An Amish Baby for Christmas

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Before Jo was born.” She was remembering the feel of his hand holding hers that night in the hospital. She was thinking of the look on his face as he’d moved Baby Jo from Abigail’s hospital bed to the bassinet. His expression had been one of tenderness, of wonder, of love. “He loves Jo. I know he does.”

  “We all love her—she’s a sweet blessing from the Lord.”

  “I think he’s afraid.” She picked up her knife, sliced off a sliver of butter and spread it across her muffin. Waving the knife back and forth, she added, “He’s afraid of getting close. To me or Jo. I’m just sure that’s what it is. Either that or...or he doesn’t care as much as I thought.”

  “Sometimes caring can be frightening.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if you don’t care and someone rejects you, then it doesn’t really matter. But if you do care, then that rejection hurts.”

  “Baby Jo wouldn’t reject him. She loves everyone. Did you see the way she smiled at Luke yesterday?”

  “Could have been gas.”

  “Maybe, but I prefer to think she knows his voice. And she watches things now. This morning I was sweeping the floor, and her eyes were following me back and forth across the room.”

  “Before you know it, she’ll be doing chores with you.”

  Abigail sighed and ate another spoonful of the dumplings. “I’ll be honest with you, Mammi. I’d thought...that is to say, I’d hoped...that Thomas was beginning to care. Not just for Jo, but for me.”

  She felt silly saying it out loud.

  What if she’d just been imagining things between them?

  But Mammi was now smiling like a child on Christmas morning.

  “Did he say something to you?” Abigail asked. “About me?”

  “Sometimes it’s not what a person says so much as the way he acts that portrays his feelings.”

  “And the way he’s acting is strange.”

  “Marriages are made in heaven—but then so are thunder and lightning.”

  “Another proverb? Really?”

  “Just something my dat used to say whenever he and my mamm would be at odds with one another.”

  Abigail sighed. “My parents didn’t speak when they were fighting, which, looking back, I think was much of the time.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow you should go out to the barn.”

  “I should go to the barn?”

  “You know, it would do you gut to get some exercise, and some time away from Baby Jo wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I don’t need time away.”

  Mammi forged ahead as if Abigail hadn’t spoken at all. “If Thomas won’t come to lunch, you can take lunch to Thomas.” Then she looked up and winked.

  Which made Abigail laugh, and then Mammi was laughing, and then Jo was looking from one to the other and waving her little hands.

  Life was gut, Abigail realized.

  Even though men were not to be understood.

  Still, the lunch idea wasn’t a bad one.

  The next morning, she opened her eyes and realized she felt better than she had in a week. Why did the day seem brighter? Jo had still awakened her twice in the night to nurse, but Abigail didn’t feel one bit tired. Then she remembered Mammi’s advice, and she knew that her mood was improved because she had a plan.

  It was best to be honest with herself.

  She had feelings for Thomas Albrecht. If he returned her feelings, then it was time to know that. And if he didn’t, then she’d proceed to read up on old maids and learn how to be one.

  The morning flew by. She did some housework, some knitting and even a little reading. The baby book said she should give Jo supervised tummy time so she could practice raising her head. Abigail placed her on an old quilt that Mammi had brought, and her doschder pushed out her arms and legs as if she were swimming.

  Before Abigail knew it, her stomach was growling, and Baby Jo had gone down for her late-morning nap.

  Mammi cut thick slices of ham, placed it on fresh bread and wrapped the entire thing in a dish towel. Abigail added a plastic container of oatmeal-raisin cookies and a thermos of coffee.

  “Off I go.”

  “I would wish you good luck, but I don’t think luck has anything to do with this.” As an afterthought, Mammi added, “Don’t hurry back!”

  * * *

  Thomas wasn’t looking forward to the sandwich he’d brought for lunch. Peanut butter was gut, but a man occasionally needed something more substantial. No doubt Mammi and Abigail were having a nice hot lunch. He thought of going inside, but immediately rejected the idea.

  He’d vowed to keep his distance from Abigail.

  The last thing she needed at this point was to be saddled with a man like him. She had enough problems, and he couldn’t possibly be that selfish as to wish himself and his history on her.

  He sat in Asher’s office, in the corner of the barn, stewing over the future. As he worked oil into Belle’s harness, he wondered who would take care of Abigail’s mare when he no longer worked for her. How long was he going to work here? She’d shared with him that she had returned the lawyer’s phone calls twice. Gabriela had sounded optimistic that the estate would be settled soon, though soon to a lawyer might be different than it was to a single mom.

  He was thinking of how few options Abigail had, when she appeared in the doorway. He stared at her with his mouth slightly ajar, then remembered his mamm saying, “You’ll catch a fly if you leave your mouth open.”

  He shut his mouth.

  “I brought you lunch.” She held up a basket that looked as if it held enough food for two.

  “Oh. Um... Danki.” He glanced around the room, determined to look anywhere but at the woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing a dark blue frock with a matching apron. Her cheeks were red from the cold and strands of her auburn hair had escaped from her kapp. She looked fresh and young and vibrant. She looked beautiful.

