An Amish Baby for Christmas

by Vannetta Chapman

  “But...”

  “But when my mamm holds her, it’s as if she’s holding a piece of laundry or a recipe book. She’s detached. She doesn’t even smile. She doesn’t smell her or kiss her.”

  That confession sat between them for a moment.

  “She did travel a long way to be here. I have to believe your mamm loves Jo, and I believe she loves you.”

  Abigail shrugged. “She doesn’t act like it.”

  “Look.” Thomas sat forward and waited until she met his gaze. “You don’t have unlimited time with your parents. I made that mistake with my dat and mamm—and now they’re both gone. If you have something to say to your mother, then say it. Be an adult, Abigail. Don’t hide in a barn in order to avoid an uncomfortable situation.”

  She thought the top of her head might pop off.

  “How dare you...”

  “How dare I? Maybe I dare because I care about you, and I don’t like to see you tearing yourself up about a family relationship.”

  “You make me so mad.” She jumped up and started bundling Jo back into her coat and mittens and blanket.

  “Do you plan to run away every time you get mad?”

  “I am not running away. In case you forgot, I live here. This is my barn and that is my house.” She waved in the direction of the house in case he was still confused.

  “For now.” Thomas’s words came across solemn, quiet, pointed.

  “You don’t need to remind me that I might lose everything, Thomas. Just like you don’t need to imply that I’m a terrible doschder. I’m well aware of both things.” She stormed out of the barn, forgetting her outer bonnet and her gloves so that she had to sprint back to the house. There wasn’t any snow yet, nothing to brighten the day, just wind and clouds and cold.

  The afternoon passed slowly.

  After dinner, Abigail listened to her mother and Mammi discuss the best home remedies for various ailments.

  Tea made from a daisy-type plant called feverfew and mixed with honey helped a cold.

  Peeled ginger root eased the pain of teething.

  Peppermint-flavored water relieved colic.

  Abigail was immensely grateful that no one had a cold, Jo wasn’t teething yet and her child had absolutely no sign of colic. Still, Mammi and her mother seemed to enjoy discussing various ailments.

  It was impossible to sit in the same room and not compare the two women. Abigail’s mamm sat on the couch—ramrod straight—rarely smiled and spoke in grim declarations. Mammi was burrowed into a chair with several pillows positioned next to her and a shawl around her shoulders. She smiled frequently, laughed occasionally and her words had a singsong quality to them.

  She couldn’t imagine two more different people.

  Abigail remembered Thomas’s accusation and got mad all over again. She wasn’t avoiding an uncomfortable conversation. There was no point in even having such a thing.

  Someone cannot show what they haven’t learned.

  Abigail wanted to slap her hands over her ears to block out Mammi’s words, but they’d been spoken to her weeks ago—before Jo was even born. They existed now only in her heart. She couldn’t block that out.

  Someone cannot show what they haven’t learned.

  It might be true. She was willing to admit that. But did it excuse how her mamm behaved? Could Abigail possibly let her off the hook so easily? She suddenly remembered the Scripture that Luke had preached from the Sunday before. He’d quoted from the first book of Corinthians, the thirteenth chapter—what Abigail thought of as the marriage chapter.

  Love is patient. Love is kind.

  She certainly wasn’t being either of those things toward her mother.

  Love does not dishonor.

  Was she dishonoring her mother?

  It keeps no record of wrongs.

  And that’s where she knew she had failed. She did keep a record of wrongs. She remembered every time her mother had said a sharp word or denied a request or stepped away from an embrace.

  “I think I will go to bed early tonight.” Mammi tucked her knitting into her basket and stood. She kissed the baby, wished Abigail’s mamm a good evening and pulled Abigail into a hug.

  She didn’t say anything else.

  She didn’t need to.

  Abigail tried to work on the tiny sweater she was making for Jo, but she kept knitting where she was supposed to purl, and increasing where she was supposed to decrease. Finally, she set the project aside, went to the kitchen and fetched two cups of herbal tea.

  While she was there, she prayed that she’d have the right words to speak with her mamm.

  She walked back into the sitting room, placed the mug of hot tea next to her mamm and sat in the chair across from her. “I want to thank you for coming.”

  “There’s no need to thank me. I was eager to meet my newest grandkinner.”

  That was a surprise to Abigail. She certainly didn’t look eager. Did her mamm not know how to allow her expression to mirror her feelings? Abigail shook away the thought. She needed to stay focused if she was going to make it through this conversation.

  “I also want to apologize.”

  Her mother gave her a very clear what-have-you-done-now look.

  “I’m afraid that I haven’t honored you in the way I should. I’ve...I’ve kept a record of wrongs—or perceived wrongs. And I think those things, those thoughts, stand between us. They build this unsurmountable wall that I don’t know how to find my way around.”

  Her mother sighed, as if vexed by her confession, but she didn’t look up from her darning. She didn’t knit or crochet, but she could darn better than anyone Abigail knew.

  “You’re too sensitive, Abigail. You always have been.”

  “Ya. Maybe so.”

