A Boy's Amish Christmas, page 4
Damian sidled up to Emaline after the meal was over, and he leaned on her leg and petted the dog. He couldn’t exactly stop Damian. It would be rude, but more than that, Damian had his headphones off. He was comfortable with Emaline, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing...so long as Damian didn’t say anything that sparked the vlogger’s interest.
And that was the worry, wasn’t it? That she’d grab something and run with it, promises forgotten.
Maybe he should just stop worrying about his brother’s career and the family reputation, and let the stories fall where they may. The media certainly hadn’t been kind to Brett over the years. But this was different—Damian was smack-dab in the middle of this story.
At bedtime, Brett took Damian upstairs to the bedroom with a little kerosene lamp that Belinda gave him for the purpose. It threw a soft pool of light around them as they climbed the stairs together. It almost felt like camping. Brett helped Damian find the Christmas pajamas that his parents had bought him especially for this trip. They had Frosty the Snowman on the front of the shirt, and Damian seemed to like these pajamas a lot. Once he was dressed, Brett pulled back the thick white comforter on the twin-size bed by the window, and Damian crawled between the sheets. Everything was clean and smelled faintly of cloves and cinnamon, and with the soft glow of that little kerosene lamp, it was rather cozy.
“We’ve got to call your mom and dad, right?” Brett said.
“Yeah. Let’s call them,” Damian said. “I bet they miss me.”
“I bet they do,” Brett agreed, and he dialed the number on Damian’s cell phone, put it on speaker, and handed it back. It only rang once before Dean picked up.
“Hey, buddy,” Dean said. “How’s it going? Mom’s here, too.”
“I’m good,” Damian said.
“Are you having fun?” Bobbie asked. “I miss you, sweetie!”
“There’s lots of snow,” Damian said. “And there’s a lady who’s nice.”
“A lady?” Bobbie sounded wary.
“The owner of the Amish B&B,” Brett interjected. He’d texted them earlier to update them on the plan to stay at the B&B. “She’s a really nice older lady who’s an amazing cook. Belinda Wickey. It’s quiet and rustic and just about perfect.”
“Right, right...” Bobbie sounded flustered. “It’s a nice place? Clean? Respectable?”
“She’s nice, too, but I mean the other lady,” Damian interjected. “The one who makes videos.”
“Videos?” Dean’s voice changed tone. “How many guests are there? I thought this was a small place—out of the way.”
“Can I talk to your dad?” Brett asked, and he took the phone and took it off speaker. “Dean, this is going to sound worse than it is, but there is a vlogger staying here at the B&B tonight. Her name is Emaline Piper.”
“Vlogger?” Bobbie’s tone turned taut. “Look her up, Dean.”
“Hold on....” Dean muttered. “Okay, I googled her. She’s a lifestyle and travel vlogger?”
“Something like that,” Brett agreed.
“Let me see...” Bobbie was on the case now, too, and for a moment, there was silence. “I’m seeing a lot of social media activity—local tourism, a smattering of theater pieces, local artists... Nothing political. She shouldn’t be too big of a worry.”
“That’s my thought,” Brett agreed. “Still, I would have avoided this if I could. The weather didn’t cooperate.”
“Look, from what I know of vloggers, they are incredibly media savvy and can be very flexible. She can be a lifestyle vlogger until she pivots and turns to something else that is more popular,” Dean said. “So be careful. We’d hate to give her a reason to turn her attention to politics.”
“Agreed. I feel the same way,” Brett replied. “Don’t worry. I’ve already made it clear that I won’t be part of any of her content.”
“So, it occurred to her already.” Bobbie didn’t sound impressed.
“We’ll do our best,” Brett said. “That’s all I can promise. But I think it’ll be fine. She’s here for the B&B, not for me. Trust me, this place is far more photogenic than I am.”