  He pushed stuff into a pile in the center of the desk. “I guess you can just leave it there on the edge.”

  “Leave it? I came out to eat with you.”

  Thomas stared at her, then clamped his mouth shut again.

  “You look awfully surprised.”

  “I don’t think you’ve left Jo before.”

  “Nein, but Mammi’s there, of course. She says it would do me gut to get a little exercise, and that time away from the baby is important.”

  “Oh.” Seeing that she was going to sit in the only other chair, he jumped up and moved it closer to the desk, then turned up the small gas heater because the room was rather cold. He shut the door to the office so the heat would build up, then wondered if he should shut it or leave it open. He didn’t want to make Abigail uncomfortable.

  She was already unpacking the lunch and glanced up in time to say, “Ya, I think shutting the door will help. I didn’t realize it’s so cold.”

  “December in Indiana.” What a stupid thing to say! She knew it was December. She’d been talking about Christmas the previous day. His thoughts were all over the place. This was Abigail. They’d been working together for more than two months. He needed to calm down.

  He stuck his hands in his pockets, then pulled them back out and crossed his arms. That didn’t feel right either. Where did he normally put his hands? Why was he feeling so awkward?

  Then he spied the ham sandwiches she was unwrapping.

  “Those look better than my peanut butter sandwich.”

  “I like peanut butter on summer days, but in the winter, I want something a little more substantial.”

  Exactly what he was thinking. He sat across from her, then cleaned off more of the desk by dumping the things that had piled up there into a box on the floor.

  She pushed a sandwich toward him. Wagging the thermos back and forth, she asked, “Do you have another c
up?”

  He did. Though it wasn’t quite clean. He rinsed it out in the small sink, then set it in front of her. She poured steaming coffee into the mug, then poured some for herself into the lid of the thermos.

  He nearly groaned when he took the first bite of the sandwich.

  “Hungry?”

  “I’m pretty sure I was in danger of starving.” He forced himself to slow down, but was happy to see she’d brought two sandwiches for him and one for herself. “Hungrier than I realized.”

  “Must be hard, being a bachelor and all. I don’t suppose you have much time for cooking.”

  “True, but Mary Lehman—she and her husband own the mercantile below my apartment—Mary sends over dinners most nights. She spoils me, actually.”

  “I should meet her sometime.” Abigail smiled and wiggled her eyebrows. “You talk about her like she’s family.”

  “She is.” He proceeded to tell her about Mary and John and their children. He recounted how they’d met, then admitted that the two had become like surrogate parents to him.

  Abigail sighed heavily as she finished her sandwich. “Speaking of family, my mamm arrives next week.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “Ya. Sure. If you’d don a dress and kapp, sneak into the house and pretend to be me for the next week, that would be great.”

  Thomas rubbed his jawline. “My five-o’clock shadow might give me away.”

  Abigail nodded in agreement, then popped the lid off the plastic container.

  He rubbed his stomach and groaned.

  “Too full?”

  “Nein. I am never too full for Mammi’s oatmeal cookies.”

  “I’ll have you know I made these.”

  “Did you, now?”

  “I can cook and bake.”

  “Hidden talents.”

  Instead of being offended, she laughed. “I guess I haven’t done much of anything since you’ve met me—except for feeling sorry for myself. I’ve turned that into a real skill set.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Abigail.” His gaze met hers, and he remembered the feel of her hand in his. He thought of her and Baby Jo mere hours after her birth. Had he really shared that experience with them? And he expected to be able to run from his feelings? He was a fool.

  “You look suddenly serious.”

  “Abigail, there’s something I need to say to you.”

  “There is?”

  “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

  “I knew it!”

  He couldn’t help smiling. She looked so proud of herself, as if she’d cracked a big mystery. “I haven’t meant to be rude.”

  “You hurt my feelings, Thomas. I thought we were—friends. I thought maybe we were...we were more than that.”

  It would help if she would stare down at her hands, but she didn’t. Nope. Abigail wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. She watched him and waited, until the silence grew uncomfortable and he was tempted to spill all the secrets of his heart. She didn’t need to know all of that, though. She had enough problems of her own without wrestling with his past, with the possibility that he’d become a drunken Amish farmer.

  He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but there are reasons that I don’t think it would be in your best interest to get close to me.”

  “Maybe that’s for me to decide.” Her voice was gentle but firm. It surprised him. The distraught young widow who had been unable to shoo a goat off her front porch had turned into a confident woman. When had that happened?

  “I don’t...I don’t know how to do this.” His appetite vanished. He set the oatmeal cookie down, pushed it away. “I don’t know how to be your friend, or be more than your friend, and not risk hurting you.”

  “Is that what’s bothering you?” To his horror, she popped up out of the chair and walked around to his side of the desk. Leaning her backside against it, she crossed her arms, looked down at him and smiled. “You’re not going to hurt me, Thomas. You’re a gut man. I can trust you.”

  “But...”

  “And even though you’re afraid of newborns, you’re very gut with Jo.”