  “In my day, we didn’t have time to sit around and worry about our feelings. Life was harder then.” She glanced up, only to stare out the front window. It was too dark to see anything, but still her gaze remained there. “Perhaps it was better, when life was harder. There was less time to sit and worry over what someone said, or how they said it, or what they didn’t say.”

  “Ya, maybe so,” Abigail repeated, though she didn’t believe that. She thought that no matter how busy your hands were, your thoughts could still toss worries and joys back and forth. That was human nature. Wasn’t it?

  “Soon Joanna will be up and running around. You’ll remarry and have more children, and then you’ll be too busy for such foolishness.”

  A silence fell between them as Abigail puzzled over her mother’s reaction. Is that what had happened to her mother? Had someone told her she was foolish for having feelings? Had they ridiculed her or corrected her or scolded her in a way that changed her behavior permanently?

  Abigail finished her tea and stood to retrieve the cups. She took them to the kitchen, washed them and set them in the drainer. It was when she paused between the two rooms that she noticed her mother staring down at Baby Jo—a look of pure wonder on her face.

  When she noticed Abigail standing there, watching, she schooled her face, sat straighter and reached for another sock to darn.

  But the moment had happened.

  Abigail hadn’t imagined it.

  She walked across the room and sat on the couch next to her mother, closer than she had been before. “Danki, Mamm. For taking care of me. For providing for us. I know you and Dat did the best that you could—and because you did, I’m here today. I’m able to take care of Jo. Danki for taking the long bus ride from Colorado to Indiana and for staying with us. I love you and Dat, and I appreciate you both.”

  Her mother looked up, and for a fleeting moment the stoic look was replaced with one of tenderness. It didn’t last. She tsked, reached out and felt Abigail’s head, then resumed her darning. “You sound feverish. Perhaps you’re getting a cold. You sho
uld go to bed early too.”

  “I will, Mamm.” Abigail reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand. Wonder of wonders, she didn’t pull away.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  Someone cannot show what they haven’t learned.

  Perhaps, in matters of the heart, mothers could learn from their daughters.

  Later, while Abigail was tossing in bed, she realized that she was no longer angry with her mamm. It was simply too exhausting to carry around that much anger, that many old hurts.

  So why was she tossing?

  Why couldn’t she sleep?

  It was Thomas’s fault. The way he looked at her so smugly, the advice that he tossed around like seedsto the birds. And to think that he wouldn’t even hold her doschder in his arms. He made her so mad!

  Did she want to build her future with a man like that?

  What was she thinking? He’d said nothing about the future.

  What did it matter that they’d shared a few kisses, a few walks in the fields, several mugs of hot chocolate? No promises had been exchanged. No confessions of love.

  On one level Abigail knew that she was being unreasonable, moody even. Just hours ago, she’d thought about how nice it was to court someone, that it didn’t bother her not knowing where they’d stand tomorrow. She’d been lying to herself.

  That uncertainty did bother her because nothing in her life was assured.

  Except Mammi.

  And her parents.

  And her faith.

  She’d cling to those things, and—for a while at least—leave courting out of the equation.

  * * *

  Thomas knew he’d stepped into a pile of manure, figuratively speaking. He’d gone over the conversation with Mary Lehman, and then with his schweschder Lily. Both had stared at him in amazement and asked if he’d lost his mind.

  “Do you want to be a bachelor forever?” Lily had asked, then proceeded to beat a rug rather too aggressively.

  Mary had simply pushed a tin of brownies into his hands and suggested he share them with Abigail. “Sometimes chocolate can mend the heart.”

  He hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Abigail had needed to hear what he’d said.

  Then he realized that he wouldn’t have wanted to hear those words five or ten years ago. No one could have advised him on his relationship with his parents. He’d been dealing with too many feelings, too much history.

  Why did he think that he could correct Abigail and set her on the straight path? How arrogant of him.

  He’d shown up at her door late the next afternoon and offered the tin of brownies.

  “What’s this?”

  “Chocolate. I hear it’s a good remedy for saying stupid things.”

  “As is an apology.”

  “I’m sorry, Abigail.” He meant it too. He hadn’t wanted to cause her more trouble, more pain. He’d wanted to help, but he’d made a mess of it. “Forgive me?”

  She’d squeezed her eyes shut and tried to hold back a smile, but she was only successful for a moment. “You might as well come in and try some of these.”

  They’d sat at the kitchen table, Jo in the baby carrier that sat on top of a high chair. She’d waved her arms enthusiastically when he’d walked into the room.

  “I told you she enjoys your visits.”

  Thomas almost groaned. He was a goner. When he wasn’t with Abigail and Jo, they were all he could think about. When he was with them, he wanted to stay. Why was he fighting this?

  Because of his family history. Because he cared about them.

  But maybe, just possibly, they could overcome that.

  Did he dare to hope as much?

  Mammi walked into the room and clapped her hands together. “Brownies. I love brownies.”

  She’d sat at the table and joined them. The three talked about the lawyer—they still hadn’t heard any updates—and Christmas, which was ten days away, and Abigail’s mom. The visit had ended on a better note than Abigail had expected.

  Abigail told Mammi and Thomas about her conversation with her mamm.

