First Christmas on Huckleberry Hill

Book 10: Matchmakers of Huckleberry Hill

by Jennifer Beckstrand

Genres: Amish & Mennonite; Christian Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

Before irrepressible eighty-somethings Anna and Felty Helmuth became Huckleberry Hill, Wisconsin's most-beloved matchmakers, they were mismatched young lovers facing seemingly impossible obstacles . . .



She can't cook, sew, sing, or clean. And no matter how hard young Anna Yoder tries, she'd much rather help people in trouble than be a well-behaved pretty face and properly perfect Amish maidel. So she instantly reaches out to her old schoolmate, Felty Helmuth, when their Amish town ostracizes him for his Korean War army service. He's still the only one who's ever understood Anna—and liked everything from her green Jello carrot salads to her love of books. And this holiday season, she can't help hoping that somehow she and Felty can find a way to be the perfect match . . .



Felty sensed he was called by Gotte to serve his country, though it went against his community's peaceful ways. Troubled by his wartime experiences, he is resigned to being an outsider avoided by most eligible Amish girls. But lively, intelligent Anna has grown into a warm-hearted generous woman who accepts Felty for who he is. And in the face of family and community opposition, he and Anna will take a leap of faith to prove they are made for each other—and a lifetime of happiness.

Release date: September 28, 2021

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

“Uriah, don’t kick your bruder,” Anna said, not really believing Uriah would stop, but knowing it was her duty as the big sister to at least attempt to make her bruderen behave.

Ten-year-old Uriah stood in the threshold of the bakery, his gaze locked on Anna, his mouth puckered into a frown. Narrowing his eyes, he kicked Owen again without even looking at him, as if he was daring Anna to just go ahead and do something about it.

“Ouch!” Owen protested, as if he were the innocent victim of Uriah’s foot, when he knew full well he had once again provoked Uriah beyond endurance.

It couldn’t have been easy being the baby of the family, and Uriah seemed determined not to be picked on.

Anna gave Uriah the stink eye. “Uriah,” she said, her voice as low and as threatening as she could make it. “Jesus said not to kick people.”

Anna wasn’t sure that was even true. She remembered the part about turning the other cheek and giving away your cloak and walking an extra mile, but she couldn’t remember anything in Jesus’s teachings about not kicking people. She resolved then and there to listen harder in church. She never knew when she’d need to knock some sense into her bruderen with a sermon or a verse of scripture.

Uriah stuck out his bottom lip. “He’s copying me.”

“He’s copying me,” Owen mimicked, pitching his already high twelve-year-old voice up another octave.

Uriah’s face got two shades redder. He lifted his foot for another kick but must have thought better of it. He stomped on the ground instead. “Stop it,” he screeched.

“Stop it,” Owen taunted.

Anna sighed. It was useless to chastise Owen. He enjoyed the attention too much. She shrugged and loaded the bread into the back of the wagon. “Ach, Uriah, just ignore him and he’ll stop.” It seemed like the perfectly intelligent and reasonable thing to do, since Owen fed off goading Uriah into a tizzy.

“I can’t,” Uriah whined.

“I can’t,” echoed Owen.

This time Uriah hauled off and kicked Owen right in the gut. It was quite a feat, since he had to lift his leg high enough to meet his target. Owen clutched his stomach and doubled over, then scowled, rushed at Uriah, and tackled him right there in front of Zimmel’s Bakery. Uriah hollered and managed to punch Owen squarely in the nose while flat on his back. Owen’s nose started bleeding, and blood dripped all over Uriah’s coat and smeared into Owen’s as well. Anna growled under her breath. She’d just finished the laundry yesterday, and coats were wonderful hard to clean.

