A Simple Amish Christmas (16 page)

“Over our
bruder
? Hard to believe; after all, he’s flexible and sensitive.” Annie coughed into her hand.

“Unlike our father,” Charity added.

Adam pulled their buggy in line on the road behind Jacob and Rebekah’s buggy. A smile now stretched completely across his face.

“
Mamm
must have been drinking tea with a different Leah King. My girl would never call me stubborn, let alone be
frustrated about me enough to talk to her about it through two cups of tea.”

“Your girl apparently asked
Mamm
if Annie would stop by this week.”

“What?” Adam’s voice rose like the gust of winter wind stirring the trees which lined the road. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m afraid so, dear
bruder
.”

“
Mamm
didn’t mention it to me, but then I went to bed early last night.” Annie tapped Charity on the shoulder and mouthed, “Are you serious?”

Charity nodded yes, then shrugged.

“I stopped by her house last week.” Adam scowled at the clouds building on the eastern horizon. “She wasn’t upset about anything.”

Annie cornered herself into the buggy and studied Adam. She was proud of him in every way. He’d grown into a fine young man. There were moments, though—like this one— when he still reminded her of the little boy but a year ahead of her in school, trying to puzzle out a particularly hard lesson.

“Someone was supposed to take her for a buggy ride yesterday.” Charity looked at Annie and raised both eyebrows.

“He didn’t cancel, did he?”

“
Ya.
Something about too much work, so he sent a message with his mother.”

“Oh, Adam.”

Both girls stared at him openly, waited for his response.

“Well, now, I had to see to this mare, didn’t I?” Adam sat forward, shoulders hunched.

“I believe
Mamm
said the mare was re-shod by noon.” Charity straightened her prayer
kapp
as they neared the Umble’s home.

“True or false, Adam?”

“
Ya
, but I had planned to work on my and Leah’s house in the morning. When I had to spend the morning on the mare, then I had to push the work on the house to afternoon.”

“So you cancelled.” Annie added a tsk-tsk as Adam whoaed the mare, pulled the buggy up into the row of buggies. Apparently, Deborah Umble had planned quite the Christmas party.

“Man has to finish his house if he expects to be married in the fall.”

“Man better take his girl for an occasional ride on Saturday,” Charity warned, “or she might become a bit
bedauerlich
.”

Charity jumped out of the buggy after Annie, but Adam stopped her, a look of concern covering his face—all earlier playfulness now gone. “Was she upset about yesterday, Charity?”

“She misses seeing you, Adam. If the house isn’t finished in time, the community will help. Spend some time with her today.”

Adam nodded, then turned his attention to the horse.

Annie looked over to her
mamm
and
dat
. She’d planned on helping him into the Umbles’ house, but they seemed to have it covered. In fact, he was leaning on Reba as she watched. So she stayed with Adam by the buggy and waited to go in with him.

“You don’t have to worry about Leah, Adam. She cares about you very much.”

“
Ya
, but we have less than ten months to finish the house. Plus there’s my job over at the livery stable, and I’ll need to plant spring crops and help
Dat
. It’s a lot to accomplish, Annie.”

“And Leah will help you. But you have to talk to her about all you need to finish, all your worries and what you’re doing with your days. Find a quiet place today to speak with her. Tell
her you’re sorry you missed your time together yesterday. And ask her how you can make it up to her.”

Adam’s eyes searched hers. “You really think it’s that simple?”

For some reason Annie’s mind flashed back to yesterday afternoon, to the time she’d spent with Samuel in the barn, speaking with him as she’d held the pups.

“I’m fairly sure it is. A woman wants to know what’s on your mind and your heart, then she’ll help you as she can.”

16

 

A
nnie and Adam climbed the steps of the two-story, clapboard house. It looked like so many other houses in their area—white picket fence, green tin roof, sweeping porch, and a red barn away and off to the side at least equal in size to the house.

The Umbles were neither wealthier nor poorer than any of the other families in their district. They did have a few more
kinner
than most.

Deborah Umble was a small woman. As Annie entered the house and moved over and among the women and children, she spotted her. Barely over five feet tall, certainly not weighing more than one hundred and ten pounds, she was probably nearing forty years old now.

How had she birthed eight children?

The thought was enough to make Annie want to lie down and take a nap.

Deborah’s hair was covered with a prayer
kapp
, like all the other women’s, but auburn wisps escaped as she bent to wipe the youngest girl’s nose.

Annie had no trouble distinguishing the Umble children among the many in the house—though some had their father’s
burly build and some were slight like their
mamm
, all had Deborah’s dark auburn hair. The youngest she carried on her hip. He looked to be almost a year old.

Food covered every inch of space on the kitchen counter, and tiny sprigs of evergreen decorated the table. Annie wondered where she should put the butter-squash casserole she held, but Charity whisked it out of her left hand and set it in the oven to warm.

“Desserts?” Annie asked with a smile.

