Paradise Valley

by Dale Cramer

  All their faces were lined with worry even as they peeked at the newborn baby girl, but when Aaron heard there was a problem with the second infant the color drained from him and he wobbled for a second as if he might collapse. His head wagged, and his eyes were full of fear and sorrow. The others hit their knees right where they were, but Aaron turned and stumbled out the back door. Rachel didn’t have time to talk to him then, but she knew the only thing that could have made him run away like that was embarrassment. Aaron was a grown man. He couldn’t let them see him cry.

  When Rachel returned she saw a flicker of movement outside the narrow little casement window at the top of the wall, where the coming day had turned the world a lighter shade of gray. A pair of booted feet passed back and forth, back and forth, pacing.

  Aaron. This must be killing him, Rachel thought. To him it must be as if Amos is dying all over again. And he doesn’t even know yet that he may lose a sister, as well.

  Another forty minutes passed and nothing changed. Mary was beginning to weaken, gasping like a fish from one pain to the next with never a chance to fully recover.

  “It won’t move!” Mamm cried, her voice rising to a fever pitch. “I can feel where it is, but it won’t move! Emma, what are we going to do?” Her hands covered her face and she started to cry.

  “I want . . . to pray,” Mary said, a hoarse whisper between gasps. Her voice was gone. “Get me up on my . . . knees so I can . . . pray.”

  “Mary, dear, you can pray right where you are,” Emma said. “You don’t need to waste energy getting up. I’ll pray with – ”

  “No!” Mary growled. “Get me up!”

  Emma looked to Mamm for support, but she was falling apart – she would be no help. Emma’s eyes turned to Rachel.

  The eyes of a prophetess, Rachel thought, with Emma’s words ringing in her ears.

  “When things go crazy you always keep your head . . . nobody in the world I trust more than you . . . the moment will come.”

  That same trust was in Emma’s eyes even now, and once again her faith awakened something inside Rachel, a new sense. It wasn’t as if she understood everything, and yet there was no longer a shred of doubt in her mind about what needed to be done.

  Rachel opened her quilt and handed Baby Amanda to Mamm, who took the bundle with shaky hands, weeping openly.

  “Mamm, why don’t you take the buppela upstairs and clean her up good,” Rachel said calmly. “Keep her near the stove where she will be warm.”

  Mamm hesitated, confused.

  “Go!” Rachel said firmly.

  To everyone’s surprise, Mamm got up, sobbing, and left.

  A short while later Mary held a fine, healthy son in her arms. He wiggled and squirmed, scratching out a frail newborn wail of anger and surprise while three sisters laughed, and cried, and laughed again. Mary was completely exhausted, but relieved – and proud.

  After the room had been straightened up and Mary was resting comfortably with her new son, Mamm returned with Baby Amanda. For the first time, Mary held both twins in her arms.

  With eyes full of wonder, Mamm looked at Emma suddenly and asked, “What happened? How did you do this?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t me,” Emma said. “It was Rachel’s idea. We helped Mary up to her knees, and somehow it was easy after that.”

  Mamm’s eyes turned to Rachel, the question still hanging.

  Rachel smiled, shrugged. “I got her up to pray,” she said. “It was what she wanted, and sometimes I think maybe a woman’s body tells her mind what it needs.”

  It was then that a flicker of movement in the window caught Rachel’s eye and she looked up.

  Boots, still pacing. She had forgotten about Aaron.

  “Mary, could I borrow the boy for just a second?”

  “Jah,” she said hesitantly, “but only a second.”

  Rachel took the bundle in the crook of her arm and, crossing the room, reached up and rapped a knuckle on the little windowpane.

  Aaron’s bearded face appeared upside down as he bent low to look through the glass. His eyes were red.

  Smiling broadly, Rachel held up the newborn boy so he could see it. The sadness and worry vanished instantly from Aaron’s kind face, and then his face went away entirely so that only his booted feet were visible through the window. Then, suddenly, his feet disappeared too as he leaped straight up in the air.

  When those big boots came down again they danced in the pearly light.