“Owen, Uriah, stop that this minute,” she scolded, knowing they would ignore her completely, which they did. Anna sighed again and did the only sensible thing she could think to do. She turned her back and pretended she didn’t know the two boys pounding each other to a pulp on the sidewalk. Her yelling at them would only attract unwanted attention. Tightening her cape around her shoulders, she pushed aside the tools in the back of the wagon so they wouldn’t smash the four loaves of bread she’d just placed there. She did her best to ignore the stares of the people passing by while her bruderen made a spectacle of themselves.

Thank Derr Herr, the brawl didn’t last very long. Her bruderen Elmer and Isaac came out of the grocery store next door, each with a fifty-pound sack of flour slung over his shoulder. Isaac was lanky, overconfident, and sort of handsome, though he thought himself much handsomer than he actually was. At fifteen, he was pretty much a waste of skin. Fortunately, Elmer was seventeen, more mature, and less likely to put up with his bruderen’s shenanigans.

With the flour securely resting on his shoulder and without missing a step, Elmer grabbed Owen by his coat collar, yanked him away from Uriah, and shoved him in the direction of the wagon. “Stop it, Owen. Get in and quit being a dumkoff.”

Owen swiped at the blood on his upper lip, looked at his hand, and grinned. In Anna’s experience, boys liked it when they could draw blood, and a bloody nose was a sure sign of bravery. “I wasn’t being a dumkoff.”

“Jah, you were. Next time, do what Anna tells you. She’s the boss.”

“She is not the boss,” Owen insisted. “She’s a girl.”

Elmer set his flour in the wagon. “She’s still the boss. And I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“Look, Elmer,” Uriah said, grabbing the front of his own coat with two hands. “I got Owen’s nose. Look at all the blood.” It looked more like three wet spots, since blood didn’t show up well on black, but Uriah was still proud of it.

“Gute work,” Isaac said, throwing his flour sack into the wagon.

Anna chided Isaac with her eyes. “Don’t encourage him.”

Owen climbed into the wagon and turned up his swollen nose. “It didn’t even hurt.”

Uriah stuck out his tongue at Owen. “I don’t wonder but it hurt when I got you in the stomach.”

“I’ll probably get an ulcer,” Owen said. “It will be your fault if I can’t eat Thanksgiving dinner.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “It’s your own fault for teasing your bruder, and you don’t know what an ulcer is.”

“For sure and certain I do. It’s when your stomach hurts and you drink Pepto-Bismol all day long. Maybe I’ll die.”

Owen wouldn’t get any sympathy from Anna. “Then let this be a lesson not to tease your bruder.”

Isaac chuckled, a little too loudly. “Who wants to eat Anna’s Thanksgiving dinner anyway?”

Anna gave her brother a menacing look, as if she were going to smack him upside the head. The nasty look hid the pain she always felt when anyone disparaged her cooking. It was definitely a sore spot. Dat had taught her to cook after Mamm died, and he’d done his best, but Anna still took any comment about her lack of skill very personally. Her rolls weren’t anywhere near as fluffy as Rosie Herschberger’s, and she’d never been able to make gingersnaps that didn’t come out of the oven looking like brown golf balls. She knew what her flaws were, but it still stung like a wasp whenever one of her bruderen or one of the girls in the gmayna pointed them out.

She wanted to be a gute cook. She really did. It was one of the only ways a girl could catch a husband. But could she help it that she enjoyed being a little adventurous with her cooking? Plain rolls were boring. Rolls with raisins and walnuts were something to write home about.

Thanksgiving was the perfect time to experiment with some new and delicious recipes. “If you don’t want to eat my Thanksgiving dinner, Isaac, you can go ahead and starve. But you’re not going to want to miss it. I’m making rolls—”

“They’re always hard,” said Isaac.

She ignored him. “And turkey—”

“It’s always dry.”

“And this year I’m making asparagus raisin casserole as a side dish. I got the recipe from Aendi Ruth.”

Isaac raised his brows. “Aendi Ruth? The one who’s been dead for six years?”

Anna nodded. “I inherited all her recipes.”

