The next few hours passed in a blur.
Caleb was introduced to Deborah and Clarence, Rachel’s parents. Clarence was a tall man, tall and thin. He pumped Caleb’s hand, thanking him repeatedly for bringing Rachel home. Deborah looked like an older version of Rachel, right down to the freckles. She pulled him into a hug and whispered, “Gotte bless you, Caleb. Gotte bless you for your kindness.”
He said hello to Clara and Becca, but they looked so much alike that he couldn’t remember who was who. Miriam was easy enough to pick out because of the fact that she was in at least her second trimester of pregnancy. Her husband, Clyde, stood holding his wife’s hand and beaming at Rachel. It was obvious they had all been very worried, and now on Christmas Eve of all days, that worry had been taken away.
Ethan nodded toward the newest buggy and said, “Care to ride with me? I have to stop by a friend’s and pick up one last Christmas gift. Unless you’re too tired...”
“Nein. That sounds gut.” He suspected that as the eldest child Ethan had some questions for him, but instead he started their conversation by explaining what had occurred on their end.
Ethan told him how they’d first thought Rachel had simply left for the weekend, and then everyone became increasingly more worried when she didn’t call or write.
“But we knew she carried that book of poetry everywhere, so I thought...”
“You’re the one who wrote the article in The Budget.”
Ethan was a few years older than Caleb. He scratched at his clean-shaven jaw and shrugged. “I wrote something like it, gave it to our scribe. She cleaned it up and submitted it to the paper.”
“Your parents never called the police?”
“Nein. They talked to them, but our local sheriff has been here a long time. He’s aware that Amish youngies sometimes leave town with no word—there’s less conflict that way.”
“Does that happen a lot?” Caleb’s old worries of the Amish way of life disintegrating popped back into his mind, but he refused to dwell on them. Youngies came and went. It was true in every community. He’d heard it was true among the Englisch, as well. It was a time of transition, and when faced with such a decision, some chose a different path.
“Not a lot, but some. Enough that our sheriff wouldn’t take the case seriously until we had something else to suggest there had been foul play.”
“When I found Rachel, she didn’t remember anything—not her name or where she was from. She still struggles with some of the effects of the amnesia. Her memories—they’re not all back yet.”
“And your family took her in.”
“If your mamm is anything like mine, you know that wasn’t even a question. Of course we took her in.”
Ethan pulled off his hat and resettled it on his head. The buggy was tolerably warm with a small heater in the front, and snow continued to fall lightly. But Ethan’s mind obviously wasn’t on the weather or even where he was going. Caleb could practically see him trying to piece together the time line of what had happened.
“You found her? In the snow? Was she hurt at all? Did she really not know where she was?”
Caleb couldn’t blame him for questioning his story. What had that been like, to have your sister simply vanish?
“Yes, yes, not at all and no—she didn’t even know her name, let alone where she was.”
Ethan grunted, “It’s what Mamm told us, what Rachel told her. Just so hard to believe.”
“Trust me. It’s something I won’t forget no matter if I live to be a very old man—the sight of her weaving down the road, wearing no coat or kapp and then collapsing in the snow.”
“You took her to the doctor?”
“We have a small hospital, really more of a medical clinic. The doctors there looked her over, made sure she wasn’t hurt in any way.”
“Other than losing her memory and nearly freezing.”
“She also had a bump on the back of her head.”
“What?”
“Maybe she forgot to mention that to your mamm. She had a big bump on the back of her head. She still doesn’t remember how it happened, but that’s what caused her memory loss.”
“How did she end up so far from here?”
“She remembered a little of that on the way here.” Caleb told him what Rachel had shared with him on the bus.
“You’ve been a gut friend to her.”
Caleb almost corrected him, almost confessed his feelings for Rachel there and then, but they were pulling into an Amish home with a small sign out front that read Rugs For Sale. When they’d picked up the Christmas present Ethan had ordered, they turned back toward the Yoder home, stopping at the local grocer to buy three gallons of ice cream.
“I’d almost forgotten it’s Christmas Eve,” Caleb admitted.
“Ya. It is, but this...” Ethan patted the grocery bag on the seat. “This is a homecoming present. Rachel might not remember, but peppermint is her favorite ice cream.”
They rode in silence the rest of the way home.
The house they pulled up to was much larger than the one Caleb had been raised in, but then the Yoders had five children, plus Miriam’s husband and soon their child. Plainly, they were prepared for the family to keep expanding.
Ethan pulled the horse and buggy into the barn.
It was while they were removing the harness and stabling the horse that Caleb thought to ask Ethan something. “Did she have a beau?”
“Rachel?”
“Ya.” It occurred to him that there had been only family members waiting for them at the bus drop-off.
“Nein. Rachel was trying to find her way. She was struggling a bit. That’s why, at first, we thought she’d simply needed some time to clear her head.”
“Would that have been like her? To just...walk away? To tell no one?” It certainly didn’t sound like the Rachel that he knew. But then, maybe she’d been a different person before.
