by Ruth Price
Mary’s daed took his hands out of his gloves and put them together. "The wind has eased," he said. "But it’s still snowing quite a bit. Going to have to find some kind of shelter for the horses. Maybe they were better off where they were. I don't know, but we can't stay out here exposed like this."
Mary squinted out the front window. It was snowing very heavily, but as she inclined her head a bit upward, she saw something. Something that shouldn't have been there. “A star!"
"What?"
Mary pointed. "Look! There's a star!"
The movement had jostled Stumpy from his slumber, and he gave a little yip.
Esther said, "I don't see anything."
"It's there." The star was shining so brightly that even when Mary closed her eyes, she could still see it as a pinprick of light behind her lids. "Right there!"
But though nobody yelled at her, and John even stood up to lean over the driver seat and almost pressed his nose to the window, in the end, they all shook their heads.
"I don't see anything at all," John said.
"It's cold in this buggy, even with all of us here together, and Mary is tired. Esther, why don't you and Mary get together under both of your quilts? To keep the child and that dog warm."
But Mary really did see a star. As Esther lifted her quilt and Mary squished in beside her, putting an arm under Stumpy to move them both as one along with her own quilt, the star began to flicker.
Hadn't the three wise men been guided by a star? It had shown them the way, them and their gifts, to Jesus, the son of Gott. What if Gott had sent Mary a star too? To guide them to safety?
Mary hung her head. She was young, but she knew pride was a sin. Why would Gott send her, a child who spent most of her time with her head in the clouds and her body underfoot, a child whose only real friend was a dog, a star?
As the doubts began to creep in, like the chill air seeping through the seam of the door to the buggy, the star grew a little bit dimmer. Mary swallowed. She closed her eyes.
Dear Gott, if this is really a star, like the star that guided the Wise Men, please show me a sign.
But wasn't a star a sign?
Each question led back to the other and soon her thoughts were running in circles that led from question to answer to question to answer. But there weren't really any answers. Either she believed, or she didn't.
Stumpy gave another yip and then squirmed out from underneath the quilt. He sat on the cold floor of the buggy and looked up. He was looking at the star. At that moment, Mary knew that the star, which had grown even a little dimmer again, had to be real. It was a sign, and Stumpy could see it too.
Mary pushed the quilt aside and said with confidence, more confidence that she had felt in her life, "We have to follow the star."
And before anybody could tell her she was wrong, or too young, or just very tired, she opened up the door to the buggy and with Stumpy at her side jumped down into the falling snow.
Mary shoved the door to the buggy closed behind her with all of her strength. She didn't need Daed or Jeremiah or John to come after her and try and drag her back inside. Instead, she grabbed Stumpy by the collar and together they slogged through the snow to where the horses stood.
The reins were still in Daed's hands, so Mary had no way to compel the horses to follow. In that moment, her confidence dwindled a touch, and she felt a squirming feeling in her stomach. It was very cold out here, and aside from the outline of a few trees, she could see nothing in the falling snow besides the star. But it still shined. In fact, now that she was out of the buggy, it was brighter than before. If she could see it, and Stumpy could see it, maybe the horses could see it to. And since it was a miracle, maybe they would listen to her.
"Mary!" It was Jeremiah. He slogged through the snow toward her. "You have to get back in the buggy! You'll freeze to death out here!"
"Help me." She pointed to the sky where the star was. "I know you can't see it, but me and Stumpy can. Just like Stumpy could hear Daed and Jeremiah and the horses. I prayed, we all prayed, and Gott has given us a star."
Jeremiah stood in front of her. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. The snow was falling heavily, and it frosted Jeremiah’s hat and shoulders, making him look a bit like one of the iced cupcakes that Mary sometimes saw in the English supermarkets. With just that hint of glittery sprinkle along the surface.
"Please," Mary begged.
"I was scared that Daed and I were going to freeze to death after we found the horses. I've never been so scared in my life." Jeremiah sighed. "And then we heard Stumpy barking. You're the one who sent him out there, right?"
"Yes. He heard you. I heard you too. Crying for help."
