Something tells me Drusilla might need a special gift this Christmas.
It touched Jo deeply that her friend was perceptive enough to pick up on the emotional turmoil that had sprung from her visit to the Wengerd place. On the one hand, Jo didn’t feel inclined to give her mother anything special for Christmas this year, because her negative attitude had become so unbearable—and had put Jo’s future in such a pinch. But didn’t Regina have it right? Didn’t Mamm feel pinched and displaced, as well, now that Michael was paying such close attention to Jo?
With a hopeful smile, Jo folded the towel and put it back in the gift bag. Truth be told, she’d been so busy baking this Christmas season, she hadn’t given much thought to her mother’s gift. Regina might’ve provided her a way back into Mamm’s good graces—or at least a way to start a conversation that would restore some peace between them.
Peace on earth begins with peace at home. Show me how to make that Christmas wish come true, Lord.
Chapter 17
Molly felt a special glow as she sat next to her sister on the pew bench Sunday morning. She especially enjoyed church services when the congregation gathered in the Hartzlers’ large, comfortable home: Deacon Saul, proprietor of the local carriage company, was by far the wealthiest member of their district. Although his home reflected traditional Amish simplicity, he had provided his mother, Martha Maude, and his wife, Anne, with higher-end kitchen appliances and furnishings than most Plain families could afford. The exquisite woodwork glowed with polish. The mantel and window frames, decked with greenery and red candles, looked especially festive on this fifteenth day of December. The Hartzler home radiated a sense of comfort and joy that always made Molly feel welcome.
Molly loved the humbler home she and Marietta had lived in for all of their thirty-five years—wouldn’t trade it for anyone else’s—but it always felt like a special occasion when they gathered in the deacon’s home. God had blessed Saul’s family, and in turn, he and his wife and mother shared those blessings with everyone in their Plain community.
She blinked, catching a movement across the room, on the men’s side. Billy Jay sat taller, gazing expectantly at Marietta from his perch on his dat’s lap—and Glenn was focused on her twin, as well.
Probably checking to see how Levi’s doing after spending the entire service with her. But we all know it’s more than that, don’t we?
Molly smiled. The connection between Marietta and Glenn had strengthened these past few days, even if they were acting as though nothing had changed.
“May the Gut Lord bless and keep you, and make His face to shine upon you, and grant you His peace,” Bishop Jeremiah intoned as he pronounced his benediction. “May we all feel the Savior’s precious presence as He comes to us again as a helpless, humble baby in a manger.”
The roomful of worshippers sighed in communal contentment, awash in the glow of the Christmas message the bishop had delivered earlier in the morning. Molly never tired of hearing about Mary and Joseph on their journey to Bethlehem and about the holy boy who’d inspired choirs of angels, shepherds, and wise men to follow His star.
The tale seemed more personal this season, with Levi in the house—and Marietta’s expression as she beamed at the baby in her arms gave Molly a whole new perspective on the Christmas story. She once would’ve found it odd for her twin to be holding a wee one during church, yet in the two short weeks since Glenn’s family had joined them, Marietta’s role as a surrogate mother had become an everyday relationship—and probably a deeper emotional connection than her sister was admitting.
When Billy Jay waved, Molly returned his greeting—and then her breath caught. On the pew bench beside Glenn, Pete was gazing intently at her, apparently with something urgent on his mind. Then he shot her a goofy look, wiggling his fingers alongside his ears as he stuck out his tongue.
Molly laughed out loud. As she clapped her hand over her mouth, Marietta elbowed her playfully and their maidel friends leaned forward to see what was so funny.
Bishop Jeremiah smiled indulgently at Molly before continuing with the announcements. “Our scholars have been practicing and preparing for the annual Christmas Eve program—the first to be held in our new schoolhouse,” he said as he gazed out over the crowd. “Also, Teacher Lydianne and her friends have asked me to remind everyone of our Second Christmas gathering in the commons area of The Marketplace on the twenty-sixth. We’ll mark this joyous occasion with a potluck lunch, a sing-along with our men’s chorus, and games for kids of all ages.”
