Her Amish Christmas Choice. Leigh Bale
sink’s two spacious tubs would accommodate the big pots she used for soap making.
Martin would be here in a few hours to finish the porch. Then he’d check the condition of the roof. After that, she wanted him to—
Tap-tap-tap.
She looked up, thinking the sound came from above. Had Mom awakened early and was doing something inside their apartment? She caught the deep timbre of a man’s voice coming from outside but wasn’t sure. It came again, followed by Hank’s unique accent. She glanced at the wall clock and discovered it was almost eight. Ah, her handymen were already here and the sun was barely up.
“Be careful with that paint, Hank. You don’t want to spill any.” Martin’s muffled voice reached her ears.
Sitting back, Julia set aside the soft sponge. In her warm slippers, she padded over to the window and peered out.
Martin and Hank stood side by side in front of the porch as they perused their handiwork. Each of them held a brush that gleamed with white paint. Martin also clutched the handle of a paint bucket. No doubt they’d been trimming the porch and front of the building. A feeling of elation swept over Julia. She couldn’t wait for it all to be finished.
Martin had rolled the long sleeves of his shirt up his muscular arms. A smear of white paint marred his angular chin. Hank also wore several smatters of paint on his forearms and clothes. In the early morning sunlight, Julia caught the gleam of bright trim on the post nearest to the window but couldn’t see the rest of the porch from this angle. And all that work had been done while she was cleaning the new sink.
Hmm. Dallin had never worked this hard. He’d rather laze around and borrow money from Julia, which he never paid back. Maybe it was a blessing she hadn’t married him after all.
Walking over to the front door, she flipped the dead bolt, turned the knob and stepped out onto the porch. In that short amount of time, Martin had climbed to the top of the rickety ladder leading up to the roof. Hank held the ladder steady from below. Busy with their labors, they hadn’t noticed her yet. She watched as Martin dipped his brush into a bucket of paint he’d set on the pail shelf, then touched up a spot high on the side of the awning. As he concentrated on his work, he pressed the tip of his tongue against his upper lip.
The ladder trembled.
“Hold it steady, Hank. Just a few more spots and we’ll be finished. Then we can start on the roof.” Martin spoke without looking down.
Fearing she might break his concentration, Julia didn’t say anything. A tabby cat crossing the road caught Hank’s attention. Julia knew the animal was named Tigger and belonged to Essie Walkins, the elderly widow who lived two houses down. Tail high in the air, the feline picked its way across the abandoned street. No doubt it was hoping to cajole Julia out of a bowl of milk. She’d fed the cat many times, much to her mother’s chagrin. Sharon didn’t like strays.
Seeing the feline, Hank abandoned his post and hurried toward Tigger. Without the boy’s weight to hold the ladder steady, it shuddered uncontrollably.
Julia gasped as Martin grabbed on to the gutter to keep from falling. She rushed over and gripped the sides of the ladder, staring up at him with widened eyes. The ladder stabilized but too late. The bucket of paint plummeted to the ground with a heavy thud. Julia scrunched her shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t get hit in the head by the falling object. Spatters of white struck the outer wall of the building, the mass of paint pooling in the middle of the wooden porch.
“Oh, no!” Julia breathed in exasperation.
Martin stared down at her with absolute shock. Likewise, Julia was so stunned that she was held immobile for several seconds. Then, Martin hurried down the ladder, his angular face torn by an expression of dread.
“Ach, Julia! Are you all right? The bucket didn’t hit you, did it?” He rested a gentle hand on her arm, his dark eyes filled with concern as he searched her expression.
She shook her head. “No, it missed me. I’m fine.”
Satisfied she was okay, Martin stepped away. She could still feel the warmth of his strong fingers tingling against her skin. As he perused the mess, his lips tightened. Then, his gaze sought out his recalcitrant brother.
Hank stood in the middle of the vacant street, clutching the tabby cat close against his chest as he stroked the animal’s furry head. Tigger looked completely content as the boy walked over to them, smiling wide with satisfaction.
“Ach, look at this bussli. Isn’t she beautiful? I saved her from being hit by a car,” the boy crowed, his eyes sparkling.
“Him,” Julia corrected. “The cat’s name is Tigger and he’s a boy.”
Hank’s expression lit up with sheer pleasure. “Ach, Tigger. What a fine name.”
“Hank, there are no cars coming at this time of the morning. You were supposed to be holding the ladder for me, not chasing after die katz.” Martin’s voice held a note of reproach but was otherwise calm. He wore a slight frown, doing an admirable job of controlling his temper. In that moment, Julia respected Martin even more.
“I know, but I saw Tigger and didn’t want him to get hit by a kaer,” Hank said.
Julia glanced at the empty street. Since it was so early, there wasn’t a single car, truck or person in sight. But being an agricultural community, Julia knew that would soon change as farmers came into town early to transact their business. Since Tigger freely roamed the streets at all hours of the day, she wasn’t too worried he’d be struck by a car.
“You know how fast motor vehicles go,” Hank continued. “Remember what happened to Jeremiah Beiler last year when an Englischer’s car hit his buggy-wagon and broke his leg? It nearly kilt him and his dechder.”
“Killed, not kilt,” Martin corrected the boy.
“His deck-der?” Julia asked, confused by some of their foreign words.
“Daughters,” Martin supplied. “They were riding with him in the buggy when the car struck them from behind.”
“Oh,” Julia said.
“Ach, I couldn’t let this sweet kitty get hurt.” Hank nuzzled Tigger’s warm fur, completely oblivious that his efforts to protect the cat had endangered his brother’s life and created a big mess that would now have to be cleaned up.
Meeting Martin’s frustrated expression, Julia showed an understanding smile. “It’s okay. No harm was done. We’ll just tidy it up.”
Martin rested his hands on his lean hips and gazed at the splattered paint with resignation. He certainly wasn’t a man who angered easily. That was another difference between him and Dallin. Julia’s ex-fiancé had raised his voice at her numerous times while kicking things and slamming doors. She hadn’t liked it one bit. In retrospect, she was so grateful he was out of her life. But who would she marry now? Would there ever be a kind, hardworking man for her to love? She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to trust another man.
“How exactly do we clean up the paint?” she asked, wondering if a thinner from the hardware store might remove the white stain from the wood.
“You don’t need to do a thing. I’ll get this straightened out as fast as I can and reimburse you for the waste,” Martin promised.
Again, she was impressed by his integrity. “There’s no need for reimbursement. The porch is all but finished and it doesn’t look like we lost much paint. In fact, everything looks great, except for the spill. Let me help you clean it up.” She reached for a bucket of rags sitting near the front door, grateful when Martin didn’t refuse her aid.
While Hank snuggled the cat, they shoveled the drying pool of paint into a heavy-duty plastic bag and set it in the waste bin to be disposed of later. Julia held the dustpan for Martin, wondering how they would get the streaks of white off the wooden porch. Since