"It took us close to twenty minutes, I guess, to get through the snow and back to the buggy. Stumpy guided us every step of the way. If it wasn't for him, I don't know what we would've done. Even Daed was scared, though he kept saying all we had to do is have faith in Gott and each other and that we would be fine.” Jeremiah looked back up at the sky again, and then down at Mary. “I guess Daed was right."
Before Mary could ask what Jeremiah had meant, her brother turned and walked back toward the front of the buggy.
For an instant, Mary's heart seemed to stop. Jeremiah hadn't told her to come with him, but yet he was leaving. Then she saw what Jeremiah was doing. He walked up to the front of the buggy and tugged on one of the reins. Waving to their parents inside, who Mary was too far away to see, he then took both of the reins and threaded them through the opening and out, bringing the pair of them to Mary.
"You and Stumpy follow the star,” Jeremiah said. “I will walk with you. And Gott will walk with us."
Mary's hands shook as she took the reins. She was happy. So happy! Her eyes filled, her vision wavering with tears of joy. She blinked them away, and turned back to the star. It was brighter than ever. "Stumpy," she said. “Let’s go!”
With reins in hand,
Brother and dog at her side
They slogged through the storm
Only a star as their guide.
IT WAS SLOW GOING, and too soon, Mary's dress was soaked from the hem to her knees. She wore two pairs of heavy tights beneath her dress, knitted socks that went up to just below her knees, and a pair of tall boots. Even so, as she walked, tossed up snow got between the upper lip of her boots to seep down her calves and her feet. She held the reins tightly and kept her eyes fixed toward the star, which kept steady as she and Jeremiah slogged onward. The snow was almost up to Stumpy's knees, and he had to leap up and through it. When he began to get tired, Mary ordered him to come closer and follow at her heels.
As they walked, the snowfall began to thin. Soon Mary could see the edges of the road, and beyond that, a snug Amish farm house with what looked like a group of bright lanterns shining through the window of the topmost story.
Mary blinked and rubbed her eyes. Those lights, it was her star!
And as Mary, and the horses, and Jeremiah walked closer, she recognized the narrow winding driveway. In front of the house, a familiar large, bare tree stood with its limbs outstretched. There were two other buggies parked beside it already. To the left was a barn where the horses sheltered.
"It's Aunt Susie’s house!" Mary exclaimed. "Look, Jeremiah! It's Aunt Susie's!
Jeremiah let out a whoop of joy. "Mary! Mary! You did it!"
Mary shook her head. All she had done was follow the star. But Jeremiah wasn't watching her anymore. As Mary continued to lead the horses, Jeremiah ran off ahead toward the farmhouse. "Aunt Susie! Aunt Susie!" he shouted.
Inside, through the wide windows fringed with pine leaves and popcorn garlands, Mary saw the shadows of people. It was difficult to see completely, because this window, like all of the ones downstairs, and like the ones in Mary's own home, each had a single candle in the middle. But as Jeremiah climbed the porch stairs, the front door opened and a short, chubby woman with apple blush cheeks and reddish blond curls escaping from her prayer cap, stepped ou
t. Both of her hands rose to her mouth in an expression of shock.
"Jeremiah! Mary? Is that you?"
"Yes, Aunt Susie,” Jeremiah said, each word tumbling over the last in his desire to share their adventure. “The snow came and the horses ran and we got lost, but Mary said she saw a star and now we are here and I can't believe it—"
"Jeremiah, slow down." Aunt Susie put both hands on his shoulders. "I can't follow all of that. We were praying so hard that you saw the storm and didn't come out in the snow. But you did, and here you are, and where is your mamm and daed and John and Esther? Are they okay?"
Mary stopped with the horses and buggy. She turned around to tell her family that they were here, but they must've just been waiting for the horses to stop, because when they did, the door to the buggy was flung open and her brother and sister ran out across the snow.
Mary took the reins of the horses and started to walk them back to the front of the buggy. Mamm and Daed were on the driver seat, behind the glass, their heads close to each other. Mary didn't want to interrupt, but she was cold and wet, and she hoped she could just slip the reins through to them without it being too much of a bother. But when she got close enough to do so, her daed waved her inside.
