Amish Christmas Memories (Indiana Amish Brides Book 2)

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Native Americans used cattails to make mats and baskets.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Ya, and the head can be dipped in oil and used as a torch.”

  Caleb turned to stare at her quizzically.

  “I have no idea how I knew that.” Instead of becoming gloomy over that realization, she smiled and gestured toward the tall weeds with brown cigar-shaped heads. “How are we supposed to reach them?”

  Caleb held up the rake.

  “Ah.”

  Rachel was happy to point out the tallest, prettiest cattails, as she continued to regale him with trivia.

  The lower parts of the leaves could be used in salads.

  Young cattails could be roasted.

  Pollen of the cattail could be added to pancakes.

  “Maybe you were a botanist before.”

  “Ya, because there are a lot of female Amish botanists.”

  The banter between them felt light and comfortable. The afternoon was warm, and it was hard for Caleb to wrap his mind around the fact that earlier that week she might have perished in the snow, but it was true. Indiana weather was like that—fickle.

  What if he hadn’t been mending that particular section of fence on Monday as she walked down the road?

  What if she’d arrived at that spot an hour later, after he’d already gone?

  For the first time since that fateful morning, Caleb was grateful that he had found her, that Gotte had brought Rachel into their lives. She might not be there for long. Regardless of what his friends Gabriel and Beth thought, he was neither jealous of her presence nor interested in her in a romantic way.

  But perhaps they could be friends, for as long as she was there. A month or a year from now, he’d look back and laugh at the strange woman who had plopped into their lives.

  As they finished pulling the cattails from around the pond, he kept thinking of the way her arms had felt under his hands, of the look in her eyes as she’d gazed up at him, then at the snake, and then back at him. It was as if the defensive Rachel, the one that made him feel like a cat rubbed the wrong way, had vanished, and instead he’d found himself staring at a woman he hadn’t met yet.

  He continued to steal glances at her as they loaded their items on the wagon, then he directed the horse back toward the house.

  “You can quit looking at me that way.”

  “Which way?”

  “As if I might disappear before your eyes.”

  “You gave me a scare, I won’t deny it.”

  “My brother was bitten by a copperhead once.” She didn’t seem to realize she was remembering. A smile wreathed her face, and she held her head back, basking in the warmth of the sun. “He said it hurt worse than the time that he broke his leg. He didn’t want to go to the doctor, but Mamm insisted. The doctor said it was probably a juvenile snake, considering the bite marks. Ethan said if that was a juvenile he never wanted to cross a full-grown adult. Did you know that the length of their fangs is directly proportional to the length of the snake? So the longer—”

  “Rachel.”

  “Ya?”

  “You just said your bruder’s name.”

  “I did?”

  “Ethan.” They repeated it together.

  They rode in silence, until Caleb pulled the mare to a stop beside the front porch. “Another piece of the puzzle.”

  “Lots of folks named Ethan,” she said, staring up at him again, looking at him as if he’d hung the moon.

  He pulled on the collar of his work shirt, which felt suddenly tight. They were one step closer to finding Rachel’s family. One step closer to his life returning to normal. He couldn’t fathom why that didn’t feel as good as he had imagined it would.

  * * *

  Rachel wasn’t too surprised when Caleb hurried away, claiming he’d remembered work to do in the barn. She helped Ida to unload the hay bales, cedar branches, pinecones and cattails.

  “My son ran off like a beagle chasing a jackrabbit. Any idea what that’s about?”

  So Rachel described their encounter with the snake and recounted how Caleb had saved her...again. She didn’t mention how it had felt to have his arms around her. It was an awkward thing to say to a guy’s mother, and besides, she didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t understand the myriad of emotions still clouding her thoughts!

  Ida had plopped down into one of the rockers and was staring at her with her mouth hanging open.

  “What? Did my kapp fall off?” Rachel reached up and checked her head. Everything seemed all right.

  “I should have told you.”

  “About?”

  “The snakes.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yes, that. I just sent you out there, traipsing through the woods.”

  “I’m not a child, Ida.”

  “I didn’t even think to tell you to watch out for snakes. It’s unseasonably warm today, and with the cold front due tonight...all of the animals are acting crazy. I saw one of the alpacas standing in the water trough.”

  “It’s not your fault, and I wasn’t hurt.”

  “Because of Caleb’s quick thinking. I guess the Lord was watching over you, child...both times that Caleb saved you.”

  Rachel didn’t know what to say to that, so she helped Ida set the small bales of hay in a haphazard pile beside the door and cover them with cedar branches, pinecones and leaves. The cattails propped up behind it all in old milking cans added a nice touch. It did look festive. More of an autumn display than Christmas, but at least it cheered up the place.

  They’d finished with the decorations and gone inside to work on dinner when Rachel remembered to tell Ida about her brother.

  “And his name is Ethan?”

  “Ya, I guess so.”

  “That’s gut, Rachel. It’s gut that you’re starting to remember.”

