An Amish Christmas With the Bontrager Sisters (6 page)

Jarron parked the buggy outside a large house with a tiled roof, a well-manicured garden and a small kennel where a bulldog slept locked to a chain. He checked the address again to make sure it was the right house.
 

Jarron had asked the people Jeramiah had worked with if they knew where he was living in the English town. They had all supplied him with this address but no further information. None of them had seen Jeramiah in months. He had given his resignation sometime in February.

Emma had persisted that finding Jeramiah was the key to helping Sarah get treatment and Bishop Amos had agreed. The Bishop had been of the opinion that if not to help get Sarah treatment, Jeramiah should at least know that his wife was still wedded to him, that she was expecting his child and dying because of it.

Jarron had a feeling that Bishop Amos felt Jeramiah’s loss of faith just as keenly as Sarah did.

Jarron straightened his coat and walked up to the front door. The bulldog woke up at the sound of the doorbell and began to bark in earnest lest his owner think he’d been asleep on the job.

“Shut up, Jupiter,” a shrill voice screamed from inside the house. The door opened and a semi clad young woman stood peering up at Jarron. She had shiny blonde hair that was styled in lose waves and curls, her eyes were heavily made up and her lips pink with gloss. Her well-tanned legs were exposed for the world to see, her shorts barely covering her modesty. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jarron,” he said swallowing hard and keeping his gaze steadily on her forehead. “Jarron Williams. I’m a relative of Jeramiah’s. May I speak to him?”

“No,” the woman said, shaking her head so her hair danced in silky waves.

“And why is that?” Jarron was taken aback by her curt answer.

“Because he’s dead,” she said simply. She turned on her heels and walked inside, leaving the door open for Jarron to follow.

Jarron stood at the door, his hat in his hands, too shocked for words. Jeramiah dead… But how?

He walked in a daze and found himself in a neat living room, not unlike the one his own mother kept in his childhood home, a TV in one corner, a bookshelf full of knickknacks and a coffee table devoid of any decoration and all centered around a comfortable sofa.

The woman was pouring out large glasses of lemonade. She brought one of them over to Jarron and sat down on the sofa, tucking her feet up and patting at the space left for him to take. Jarron did.

“I’m Suzie by the way,” she said. “Suzie Otego. I was his girlfriend.”

“I know,” Jarron said.
 

“I expect you do,” she said narrowing her eyes as she regarded Jarron from the rim of her glass. “Did she send you? His wife?”

“No,” Jarron said truthfully and took a sip of lemonade. It was too sweet and grainy from the powder mix Suzie had used. Not like Emma’s freshly squeezed lemonade.

“Then why are you here?”

“How did Jeramiah die?” Jarron asked, finding the woman distasteful like her lemonade.

“It was a car accident early March,” she said placing the lemonade glass on the coffee table. “We were driving down from Erie and the weather had let up but there was still some ice on the road. We’d had a bit too much to drink and, well, there was a patch of ice and I lost control of the car,” Suzie shrugged.

“He died in a car accident,” Jarron said tonelessly.

“I broke my arm,” Suzie pointed to her left arm. “And I got stitches,” she pointed to her forehead.

“Jeramiah died,” Jarron said fiercely, “eight months ago and you didn’t think to inform his family?”

“As far as Jeramiah was concerned, he didn’t have one,” Suzie snapped. She looked at Jarron with the bitter hate of a five year old. “He didn’t give me any addresses or numbers to contact them with.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Jarron said through gritted teeth, knowing that Suzie was lying. If she had been bothered she would have gotten a message through any of the many Amish people who worked in the town. She was a lazy, selfish human being and Jarron couldn’t see what Jeramiah had seen in her.

“He’s buried in the cemetery behind the church,” Suzie said finally and followed Jarron to the door. She looked like she was fighting with an idea and she’d finally made a decision. “His last words were ‘Sarah.’ If it’s any consolation to his wife,” Suzie shrugged, “he died calling her name.”

Jarron didn’t know if it would be any comfort at all but he tipped his hat to Suzie Otego and walked briskly back to his horse and buggy. He stroked the horse’s nose to calm the animal. The bulldog’s incessant barking had doubled since Suzie had come out to watch Jarron leave.