  Rachel’s heart leaped as well, and she fought back tears of joy as she returned the baby to his mother’s arms. “It’s time he met his dat,” she said.

  Only now did Rachel become conscious of the waterfall of red hair that had hung wild about her shoulders throughout the whole ordeal. Gathering her unruly hair in her fists and knotting it behind her neck, she pulled the quilt tight around herself and went to look for Ezra.

  In a moment she held the curtain back for the proud father, who tiptoed into the stone-walled room as if it were a church and knelt beside his wife’s bed. He kissed Mary’s hand and reached out delicately to brush his son’s red forehead with a rough fingertip.

  “It’s a boy,” she said, her features finally at peace, the pain already forgotten.

  “A son!” he whispered, his eyes bright with joy. “Mare, did we ever decide which name we would give him if it was a boy?”

  “No,” Mary said. “I was hoping for Caleb, and you wanted Eli, but now that I see him I don’t think either of those is right.”

  “No?” Ezra squeezed her hand, frowning. “All right, then. What would we name him?”

  Mary stole a brief glance toward the window, and then, smiling down at her brand-new son, said softly, “His little eyes remind me of Amos.”

  Chapter 36

  “We need to get busy building your house,” Levi said to Ezra at breakfast. “If we work hard, we might be able to get both of them done this winter before the others arrive.” By both, he meant Ezra’s house and his own. There were currently three families living in one house, and now, counting Emma’s new baby and Mary’s twins, the basement alone slept nine people. The others would be arriving in a few months. Two more houses would be a great relief.

  Bone-weary from months of hard labor, they should have resisted, should have wilted at the mere suggestion of building two more houses so soon. And yet, all around the table that morning, heads lifted and eyes lit with excitement. Even Rachel, who had slept very little, felt rejuvenated by the miracle that had come to them in the night. She was ready to make more bricks.

  As soon as she finished eating, Rachel carried a plate downstairs for Mary. Emma was still there, wrapped in her quilt by the bedside holding the baby boy while Mary suckled his twin sister. Rachel set the plate on the nail keg and took the sleeping baby boy from Emma.

  “You should go up and eat something,” she said to Emma, “and then maybe get a little rest.”

  “I could use a bite,” Emma said, rising, yawning. Rachel had dressed herself before breakfast and corralled her hair under her prayer kapp. Now Emma nodded at Rachel’s clothes and said, “But I need to get dressed first, and I have to take care of Mose. I won’t be sleeping today; there’s too much work to do.”

  Clutching her quilt about her, Emma leaned down and kissed Mary on the forehead. She did the same to the twins, and then gave Rachel a hug. Smiling into her eyes Emma said, “I am so very proud of you, little sister. I watched you grow up last night.” And then she left.

  The tiny infant in Rachel’s arms opened his eyes and gazed up at his freckle-faced aunt. Rachel smiled. “You know, the whole family was talking about you at breakfast,” she said to the baby. “They’re already calling you Little Amos.”

  Mary glanced up. “Aaron sneaked down here to visit a little while ago,” she said. “He’s beside himself. He thinks I had that one just for him.”

  Rachel chuckled. “Maybe you did. Gott works in funny ways, Mary. I haven’t seen Aaron smile so since Amos died. It’s
like part of him was missing, and now it is restored.”

  Mary reached out to Rachel with her free hand, and Rachel took it.

  “What about you?” Mary asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, are you restored? I’ve watched you these last weeks . . . since the letter came. Emma told me about Jake. It hurts me to see you so sad. I’m so sorry, Rachel.”

  Rachel’s gaze fell to the child in the crook of her arm and she didn’t answer.

  “Emma’s right about what happened last night. I couldn’t talk then, but I could see,” Mary said. “Something came over you. Something happens when you come into your gift, Rachel. You found your strength, and it was wonderful to see.”

  Rachel blushed, shook her head slightly, still averting her gaze. “It was just common sense, is all. Besides, it was your idea to get up on your knees. I just figured sometimes a woman’s body is telling her what to do, but nobody is listening.”

