An Amish Christmas Quilt by Jennifer Kelly; Beckstrand Charlotte; Long Hubbard

here from Lancaster County, no one had ever questioned that he and Miriam made the perfect pair. It had been easy for them to court because Miriam’s girls were grown . . . but Seth doubted that young children would have dissuaded Ben. He was the kind of man who determined what he wanted—what God intended for him to pursue—and let nothing stand in his way. Willow Ridge was truly blessed to have Ben as one of its new preachers.
    A woof made Seth glance at Rowdy, who was still sitting obediently nearby. When the border collie eagerly lifted a paw, Seth couldn’t resist the dog’s invitation. He sat on a bale and shook hands, admiring the dog’s intelligence. “You’re a gut dog, Rowdy,” he said.
    Rowdy woofed again, thumping his tail to confirm Seth’s assessment.
    Seth chuckled. Maybe he’d do well to assume some of the dog’s confidence. “Do ya think we can bring Sol around?” he asked, still grasping Rowdy’s paw. “He needs somebody to guide him—to herd him—and he’s not keen on listenin’ to me. But if you steer Sol away from trouble, and maybe make him laugh more,” Seth continued in a pensive tone, “maybe I can take him from there, ya think?”
    Despite the complicated nature of the conversation, Seth sensed that Rowdy had followed along and knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Woof! Woof! he replied as he held Seth’s gaze.
    â€œAll right, then, we’ll work on it. You and me,” Seth said.
    â€œWoof!”
    â€œ Woof!”
    When Seth released him, Rowdy circled the bales and then ran toward the house.
    â€œLooks like you two’re gonna be a team,” Ben said, clapping Seth on the shoulder. “Sol’s bad attitude doesn’t stand a chance. We all do better believin’ we’re loved and needed. Rowdy knows that; now it’s just a matter of convincin’ our boy.”
    We all do better believin’ we’re loved and needed. It was a tall order, winning Sol to his side. Yet now that Ben had stated the goal so clearly, Seth felt he had a better chance of reaching it.
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    Later that night, when the Brenneman house had settled into a deep December sleep, Seth lay awake. He told himself that the afternoon’s incident with Sol was a natural part of the package when it came to falling for a widow with kids, yet the boy’s continual backtalk and bad attitude grated on him. As he considered the long-term picture, multiplying and magnifying Sol’s retorts and protests and moods in the silence of the night, Seth became restless and agitated. He replayed the incidents of Sol’s defiance, seeing the kid’s belligerent frowns and hearing his rising whine, again and again, until he got out of bed to pace. How stupid had he been, talking to a dog? Believing that he and Rowdy could reverse Sol’s attitude?
    He’d made a big mistake, falling for Mary. The best thing would be to go out to the phone shanty and call her right now —leave a message saying he couldn’t participate in the Christmas Eve program, nor should she get her hopes up or continue to be interested in him. Seth didn’t want to hurt Mary, but deep in his heart he knew he wasn’t cut out to be Sol’s next dat. It would never work. Never.
    Yet when he reached the kitchen, he waffled. He saw Mary’s flawless face in his mind as he took a sugar cookie from a plate on the counter and washed it down with a glass of milk. Only a heartless coward would leave a phone message. Mary deserved his explanation face-to-face, even if such a conversation scared him nearly as much as the prospect of raising Sol did. He didn’t have much time before the pageant to inform her—but surely Ben or Andy Leitner could wear his costume. Either man would be a better Joseph, and they wouldn’t break her heart. It was the only decent thing to do.
    When Seth went back to bed, he dropped