  “I am?”

  “She wants to see you more.”

  “She does?”

  “A mother can tell.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’ll come inside for dinner tonight?”

  When he hesitated, she added, “I’m sure Mary will understand if you don’t need her leftovers for one evening.”

  The thought of going into the snug little house, sitting at the kitchen table and eating with Abigail and Mammi and Baby Jo lifted his spirits more than he would have thought possible.

  “Ya. Okay. That sounds gut.”

  “Friends?” She held her small hand out to him in a distinctly Englisch fashion.

  He laughed and shook it. “Okay, friends.”

  “And maybe more.”

  Before he realized what she intended to do, Abigail leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. While he was trying to figure out what he thought about that, she pulled away and walked out of the office, out of the barn and headed back to the house. Thomas was left staring at a container full of cookies and a half-empty thermos of coffee.

  He could still taste Abigail’s lips, and her words echoed in his ears.

  Friends...and maybe more.

  Chapter Eleven

  Abigail’s mamm had been visiting for four days, and Abigail had taken to hiding in the barn. She wasn’t proud of that, but she reasoned that a person should do what they needed to do.

  Thomas walked into the office, smiled at her and dropped his hat onto the desk. “I’d love to believe that you’re out here to see me, but I take it your mamm is on a tear again.”

  “This morning it was about Jo’s name.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yup. Apparently, I named my child wrong.”

  “Huh.”

  Abigail shrugged her shoulders. “Tomorrow, she goes home, so I just need to hang out in here...” she glanced up at the clock “...twenty-two more hours.”

  Thomas couldn’t help laughing. He stopped next to the chair she was sitting in, leaned down and kissed her. Abigail thought that Thomas’s kisses were one of the sweetest moments of her day.

  And to think it was all because she’d been brave enough to kiss him first.

  She didn’t know where this was headed, and she wasn’t particularly worried about it. She’d never properly courted, and she thought she might actually enjoy doing so with Thomas. Abigail understood now that being with a person, spending time with them, sharing your problems with them, watching a sunset with them—those things all told you more about a person than a letter received once a week.

  Though she’d love to have a letter from Thomas. Perhaps she could ask him to write her.

  Thomas pulled away, then kissed Baby Jo on the forehead.

  “Want to hold her?” Abigail teased.

  “Uh-uh. Not yet. Maybe when she starts walking.”

  “Hey. I thought you were waiting until she could hold her head up.”

  “That and walk and maybe drive a buggy.”

  “Wow. You are afraid of children.”

  “I prefer the word cautious.”

  She proceeded to talk about her Christmas plans. Thomas still didn’t seem on board with that, but she thought he would eventually come around. Besides, it was her house for another few weeks at least. She could do whatever she wanted until the judge declared a final ruling on the farm and house and Asher’s debts.

  Abigail was tempted to sink into despair over her financial situation, and there were times that she did. Occasionally, she fell asleep with tears on her pillow. Once in a while, she took to the porch with the broom to work off her anxiety. Bu
t overall, she was coming around to Mammi’s way of thinking—Gotte would provide.

  She pushed away her dark thoughts about the future. There wasn’t a single thing she could do about any of those things, and she refused to ruin a fine December afternoon pretending that she could. Instead, she favored Thomas with a detailed description of her Christmas decorating plans.

  He interrupted her discussion of the merits of pine boughs over cedar boughs. “Talk to me seriously for a minute. How is it going with your mamm?”

  “I was serious before. I’d stay here in the barn until she leaves if I could.”

  “Abigail, that’s not healthy.”

  “I think it’s very healthy. If you see a hurricane coming toward you, the wise thing to do is get out of the way. That’s what I’m doing.”

  Thomas sat back in his chair, causing it to squeak, and steepled his fingers together. She knew that look. He was going to lecture her.

  “Don’t even start. You’ve barely spent any time with her. In fact, have you even been in the house in the last week? Nein, you stay safely out here in the peaceful serenity of the barn.” She glanced around, wondering if she could hide here until her mother left. When Thomas cleared his throat, she added, “You have no idea what it’s like to live with her.”

  “But you’re not living with her. She’s visiting. Your time with her is limited. I just wish you could enjoy it.”

  “Last night she corrected my knitting.”

  “So?”

  “She doesn’t know how to knit.”

  Thomas laughed, but Abigail didn’t see the humor in the situation.

  “She also mopped the kitchen floor, when plainly I had just mopped it.”

  “Odd.”

  “And she treats Jo exactly like...” She would not cry. She might still have mommy hormones raging through her system, but she was not a child! “She treats Jo like she treated me—efficiently but without any outward affection.”

  “Explain to me what you mean.” His voice was soft and his eyes compassionate.

  A little of Abigail’s defensiveness slipped away.

  “If Mammi holds Jo, she’ll kiss her on the head, or smell her neck, or speak to her in a singsong voice. You even get a goofy grin when you’re letting her clutch your finger.” He didn’t deny it, so she pushed on. “And when I hold her it feels as if a piece of my heart is finally reattached to my body.”