  “Relationships are fragile,” Mammi said. “Handle with prayer.” Her expression was uncharacteristically grave, but then she broke into a smile.

  “Supper is almost ready, and now we’ve gone and eaten dessert first. I’d say that’s a fine thing to do on a cold December afternoon. Why don’t you two go and check on the animals while I slice some of the bread we baked? I’ll have everything set out by the time you make your rounds.”

  Thomas knew the animals did not need to be checked on, and from the way Abigail looked at him, she knew it too. But they walked out to the barn, and they returned thirty minutes later hand in hand. Thomas could breathe again. He might be afraid of the future, but he would be a fool to succumb to that fear.

  The next day was Sunday, and Abigail and Thomas sat together during the meal. He normally didn’t attend her church service, because his own church met on the same weekends. But he’d wanted to be with her. He’d needed to be with her. Since he knew most of the people in her community, he’d felt immediately at home. And when he caught a few knowing smiles tossed their way, he didn’t really care. In fact, he wanted people to know how he felt about Abigail.

  On Monday, he wasn’t able to go to Abigail’s, as he’d promised to help his bruder-in-law with some roof repairs on his barn.

  On Tuesday, he showed up at his regular time, but Abigail didn’t come out at lunch. In fact, he hadn’t seen her all morning. He plodded over to the house, knocked on the door, whacked the dirt off his boots and walked in.

  Mammi was carrying a tray and Baby Jo was hollering loud enough to be heard from the barn.

  “Let me take that.” The tray had a bowl of soup that looked untouched, a mug of tea and some crackers. “What are you doing with this tray?”

  “I was trying to tempt Abigail to eat, but to no avail.” Mammi tottered into the kitchen and scooped Jo up from her bassinet. “I’m afraid that maybe we need to call the doctor.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Flu, maybe. I’m not sure.” She moved Jo to her shoulder and rubbed her back in soft circles. “Can you go to the phone shack and call? Doc Amanda is still making house calls, as far as I know.”

  “Sure, Mammi. Of course I will.”

  The next few hours passed in a blur. Doc Amanda didn’t make it out until after seven in the evening. Amanda was in her fifties, had short gray hair and had been caring for the Amish community in and around Shipshewana for years. After she’d examined Abigail, she sat at the kitchen table and accepted a cup of hot tea. “It’s influenza, I’m sure. We’ll have her test results back tomorrow, but in the meantime keep giving her aspirin to bring down the fever and push fluids on her.”

  Mammi pushed up her glasses. “What about Baby Jo? Should she be around Abigail?”

  “She’s already been exposed, as have you two.” The doctor gulped down the rest of the tea and stood. “Watch for symptoms—fever, sore muscles, fatigue.”

  Thomas had been around Abigail a lot in the last week, and he felt fine. Maybe he was immune to the flu. “Can you give her any kind of medicine?”

  Doc Amanda pulled a bottle of pills from her bag. “Twice a day for five days. And if anyone else comes down with it, I’ll send more.”

  “What do we owe you?” Mammi asked.

  The doctor waved her away. “I’m aware of Abigail’s situation. There’s no charge for the visit.”

  After she’d driven away, Thomas sat down at the table with Mammi. Finally, he said, “You can’t handle a sick Abigail and an infant on your own.”

  “There was a day when I could have, but you’re probably right. Perhaps we should call Naomi or Clare...”

  “I’m going back to my place to grab a few changes of clothes.” Wh
en she started to protest, he said, “I’m here every day anyway, Mammi. It makes the most sense. I’ll sleep on the couch, and I can spell you a couple of hours in the morning, maybe an hour or two in the afternoon, and we can split the night up into shifts.”

  Mammi glanced left, then right, then around the table.

  “They’re on your head.”

  She smiled and tugged the glasses off the top of her head. When she’d pushed them firmly in place, she said simply, “Gut plan.”

  But Thomas didn’t leave for his place immediately. First, he needed to see Abigail.

  He walked back to her room, tapped on the door and then let himself in.

  Abigail was curled on her side, reminding him of the time he’d sat beside her in the hospital. She coughed, winced and then tried to peer at him through half-closed eyes. He placed a hand on her forehead. She was burning up.

  “Trying to avoid lunches in the barn?”

  “Ya. You caught me.” Her voice sounded like buggy wheels over gravel.

  He winced and perched on the edge of the bed. “You’re going to be okay, Abigail. Mammi and I, we’ll take care of everything.”

  A healthy Abigail might have argued.

  Instead, she drifted into an uneasy sleep, her breathing ragged and labored, broken occasionally by a harsh cough.

  And Thomas wondered why he had ever thought he could live without this woman. How had he been foolish enough to consider walking away? Looking at her now—sick, vulnerable, weak—he understood that his heart had already made the decision for him.

  Now she needed to get well, so he could tell her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Abigail blinked her eyes and stared at the light coming through her bedroom windows. Why was she still in bed? What time was it? And where was Baby Jo?

  Mammi’s wizened face appeared smiling down at her.

  “Gut to see you awake.”

  “What...?” She struggled to free herself from the covers, and Mammi helped her sit up. She plumped the pillows behind her, handed her a glass of water and then sat on the side of the bed.