Mary and Stumpy climbed back into the buggy. Stumpy was cold, and now that they had stopped running, he had begun to shiver. Mary took one of the quilts and put it on top of him.
"Mary," her daed started. He looks down at her with gentle brown eyes. And then he smiled. "You and Stumpy, you saved our lives."
Mamm rested her palm on the arm of Daed’s heavy coat. She looked over at Mary and her lips trembled as she said, "You and Stumpy, you couldn't have done better."
For a third time in the same day, Mary felt like she was going to cry. And for the second time, it was from joy. She felt like she had been an empty cup and joy was pouring into her in a glorious waterfall of happiness. "It wasn't me, not really. It was Gott, and Stumpy, and the star."
"You are a gutt child," her daed said. "Now let me and Jeremiah get those horses into the barn with warm blankets and hot mash, and you, Mamm and Stumpy go inside. We'll make sure Stumpy has a special place by the fire, and whatever he wants to eat. Good boy!” he said, and beneath the quilt, Stumpy wagged his tail. “Good dog, Stumpy! You earned every treat you want tonight!"
Stumpy looked up, his muzzle peeking out from beneath the quilt, and he let out a cheerful bark.
So it was that after the horses were blanketed and given a hot meal, Mary’s entire family came together over a delicious Second Christmas feast. In honor of his heroism, Stumpy was given a large beef bone and a magnificent necklace of popcorn, which he nibbled through before the sun set. Mary ate her fill of fried chicken, Dutch noodles, green beans, and strawberry eggnog pie, finishing off everything with a heaping helping of frosted friendship bread.
And for once, neither Mary nor Stumpy were left behind or ignored.
Not wanting to risk returning home and another storm that night, Mary and her family slept two by two in her aunt's spare rooms. Full and warm beneath their quilts, Mary said a prayer of thanks to Gott, who had guided them here and given her the scariest and most difficult but ultimately the best day of her life.
Pulling the quilt up to her nose, Mary fell into a deep slumber with Stumpy warming her feet.
And deep in her dreams
a little child did smile,
Knowing in her heart
the truth of her trial
No matter if we’re small
or have less than four legs
Gott guides our steps on Second Christmas
and all of our days.
THE END.
THANK YOU FOR READING!
I HOPE YOU ENJOYED reading this as much as I loved writing it! If so, you can grab more of my Christmas Amish stories, including my 5-star rated book, An Amish Country Christmas Carol, in the Lancaster County Christmas Collection. There is a sample of this book in the next chapter.
INCLUDED IN THIS COLLECTION is:
Book 1: An Amish Country Christmas Carol by Ruth Price: Can a man, when confronted with the failures of his past, rise above his mistakes and return to a life of caring, community and love? When a young woman is faced with the difficult choice to either become a thief or send a dear friend to certain death, is the right decision a good one?
Book 2: A Child’s Wish by Rebecca Price: When Amish teen, Emma Lapp, on a day trip to New York City, gets lost on the subway and enlists the aid of an Englischer child, will this chance meeting spell the start of a perfect day or utter disaster?
Book 3: Before An Amish Country Calamity by Ruth Price: If you're looking for a laugh out loud funny book about the adventures of an Amish tomboy and surprise Christmas delivery, this one's for you.
And a BONUS short story from Ruth Price – Papa Abram’s Special Christmas!
Get the whole THREE BOOK collection here (and save yourself a few bucks from grabbing each individually)!
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All the best,
Ruth
AN AMISH COUNTRY CHRISTMAS CAROL
Act 1: MARLEY’S GHOST
MARLEY WAS DEAD, OF that there was no doubt. The doctor had pronounced him so and the coroner concurred, all resultant paperwork was signed off by the appropriate parties: the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief and only mourner, Marley’s business partner Giezhals himself.