“Brett, everyone has something to hide,” Bobbie said, her voice quiet, level. “You remember that. We don’t need any distracting attention while Dean is campaigning. The media grab anything and start pulling on strings. Anything. Including your cameo in some TikTok that goes viral.”
He knew what she meant and the secrets she was referring to. Her warning wasn’t wasted. “I know, Bobbie. I’m not new to this.”
“Can you put Damian back on the line?” Dean asked.
“Sure.” Brett handed the phone to Damian. “Your dad wants to talk to you again.”
“Hi, Dad,” Damian said. He switched the phone back onto speaker, but he looked worried now. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, buddy, not at all,” Dean said. “But you know that lady? The one who isn’t Amish?”
“The pretty one?”
“Uh—yeah. Her.”
“That’s Emaline.”
“Okay. Well, remember how we talked about what we say to journalists when they want to ask us questions?”
“We say, ‘No comment,’” Damian said.
“Exactly. Emaline is kind of like a journalist. So if she asks you questions about anything, you say no comment, okay? And you stick close to your uncle.”
“But she’s really nice. And I like her.”
“I bet she is,” Dean said. “But her job is to find stories and tell them, and we don’t want to be in those stories, remember? That’s not good for Daddy’s job.”
“Yeah...”
“So don’t tell her anything. You can be polite and say hello, and open doors and pass her the bread, but other than that, you stick with Uncle Brett. Got it?”
“Okay.”
“And Brett?” Dean said.
“I’m here.”
“Just...” Dean sighed. “You know what I’ll say.”
Don’t let her get a story on you. Watch what you say. Don’t let Damian get too comfortable with her...
“Yeah. I’ve got it under control. Don’t worry about it,” Brett reassured him.
“We miss you, sweetie,” Bobbie said, her voice softening. “And we’ll call you in the morning, okay?”
“Okay,” Damian said.
“Good night, buddy,” Dean said. “Sleep tight.”
“Night night.” Damian hung up the phone and looked down at it mournfully. For a couple of beats, he was silent, then he put his phone on the bedside table. “I want to go home now.”
“Your mom and dad won’t be there, though,” Brett said. He picked up the cell phone and plugged it into a portable charger that Belinda had provided for their phones. “That’s why you’re with me. But don’t worry, we’ll have a good time. And you’ll talk to your mom and dad in the morning. Right? They miss you, too.”
“I don’t want to go to your ranch anymore,” Damian said softly.
“Hey...” This was not going in the right direction. “We’ll have fun, remember?”
“I don’t want to have fun.”
“Who doesn’t want to have fun? It’ll be great. You’ll see. I have a Christmas tree set up and waiting for you, and if you want, I’ll let you open a present early.”
“Santa won’t bring them till Christmas Eve,” Damian said.
“Yeah, but I got you something, too, so...” Brett smiled at him hopefully. “Santa gives gifts, and so do I.”
Damian lay back down in the bed, tears welling in his eyes.
“Do you want a story?” Brett asked. “Maybe I can think of one.”
“No.”
That’s right. A spontaneous story from Uncle Brett wasn’t part of the routine. Bobbie had gone over this with him fifteen times. These routines were life for Damian.
“Do you want me to sing the night-night song?” he asked hesitantly.
“Yeah. And you have to do the thing on my hand, too.” He thrust out a hand toward Brett. Brett sat down on the edge of the bed and took Damian’s small palm in his. He drew a circle around Damian’s palm slowly, and he started to sing. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...”
When the song was over, Damian heaved a long sigh.
“What’s wrong?” Brett asked.
“It’s not the same. Mommy does it better.”
Brett chuckled. “I know she does. And I’m not even going to try and compete with her. But I think I do a pretty good job of it. Come on, kiddo. Give me some credit here.”
A smile flickered at the corners of Damian’s lips. “Okay... Can I watch YouTube?”
“Uh—what do you want to watch?”
“Joe and Buster.”
A kids’ show. That wouldn’t be so bad—get the boy’s mind off how lonely he was.
