An Amish Christmas (10 page)

The children, on the other hand, were seated at the table looking bored but fully awake. Will was rhythmically kicking the rungs of his chair. Sam had folded his hands on the table in front of him and was turning them this way and that, intently examining them. Lizzie sat slouched over, an elbow on the table, her head resting on her hand. All this might catch up with them later, but for now Meg felt certain they would be fine sitting here, eating—or rudely turning up their noses at—whatever this lovely woman was nice enough to serve them.

Catherine came to the table with a large bowl of warm water. She dipped two worn but clean washcloths into the water, wrung them out, and handed them to Meg and James. For the first time, Meg looked closely at her own arms and saw the thin streaks of blood.

These are truly kind people, Meg thought as she dabbed at her cuts with the warm cloth. Imagine opening your house to help a bunch of strangers who had almost run you over. Taking a quick look at her sullen children, she hoped the Lutzes wouldn’t come to regret it.

Meg opened her eyes to see an overcast day through the panes of an unfamiliar window. The gray sky gave no clue whether it was morning or afternoon. Trying to clear her head, she stared at the short beige curtains framing the window. As she shifted position on the bed, she let out an involuntary groan. Every inch of her body hurt.

It all came back to her at once. The accident, the buggy ride to the Lutz household, James going outside to the shed where the Lutzes kept a telephone so he could call a tow truck. His second call had been to the insurance company, and Meg had breathed a sigh of relief knowing that their policy was paid up until the first of the year.

When the doctor arrived, Meg had been surprised to see that he wasn’t Amish, but he was a friend of the Lutz family. He examined them all to check for broken bones or signs of trauma and prescribed ice for the bump on Sam’s head and the bruise
on Lizzie’s foot. As the doctor removed slivers of glass from the cuts on James and Meg, he warned them that they might feel a bit battered in the morning. Reassured that they had ibuprofen in their possession, he left, refusing James’s offer of payment.

After that, Catherine Lutz had served bowls of steaming beef stew with warm home-baked bread and butter, tall glasses of water, and hot tea. Meg hadn’t realized she was hungry until she caught the aroma of the food put in front of her. Although she and James quickly finished their portions, she saw that her children ate only the bread, making disgusted faces at one another behind Catherine’s back as soon as they tasted the thick stew.

After she finished eating, Meg picked up her bowl and glass and came around to Will, who was about to step away from the table. “Clear your dishes and push in your chair,” she whispered.

His startled expression confirmed that he hadn’t thought of doing either, but he carried his plates to the kitchen counter. Lizzie and Sam followed suit.

Catherine told Lizzie she could share a room with her daughter, Amanda, who was sixteen. She had gone to a friend’s house nearby, but she would be back later. Will and Sam would be given the bedroom of the Lutzes’ seventeen-year-old son, who was away. They all grabbed their bags, which had been retrieved and neatly lined up near the door, and trooped upstairs, Lizzie limping and complaining about the pain in her foot. Only a few kerosene lamps lit the steps and hallways. It was a large upstairs with numerous doors, Meg noted, but without having seen the outside very well in the dark, she found it difficult
to make out just how big the house might be. She wondered how many people lived there.

Catherine directed them to the room at one end of the hall where Lizzie would be sleeping. As her daughter went in and dropped her bags on one of the twin beds, Meg took a quick look around. Plain wooden furniture, a dresser and a night table with a Bible on it. The curtains, doubtlessly hand-sewn, were yellow-and-white-checked, and the beds had yellow sheets and unadorned white dust ruffles. There were no computer photos, posters, or decorations like Lizzie or her friends would have displayed. Instead, Meg saw that the room’s inhabitant had hung up rows of notes, cards, and letters she must have received over the years.

The room where Will and Sam were to spend the night was very different. Meg saw free weights in one corner, an archery bow propped nearby, and posters of various athletes hung up on the walls. On the high chest of drawers, she spotted a framed photograph of several smiling Amish teenagers, buddies having a good time.

Sam reached for a quick good-night hug from his mother, the fearful look in his eyes causing her to kneel down and put a hand on his cheek. She smiled at him. “We’re right here,” she murmured into his hair as she held him close, “and you’ll be with your brother.”

“Yeah, come on,” Will said as he dropped his bags on the floor. “I’ll tell you ghost stories.”

Sam shot his mother a look of panic.

“Just kidding, Sam.” Will laughed.

Meg hugged and reassured Sam for another minute before he was willing to let her go.

Catherine led Meg and James to the far end of the hall. The bedroom was spare, with two small windows framed by beige curtains, and furnished much like the others with a heavy wooden dresser and a night table in between twin beds. The beds looked freshly made.

“This is Annie’s old room,” Catherine explained. “She’s married now and living next door. Amanda put clean sheets on while we were downstairs.”

Meg and James tried to express their gratitude once again, but Catherine waved away their words. “We eat breakfast at six, but you don’t need to get up that early. Is eight o’clock all right for you?”

“That would be wonderful.”

Catherine nodded and headed toward the stairs. Meg closed the door.

“This is quite the situation,” James said, dropping down onto one of the beds to take off his shoes.

There was a tap on the door.

“I know we’ve gone back to 1742,” Lizzie said with sarcastic sweetness, “but could you please wake me when it’s the present again?”

Meg yanked open the door. “Not funny, Lizzie.” She looked past her daughter to scan the hallway. “And please shush. They might hear you.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Relax, there’s no one up here but us. I looked. But come on, Mom, we’re in some kind of time
warp. We’re in
Little House on the Prairie
! Which, by the way, was on the bookcase downstairs! Are you kidding me? Please just get us out of here tomorrow first thing.”

James looked up at her. “How should I do that, Liz?” he asked in annoyance. “Build a car with paper-towel tubes and duct tape?”