“It wasn’t like her at all. Look...” Ethan paused at the door to the barn before pushing out into the gathering dusk. “The week before? It had been hard on Rachel. I don’t know how much she remembers, or if she’d even want me sharing the details with you, but we are grateful that she’s home, that you and your family cared for her.”
And then they were walking toward the house on a snowy Christmas Eve, Caleb shouldering more questions than ever.
* * *
Rachel’s heart was so full of emotion that she felt like a balloon that had been overfilled and was about to burst.
That described exactly how she felt.
About to burst with happiness.
Her younger sisters sat on each side of her, as if they were afraid she might disappear again. Miriam kept smiling at her, one hand placed on her stomach, the other holding Clyde’s hand. Her mother sat by her father, as he prepared to read the Christmas story. Ethan and Caleb rounded out their group. Each time she glanced around the room, one of them was watching her.
A conversation that she’d had with Ethan came back to her then. It had been the night before her accident, or whatever she’d had. They’d been in the barn together, and she’d been aggravated with everyone—her parents, her older sister, even the younger girls. They’d all grated on her nerves and she’d felt so suffocated, so out of place, that she’d said something to Ethan about it. His response had surprised her.
“Home is where you belong. It may not be where you always stay, but it’s the place that fits—like an old shoe. It’s why we keep returning to it over and again, no matter how old we become or how far away we move.”
His words had only served to frustrate her more. He’d said them as if things were so clear, so simple, and she didn’t think they were. He’d been right, though. She knew that now, knew it with a certainty that she couldn’t have imagined then.
She cleared her throat and sat up
straighter. “I know Dat’s about to read the story of the Baby Jesus. I know that’s our tradition—what we’ve always done. I remember that much, even though a few days ago I didn’t know my own last name.”
Light laughter filtered through the group.
“We’re glad you’re here now.”
“Gotte is gut.”
“We thought you simply wanted to get out of chores for a few days.”
She waited until they’d quieted down again, until she had their attention, because this was important, and she thought she could only get through it once.
“I still don’t remember everything, don’t remember how I lost my memory, though I remember being lost.”
Now there were murmurs of sympathy and Becca on her right and Clara on her left reached for her hands.
“I do remember the night before.” She waited for Ethan to look up, to nod slightly. “I was feeling out of sorts, as if everyone had a purpose in their life and understood what it was—everyone except me.”
She stopped, her throat clogged with the tears she didn’t want to shed.
Her mamm leaned forward and waited for her to meet her gaze. “We’ve all felt that way at times, dear.”
“I understand that now, that what I was feeling was probably normal. At the time, I didn’t, though. I went outside, hoping to clear my head, and made my way to the barn.”
“Where you found me,” Ethan said.
“And I asked you—I can remember this as clearly as if it were this afternoon—I asked you...”
“What if I never find where I belong.” They said the words together and their eyes locked, as an understanding of that night and all that had transpired since passed between them.
Rachel glanced at Caleb, who was sitting forward now, listening intently.
“Ethan said, ‘Home is where you belong.’” She swiped at the tears slipping down her face. “He said it as if it was a simple fact, like it’s going to snow tomorrow or daylight will arrive at six thirty. He said it as if there was no doubt. But me? I had plenty of doubts.”
Her dat stared down at the open Bible in his lap. When he looked up, a gentle smile eased the worry lines around his eyes. “We’re so glad you’re home, so grateful to Caleb and his family, and mostly thankful to Gotte that He watched over you.”
“I know that now, Dat. I know that home, that here with you all, is exactly where I belong.” She wanted to add “until Gotte has other plans,” but suddenly everyone was talking at once, everyone except for Caleb, who was watching her as if she’d just said the one thing that could break his heart.
Chapter Twelve
Rachel woke Christmas morning to the smells that she’d known all her life—a fire in the stove downstairs, cedar sprigs placed throughout the house, cinnamon rolls in the oven, coffee percolating on the stove. She made her way downstairs and found her mamm sitting at the table.
“Gudemariye, Mamm.”
“And to you, Rachel.” She waited until Rachel had poured a mug of coffee and sat down across from her. “I want to explain to you why we didn’t call the police...”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I do, for me.” She traced the rim of her mug with her thumb. “I was terrified, when you didn’t come home that first night. I hope you never know that sort of fear, wondering where your child had gone, wondering what you could have done differently.”
“I’m sorry that I put you through that.”
“You remember nothing of the fight we had?”
“Nein.” The word was a whisper, nothing more than a breath carried over an aching heart.
“You wanted to quit your job, your apprenticeship at the school.”
“I was teaching?”
Her mother studied her a moment and finally nodded. “You had tried several jobs, but none of them suited you. Oh, they were fine jobs, as far as jobs go, but you weren’t satisfied.”
“I wanted more.”
“You kept saying that it wasn’t what you were meant to do, as if you had some destiny beyond being a gut wife and mother. I didn’t understand that. Just as I didn’t understand why you broke up with Samuel.”