They lowered old Marley’s coffin into the earth between the long covered plots that sheltered his mother and sister. Accompanied only by the minister and the late November chill, Geizhals threw his fistful of soil into the hole, the dirt rasping against the dull pine that he’d deemed sufficient for the purpose of burying the only human soul whom one might have assumed to be his friend. Marley was inside, make no mistake. For one, the load was too awkward and heavy for Marley to have absconded with himself. And there was the issue of the coffin: a size too small for Marley’s impressive girth, it had to be belted shut, and the pressure of the load inside had pushed the lid up in spite of that, allowing a bit of his shirtsleeve to peek out through the gap.
Marley was - clinically and unmistakably - dead.
Geizhals never painted out old Marley’s name. It stood years afterwards over the stable door: Geizhals and Marley. The stable was known as Geizhals and Marley’s. Sometimes people new to the business called Geizhals Geizhals, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both. It was all the same to him.
Geizhals and Marley’s Stable
OH! BUT HE WAS A TIGHT-fisted hand at the grindstone, Geizhals! Not a penny left his grip without the face of Lincoln being worn to insensibility. And Geizhals took pride in his ‘savings’. Having no sense of heat or cold, he gave neither dollars nor cents to heating his stables, giving his horses only the most threadbare blankets and cheapest feed. He employed the minimum number of stable hands: the misfits and desperate whom no other would hire, and then proceeded to work these unfortunates to despair.
Nobody knew Geizhals given name, but his last name, taken from the Pennsylvania Dutch and meaning ‘miser,’ he wore as the very epitome of thrift. Most suspected that he had chosen the name himself. None were brave enough to ask.
Hezekiah Geizhals
OF GEIZHALS’ UNFORTUNATES, the most miserable was his lead (and at present only) stable hand, Hannah Yoder. A blonde, round faced Amish girl of seventeen who in spite of her long hours of labor was inclined towards a doughy physique, Hannah still managed a humble beauty, an edelweiss pushing up through cold, cracked earth. S
he’d been lead stable hand since Thanksgiving, when Geizhals had let the previous man go for refusing to stay over and work through the holiday.
For most of the Amish on their Rumspringa, it was a time to explore Englisch ways and choose their place in the larger world. For Hannah, who had never doubted her desire to take her Baptismal vows, her work with Geizhals allowed her to fulfill her greatest passion besides God, to care for horses. Still, to be working on Christmas and Second Christmas besides! For the Amish, Christmas day was one reserved for fasting and prayer, the following day for fellowship. Of course, the horses needed care no matter the holiday. The flow of the seasons held them in God’s plan as well; and, at her home, her parents and siblings worked together on those holy mornings to ensure the cow was milked and the farm otherwise maintained. These labors were done in the fellowship of love, not in the biting despair of bitter frugality and disregard.
Since the last worker’s defection, Hannah tended to Geizhals’ eighteen horses on her own. She awoke every morning at 5:30 a.m. And after the fleeting warmth of breakfast with her mamm, daed, two younger sisters and brother, she walked the two miles to Geizhals’ stable. It was a slow journey for Hannah, who had a limp from a poorly set break after falling out of an apple-tree as a child. Still, Hannah was a cheerful soul, and, as she walked, the dance of sunlight over the frost covered fields seemed an abundance of riches. She had taken this same path as a child to the schoolhouse, and now as a teen when school was in session, she always had a kind word or smile for the young scholars as they scampered, chattering and laughing, towards their lessons.
No students crossed Hannah’s path this day after Christmas. The sky above was a charcoal gray, the light that passed through was a milky white that left an ashen sheen over the fallow fields. Gusts of wind made Hannah clutch her coat to her body tightly as wisps of hair escaped her bonnet to tickle her forehead. Geizhals had left the horses to pasture overnight, but the weather was such that only Miss Maisie, a dappled brown mare, met her at the fence. Hannah took from her pocket a handful of apple slices and held them out to the horse. She always brought treats for the horses—heaven knew Geizhals wouldn’t pay for their comfort let alone happiness. The gentle warmth of Miss Maisie’s breath cheered Hannah. She’d always had a special bond with this horse, who as a young filly would always come bounding to this fence as Hannah hobbled on her crutches to school.
