“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re scowling.”
“Am not.” He plastered on a smile, but it seemed to take the strength of a giant to hold it in place, so he returned to studying the chaos in front of him.
“What are they doing?”
“Practicing for the play.”
“What kind of play?”
“The Christmas play, of course.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“See, that’s the fun part. We took the traditional Christmas play...you know the one, Christmas Bees.”
“A gut play, but they don’t look as if they’re dressed up as bees.”
“They’re not, that’s what I was explaining. I changed it a little, and we’re calling it the Christmas Cats.”
She pointed at the decorations—instead of snowflakes connected one to another, there was a string of cats, paws linking them together. Some wore glasses, some were short and fat, others were tall and lanky. Each wore a sweater that bore the name of a student.
“Why did you have to change it?”
“Because the children didn’t want to be bees this year,” she said.
“Cats? That makes no sense. What do cats have to do with Christmas?”
“It’s funny. You’ll see.”
“But why would you change it?”
“So the children would be interested.”
“Why couldn’t they be interested in bees?”
Before Rachel could answer, one of the students ran up and said, “I don’t want to say this.” He thrust a sheet of paper into her hands. “I want to make up my own words.”
“Let’s see how that works.” She threw a is-the-day-over-yet gaze at Caleb, but it did nothing to ease the ache in his jaw. Why would he think it was a gut idea for Rachel to work at the schoolhouse? Sure, Martha had been eager to receive help during the holiday season, but he should have known that Rachel would try to change things, to encourage the children to be different, to make them less Amish.
Bishop Amos had walked in the back door. As Rachel hurried away, he approached Caleb and motioned toward two chairs, where they could sit.
“She’s doing a gut job, ya?” Amos slipped a thumb under his right suspender and smiled at the children.
“I’m not so sure.”
“How’s that?”
“She’s using cats—changing the Christmas Bees to Christmas Cats. Why would she do that?” Caleb was sure that the bishop would be as shocked as he was, and possibly even insist that she change everything back. He didn’t know how they could do that before the play the next evening, but maybe if everyone pitched in.
“Ya, we talked about that. Very cute idea.”
“Cute?”
Amos looked at him, quizzically, then broke into a smile. “Sometimes I forget how much you hate change, Caleb.”
“We’re Amish. Change is what we work against.”
“I can see how you’d feel that way.” Amos combed his fingers through his beard. “That’s not completely accurate, though. All things change. Think of how early Christians often had to worship hidden away in back rooms. We no longer need to do that. We are free to worship as we please.”
“What does that have to do with the children’s school play?”
“I’m only making the point that all change isn’t bad. It’s unfettered change that we avoid. Rachel came to me and asked about the changes in the script before she presented them to the children.”
“She did? Why would you approve it?”
“It’s a small change, Caleb. You’ll see. Instead of being a bee holding up a shield with a word on it, they’re cats and they hold up slate boards with their words chalked on it. The entire thing is quite clever.”
Caleb allowed his head to sink into his hands.
This was a nightmare. The bishop might not see it yet—no one ever said that bishops were perfect—but when the parents found out what their children were doing, Amos would understand that Rachel had made a huge mistake.
At that moment, the group of smaller cats began to recite their lines:
Cats follow, oh, this is true.
But cats can make good things, too.
And that, today, is what we have for you.
At which point, one cat fell into another, knocking each other over and creating a domino effect down the line. All of the children, or rather cats, were laughing and meowing as they clamored to their feet. The falling down was a clever ruse to pick up their slates.
Caleb stared around the room as the children recited, “Be reverent, in spirit low, at the manger lowly. Be generous, be thoughtful.” One cat tapped another on the head when he said “thoughtful.”
“See?” Amos said. “Same words, same meaning and celebration, only presented a little differently.”
Different ought to be Rachel’s middle name.
For all he knew, it was.
* * *
Rachel’s head was pounding as she pulled on her coat and followed the last child out of the schoolhouse. Caleb was waiting in the buggy. He had at least turned the heater on so that she wasn’t chilled quite to the bone, but he still had his customary grimace in place. Hadn’t he been laughing this morning at breakfast? How was she able to irritate him so thoroughly and so completely in such a short amount of time?
The clouds seemed to press in around them and the snow fell relentlessly. She tried to remember what spring felt like, but then remembering wasn’t exactly her strong suit lately.
They’d driven the short distance down the road and pulled into the lane to home. Suddenly she couldn’t abide his sulky silence any longer.
“What have I done now?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do. You’re glaring, and if you pull that hat down any harder over your head, you’re going to bruise your scalp.”
“All right. Since you asked...”
“I did.”
“Why do you have to change everything?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why are Christmas Bees not good enough for you? Why couldn’t the children cut out snowflakes for decorations? Why did you have to change it to cats?”