Molly couldn’t help grinning when Jeremiah flashed her and Marietta a big smile.
“And speaking of joyous occasions,” the bishop continued, “today we help the Helfing twins celebrate their birthday—with not one but two big cakes they’ve brought to share with us. Be sure to give them your best wishes, no matter how old they’re getting!”
Folks around them laughed good-naturedly. The ladies were rising to head toward the kitchen when a strident voice near the front of the women’s side made everyone stop chatting.
“Bishop, before we start in on all this happiness, we need to call for a confession—right here and now!”
Molly groaned inwardly. Drusilla Fussner had risen from her pew bench, fist planted on her hip. Her scowl could’ve curdled milk.
“My errant daughter hasn’t seen fit to speak up, so I’ll say what needs to be said,” Jo’s mamm continued in an escalating voice. “I expressly warned Josephine not to fall in with the Wengerds, but she disobeyed me and went to Queen City with them anyway! I’m quite sure things went on there that our Lord doesn’t approve of—and I certainly don’t condone them, either.”
Molly’s heart went out to poor Jo, who sat on the other side of Marietta and Lydianne. With her head in her hands, slumping as her mother spoke, Jo was the picture of humiliated dejection. It was highly irregular for a member to call for someone’s confession at church. The proper procedure was to speak with the bishop or one of the preachers before the day of worship.
Bishop Jeremiah’s face clouded over. “You and Jo and I need to talk about this privately, Drusilla,” he suggested. “Shall we step into Saul’s office?”
Folks remained quiet as Jo and her mother sidled out of their pew rows.
“How embarrassing for Jo,” Marietta whispered. “This explains why she wasn’t her usual cheerful self at The Marketplace yesterday.”
“Who could believe Nelson would allow anything improper to happen while Jo visited their place?” Molly asked with a frown. “He and Michael are two of the finest men I know—and I was really hoping something more serious would come of Jo’s and Michael’s friendship.”
“It isn’t as though Drusilla hasn’t had time to get to know the Wengerds, either,” Lydianne put in as they all rose from the pew bench. “If I recall, it was her idea for them to join her and Jo for supper on Friday nights while they stayed in a dawdi haus. What a shame that she’s putting Jo through this—calling her out in front of everyone.”
“It puts a damper on Christmas, too,” Regina remarked with a shake of her head. “Let’s not allow this issue to spoil your birthday, girls. Everyone brought gut food, and you two have a whole raft of candles to light on your cakes—”
“And we need to sing the birthday song!” Anne Hartzler exclaimed from the row in front of them. “I suspect the bishop will be talking with the Fussners for a while, so I’ll get Gabe to lead the singing. This is supposed to be a party!”
Once again Molly was glad they’d had church in the Hartzler home today, because Anne and her mother-in-law allowed nothing to stand in the way of celebrations. As the women gathered in the big, sunny kitchen to handle the common meal preparations, they whispered among themselves about the flare-up that had erupted between the Fussners.
But as the men set up tables in the front room, Gabe spoke above the chatter and the clicks of table legs locking into place. “This is one of those birthdays that ends in a five for Molly and Marietta,” he calle
d out. “We need to sing loud and proud to the twins—while they can still hear us!”
Laughter filled the kitchen and front room, and everyone around Molly and Marietta burst into the familiar song. Several of the men were singing in harmony. As the final line stretched out and got louder, Molly hugged her sister.
“Doesn’t get any better than this—celebrating amongst our friends,” she said as applause erupted around them.
“Jah, you’ve got that—oh, what’s this, Billy Jay?” Marietta eased out of their embrace, smiling at the dark-haired boy who’d suddenly rushed in from the front room. He handed her an envelope that looked a little lopsided, as though he’d folded the edges and glued them together himself.
“I made you a birthday card, Marietta! And happy birthday to you, too, Molly!” The boy shot back into the crowd of men as though he was too shy to watch Marietta open his card.
