A Christmas Visitor

by Amy Clipston

  “I’ll expect you back tomorrow then.” Onkel Mordecai stood as well. He settled his straw hat on his head. “We’ll get that cement poured for the honey house in no time. I reckon we can finish up Albert’s milk barn and milk house combo at the same time. We’ve got cabbage, broccoli, and onions to plant. Lots of work for willing hands and a strong back.”

  “You’re working here?” How was she supposed to move on if he kept showing up? “Why?”

  “Rocky here says he did construction work to put himself through college. He’s handy with tools and such.” Her uncle seemed unperturbed by her distress. “And he’s a farmer. Not a combination you find all the time. He offered to help, and we can use all the help we can get.”

  Frannie didn’t ask permission this time. “On the porch.”

  Rocky led the way, holding the screen door for her in such a polite way she wanted to kick someone in the shins, something she’d never done in her entire life. “Why are you here?”

  His gaze bounced from her to Caleb, who kicked a half-deflated, gray soccer ball as he made his way out of the yard, headed to school. “Has he ever played basketball?”

  “What?”

  “You know, not everything is about you.”

  It took Frannie a second to realize her mouth had dropped open. She shut it. Breathe. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Sure, I came down here because of you, but the more I see, the more I realize something else brought me to Bee County.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure, but I aim to find out.” He slapped his ball cap on his tousled hair. “I see a line of dirt blowing on the road out there. I imagine it’s the tow truck. I better go wave them down or they’ll miss the turn in.”

  He stalked down the steps without looking back.

  “Rocky.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m sorry about last night.” Even in wrinkled clothes, hair a mess, sleepers around his eyes, he looked like the best, most wonderful specimen of a man she’d ever seen. “I didn’t mean to cause you hurt. I don’t want to ever cause you hurt.”

  He turned and lifted his huge hand to shade his eyes from the morning sun. “I know you’re between a rock and a hard place here. I’m sorry I’m making it harder for you. But I’m not giving up on us. I have to figure some things out first, but in the meantime, I’m asking you, don’t make any rash promises to someone else. Please.”

  He spun around and marched away, leaving Frannie standing on the porch, her mouth open once again. “I don’t make rash promises,” she sputtered. “I only make promises I can keep.”

  “Promise me you’ll wait, then.” He kept walking. “First I need to fix my truck. Then I need to get me a job. Then I need to see a man about a horse. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Or we could talk now.”

  “Nee.” Aenti Abigail let the screen door slam behind her. “You can’t.”

  Frannie faced her aunt. “I know. I know, but I just—”

  “You can’t help but think with your heart instead of your head? Don’t do it. You’ll only be hurt or hurt others.”

  “Doesn’t love come from the heart?”

  “It does, but that doesn’t mean you rule out all reason when you make your decisions.” Aenti Abigail smoothed an errant blond hair back under her kapp, her blue eyes pensive. “I know how hard it can be. I moved to Bee County thinking I would marry one man and ended up marrying Mordecai. I hurt a good man in the process. I’ll always regret that.”

  “But you married for love.”

  “The difference is my faith wasn’t at stake. I didn’t stand to lose my family and my church if I made the wrong decision.”

  “I would never marry outside the church.” As much as the words pained her, Frannie knew they were true. She might never marry as a result, but her faith would stand the test. Gott, is this some kind of test? If it is, it stinks. “I plan to be baptized in the spring.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Her aunt’s hand rubbed Frannie’s shoulder for a brief second. “I’ll get the sewing supplies out while you finish the dishes. I see the women coming down the road.”

  Indeed they were. Frannie lingered on the porch, watching the two wagons that carried almost a dozen women, girls, and babies pull in next to Rocky’s truck.

  They hopped out in a melee of laughter and high voices that carried on the soft breeze that spoke of autumn just around the corner. Every one of them gave a second look at the truck. Even the little girls.

  “Nice truck.” Deborah padded up the steps first, little Timothy toddling behind her. “That the same one that was here the other night?”

  Frannie breathed and lifted her chin. “It is indeed a nice truck. It’s a classic. Needs a little work, though.”

  Nodding as if she didn’t know what else to do, Deborah moved on. Leroy’s wife, Naomi, was next. She said nothing, but her expression conveyed a passel of disapproval. Leroy would get an earful at the supper table.

  The others didn’t ask Frannie directly, but their faces were full of curiosity and concern as they chattered among themselves. The words Englischer and truck and early floated on the air as they bustled into the house, their bags of sewing supplies hoisted on their shoulders, their bare feet slapping against the wood. A few looked as if they might burst before they could tell someone. Frannie’s Englischer had his truck parked at the King house at the crack of dawn.

  Tongues would wag until they fell off. Let them. It would be hard to eat beans without tongues.

  CHAPTER 6

  Frannie inhaled the sweet, fresh smell of fall weather. October had brought with it cooler temperatures and the promise of rain soon. She wiggled, trying to get comfortable on the bench between Rebekah and Hazel. Her gaze wandered to the windows beyond the men’s side. Leroy’s house had more windows than Onkel Mordecai’s. More opportunity for a breeze. She liked that. Everything in the front room looked scrubbed and freshly cleaned. The Glicks knew how to prepare for service. The last sermon was drawing to a close. She could tell by the way Leroy had ceased to pace and his thunderous voice had lost volume. As if he’d worn himself out. Soon they would sing, pray, and then eat.