“Oh, Caleb...”
“Not an answer.” They’d made it to the barn. He still held the reins, and Stormy waited patiently for him to jump down and open the barn door. Instead Caleb turned to look at her. “I honestly want to know.”
“The children were dragging their feet, giving Martha a hard time, not wanting to participate. I don’t know why. Some years... I think some years are like that.”
“Which is why they’re paying you to help her.”
“And I did. So I changed up a few things. Now the children are excited, in case you didn’t notice, and participating happily.”
“Why can’t they be happy with the old ways?”
“They are. They’re not asking to sit on Santa’s lap or put a Christmas tree in the schoolhouse.”
“There is that to be thankful for.”
Rachel tied the strings of her outer bonnet, picked up her school bag and purse, and reached for the door handle of the buggy. “You know, Caleb, I did check with Amos before I made any changes. I didn’t know that I had to run everything by you, as well.”
And then she fled into the house.
Inside was warm and cozy, and Ida met her with a hug and a smile, pushing a hot mug of tea into her hands. But for once tea didn’t work. Rachel admitted to having a headache and fled to her room, where she spent the next ten minutes having a good cry. Not a very mature thing to do, but it certainly helped her to feel better.
She avoided speaking to Caleb the rest of the evening.
The next morning she left early, insisting that she could walk the short distance to
school. She came home only long enough to make a sandwich for dinner and change clothes. Then she returned to the schoolhouse, promising Ida that she’d see her there.
For some reason she wasn’t a bit nervous about the play or the children or even the parents’ reactions. But if she was honest, she longed for Caleb to approve of the work she’d done with the children.
She caught sight of him coming in the back door twenty minutes before the play was set to begin. The room was crowded with parents and older siblings and even a few Englisch neighbors. Generally everyone in an Amish community came to a schoolhouse Christmas celebration—whether they had children attending the school or not.
The Christmas program included stories, songs and, of course, the play. It was all a smashing success. The audience joined in singing a final carol, and then the students presented Martha with a gift box holding new pens, beautiful stationery, hand lotion and candles. It was obvious that every child there had a hand in contributing.
Nothing unexpected happened until Martha called up Rachel, and one of the youngest—a lad named Nathan—handed her a gift-wrapped book. “It’s more poetry, because we know you like it,” he said. The entire audience laughed at that as young Nathan screwed up his face when he said the word poetry. Rachel laughed along with them and thanked both the children and Martha for allowing her to help.
Bishop Amos had mentioned to her that Martha would like her to continue helping after the short Christmas break—like most Amish communities they took off only the day before, the day of and the day after Christmas. She supposed she would continue doing the job. The work was exhausting, but looking at the children she knew it was worth it.
Ida and John both gave her a hug and then said they were riding home with a neighbor, which seemed a bit odd to her. It also felt awkward. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with Caleb. She was surprised when he turned left out of the schoolhouse parking area instead of right.
“Have you bumped your head? Home is the other way.”
“Thought maybe we’d celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
“Your play. It was very gut.”
He glanced her way, grimaced and resettled his hat on his head. “Don’t look at me so. I can admit to being wrong.”
“You can?”
Now he laughed, and the sound caused the tension she’d been carrying since the day before to dissipate. “Rachel, I am sorry that I criticized your handling of the school play. Obviously you know more about children—and parents—than I do. Will you forgive me?”
A dozen memories passed through her mind then.
Caleb staring at her when she woke on Ida’s couch.
Caleb standing in the door to the hospital room, looking at her as if she might perish before his eyes.
Caleb pulling her away from the snake.
Caleb attempting to protect her from a parrot and one very sweet old woman.
Those memories softened her heart and ministered to the hurting places from when he had criticized her rather harshly. But it was John’s words that echoed in her mind and convinced her to accept his apology.
What was it he had said? Sometimes that is all it takes...giving love a chance to grow.
“That was a very nice apology.”
“It was?”
“Indeed, and I do forgive you, Caleb.”
“That’s it?” He was smiling at her now. “I don’t have to write sentences or read extra chapters?”
“Hmm... I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe it would be a gut idea...”
He claimed her hand, pulled it toward him across the buggy seat. “I shouldn’t be putting ideas in your head.”
She tried to act as if it was normal for Caleb to be holding her hand. “Where are we going?”
“To celebrate your play—I said that already.”
“And what is your idea of celebration?”
But she should have known he’d pick the ice-cream shop, which was open late on Fridays. Caleb loved ice cream. Of course, he chose vanilla, while she went for cherry pistachio. Their choices reflected their personalities, and maybe that was okay. Maybe it was fine that they didn’t view life the same way. Maybe it took different points of view to make things work.