Isaac wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You’re making dead people’s recipes for Thanksgiving? That sounds about right.”

Elmer placed both palms on Isaac’s chest and shoved him halfway down the sidewalk. Isaac stumbled backward but regained his footing and simply laughed. Elmer gave Anna a reassuring smile. “Don’t listen to Isaac. He’s joking, and it’s mean.” Elmer emphasized mean, glaring at Isaac while he measured his words. “You’re a fine cook, Anna. If Isaac doesn’t like it, he can just try making dinner for himself.”

Anna loved Elmer for standing up for her, even though they all knew what a failure Anna was as a cook. But she still had hope for Thanksgiving. Maybe everyone would be pleasantly surprised. She turned her face away and pretended to rearrange the bread in the wagon so Isaac wouldn’t know he’d upset her. “Denki, Elmer, but don’t worry about me. I don’t care what Isaac says.” She sincerely hoped Gotte would forgive her for the lie. She just couldn’t abide that smug smile stretched across Isaac’s face. “He’s a baby, and he wouldn’t know what gute manners were if they jumped out and bit him.”

“Who got bitten?”

Anna leaped out of her skin at the sound of a man’s voice. She whirled around and came face-to-chest with a gray-green, perfectly pressed military uniform and what looked like an impressive collection of medals. She tilted her head back—way back—to get a look at the owner of the medals. He was tall, and she, unfortunately, was barely five feet, and that was only when she squared her shoulders and stood up perfectly straight.

Anna’s heart skipped seven whole beats. Backing away from him as if he were a ghost, she caught her heel on the edge of the curb and fell ungracefully on her hinnerdale into the snow on the sidewalk.

The soldier’s all-too-familiar and very attractive smile disappeared immediately, and he rushed to Anna’s aid, holding out his hand and pulling her up before Elmer or Isaac even had a chance to react. Of course, Isaac wouldn’t have helped Anna out of the deep well, but Elmer was a little more thoughtful. “Are you all right?” the soldier said, his hand lingering in Anna’s for a second too long.

While the soldier gazed at her in concern, Anna pulled her hand from his, brushed off her cape, then discreetly tapped the snow off her backside. “I’m fine,” she said. “You just startled me, that’s all. I sort of thought you were dead.” She felt her face get warm. Felty Helmuth was obviously not dead, and it was impolite of her to mention it. She clamped her mouth shut. She most certainly wasn’t going to mention the missing leg.

He didn’t seem to take offense that she thought he had died. His smile came back full force and nearly knocked her down again with its brilliance. “You meet with the most unexpected surprises in Bonduel.” His face seemed to glow with happiness. “Your eyes are still as blue as Shawano Lake on a clear fall morning.”

Anna couldn’t swallow. Was that normal when a boy looked at someone like he was looking at her?

“You’ve grown taller,” he said, as if it were the most impressive accomplishment in the world.

Laughter escaped her lips in an unladylike explosion. “I’ve been this tall since sixth grade.”

Felty grinned and shrugged, never taking his gaze from her face. “Then maybe you’ve just grown prettier, if that is possible.”

She made a real effort to swallow. It wouldn’t be seemly if she drooled all over herself in public. “I . . . I haven’t grown taller, but you have.”

He smiled wryly. “For sure and certain. I didn’t mean to, but I put on three inches in Korea.”

Anna glanced at Elmer. He and the other boys were frozen where they stood, staring at Felty as if he were a two-headed goat. She couldn’t blame them. Felty was probably the most magnificent sight she had seen in all her nineteen years, except for maybe the first time she saw her cousin’s baby who was born with two thumbs on her right hand. Felty was dressed in a smart, dull green army uniform with not a wrinkle in sight. There were four pockets on the front of his jacket, with no shortage of shiny gold buttons. He wore a lighter green shirt with a darker green Englisch tie, and his hair was cut so short on the sides, she could see his scalp underneath it. He held his hat in one hand and an olive green duffel bag in the other. Anna couldn’t see a gun anywhere. Didn’t soldiers carry guns?