Jarron turned his buggy around and returned to the community, thanking
Gott
in His infinite wisdom for choosing him for the plain Amish life with a wife who deeply cared for him and his happiness.

Jarron’s heart was heavy with grief. He had known Jeramiah for years, first as a friend of Eli’s and then as a brother-in-law. He had been a fount of wisdom and good humor and had been the only witness when Jarron had proposed marriage to Emma.

For all his good deeds, Jeramiah was still human and prone to human error. It was a shame that his choices had led to this: the destruction of a happy family and a wife brought to the door of death.

How was he going to tell Sarah? It would kill her and she would doubly refuse to take treatment. This news held their families’ lives in the balance and he didn’t think he was the man for such a big responsibility.
 

Faced with a decision he felt inadequate to make, he went immediately to Emma who was in the kitchen basting the roasted chicken. Jarron held her arm and pulled her out on the back porch. Emma was about to protest but when she saw the urgency in his face and the stricken look in his eyes she stooped.

“What’s happened?” Emma asked.

“I went to look for Jeramiah,” Jarron said. “Like you asked.”

“And?” Emma asked eagerly.

“I found him,” Jarron swallowed.

“I knew you would,” Emma smiled but her smile faltered when Jarron didn’t look happy about it. “Did he refuse to come? Did you tell him about Sarah and the
boppli
?”

“No,” Jarron said. “I couldn’t Emma.”

“Why ever not?” Emma was perplexed. “He has a right to know, you heard Bishop Amos.”

“Emma,” Jarron said. “Jeramiah’s dead.”

“What?” Emma gasped.

“He died eight months ago and no one knew,” Jarron said.

“How?” Emma’s voice was faint.

“A car accident,” Jarron said, “I don’t know how we will tell Sa-”

A loud thud of something heavy falling came from the kitchen. Jarron and Emma rushed in to find Sarah sprawled on the floor in a dead faint.

*

“Yours was the last name he called,” Emma soothed the hair off of Sarah’s face with a damp cloth. “He must have still loved you Sarah.”

“I never doubted his love for me,” Sarah sobbed quietly. “It was his human failing to fall for the devil’s temptations in this world. But his excommunication has ensured we will not be together in the hereafter,” Sarah’s words drowned in a sea of helpless tears. “
Ach
, take me to him!” she wailed.

Martha pressed Sarah’s feet to ease out the knots in her calves.
Mamm
sang hymns and
Daed
read from the Bible. They all sat with Sarah through the night, keeping a vigil for a man who died eight months ago.

The next morning Sarah sat in the buggy for a journey that would be taxing on her frail body but she had insisted and the family knew there was no going around it. They drove to the
English
town, past familiar streets and the Amish Goods Shop.
 

Off the main street the church rose high and white, the bell in its tower still for the day, the birds playing hide and seek in the trees, calling out to their mates and nestlings. Behind the church, the gravestones were in various states of disrepair. The old ones were crumbling to dust while the new ones shone with the occasional bouquet of flowers placed in front of a well-loved lost soul.

They found Jeramiah’s grave after fifteen minutes of searching the rows. A heap of dried leaves and twigs was scattered near the headstone obscuring the name Yoder. Sarah knelt on the hard ground, her protruding belly skimming the long grass, her apron stained green. She said a silent prayer, and succumbed to the tears that had been threatening the back of her throat.

The Bontrager’s kept a respectful distance, letting Sarah indulge in her moment of grief. After a decent time had elapsed, Emma walked over and knelt down beside Sarah, holding her shoulders for comfort.

“I had hoped,” Sarah said in a toneless voice, “I had hoped that he would come back to the faith,” her fingers were tearing at the grass distractedly. “Because I wished that if
Gott
had willed him not to be a part of my remaining life on this earth, we would be together after, in
Gott’s
Heaven.”

“But that is not going to be now,” Sarah wailed. “My sweet Jeramiah is lost to me forever!”

Emma hugged Sarah and Martha and
Mamm
strode over to help lift Sarah into the wagon. Isaac and Ruth stared from their weeping mother to the headstone that was all that remained of their father on this earth and the children stood stricken to the spot, their bewilderment at the events of the last year visible in their dull eyes and fearful glances.