  A bang resonated through the room, causing more than one young girl to gasp as if jolted awake. Clutching her Ausbund hymnal to her chest, Frannie pivoted and craned her neck. The screen door stood open. And there, like the proverbial prodigal son, stood Rocky. Once again towering in the doorway.

  “Sorry, sorry!” Off came the ball cap once again, revealing damp ringlets of hair. “I still don’t have the hang of how long it takes to get around in a buggy.” He laughed, a low, embarrassed laugh, not like the ones she remembered from their drives. “I’ll just grab a seat.”

  He plopped down in an empty space on the last bench, right next to the young boys, who, by age, sat in the back.

  Grab a seat? Buggy? She turned to Deborah, who shrugged, her eyebrows popped up so high they might touch her hairline. “Did he say ‘buggy’?”

  Deborah put a finger to her lips. “Hush!” She tugged Frannie’s arm and they both sank to their knees for prayer. Frannie couldn’t help herself. She looked back. Even on his knees Rocky towered over the boys. He looked as if he needed his handy-dandy playbook from his basketball-playing days to know what was going on.

  How could she possibly concentrate knowing his eyes gazed on her back? She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him in the two weeks since he’d helped Onkel Mordecai and the other men build the honey storage shack and put up the milk house. They’d planted the winter vegetables and then he’d left without staying for supper or saying a proper good-
bye.

  Nothing. It was as if he’d picked up and gone home. That thought had made it nearly impossible for her to sleep most nights since.

  Now he sat in her church in his Sunday-best black pants and white long-sleeved shirt with a button-down collar, the most agreeable-looking man she’d ever seen. Her throat went dry at the thought. Heat crept up her neck and scurried across her cheeks. You’re in church, Frannie Mast, in church. Gott, help me.

  They stood for the benediction. She breathed a sigh of relief. Almost done. Almost. The closing hymn, slow and steady, calmed her. At the tail end of the last endless note, she skirted Deborah and the others on her row, intent on getting to the kitchen. A safe haven. Much as every fiber of her being ached to rush back and ask Rocky what all this meant, she would do the right thing. She would serve the fellowship meal, keep her mind and her hands busy. She would not give the women who stared at her, expressions ranging from curious to disapproving, more to talk about. No one could fault her for this.

  “Frannie.”

  Rocky blocked her path. He smiled from ear to ear as if he had no clue as to the predicament he represented for her. He knew. He was no fool. He had a college education and a good head on his shoulders. “Rocky.”

  “We need to talk.”

  Talking would only lead to other things. She inhaled his scent. If only she could bottle it and hold it close. “I have to help with the meal.”

  “After, then.”

  “It’s not done.”

  “Only for a minute. I want to show you something.”

  “I have to go home after.”

  “I have something for the kinner. I’ll bring it by then.”

  He did not just use a Deutsch word in a sentence as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “That’s between you and Onkel Mordecai, then.”

  He grinned like a boy who’d just caught his first fish. “See you in a bit.”

  Frannie couldn’t help it. Her smile escaped like a kitten from a cardboard box. She would see him again, even if only for a few minutes. She would inhale his scent and memorize his smile. “See you.”

  It sounded like a promise. She scurried into the kitchen, not at all sure it was one she could or should keep.

  Rocky tied the reins to the hitching post near the Kings’ barn. The spot above the long sliding doors would be perfect. He sauntered to the back of the buggy, at peace for the moment. For once, he was doing something he knew how to do. After pushing back the basketballs rolling around, he slid out the basketball hoop. He hoisted it to his shoulder, grabbed his tool bag with his other hand, and headed to the barn. Caleb, Mordecai’s youngest stepchild, who looked to be about eleven or twelve, sped across the yard toward him, gangly legs flailing. “Hey, Rocky, what’s that you got?”

  The boy knew his name and who he was. That made Rocky feel good. Acceptance came easier to the younger folks. Now if he could get Frannie to understand his intentions. “It’s a basketball hoop.”

  Caleb double-stepped to keep up. “Whatcha gonna do with it?”

  “You got a ladder?”

  “Sure we do.”

  “Haul it out here.”

  Caleb grinned and disappeared into the barn. He reemerged a few minutes later with the ladder on his back, dragging the end behind him. Together they positioned it against the barn. Rocky started up, Caleb holding on at the bottom, just for good measure. Seconds later, Rocky stood on the top rung, his tool belt slung over his shoulder. He’d hung plenty of hoops in his day. Pickup basketball games kept boys—and girls—out of trouble. Even if it was a freestanding hoop in a paved cul-de-sac, it was an invitation to play, to work off excess energy, to stay out of trouble, to get away from computers and video games and TV programming that turned young brains to mush.