And then there was the scar, two full inches long down the left side of his face. Whatever had happened to him must have hurt, but the scar did nothing to mar his features. If anything, it made his face more interesting and mysterious, like Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice.

Before she let her mind get carried away with Felty’s magnificence, Anna took a deep breath and pulled her thoughts back to earth. Felty was tall, imposing, and very handsome. He was also the Helmuths’ wayward son, who had left home more than two years ago to fight in the Korean War. He had shamed his parents and embarrassed the entire community. The Amish were against violence of any kind, even during wartime, when other men left home to fight for their country. It was better to let yourself be killed than to raise a hand or gun against anyone, even an enemy—even an enemy who would not hesitate to kill you.

Anna certainly couldn’t forget the stain that Felty had put on the entire district with his decision. She would be wise not to have anything to do with him. Should she climb into the wagon and ride away as quickly as possible, putting needed space between her impressionable bruderen and someone as wicked as Felty Helmuth?

She willed herself to stop staring and cleared her throat. “Ach, vell, Felty. It is nice to see you again, but we have to be going.”

His bright smile faded slightly, but he looked at her as if she was the kindest person in the world. “It is wunderbarr to see you too. You are more beautiful than I remember.”

“Hey ho, soldier.” A burly man with a bushy mustache strode toward the wagon and held out his hand. Felty’s smile came back full force, and he shook the man’s hand as if they were old friends.

“Hello, sir,” Felty said.

“Back from Korea?” the man said.

Felty nodded.

“For good or just on leave?”

“For good,” Felty said.

For good? He was here to stay? Would his parents be happy to see him? Did he want to join the Amish even after fighting in a war? Or was he firmly attached to his worldly ways? Anna was all the more suspicious. Felty was obviously of questionable character. He had fought in a war, his hair was unnaturally short, and those buttons were a sure sign of unfettered pride.

The man folded his arms and leaned against the wagon bed as if he was planning on staying awhile. “My name’s Charles. Charles Patton, like the general, but you can call me Chuck. Who did you serve with?”

“Seventh Infantry Division, sir.”

Charles scrubbed his hand down the side of his face. “I hear they took heavy casualties at the beginning there.”

Felty drew his brows together and nodded. “They were brave men, sir.”

Charles gave Felty’s shoulder a stiff pat. “If you were in the Seventh, you’re one of the brave ones too. Never forget that.”

She saw Felty’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. He seemed unable to speak. They were talking about things Anna couldn’t begin to understand, but she was intensely interested all the same.

“I was with the Eightieth during the Second World War,” Charles said.

Felty stood up a little straighter. “I’m honored to meet you, sir.”

Charles shook his head. “We all just did our duty.”

“Yes, sir.”

Charles frowned and looked into the distance. “And lost a lot of good men. That’s what war is, a waste of good men.” He seemed to pull his thoughts back as quickly as they had strayed. “They say the war can’t last much longer. Everybody’s tired of it.”

“For sure and certain,” Felty said.

Charles bloomed into a smile. “Hey, can I buy you a drink? The beer garden opens early.”

Anna riveted her attention to Felty’s face, curious to see how far Felty had waded into the waters of sin while he was in the army.

Felty gave Charles a kind, brotherly smile. “That is real nice of you, but I don’t drink, and I need to get home. The bus dropped me off not twenty minutes ago, and I’m eager to see my parents.”

Charles peered at Anna. “Are you with these folks? You Amish?”

Anna felt her face get warm. It was probably a sin to talk to a soldier. She didn’t want a visit from the Aumah Deanuh, the head deacon. “He’s not . . . with us,” Anna stuttered. “We just came into town to buy bread.” Neither Charles nor Felty needed to know that the reason they bought bread was because Anna had yet to make a loaf that wasn’t as hard as a rock. Even Elmer complained when Anna made bread.