Lizzie’s expression turned dark. “I don’t care what we have to do, but I’m not staying here a minute more than I have to.”

Meg kept her annoyance in check. “Go on back to your room. We should all get some rest.”

“It’s
nine-thirty!
Who goes to bed at nine-thirty?”

“Tonight,” Meg replied, “we do. And remember to make your bed in the morning and clean up after yourself in the bathroom. We’re guests, so let’s behave like guests.”

“It’s weird up here, all deserted. Everything’s so ugly.”

“Good night, sweetheart.” Meg gently closed the door.

“Sure, what do you care?” Lizzie’s complaints grew fainter as she moved down the hall. “You’re not sharing a room with someone who thinks this is the eighteenth century.”

Meg felt she couldn’t move another muscle. She found one of her nightgowns in her suitcase, slipped it on, and crawled under the covers, falling instantly into a deep sleep.

Waking up now, she was amazed that her body, which had felt tired but fine the night before, could be so stiff and sore.

She looked at James, asleep in the other bed, then reached for her watch on the night table. The slight movement made her feel as if every single muscle in her body were screaming in protest. It was seven-forty.

“James,” she called out, slightly panicked, “wake up! We’re supposed to be downstairs at eight. That’s in twenty minutes!”

He mumbled something and rolled away from her voice. With a long groan, Meg forced herself to sit up.

“You have to get up,” she said with more force as she made her way to her purse for the small bottle of ibuprofen she always kept there. She was particularly sore on her side, where James had collided with her at the moment of impact.

“Oh, wow, everything aches.” James stared at the ceiling, tentatively stretching out his arms.

“Here, you want two of these?” She held out the bottle. Whatever their problems were, for now she would have to put aside her resentment toward James to get through the situation. “We have to wake the kids up. I’m sure they’re dead asleep, and we’re supposed to have breakfast now.”

Grumbling, the children threw on their clothes and headed downstairs, Lizzie still limping slightly. By the time they had all assembled in the kitchen, it was nearly eight-thirty. Meg saw that Sam had a huge, angry-looking lump on his forehead, but he didn’t say anything about it, so she didn’t bring it up.

They found five places set for them at the table, including glasses filled with orange juice. There were several boxes of cereal, a plate with chocolate-chip cookies, doughnuts, and what appeared to be homemade zucchini bread, plus a bowl of strawberry preserves. Next to all of that were pitchers with milk and water. The room was dim, and Meg realized that the windows were the only source of light. Of course, she thought. No electricity, but it was daytime, so it wouldn’t be necessary to light lamps or candles.

Meg looked around. “I have to say, this house is so clean, you could perform brain surgery on the floor of any room.”

The Hobart children sat down at the table and glowered. Lizzie touched the flowered plastic place mat with distaste. “Gross.”

“These aren’t normal cereals,” Will complained. “What is this, all generic?”

“They’re the same as cornflakes and Cheerios,” James answered.

“My bed was so hard, I might as well have slept on the floor. And if I hadn’t had my own blanket, I would have frozen to death under that thin thing they had on the bed.” Lizzie reached for a cookie.

Meg ignored her remarks. “Did you see their daughter?”

“I saw her at some point, but she woke me up by accident, and it was dark, so I don’t know if it was when she came in or got up to leave.” Lizzie grinned. “Maybe she was out until all hours. These people are party animals.”

Will laughed and high-fived his sister.

The door opened, and Catherine Lutz came inside, her face flushed with the cold. Will and Lizzie immediately fell silent. Sam poured himself a bowl of cereal.

Catherine removed her black cape, talking cheerfully as she hung it on a hook. “Good morning. I thought you might need some more sleep, so I just put this out. I can make you some hot food now. Eggs and ham? Coffee?”

“No, thank you,” James answered. “This is plenty. But coffee would be great.”

David Lutz appeared behind his wife, wiping his feet on the
doormat before he came in. “Ah, I’m in time to sit with you. How are you folks feeling today?”

“Like the doctor warned us,” Meg said. “We’re stiff, but it’ll pass.”

David sat down at the head of the table. “Would one of you like to say grace?”

Sam, who had been reaching for the milk pitcher, froze, then dropped his arm into his lap. Will’s and Lizzie’s eyes widened.

Meg had no idea what constituted grace for these people. She doubted James did, either, which he confirmed with the note of doubt in his voice. “Uh, thank you, but no. It’s your house, so please, you go ahead.”

David nodded. “Our Father, who art in Heaven …”

Oh, thought Meg with relief, it’s the Lord’s Prayer. What had she been expecting? She and James joined in, their children sitting silently, the two elder ones doing a poor job of hiding their pained expressions. The Lutzes, Meg saw, either didn’t notice or were gracious enough to pretend they didn’t.

“Where is everybody?” Will asked when they had finished. He took a bite of a doughnut. “Are you the only people here?”

David smiled. “Oh, there are lots of people here. The younger children are at school. The older ones are doing chores. Some of our children are married and don’t live here, but they’ll be by at some point. They live in the houses nearby, so the grandchildren run in and out a lot, too. Be careful you don’t trip on them.”

“Whoa,” said Lizzie in surprise before she caught herself.

Meg realized that her daughter had never been exposed to
an extended family living so close to one another. They barely had relatives, much less ones that might run in and out a lot.

“You didn’t get to meet Amanda yesterday,” Catherine said to Lizzie, “but she’s breaking up the ice in front of the barn, and she’ll be in a little later.”

Lizzie’s forced smile matched the tone of her words. “That’s great.”

Catherine brought over a pot of coffee and poured cups for Meg and James. “It snowed a little during the night, but mostly there is ice now.”

“When you’re done with your coffee,” David said to James, “we can find out the situation with your car. I’ll take you over to the repair shop.”