  “But it’s taking so long. I’d hoped that I would be home by Christmas.” She glanced up from the potato casserole she was mixing in time to see a look of regret pass over Ida’s face.

  The dear woman plastered on a smile and said, “If that’s your heart’s desire, that is what we’ll pray for—that you can be home by Christmas.”

  “Ida, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

  “And you’re not, only homesick I suspect.”

  Rachel wiped her hands on a dish towel, then walked over to Ida, stood in front of her and waited for her to raise her eyes.

  “I will never forget what you’ve done for me. How you’ve taken me in and given me a home. Treated me like family.”

  Ida leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, then, claiming that her allergies were bothering her, she hurried from the room. Rachel couldn’t remember Ida ever mentioning allergies. She had a feeling that the tears in her eyes were caused by something else entirely, and she realized in that moment that wanting something and getting it were two entirely different things.

  She wanted to be reunited with her family.

  Caleb wanted her gone, or at least she’d thought that he did. Didn’t he? Certainly his life had been simpler before he’d found her on the road.

  But receiving what they wanted would hurt Ida. For whatever reason, she enjoyed having Rachel around. Perhaps her life had been rather lonely, with only the one son. Perhaps she was enjoying the idea of having a daughter.

  That thought caused Rachel’s hands to freeze over the sliced potatoes that she was dotting with paprika. Did Ida consider her a daughter? Was that possible in less than a week?

  The more she thought of it, the more certain she was. She only had to look at the jacket hung over the back of the kitchen chair, the jacket Ida had insisted she wear outside, the jacket that belonged to her father.

  Rachel added pats of butter to the potatoes, sprinkled Parmesan cheese across the top and popped t
he dish into the oven. She would find her family, but she wouldn’t forget Ida or her kindness. She vowed then and there that they would be friends for life.

  Chapter Six

  The cold front that had threatened Saturday arrived in the middle of the night with a foot of snow and winds strong enough to cause the shingles on the roof to rattle. Rachel woke to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee, but one look outside sent her scurrying back under the covers like a child. That was the phrase that pulled her out of bed. She wasn’t a child. She was a woman and should act like one, but what she’d give for a day where she could burrow beneath the quilts, forget any chores and make the world go away.

  Her mood didn’t improve as she pulled on her Sunday dress and braided her hair.

  What was she doing here?

  When would she remember who she was?

  Why wasn’t her family looking for her?

  By the time she made it to the kitchen, she felt as if the day had already knocked her down. It didn’t help that the morning had dawned cloudy and dreary. The landscape outside the window was colorless—snow on empty fields, a gray sky, a vast horizon.

  None of it looked familiar to her.

  Why should that still surprise her? She’d known she didn’t belong here from the moment she’d opened her eyes on Ida’s couch. The fun she’d had yesterday had been a distraction from her situation, nothing more.

  “This will help.” Ida pushed a mug of steaming coffee into her hands, but she didn’t ask any questions.

  That was one thing Rachel appreciated about Ida—she didn’t push.

  Caleb, on the other hand, had no trouble sticking his nose into her business as they all sat down to eat.

  “You’re awfully quiet, Rachel.”

  “I’ve nothing to say.”

  “Did you sleep badly?”

  She didn’t bother answering him. Why admit that she’d tossed and turned most of the night? She knew that the circles under her eyes were testament to her sleeplessness. So why did he have to ask?

  John focused on his meal, and Ida sent her the occasional sympathetic look.

  Rachel pushed the food around on her plate and sipped her coffee.

  When Ida stood up to clear off the breakfast dishes, Rachel jumped up to help her, but Ida placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “Take some time for yourself, Rachel. There are only a few dishes. I can take care of them.”

  So she went to the living room and sat in the rocker closest to the banked fire. Though she was facing away from the kitchen, she still heard every whispered word. Unfortunately, she had excellent hearing. She had always been able to make out the slightest whisper. There! Another thing she knew about herself. Maybe she could advertise for a lost daughter with exceptional hearing.

  “What’s with her this morning?”

  “Perhaps she’s simply sad.”

  “Because she can’t remember?”

  “Of course because she can’t remember.”

  Rachel couldn’t make out the next statement as Ida was running water in the sink, but when she turned off the faucet, the last of her and Caleb’s conversation came in loud and clear.

  “Seems to me she needs to move on.”

  “Easy for you to say, son. You know who you are.”

  “Rachel knows who she is, she simply doesn’t know who she was.”

  “Our past figures into who we become.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Perhaps you could go a little easy on her.”

  “What did I do?”

  “I’m just saying that a little compassion goes a long way.”

  “The women in this house are awfully sensitive if I’m in trouble for asking how she slept.”

  “Why don’t you go and help your dat with the buggy?”

  “Great idea.”