Felty stared at Anna for a second while she squirmed under his gaze. Did he think she was being rude? She was only nineteen. How was she supposed to know the proper and church-approved way to treat a wayward and wild member? She studied Felty out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t seem particularly wild, although his haircut concerned her and his buttons were scandalous. But he was wayward, and Anna sensed that she should keep him at arm’s length. Isn’t that what the bishop would want her to do?

Felty finally stopped looking at her and smiled at Charles. “I am Amish.” He inclined his head in Anna’s direction. “She was in my district before I left. I happened to spot her wagon when I got off the bus. We’re not together. I was just glad to see a friendly face.” His last two words were directed at Anna, and they came out like a question.

“I thought the Amish didn’t believe in fighting in wars,” Charles said.

“We don’t,” Anna interjected, just in case Felty didn’t know about that part of the Confession of Faith.

Felty’s gaze once again rested on Anna’s face. What was he looking for? And why did his piercing look make her feel guilty? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

“We don’t,” Felty repeated. “But I felt God calling me to fight. I had to go.”

Anna pressed her lips together. Gotte would never do that, would He? Surely He didn’t just come right out and communicate with normal people. It seemed like a disorderly way to run the world. Of course, Anna knew next to nothing about how Gotte ran things. She was still trying to figure out why men and women sat on opposite sides of the room at church. Gotte’s ways were a mystery to her.

“God called you to fight?” Charles nodded. “I can respect that. I enlisted for freedom’s sake. All people deserve to be free.” He glanced at Anna as if he thought she might scold him for something. “It would be my honor to give you a lift home. My car’s twenty years old, but it’s always gotten me where I want to go.”

Elmer put his arm around Anna. “Let us take you home, Felty.” He tightened his grip. “He don’t live but two miles from our house, and he’s been all this time on a bus.”

Elmer’s tone made Anna feel ashamed. Where was her Christian charity? No matter how dangerous and unstable Felty might be, she should be nice. There was no harm in being nice. And Felty was Amish, or at least he used to be. That had to count for something. Besides, the poor boy had come home with a scar and one leg. How hardhearted would she have to be to snub a one-legged man?

Despite her guilt and her confusion and the butterflies flitting about in her stomach, Anna managed a wide smile. “We would love to drive you home, Felty.” She could sort out her feelings and her sins later.

Felty’s face exploded into a smile. Ach, his teeth were so bright, Anna was in some danger of going blind—and having a heart attack. “I would like that very much,” he said. “You don’t mind, do you, Charles? I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Charles waved off Felty’s question. “I’d choose a pretty girl over an old soldier anytime, even on a cold day. Good luck, and I hope to see you again. I’m working on starting a VFW chapter. Maybe you could come.”

“I’d like that,” Felty said.

Charles pulled a piece of paper and a short pencil from his pocket and wrote something down. He handed the paper to Felty. “Here is my phone number and address. Write me a letter or give me a call when you’re in town.”

“We have a phone shack,” Isaac said. “They installed it last year.”

“But it’s only for emergencies,” Anna insisted. She didn’t want Felty getting ideas about calling old soldier friends or other worldly people from the phone shack.

“Of course,” Felty said, as if he wouldn’t dream of calling anybody ever.

Charles and Felty shook hands again, and Charles headed across the street to the beer garden.

Felty hefted his duffel bag into the back of the wagon, and Anna was grateful that he was careful not to smash the bread. With the agility of a young child, he jumped into the wagon and sat next to Owen. Anna was impressed. He moved like someone who had two good legs, even when he only had one.

“Nae, Felty,” Elmer said. “You ride up front. She’s driving.”

Felty smiled at Anna as if he liked that idea very much. “Do you mind?”

He was missing a leg and had a scar on his cheek. She couldn’t very well say nae. Besides, her heart was now doing somersaults, and she couldn’t think of one gute reason to refuse him. “I don’t . . .