Rachel covered her mouth with her hand. “Samuel King. He was two years younger than me, and I thought...I thought he was a child.”
Her mamm leaned forward, pulled Rachel’s hands across the table and covered them with her own. “Sweetheart, I’ve had a lot of time to think since you’ve been gone, a lot of time to pray. I want to say I’m so sorry...”
“This wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m so sorry that I didn’t attempt to understand what you were going through more.”
“How could you?”
Her mamm stared into her eyes a moment, as if she was searching for something. Finally, she patted Rachel’s hand, sat back and took another sip from her coffee. “Our life is simple—Plain. Our choices are few, and we like it that way. Only three dresses to choose from, only a few jobs, only a handful of beaus.”
“I don’t think a dozen beaus or job choices would have satisfied me at that point. I was...lost.”
“And that’s okay. Gotte had a plan for you, whether we understood it or not. I’m just so grateful you’re home.”
Rachel didn’t think her heart could hurt any more than it already did, but seeing her mother cry opened a whole new chasm inside of her. She hopped up, stumbled around the table and threw herself into her mother’s arms.
That was how her dat and Ethan and Caleb found them as they stamped their feet in the mudroom and then plodded into the kitchen with Christmas greetings on their lips. Deborah and Rachel jumped up and began pulling together things for the family breakfast. It was traditional to keep it rather simple—some sweet rolls, milk for the youngsters, coffee for those who were older.
They’d have a family devotional, spend time considering the miracle of Christ’s birth, and then later they’d have a big lunch with extended family. In the evening they would exchange gifts. But as her large family tumbled into the room and around the table, Rachel realized that the most precious moment of the holiday was occurring right then. She’d been reunited with her family. The rift that had existed between her and her mother—a rift that she hadn’t been able to remember but knew in her heart was there—had been healed. The only thing to mar the near perfect morning was the fact that Caleb would be leaving before lunch, and she didn’t know if she’d ever see him again.
* * *
Caleb rode in the back seat of the buggy, with Rachel on his left and both of her younger sisters on his right. Ethan was driving the buggy, and Miriam’s husband, Clyde, was sitting next to him in the front seat. The entire family had wanted to see him off, but they’d decided to limit it to one buggy.
Caleb had wanted a moment alone with Rachel. He had to satisfy himself with being jostled against her as Clara and Becca prattled on about seeing their cousins, and how much snow they’d had, and presents that would be opened later that evening.
He’d about given up on the hope of speaking privately with Rachel, when they pulled up to the bus stop and Ethan said, “Rachel, we’ll wait here if you’d like to walk with Caleb to get his ticket.”
The girls fell into a chorus of “not fair” and “we want to go,” but Clyde distracted them with a game of I Spy.
Rachel and Caleb walked to the store where tickets were usually sold, but taped on the window was a sign that read:
Closed for Christmas. If you’re waiting for a bus, purchase your ticket from the driver.
“You don’t have to wait,” Caleb said.
“I want to.”
“I bought you a Christmas present.”
“You already gave me one.”
“A skein of yarn? That wasn’t your real gift.”
“I love yarn.”
“I have ano
ther for you, but I left it at home.” Why had he done that? He’d known this would be goodbye.
“Your sweater...it’s not finished yet.”
“A fine pair we are.” He reached for her hand, instantly feeling better when their fingers were laced together.
They huddled under the overhang of the building’s roof, waiting on the bus that should arrive in the next ten minutes. Ten minutes. How was he supposed to tell her what was on his heart in so short a time? But then his watch ticked off another two minutes, and he knew that he had to try.
Rachel was talking about her family, apologizing for the chaos and her sisters and the fact that they weren’t as traditional as he was used to.
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“Excuse me?”
“I need to tell you something, Rachel.”
“You do?”
“But I don’t want... I don’t want you to answer me, not now.” He reached out, tucked a wayward lock of hair into her kapp and allowed his fingers to linger on her cheek.
“I’m so fortunate that you found me.”
“Nein. I’m the fortunate one. I love you, Rachel Yoder.”
“You do?”
“I know our lives are very different.”
“Not so different.”
“And I live a long way from here.”
“Only five hours.”
“I know that you need time with your family, time to be home.”
“I do?”
“You need time to remember, time to understand who you are and what you want in life.”
“I want you.” She seemed as surprised as he was at that confession.
Three of the sweetest words Caleb had ever heard, but he knew with complete certainty that now wasn’t their time to make any big decisions. He heard the bus pulling into the parking area. Leaning closer, he kissed her once and then again. He pressed his forehead to hers, and then he said, “I’ll write.”
“You will?”
“And call.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
“I love you,” he said again, aware that she hadn’t said those words yet, that she wasn’t ready yet. It confirmed that he was doing the right thing leaving her there, leaving her with her family. He kissed her once more, then pushed his hat down on his head and jogged toward the bus.
Amish Christmas Memories Page 16