  “No one but you. You have a gift.”

  Rachel wiped a tear from her eye. She was glad she had the baby in her arms because it gave her an excuse not to look at her sister just now.

  Mary checked the baby at her breast. “I think this one’s asleep. Here, let’s swap.”

  Rachel exchanged babies with her, and Mary settled Amos on the other side. Amanda snuggled contentedly in Rachel’s arms. Rachel inhaled deeply the distinctive scent of a newborn infant.

  As soon as Amanda was settled in, Mary looked up at Rachel again. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, don’t be in such a rush to find a man, Rachel. I know when you’re so young it seems like the whole world turns on such a thing, but it doesn’t. You have lots of time to find the right man. Don’t rush. Now is the time you should be discovering who you are, and not trying so hard to be part of someone else.”

  And then, for no apparent reason, she started laughing. For a moment Mary laughed so hard she embarrassed herself, covering her mouth with her fingers.

  “It came to my mind last night,” she said, “when the pains were on me, and if Mamm hadn’t been in the room I would have been screaming at you, Are you crazy? Have you taken leave of your senses? What on earth do you want a man for?” Then Mary gazed down at her baby with wistful eyes and said, “But the anguish is soon forgotten. The thing is, you’re only sixteen, Rachel, and if last night is any sign, you’re only now finding out who Rachel Bender is. You have your whole life in front of you, and you have all the time in the world to find a good man. Most of all, he needs to be a man who will let you be who you are, but to find him you must first know who you are. Have patience. Gott knows what He’s doing.”

  Rachel still couldn’t look at her sister. Almost everything she’d said was right. Almost. Gott did know what He was doing, and she did need to be patient, and she did need to know who she was. But she had already found a good man.

  “I would do a great many things for you,” Jake had said, and his words rang in her ears even now. Words from the heart of a good man, a strong man who would not only let her be who she was but help her and support her and defend her while she did it. Rachel carried these thoughts in her heart, but she did not speak them aloud.

  Chapter 37

  Homesickness nagged her as Christmas neared. Rachel felt more keenly than ever the thousand miles that stood between her and all her friends in Ohio – one of them, especially – and yet the three new babies in the house laid a veneer of bright optimism over the melancholy. A growing family, after all, was the surest sign of prosperity.

  Winter in Paradise Valley was very different from Ohio. The sun shined and the days were warm and mild – nothing at all like Christmas back home, but she missed the sledding. It rarely snowed here. Even if it had been cold enough, she could not have gone ice skating because there was simply no pond. The sparsely timbered red-rock ridges, the mountains in the blue distance, Paradise Valley itself – these were all beautiful in their own way, but for Rachel they still did not feel like home.

  She spent Christmas Day with her family, quietly, in prayer, Bible reading, and fasting. Mamm had decorated the mantel and the doorways with pine boughs, and Rachel and her sisters had even made tallow candles for the windows. In the evening they lit the candles and sang Christmas songs, and Rachel would have thought the occasion as beautiful and serene as any in memory had it not been for the thin blanket of homesickness that accumulated on her like snowfall.

  The next morning the family exchanged small gifts, mostly handmade items and tools, useful things. They had drawn names, so each person received only one gift, with the exception of the three new babies. Everyone wanted to spoil them, so Emma and Mary were still opening presents long after everyone else had finished. The very last gift in the pile was a small package wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with baling twine. The name Amos was scrawled on it in a crude hand.

  When Mary peeled away the paper to reveal a shiny new harmonica she paused and just sat there cradling it in her hands, staring at it. Aaron bit his lip, trying in vain to hold back an eager pride. His hand made a little pushing motion toward Amos, who appeared to be clapping his little hands while he rested with his twin sister in the wood box at Mary’s feet.

  Mary clearly didn’t know what to do, for the harmonica was a musical instrument and such things were forbidden. Speechless and flustered she looked to her father, who sat off to the side in a kitchen chair with his arms folded across his chest, watching. Everyone’s eyes turned to Dat, waiting for his verdict.