  Not that these kiddos—a half dozen had gathered around since he started screwing in the bolts—had access to any of those things. The curiosity and wide grins on their faces told him they were like other kids in more ways than one. They liked to play games and have fun.

  “You know, you might have asked Onkel Mordecai before you started hanging things on his barn.” Frannie’s voice wafted over the chatter of the kinner, as he had learned from Leroy to call them in the two meetings he’d had with the bishop and Mordecai in his role as deacon. Leroy was concerned about the influence Rocky’s presence might have, especially on the boys. He would show the bishop the good he could do, for all of them. “You’re banging on someone else’s property, you know.”

  Funny thing was, she didn’t sound all that upset.

  He clopped down the ladder and gathered up his tools. “You can put it away.” He nodded to Caleb and a boy about the same size who stood next to him. “I’ll be right back.”

  He strode past Frannie, with her tantalizing scent of vanilla and soap, without giving her a look. He knew what he’d see. Hands on her hips, her cheeks pink, her mouth open to scold him some more. She would look so pretty he’d forget what he planned to do next. “Help me get the balls from my buggy.”

  “Your buggy?”

  He’d set the trap and she’d fallen right in. “Yep.”

  She strode after him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Seems like you ask me that every time I come around.” He opened the back door on the buggy and tossed her a clean, fresh orange ball. He loved new basketballs. The smell of rubber. “By the way, I did talk to Mordecai. He graciously accepted my gift. Surely, you can do the same. Or hush up. One or the other.”

  Her mouth closed, but he could see her brain turning, clickityclack, a hundred miles an hour. That was his Frannie.

  His Frannie. Gott, please.

  Gott. Another word he’d picked up in his visits with Leroy and Mordecai. Not just God the Father, as he had once thought. But God of all. He spent most of his daily morning runs contemplating this concept. One of the Hostetler boys nearly hit him with a buggy when, deep in thought, he meandered into the road. This God with a plan so big, no man or woman could understand it with their little pea brains. He certainly couldn’t. Neither man approved of his intentions with Frannie, and neither would give an inch, but their tradition gave them no choice but to hear him out. If he truly had an interest in their faith, they had to see it through. Bless both of them for being so honorable.

  For giving him a chance when disapproval oozed from their pores.

  Frannie sauntered to the front of the buggy and began to stroke the Morgan’s thick mane. “He’s a beaut. Where’d you get him?”

  How did he afford the horse? That’s what she really meant.

  “Belongs to Seth Cotter. I took a job with him. He has that big farm right there where you turn off the highway. He’s getting up there in years, and there’s a lot of work he can’t do himself anymore, even in fall and winter. I’m staying in his bunkhouse now.”

  Contemplating how she’d react to this news, Rocky motioned with the first basketball. She held out her hands. He tossed it to her. Grinning like he’d just given her the keys to his old truck, she caught it. The ball smacked against her long, thin fingers. Giggling, she tossed it up and down. Another thing among the multitude of attributes he liked about Frannie. She had a natural-born aptitude for sports. Not only that, she liked them. Under different circumstances, she would’ve been an athlete.

  She shook her head so hard her kapp slid a little more cockeyed than usual. “You’re thinking of buying a horse to go with the buggy. When you have the money. I don’t understand. I truly don’t.”

  “When I said it wasn’t just about you, I meant it.” He snagged two more balls. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading and thinking. I visited w
ith Leroy and Mordecai a couple of times.”

  Her full lips were shaped in an O, but no sound came out.

  “I got rid of my cell phone and iPad. I never turn on the radio or the TV in the bunkhouse. I heat my ramen noodles on the woodstove.”

  “How will you stay in touch with your mother?”

  That’s what she chose to latch onto? “I write her letters.” He gave her his best grin. “Isn’t that how you stay in touch? And if there’s an emergency, she has Seth’s number.”

  Frannie nodded, but she didn’t meet his gaze, instead studying the lines on the basketball as if memorizing them.

  “I sold my truck. That’s where I got the money for the buggy.”

  “You sold your truck?” The words came out in a squeak. She stared up at him. “You loved that truck. It’s a classic.”

  “I’ll love this buggy too.” He started toward the barn. She trailed after him, still tossing the ball from one hand to the other. “Leastways I will once I get used to driving it on the highway with all those eighteen-wheelers whizzing past me.”

  “It’s five to eight miles an hour.”

  Rocky glanced back at her. “What?”

  “Horse-drawn buggies travel about five to eight miles an hour. That’s what Onkel Mordecai says and he knows everything.” She smiled. His heart catapulted to a spot by his collarbone in a spectacular jump shot, then plummeted back to its normal resting spot. “Keep that in mind. Leroy doesn’t like folks to be late to church.”

  She was warming up to the idea. Leastways, Rocky could hope. He tossed a ball to Caleb and another to a boy half his size. “Hold these, while I mark the out-of-bounds lines.”

  “Out-of-bounds?”

  Frannie let her ball sail. It smacked against the backboard and slid around the hoop’s rim before falling through the net for a neat two points. The kids dived for the ball and tussled over it, laughing and cheering.

  All was right in the world when a pickup basketball game took off.