“Sure.” Brett made sure the parental controls were toggled and handed him his phone. “But leave it plugged in. Your phone’s battery is pretty low.”
“Okay...” Damian pulled his phone up to his face, the soft glow of the screen reflected off the tears in his eyes.
Brett stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Damian was special to Brett—really special—and he’d been “favorite Uncle Brett” for a long time. But Damian was no longer a solemn toddler. He’d gotten more complicated, and Brett wasn’t the comfort he hoped he’d be.
“Uh...if you want, I can stay here with you,” Brett said.
“You don’t have to.” The sound of the show’s theme song started up.
Brett leaned forward and ruffled Damian’s hair, then he sighed and moved toward the bedroom door. “Okay, well, I’m going to take this lamp with me, so I don’t trip on the way down. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.”
Come to think of it, leaving an open flame with a five-year-old wasn’t smart, anyway. Brett wanted to gather the boy up into his arms and hug him, but Damian didn’t look inclined toward that, and his tears were already dried.
“Okay, well, good night, Damian. I’ll be right downstairs. I’ll come up in a while, okay? I’m going to be sleeping in that bed right over there, so you won’t be on your own.”
Damian didn’t answer, and Brett stood there awkwardly for a moment, then turned for the door. Brett had jumped at the chance to have Christmas with Damian and his family at his own ranch, but now he was wondering if he’d been foolish to do that. Maybe he should have brought the nanny, after all. She understood his routines much better than Brett did. But Brett was more than childcare this Christmas, and he hadn’t wanted to share this special time.
He headed back down the stairs, and when he emerged into the kitchen, he noticed that the older people were gone, and only Emaline remained.
“They’re out doing chores,” Emaline said.
“Oh, okay,” he said. “In that storm? I feel bad letting them do it. I wonder if I should go help them.”
“That’s right, you’re a rancher,” she said. “You’re used to this.”
“Yeah.” He went to the window and looked out. A lantern bobbed by the stable, barely visible through the falling snow.
“I offered to lend a hand. I was scoffed at by both of them,” she said with a low laugh.
“Yeah, but—” He was going to say that she was petite and looked like the storm could carry her off, but he stopped when he saw her gaze sharpen.
“But?” she said softly. She had the same soft voice Bobbie had been using.
“But nothing,” he said with a small smile. He looked out the window again. Another lantern appeared, coming out of the stable, and both came bobbing back toward the house. They were on their way back, it seemed. A blinding blast of snow obliterated his view of them, then the lights emerged again, and he could see their faces now. He headed over to the side door, and when they got close, he pushed it open.
“Danke, Brett,” Belinda said, coming up the stairs first. She came inside, stamping her boots on the mat, and old Eli came inside after her. He banged the door shut.
“I’m telling you, Belinda, that donkey knows how to escape!” Eli said.
“I know, I know...”
“It wasn’t me!”
“Did I blame you?”
“Not yet, but you will!” Eli retorted.
“I’m not blaming you, Eli.” Belinda looked over at the old man sadly. “Eli, what will I do when you’re living in that Mennonite old folks home?”
“You’ll sell that donkey, is what you’ll do,” he muttered. “You can’t go chasing after him on your own.”
Brett hadn’t realized that Amish men retired from farming.
“I won’t sell Eeyore...” Belinda sighed, and they both looked at Brett and seemed to realize they’d said too much in front of him.
“The donkey is missing again,” Eli said.
“What?” Emaline poked her head into the mudroom. “The escape artist donkey?”
“He’s gone,” Belinda said. “He got out of his stall—he has his ways—and he made it out the back sliding door of the stable, and the corral was open. That was my fault. I opened the gate to get the hose, and...” She sighed. “It’s lucky we checked, or my horse would have frozen with that cold wind blowing in.”
“That dumb donkey is going to freeze outside, too!” Eli said, and he shook his head furiously.
“What do you do now?” Emaline asked.