The smell of cinnamon spiced apples wafted through the house. Every corner and crevice smelled of apple pie and Martha was sure
Daed
was impatient for dinner, apple pie being his favorite dessert. Sarah and Emma were coming along to partake in Sunday dinner at the Bontrager home and Martha had been up since cock crow to make sure the meal was to everyone’s liking.

The Bontrager family had faced many blows recently; the departure of Jeramiah, Sarah’s pregnancy and eventual illness, Jeramiah’s demise and Emma’s inability to have children. But they were a strong family, with stronger faith and they counted their blessings every time the chips were down and were a tight unit against adversary.
 

Martha was also hopeful of turning their ill luck around. Jacob had been courting her for a month now and Martha was sure that his intentions were of marriage. They were both long out of their
rumspringa
and courtship for them was not about flirting for the thrill of it but to find a partner they respected and who made them happy.

Jacob had hinted at procuring the house and barn of old Mr. Byler who had died without any heir. He had shared his secret dream of a barn full of cows to tend to and a chicken coop in the back. Jacob wanted to trade in milk and eggs with the
English
grocery store as well as provide meat and dairy to his father’s restaurant.

“All I need is someone to help me run it,” Jacob had smiled mischievously at Martha and she had blushed.

Martha hummed and basted the roast turkey in the wood oven. She noticed the fire dwindling down and added another log. There was a loud knock on the door. Martha cleaned her hands on a tea towel and rushed to see who it could be.

“Hallo,
Ant
Lizzie,” Martha greeted her maternal aunt. A thin woman, she had a thin nose and narrow eyes. Sarah used to joke that she looked like a cross grasshopper when they were younger.

“Hallo to you too,” Aunt Lizzie said, coming into the house. “Where are your parents? Ach, there you are.”

Aunt Lizzie strode purposefully inside and took a seat on the armchair nearest the fireplace next to
Mamm
.
Daed
looked up from his newspaper long enough to grunt a greeting then went back to pursuing the latest agricultural news. Martha went into the kitchen to fix everyone hot chocolate. The weather was getting colder day by day and the colors of fall were turning to the stark greys and whites of winter.

“How are you, Lizzie?”
Mamm
asked, looking up from the cross stitch she was attending to. “And how are Elizabeth and Trudy.”

“They are well, as am I,” Aunt Lizzie said. Martha could hear them clearly from the kitchen. “I have come to speak to you about an urgent matter,” Aunt Lizzie proclaimed importantly and Martha had to suppress a smile. Everything Aunt Lizzie did or had to say was of the most importance to her. “I did not volunteer to do this, but my help has been enlisted and I could not, in
gut
consciousness refuse the task.”

“And what task is that?”
Daed
sounded bored. His face was still firmly behind his newspaper.

“I have been asked by Sam Lapp to intervene,” Aunt Lizzie said with great pomposity and Martha’s hand stilled over the hot pan, the steam and flames reaching up to devour her skin but she did not notice. “They do not like their son Jacob courting Martha, because of Martha’s
English
past,” Aunt Lizzie said delicately. “They have asked Jacob to abandon the courtship but he has refused so they have asked my help. They are begging that Martha should end the courtship.”

Martha pulled her hand back from the flames, her skin red and angry but she didn’t feel the slow burn. Her heart was burning far worse. She stepped out into the living room. It was no use pretending she hadn’t heard, Aunt Lizzie had been speaking at the top of her lungs.

“He is a good boy,” Aunt Lizzie said kindly, “and so is our Martha. But people have been talking and it is bringing shame to the Lapp’s. People are questioning just how chaste the courtship is because,” Aunt Lizzie faltered, her eyes falling to the floor in shame. Daed’s face was brick red. “The Lapp’s want an end to the gossip. They fear that though Martha has been accepted into the church she will not make a good wife to Jacob because she is tainted beyond repair.”

Mamm’s
lips were pressed so tightly they were a thin white line.
Daed
looked defeated, his shoulders slumping down. Martha had hoped to make them happy after the hardship and pain she had given them all those years she had been away, especially now when they were worried sick about Sarah. But it seemed
Gott
would not have them all be happy. Either she thought of her happiness and brought them more shame, or she thought of their peace of mind and let Jacob go.