  Another moment passed before the back door slammed, and she knew Caleb had left the kitchen. She should go in there now and thank Ida for standing up for her. She couldn’t find the energy, though, so instead she sat there, staring at the coals of the fire and wondering how she was going to endure the day of worship and fellowship.

  Perhaps that was what she was dreading—church. Sundays had always been a bright spot for her. She loved the hymns, seeing her friends and resting for the day. She loved being with her family. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she quickly brushed them away. She shouldn’t wallow in this. She’d decided yesterday that she would be more positive.

  But deciding on an attitude and actually maintaining that attitude were two different things entirely.

  * * *

  Their service was held in Amos’s barn, but Rachel’s mood only worsened throughout the morning. She didn’t remember any of the names of the ladies she had met earlier in the week. The songs were familiar, but she stumbled over the words. The preaching might have been what she needed to hear, but she seemed to hear it from a great distance. The text was something from the Book of Numbers, something about Balaam and a donkey and Gotte’s messenger. She heard the words from the sermon but couldn’t connect them to anything, and she couldn’t remember when they were supposed to stand or sit or kneel.

  She was always just a fraction of a second behind everyone else.

  Her every move seemed to scream that she didn’t belong here.

  By the time the service ended, she was pressing her fingertips into her temples trying to still the pounding in her head, and Ida insisted that she rest while the other women set out the luncheon. They were meeting in Bishop Amos’s barn, and Ida suggested that she go to the house and find a dark room for a few minutes. Instead Rachel walked out of the barn’s main room, down an adjacent section of the building, and ended up stopping in front of the last stall, where she found a half-dozen goats curled up around one another. She went into the stall, latched the door and sat down in the hay.

  Which was where Bishop Amos found her, one goat in her lap, another leaning against her shoulder and a third chewing on her kapp strings.

  “Tough morning.” He said it as a fact instead of a question. Perhaps that was why she didn’t take offense as she had with Caleb.

  Amos shooed a goat out of a crate, turned it over and sat on it. The young goat settled at his feet, and Amos reached forward to rub it gently between the ears.

  “Many folks don’t understand goats.”

  Rachel glanced at him in surprise. She’d expected him to want to talk about her situation. She’d dreaded it actually. But goats...now, there was a safe topic.

  “I love how soft their ears are.” The little guy she was holding looked up at her. She reached for its ear and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. The goat butted her hand as if to tell her not to stop. The goats all had long white ears, and black marks high on their foreheads. Their coats were a chocolate brown. “They’re such sweet animals.”

  “Indeed. Did you know that one doe can produce ninety quarts of fresh milk a month?”

  “That’s a lot of milk.”

  “It is, but here’s the thing—a farmer can’t have just one doe.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “It would get lonely.”

  “Would it stop producing milk?”

  “Most likely it would. You see, goats are social animals. They need each other.”

  Rachel had been tracing the pattern of brown and white on the goat nearest her.

  “A goat will die if it’s left alone. It’ll quit eating and just—” he snapped his fingers “—lose its will to live.”

  “I’m not a goat.”

  “And you’re not alone.” Amos smiled at her as he gently pulled the hem of his pants leg out of a kid’s mouth.

  She remembered that now—a young goat was called a kid. The kid scampered to the other side of the stall and began head-butting another kid approximately the same size.


  “But it can feel as if you’re alone sometimes, and loneliness is a heavy burden. I understand that firsthand.”

  Something about his tone of voice convinced Rachel that he was speaking from personal experience. Instead of explaining, he changed the subject.

  “I found a couple of jobs for you.”

  “A couple?”

  He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “Often what we first try doesn’t succeed, so I wanted you to have more than one choice.”

  She opened the sheet and stared down at it. “Thank you so much.”

  He waved away her thanks. “At the bottom is the name of the counselor your doctor recommended—the same one you spoke with briefly at the hospital.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if I can...”

  “Afford it? Surely you remember that we take care of such things.” His smile grew, and he stood and brushed hay from his pants, then stuck his thumbs under his suspenders. “Ya. The cost is already taken care of. I’m not saying that you have to go or even that you should go, only that you can if you’d like to.”

  Without pausing to think if it was proper, Rachel jumped up and threw herself into his arms. “Danki.”

  Amos smelled of soap and hay and some blend of tobacco. She’d seen him tap a pipe against the palm of his hand a time or two, but she’d never seen him actually light it. She stood there in his arms, remembering the scent and feel of her own grandfather.

  Amos patted her on the back, but he didn’t say anything. She wondered if she’d overstepped her bounds, if she’d done something inappropriate, but then she pulled back and saw the twinkle in his eyes.

  “You remind me of my granddaughter—same sweet spirit.” He walked to the half door of the stall, stepped to the other side and latched it. “You know, Rachel, Gotte made everything for a reason. Donkeys, goats, even people each have a special purpose. You’ll find the reason that Gotte made you. You’ll find where you belong.”

  She sat back down and stared at the stall’s door for a long time. How had he known to say the words that she needed to hear? You’ll find where you belong.