“Wait,” Brett said before he could stop himself. She wasn’t asking him, but this wasn’t exactly new territory for him, either. “And hope for the best.”
“There’s nothing you can do to find him?” Emaline asked, and she unconsciously reached toward Brett. His first instinct was to reach back, to hold her hand, tug her a bit closer... But he pushed that back and felt a little embarrassed at the magnetic draw he felt toward this woman. Emaline’s hand dropped, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d missed an opportunity there.
“Not in a storm like this,” Eli said. “Brett is right. We wait and see if he shows up. If he doesn’t, well...”
They all fell silent for a moment. They knew what that meant. Brett cleared his throat.
“If I can help out at all, I want to,” Brett said.
“I was just telling Eli that he should stay the night here,” Belinda said. “He’s checked his animals, and with the way the snow is coming down, we’re all safer together.”
Brett noticed Emaline look toward the window. They were definitely safer together, and seeing the snow coming down as thick as a blanket, he was glad to be here. With her. The old couple murmured together again in Pennsylvania Dutch.
“Did you want to bunk with us in our room, Eli?” Brett asked. “We guys can stick together.”
“I don’t want to intrude,” Eli said. “I could stay down here in the kitchen or the sitting room...”
“It’s no problem,” Brett replied.
“I have a folding cot I can bring out of storage if you’ll carry it for me,” Belinda said.
“Of course,” Brett replied.
“Uh, young man, she was talking to me,” Eli said meaningfully. “Of course, Belinda. I’ll carry it for you.”
Brett had to hide a smile. It didn’t matter how old a man got, he still had his pride, and there was obviously something special between Belinda and Eli.
“Sorry, Eli,” Brett said. “Didn’t mean to overstep.”
Eli gave him a curt nod, and he followed Belinda into the house. Brett and Emaline went into the kitchen, and the old people’s voices filtered down the hallway.
“Poor Eeyore,” Emaline said softly. “I hope he’s okay.”
“There’s lots of trees around here,” Brett said, trying not to sound worried. “He’ll find some shelter. Donkeys really are smart.”
But he hoped the donkey would show up, too. They needed a win this holiday. It was Christmastime, after all. It was the season for miracles. And somehow, Belinda’s B&B didn’t seem complete without Eeyore.
* * *
EMALINE SAT BY the potbellied stove, watching the snow spin down next to the glass. She couldn’t see far out the window—everything was incredibly dark. No moon, no stars, just falling snow and blackness. Everyone had gone to bed already, and the house was silent except for the ticking of the clock up on the kitchen wall, and clicks and pings from the heat going up the stovepipe to warm the bedrooms.
She had her laptop open on her lap, a blank screen with a flashing cursor taunting her. She’d gotten good at writing up a tight script about the beauty and unique attributes a location could offer to tourists, but she was coming up empty when it came to Danke and the Butternut Amish Bed and Breakfast. It was ironic—she’d never had such a dramatic stay anywhere before this, and maybe that was the problem.
She had her laptop’s Wi-Fi tethered to her phone, and she googled Brett Rockwell. Pictures popped up immediately, and she pulled them up, one after another. They were all from well over five years ago—Brett with his brother, Brett coming out of a restaurant looking bleary-eyed and haggard. Brett with his nieces and nephews, Brett with some scantily clad woman on his arm... He looked younger in those photos—sleek and muscular, like he spent a lot of time in a gym. Still good-looking, but she liked the way he looked now better. He had a bit more weight on him, although still obviously muscular. And he seemed more accessible somehow, a little more like the rest of them. If that could be said about a Rockwell.
Emaline sighed and pulled out her phone. A few days ago, her friend George from journalism school had texted to touch base. She hadn’t answered. George was writing for the Chronicle, and he was killing it. He had bylines in a lot of different news magazines and kept on proudly sending her the links. She was happy for him—really she was—but it was hard to see his career take off when she hadn’t even gotten a foot in the door when it came to traditional journalism.
