“Just as well,” Belinda said, moving away from the window. “It’s cold out there and the roads will be terrible. That’s the kind of weather where people end up in accidents. Everyone is safer and warmer indoors with a fire going.”

The kitchen certainly was inviting, with the dry heat pumping out of the black potbellied stove and the soft glow of polished wood from the cupboards and the big table that dominated one side of the room. Outside, the wind whistled, and Emaline shivered.

She hoped Brett really was coming back. Maybe it was the wannabe journalist inside of her, but he seemed like he’d be an interesting guy. There were a lot of stories about his playboy days a few years back, and then he just disappeared. Started ranching. Total about-face. What caused that kind of change in a man? She’d really like to know.

Belinda went back into the kitchen and pulled a big white enameled teapot off the stove. She filled it up at the sink and returned it to the stovetop with a hiss of cold water against hot iron. Then she turned toward the door and was halfway there before they heard the knock. Belinda shot Emaline a knowing little smile and disappeared into the mudroom.

“Come back inside.” Belinda’s voice was motherly. “I knew you wouldn’t get far. It’s just too miserable to drive in that snow. The weather is bigger than all of us, and all we can do is accept it. I have a fire stoked up, and I just put water on the stove for some tea, or some hot chocolate for you, Damian.”

Damian came into the kitchen first and beelined for that plate of cookies. Brett stood in the doorway, his lips pressed together. He was of average height but tall compared to Emaline. He pulled his gloves off and tucked them into a pocket, his irritable expression firmly in place. That was because of her.

She stood and straightened her shoulders, then crossed the room.

“I chased you off,” Emaline said quietly. “I’m sorry about that.”

“I have no intention of being part of your vlog.”

“Got it. It’s fine. I won’t push the issue.”

“If it were just you and me,” Brett said, his dark gaze latching on to hers meaningfully, “I might even enjoy the game of keeping my privacy and you trying to dig it up. But this isn’t just you and me. I’ve got my nephew here, and he’s just a kid.”

“I agree,” Emaline replied. “Look, it was just an idea. I thought my viewers would enjoy getting a glimpse of Brett Rockwell, the senator’s bad-boy brother. I remember you were pretty popular, even with the bad publicity.” He gave her a flat look, and she put her hands up. “I’m sorry, I’ll stick to Amish simple pleasures. That’s why I’m here, anyway.”

Brett had the Rockwell good looks—strong jaw, good bone structure, piercing eyes. The Rockwells were born to politics. Rockwell men looked good behind podiums and rolling up their shirtsleeves next to miners for a photo op. But up close, Brett had a cornered, vulnerable look in his eye, and she felt a flicker of pity.

“You’re doing a vlog about the Amish Butternut B&B?” he asked.

“I am. It’s such a cute place, especially this close to the holidays. I promised Belinda that I wouldn’t film her, but she says I can do a whole piece on their Christmas decorations.” He glanced around, and she chuckled. “They aren’t up yet.”

“Okay...” He smiled sheepishly. “Treat me like I’m Amish—no pictures, no video.”

“You don’t know me, but I’m a woman of my word,” she said. “I can’t say you don’t interest me, though.”

“I interest you?” he asked warily.

“The younger brother of the senator,” she said. “How does a man go from party boy to serious rancher in five years’ time? What changed inside of you? What realizations did you come to for that kind of transformation? That’s what I want to know.”

“That’s no travel vlog curiosity,” he said, but a smile touched his lips.

“No, it isn’t.” She shrugged. “It’s personal curiosity. But if we’re going to be stuck here together, I think it will be incredibly awkward if you’re constantly running from me. There’s not too far to go.”

“True.” He smiled faintly. “And Damian is off-limits. Completely.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed. Besides, Damian with his headphones and his hunger for cookies had captured her heart a little bit, too. She would leave Damian out of this.

Brett still didn’t look like he believed her, but it was the best she could do for now.

“Is everything better now?” Belinda asked from the table. She had a knife and was cutting apart a pan of cinnamon buns.

“Uh—” Emaline looked from Belinda and up at Brett. “I think so. I think we can coexist here for a day or two.”

“Coexist,” Belinda muttered, shaking her head. “This is an Amish establishment, and we’ll do a mite better than coexistence. We’ll leave here friends.”

“All right,” Emaline said. “We’ll even be friendly.”

Brett cast her a boyish smile, his earlier tension seeming to dissipate, and a shiver ran up her arms. He was still a very good-looking guy. Being snowed in with a handsome single cowboy wasn’t exactly punishment.

“Come sit down,” Belinda said. “The snow will fall as long as it falls. Sometimes, all you can do is wait out the weather. And while we wait, we eat good food and we chat. It’s our way.”

Belinda smiled and gestured to the table. Brett looked toward Emaline, and she shrugged. Like Belinda said, there were some things, like the weather, that were bigger than all of them.