“I’ve been put in charge of those.” Samuel took the shoofly pie from her right hand even as he bent closer. “The dark green color looks attractive on you, Nurse Annie.”

Then he was gone, standing across the room next to the long planks Stephen Umble had placed on sawhorses near the front windows. They were covered with pies, cakes, and Christmas cookies.

Candles perched on each windowsill, waiting for nightfall, and Annie noticed a few wrapped Christmas presents that had been stacked neatly and tucked under the end tables that flanked the couch in the living room. It all reminded her of how close Christmas was and how relieved she was to be here—to be home.

“Maybe you should step out of the kitchen, Annie. You look a bit flushed.” Rebekah placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, offered her a cup of punch.

“Thanks,
Mamm
. I’m fine. What else can I do to help?” Annie turned from watching Samuel, but as she did she was sure she saw him smile at her and nod.

Now what was that about?

And why did her heart race every time he stood near?

 

Samuel accepted the plate of food from Rebekah Weaver. “
Danki
.”

“No need to thank me, Samuel. Though I’d appreciate it if you’d take an extra plate over to Annie. Maybe stay with her and see that she eats. She seems intent on hovering over her father. No doubt she’ll set it down and walk away if you leave her for a minute.”

Samuel followed her gaze and saw why she was worried.

Annie was attempting to find something Jacob could elevate his leg on. She kept trotting back to him with various-sized items—stools, small pillows from the couch, even a gift she’d found wrapped in bright red paper.

Jacob was having none of it.

He looked perfectly content sitting at the long table set up in the middle of the large open space straddling the kitchen and living room, and he wasn’t going to move so he could elevate the leg with the larger cast.

The scene outside the windows revealed a world covered in snow, as the storm that had been building all morning had finally let loose.

Most of the children and even the single adults had filled their plates and gone to the barn to eat. No doubt even now a game of indoor volleyball had begun.

Annie had stayed behind.

“I’ll take care of her,” Samuel promised with a chuckle.

He accepted another plate of food and walked to where she was still trying to shove something under her father’s foot.

“Leave a man alone, Annie.” Jacob forked a piece of ham and pointed it at her. “My stomach is as important as my foot, and right now I’m hungry.”

“But you’ve been on it all morning, and you should raise it up for a while.”

“Is there a problem here?” Samuel spoke quietly, knowing she hadn’t seen him walk up behind her.

She jumped, then scowled at them both. “Problem is he’s stubborn as a mule.”

“Hungry as one, too.” Jacob looked up at Samuel with a smile. “I hope her mother sent you over here to rescue me.”

“Actually, she did. Come with me, Annie. I need your help with something.”

“Oh, well. All right, but I’ll be back.” Annie glowered at her father, but moved away with Samuel. “Is someone hurt? I saw all those children leaving for the barn. Did someone fall?”

Samuel nodded toward their coats, waited while she shrugged into hers. Then she took both plates, and he shrugged into his.

They hurried to the barn, through the falling snow. Once inside, amidst the noise of a volleyball game, a transistor radio, and several dozen kids and young adults ranging from four to twenty-four, he maneuvered her to the far side of the south wall.

Samuel set both plates down on a wooden crate that had been turned upside down.

“No one’s hurt,” he admitted.

“Then, what did you need me for?” She looked around, puzzled, as if she might find an emergency lurking under the closest hay bale.

“Because your mother wants you to eat, and your father wants to enjoy his lunch.”

He watched the blush start at her neck and creep all the way up to her hairline. A man could grow used to watching such a beautiful sight.

“My father needs to elevate his foot.”

“No, he needs to eat. Now, why don’t you stop fussing over him and let the man be?”

“Samuel Yoder, I can’t believe you’d say such a thing to me.”

“I didn’t say it first. Your
mamm
did. She also sent your plate and asked me to sit and eat with you.”

If anything her face turned even redder.

She snatched the plate from his hand and plopped down on the hay bale next to the wooden crate. “Well, by all means don’t feel like you have to stay because you promised my
mamm
.”

“Actually, I was looking for you anyway.” Samuel took a large bite of the casserole on his plate, decided he needed to eat the fresh bread before it grew completely cold, then wished he could wash it all down with a big drink of Deborah Umble’s famous lemonade. “I see Charity brought out a jug of lemonade. Would you like me to bring you a cup?”

Annie rolled her eyes, but muttered, “
Ya.
Lemonade will make it all better.”

He fetched the drinks, smiling as she took a big sip and squinted her eyes at the tartness. Sitting down beside her, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It would have looked forward for me to seek you out. I got lucky when your
mamm
asked me to pull you away from your
dat
.”

Annie had put the first bite of casserole into her mouth. At his confession, she swallowed wrong and began to choke.

Samuel set his own plate down and began patting her on the back. “Are you all right? Do I need to perform the Heimlich maneuver on you? Everyone’s staring at us now, but I do know how to save a person who is choking. Learned it quite a few years ago, even had to perform the maneuver once on old Mr. Bender.”