As Marietta popped the envelope’s seal, some of the women smiled knowingly. Molly wasn’t surprised that Glenn’s son had made a card for her sister but not for her. After all, Billy Jay spent every afternoon working very hard on his recitation for the Christmas Eve school program with Marietta before joining his dawdi and Molly in the noodle factory.
Molly was astounded, however, when Marietta burst into tears.
“Oh my word, what a sweet—” She turned to compose herself, thrusting the homemade card toward Molly.
The card was made from a piece of plain paper folded in half. In his best second-grade penmanship, Billy Jay had written Happy Birthday, Marietta with a purple crayon—but he’d run out of room, so the tta was underneath the first part of her name. On the lower half of the front, a brown birthday cake sprouted several red candles with yellow flames. It was so cute, in its little-kid way, that Molly couldn’t help smiling as she opened the card.
Her heart lurched when she saw the message inside: stick figures of two men—one with a long gray beard—a little boy, and a baby’s face in a basket carrier were clearly meant to represent the Detweiler family. WE LOVE YOU!, printed in bold red letters, spanned the bottom of the card. Billy Jay, Glenn, and Reuben had all signed it.
A lump rose in her throat. Molly was struck by the utter sincerity of such a birthday greeting—and by the intensity of the emotion behind it. Glenn had surely coached his son so he’d spell the words correctly . . . but had he suggested the text to Billy Jay, as well, to win Marietta’s affection in a way a grown man could not? And had Glenn sent his adorable, rumple-haired son to deliver the card, figuring Marietta might turn away from him but would never reject his child?
What difference does it make? He got the job done—got the message across—didn’t he? This is your sister’s business, not yours.
Molly slipped the heartfelt card back into its envelope and handed it back to Marietta with a smile. “That’s quite a birthday present,” she murmured.
Blinking rapidly, Marietta slipped the card into her apron pocket. “I—I didn’t see that one coming,” she stammered, although the flush of her thin cheeks and her tremulous smile announced that she was pleased rather than put out. “Guess we’re never too old for a birthday surprise, jah?”
“I’m not really surprised, sister,” Molly remarked gently. When she glanced at the other women in the kitchen, they resumed their preparations for the noon meal as though they hadn’t been observing the twins’ conversation. “This gives you plenty to think about, ain’t so? And meanwhile, we need to set our cakes out on the dessert table—”
“I’ll follow you out there and stick these on them,” Martha Maude declared as she picked up two packages of cake candles. “A birthday’s not official until you’ve made your wishes, after all!”
Molly smiled gratefully at their hostess as she and Marietta picked up their cakes. Moments later, they were the center of attention again in the large front room.
“We’re going to have the twins blow out their candles now,” Martha Maude announced as the crowd got quiet. “That way, you can help yourselves to birthday cake whenever you’re ready for it.”
Although their mamm had always made a fuss over the two of them blowing out the candles on the oversized cake she baked for them, Molly felt vaguely nervous about standing behind the dessert table with her twin while Martha Maude lit a smattering of candles on top of each cake. When she caught Pete’s eye, however—saw the hint of yearning in his gaze—she realized why the ritual felt edgy this morning. Just as the women had been quietly speculating about Marietta’s reaction to Billy Jay’s birthday card, folks were probably aware that the casual friendship she and Pete had shared for so many years might be developing into something more.
“All right, girls,” Regina called out. “Make your wishes!”
“And wish big!” Lydianne chimed in.
Molly slipped her hand around her sister’s as she leaned toward the beautiful chocolate cake Marietta had made for her—and her twin smiled delightedly at the cream cheese–frosted hummingbird cake in front of her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, wondering what to wish for—
I wish Pete would tell me how he feels about us!
Molly’s eyes flew open and she blew out all her candles, with air to spare. Exuberant applause filled the room. Thin wisps of smoke rose from Marietta’s candles, as well, and she squeezed Molly’s hand.
“It’s going to be a big Christmas—a big year—for us, Molly,” she predicted beneath the noise of everyone’s clapping. “Just you wait and see!”