  Dat contemplated the thing for a moment, his long beard moving slightly as his chin worked. In the silence Rachel heard the faint moan of a harmonica floating over distant fields, mingling with the silver laughter of a lost brother, and it brought a tear to her eye. Dat must have heard it too, for his eyes grew soft. Apparently, his son’s illicit harmonica had not escaped his attention after all.

  “Well, aren’t you gonna give it to him?” Dat said gruffly, and Mary smiled.

  She tried to give it to Little Amos, but the month-old infant’s hands were too small and weak yet to hold a harmonica.

  “It’s all right, Little Amos,” Aaron whispered, lowering himself to sit cross-legged next to the wood box and taking the harmonica from his sister. “You’ll grow into it.”

  Leaning close so that the baby fastened his eyes on the shiny instrument, Aaron coaxed the tiniest note through the harmonica. Little Amos’s fingers clenched, his arms shook, his feet pedaled, his face crinkled into a smile, and his uncle Aaron shuddered from head to toe with pure joy.

  Schulman and his wife joined them for the midday feast, a lavish affair almost as grand as Thanksgiving had been. The menu included smoked ham and venison, for the boys had gone hunting on the ridge Christmas Eve and brought down a deer. And the menu included sauerkraut. They would be eating a lot of sauerkraut this winter.

  After too much lunch Schulman unbuttoned the top button of his pants and insisted on going for a walk. Caleb went with him, and as they were passing the corral Schulman stopped to stare at the pinto pony trotting around the fence line next to Caleb’s standard-bred buggy horse.

  “Caleb, is this the same pinto that bandit traded you a couple months ago?”

  “Oh, jah,” Caleb said. “Miriam took a liking to him and made a pet of him. He turned out to be a sturdy little saddle horse after all, and sometimes they use him to pull the hack. Still a little rough with a buggy, though.”

  The pinto ran alongside the taller standard-bred, precisely matching his speed if not his aristocratic gait. The horse’s ribs no longer stuck out. He held his head high, prancing, his brushed coat sleek and shiny in the slanting winter sunlight.

  Schulman shook his head, leaning his forearms on the fence. “If I’d been there, I would have shot that bandit, Caleb. I’d have shot all of them.”

  Caleb studied his friend’s face for a moment, the hard eyes, the set jaw. Ernst Schulman’s wagon never left home without a lever-action rifle and a side arm on board, and he meant wh
at he said.

  “You would kill four men? For a horse, yet?”

  Schulman nodded. “Vermin,” he said. “No great loss to the world.”

  Caleb shook his head. “Ernst, these men were not meant to be as they are. Look at this horse,” he said, watching the pinto prance. “Why, we could have shot him three months ago and you would have said the same – ‘no great loss to the world.’ But look at the difference when we treat him with respect for just a little while.”

  “Jah,” Schulman said, “but horses have more sense than men. Men are stubborn.”

  The real highlight of the day was the Christmas program put on by Miriam’s school children that afternoon. All of her students came, and the Mexican kids brought their families with them to watch. Domingo brought half of them from San Rafael, and his sister Kyra came with him to watch her two little sons perform. She immediately sought out Miriam.

  Rachel watched from a distance as her sister shared laughter and secrets with her beautiful Mexican friend, and it struck her that Kyra looked more like Miriam than her own sisters. It warmed her heart to see that Miriam had found such a friend.

  The kids had been practicing for weeks. With their families present, plus the Schulmans, it was a packed house – standing room only. It was a rare treat for Amish kids to participate in such a public performance, and they reveled in the attention.

  Rachel laughed until she cried as the children put on their Christmas play, wearing grown-up robes that piled around their ankles and hats that kept falling into their eyes, muffing the lines of kings and shepherds alike. But they finally got the Christ child born, and then they sang songs of the season and recited poems they had written themselves, little arms miming trees and ocean waves. Afterward, as darkness fell and Mamm lit the candles in the windows, a houseful of people from three different countries sang Christmas songs, a cappella, in Spanish.