Annie grabbed her drink and swallowed half of it, holding up her hand to silence him. “I’m fine,” she gasped. “Please don’t Heimlich me. I don’t want to give everyone another reason to stare.”

Samuel laughed and sat back down. “You scared me for a minute there. Actually turned a little purple. Color matches nicely with your hair, but I prefer your normal complexion.”

Annie picked up her fork, took one more bite, then set the plate down. “You’re acting mighty strange, Samuel. Maybe you fell out of your buggy and hit your head.”

“Nope. Just enjoying eating my Sunday lunch with a pretty girl. Can’t blame a man for acting a little bit more friendly than normal.”

Annie began to blush again, and Samuel decided he certainly did like it. He wouldn’t mind thinking of more ways to make Annie Weaver blush.

“And you call this more friendly than normal?”

“More friendly than a bear.”

“So you’ve been called a bear before?”

“I have, as a matter of fact.”

They ate without talking, though Samuel liked to think it was a comfortable silence. Of course, the barn was hardly quiet, with so many young ones in it, and he didn’t want to count the couples who were courting. There had been Sundays when sitting in the midst of so many people had made him feel lonely, but right now he couldn’t remember why.

“Did you ask your mother about the pup?”

“I did, and she said Reba could have it—if you still have one you haven’t given away.”

Samuel grinned as he drank the last of his lemonade. “Seems the one you were so fond of is still looking for a home.”

“
Wunderbaar.
She will love it. I can’t think of a better Christmas present for Reba.”

Suddenly Annie dropped her plate onto the crate and jumped up. He barely had time to understand what she’d seen and where she was headed.

He barely had time to stop her.

“Peace, Annie.” He reached out, snagged her arm, pulled her back to where she’d been sitting. “Let your father be.”

“But he’s headed over toward the livestock. Do you realize what’ll happen if he breaks his leg again?”

“Annie, look at me.”

When she finally turned those dark brown eyes toward his, Samuel’s heart rate kicked up a notch, and he realized he might be a bit more smitten with little Annie than he’d realized.

“Did you not listen to Bishop Levi at all last Sunday?”

She drew back as if she’d been slapped, and he thought she might walk away. Instead, all of the bluster went out of her. “
Ya
. I listened.”

“Then finish your food. Make your
mamm froh
. I believe Charity’s watching, and she’ll probably report back.”

Annie glanced over to where her
schweschder
was sitting, and Charity waved at them both. Samuel and Annie waved back, and Annie picked up her plate, moved the food around with her fork.

“I did listen to the bishop,” she said a bit sheepishly.

“And?”

“And what?” She raised her eyes to his, clearly exasperated.

“Did you not believe him, or did you not understand what he said?”

Annie stared down at her plate, finally gave up playing with the food and the fork. “You’ll laugh if I tell you the truth.”

“ ’Course I won’t laugh.” Samuel had completely cleaned his plate. He set it aside, crossed his feet at the ankles and stretched his legs full-length. Hands crossed under his head, he leaned back against the wall. “Try me.”

“It’s just that while Bishop Levi was talking, it all made so much sense. I had this moment where everything seemed to click, and I thought—I want that. I want to be like that
exactly—calm, peaceful, serene.” She looked up at him then, a tentative smile playing at her lips.

“And I thought I had it,” she continued. “Like when I’m holding one of Reba’s kittens. Then, the service ended, and suddenly it vanished.
Dat
wouldn’t behave himself, I started worrying he would fall, and I was going to be right there and unable to do anything about it. All the peacefulness slipped away… just like the kitten that scampered out of my hands.”

He watched her play with the ties of her
kapp
, watched and waited to see if she would add anything else.

“I suppose I missed something.” She released the ties, folded her hands in her lap.

“Why would you suppose that?”

“Because it didn’t work. I didn’t get it, obviously. Do I look serene to you?” Now her hands were spread out, gesturing.

Samuel couldn’t have stopped the smile spreading across his face if a week’s worth of crop depended on it.

“
Ach.
Never mind.” Annie folded her arms tightly across her ribs and looked over at Adam and Leah, who were feeding Leah’s youngest baby
schweschder
. “I don’t know why I thought you’d understand.”

“Actually, I think I do understand.”

“You do?”

“It’s not that you missed anything, Annie. It’s that you care for your father very much—so it’s natural to worry. But truth is he’s fine, and you can trust him to act responsibly. You can also trust the Lord to look after him.”

“
Ya
, but—”

“You know what else I think?”

“No, but—”

“I think you might be blaming yourself for your
dat’s
accident in the first place. And his accident, Miss Annie, is not your fault.”

“I don’t blame myself.” She scooted to the far side of her hay bale, turned sideways so she could look at him straight on. “Where would you get such an idea?”

“Well, I’ve been watching how you worry around him. Seems like you might be carrying a bit of guilt over his accident. Perhaps if you hadn’t been away at the time, it wouldn’t have happened—which isn’t logical. Your father still would have been out that night, and the car still would have smashed into his buggy.”