As conversations resumed around them, the men finished setting up the tables while the women began carrying out trays of desserts, baskets of bread, and the platters and bowls of food folks had brought to share. Molly felt grateful for the birthday wishes everyone extended to them. Now that Mamm and Dat had passed, it was much happier to celebrate with all of these friends rather than at home with just the two of them.
Someone came up behind Molly and slipped a large, warm hand over her eyes. “If you sit with me at lunch, I promise I won’t bite,” a familiar voice whispered near her ear.
Laughing, Molly turned to look at Pete. “Well, that would be something new and different, wouldn’t it?” she teased. “Have your table manners improved since you moved in with your mammi Margaret?”
Pete’s brown eyes sparkled. “Riley and I have agreed to let him do all the biting,” he shot back. “So keep your teeth to yourself when you look at this present I’ve got in mind for you. See you in a few.”
He was off like a shot, apparently inspired to help Gabe and Glenn and Reuben shift the last few pew benches into place beside the tables.
Molly blinked, wondering why Pete’s long white envelope felt awfully fat to be a birthday card. She sensed she shouldn’t open it with other folks close enough to look over her shoulder, so she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled several sheets of folded paper from the envelope. Molly sucked in her breath.
Pete had made sketches of a kitchen, a mudroom, a front room—nearly every area in a home. His bold, precise printing, along with the dimensions he’d jotted beside the kitchen and bathroom cabinets, made Molly squint as she turned the sketches this way and that. Was Pete trying to tell her he was building a new house? Her heart hammered in her chest, wondering what message she should be reading between the meticulous lines he’d drawn.
Quickly folding the papers back into the envelope, Molly left the bathroom just in time to hear Bishop Jeremiah calling for everyone to bow their heads before they ate.
“Oh—and earlier, I forgot to announce another important happening in the life of our congregation,” the bishop put in with a big smile. “My nephew Pete has begun his instruction to join the church; if anyone else feels compelled to do the same, you’re welcome to join our sessions. Now—let’s join together in a silent word of thanks for our meal.”
Molly’s jaw dropped. When she found Pete in the crowd, he resembled a deer frozen by the glare of headlights. After he’d waited so m
uch longer than most folks to join the church, what did it mean that he was taking his instruction now? Most fellows admittedly joined when they had marriage on their minds rather than because of a burning commitment to religion . . .
Pete looks like a man whose secret’s been revealed before he was ready. In fact, he seems downright terrified. You could tease him mercilessly—
Molly slipped the envelope into her apron pocket, her mind racing. As Bishop Jeremiah returned to the room in the hallway where the Fussners awaited him, Gabe and Glenn and the other fellows near Pete clapped him on the back and gave him a hard time about taking his instruction.
—but maybe it’s best to cut him some slack. Pete could use a little compassion about now. He’s taken a big step, after all.
Something in her soul settled, similar to when Riley turned a couple of circles before finding just the right position in his dog bed. She didn’t really have to know whether Pete’s sketches were of a new home, did she? Molly instinctively realized that he was a man with a new plan—and his plan included her, even if he hadn’t yet found the nerve or the words to tell her that.
When she saw Glenn picking up Levi’s carrier basket, imploring Marietta to join him with a hopeful gaze, Molly carried the last two bread baskets from the kitchen to place on the tables. Pete needed his space. He would either dash out the door, too embarrassed to sit with her now, or he would recover and resume his usual jokester attitude.
As Molly sliced their cakes to make them easier to serve, Rose Wagler and little Gracie wished her a happy birthday—and so did Esther and Naomi Slabaugh, the other maidel sisters of Morning Star. They were Preacher Ammon’s kin, rather sanctimonious and spinsterish at times, but Molly decided not to let their personalities rub her wrong on this special day.
“So how old does this make you and Marietta now?” Naomi asked. Her furtive tone and narrowed gaze suggested that she was about to welcome Molly and her sister to the Old Crones’ Club, where aging ladies had nothing better to do than gossip and criticize other women’s husbands.
Christmas Comes to Morning Star Page 15