On the drive home, he pulled her across the seat and tucked the blanket around both of their laps. “Cold in here,” he said gruffly, but his eyes said something more.
And when they’d pulled into the barn, instead of jumping out of the buggy, he turned toward her, placed his hands on both sides of her face and asked if it would be all right if he kissed her.
She nodded, unable to speak, unable to even think clearly, as she melted into the kiss.
Chapter Ten
Gabriel went into town with Caleb the next day. They were standing in line waiting to order food when he slapped Caleb on the shoulder. “Don’t look so glum. So you love her?”
“I do. I love her. Don’t ask me how I know that after only one kiss, but, well...I’ve been fighting these feelings for a while.”
“It’s a gut thing.”
“It is?”
“Indeed. Trust me on this, I know.”
“But what...?” Caleb’s mind was spinning. He was in love with Rachel. When had that happened? How had it happened? And the worst fear of all—what would he do if she didn’t feel the same?
They placed their orders and found a table.
“You know what the old folks say.” Gabriel leaned forward as if he was about to share a priceless nugget of wisdom. “No dream comes true until you wake up and go to work.”
“I don’t think that proverb is referring to love and marriage.”
“Could be, though.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Ask her. Then you’ll know how she feels.”
The girl at the counter called their names, indicating their orders were ready. “I’ll get that,” Gabriel said.
Caleb nodded and sat there, staring at a copy of The Budget that had been left on the table. He pulled it toward him, barely seeing the printed words, and turned the page more out of habit than any real need to read.
He loved Rachel.
How could he not have realized that before?
How could he have been so blind?
He turned the page again and glanced up at Gabriel, who was thanking the woman at the counter and carrying the tray of coffee and sweets toward their table. He looked down at the newspaper again, seeing but not seeing it, and then his vision cleared. Words danced across his vision. Young woman missing, age twenty-five, brown hair and freckles.
With his pulse thrumming so loudly that it felt as if his ears were clogged, he pulled the paper closer and began to read.
It had become a habit to read The Budget and check for news of Rachel. At first he’d done it in the hopes that she could be returned home, like a parcel that had been left at the wrong house. Then he’d done it because he knew how much it meant to her—to find her family again. And now? Now he read the words with fear coursing through his heart.
Deborah and Clarence Yoder of Goshen, Indiana, have asked for help in locating their daughter, Rachel, who has been missing since Friday, November 30. Rachel was last seen walking home from the neighborhood schoolhouse, where she has been an apprentice teacher for the past several months.
The Yoders explained that they did not file a missing-persons report, believing that Rachel might have traveled to a neighboring community to see extended family. As the weeks had passed, and Rachel had not been in contact, they’d become more concerned.
Rachel was described as five foot six inches, with brown hair, brown eyes, a smattering of freckles and a slender build. She recently celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday. Anyone with information was told to contact the Yoders at the phone-shack number listed at the end of the article.
&nbs
p; “Anything interesting in there?” Gabriel set the tray down on the table and plopped into the booth across from him. “Say, you look like you’ve read your own obituary.”
Caleb stared down at the article in The Budget. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Why now? What were the odds that today of all days he would find the one thing he’d spent weeks looking for? Printed in black-and-white were the words that he’d both longed for and dreaded seeing.
Ignoring Gabriel, he pulled the paper closer and read the piece again, then he pushed it toward his best friend.
Gabriel let out a long, low whistle as he crammed a sticky bun into his mouth. He read the article between gulps of coffee and finally tossed the paper back toward Caleb. Hoping he had misread or imagined the entire thing, Caleb read the words a third time. When he noticed his hands shaking, he dropped the paper onto the table.
Gabriel sat staring at him, waiting. Finally, he crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Do you think it’s her?”
“Sounds like it.”
“Can’t be sure.”
“Until we call the number.”
“Or let Rachel call the number.” Gabriel nudged Caleb’s blueberry muffin and coffee toward him. “Eat. You look like you’re going to be sick.”
Could this be his Rachel? It had to be. Didn’t it?
“Maybe it’s not her.”
“It’s her.” Caleb was clutching his coffee mug so hard that his knuckles had turned white. He took a swallow, hoping the caffeine would wake him up, prove that this was all just a bad dream. “The article says that this girl—this Rachel—went missing on Friday.”
“And you found our Rachel on Monday.”
“So where would she have been from Friday to Monday?”
Glancing around the coffee shop, he realized the answer to that question didn’t matter. None of his questions were important. The only question that mattered was whether the Rachel that belonged to the Yoders and the one living in his parents’ home were the same.
But then he noticed the fourth paragraph, which he’d overlooked before.
Rachel was believed to have been wearing a dark gray coat, a blue scarf, and she might have been carrying a small book of poetry.
Amish Christmas Memories Page 13
