Love Rekindled: Book 3

by Serena B. Miller

  Then she took a deep breath, and busied herself with putting the biscuits into a cloth-lined basket that he’d seen her slip an oven-warmed ceramic disk into the bottom. She covered the steaming biscuits with a blue-checked dish towel.

  “Betty and Reuben are bringing a big bowl of applesauce and five loaves of that good sourdough bread she makes,” Keturah continued. “They had a bumper crop of apples this year from those four old trees beside their barn. We canned over a hundred quarts of applesauce together back in September. Good thing too. Their Benjamin loves applesauce, and so does little Aaron.”

  The baby began to cry again, the full-out wail of a newborn. Michael stood up and tried walking with her, but she could not be comforted. Then suddenly, the crying stopped. Michael glanced down at her.

  “Come look at this!” Michael said. “She’s already found her thumb.”

  Keturah dropped what she was doing and came to look. “Ach, she must have been sucking that little thumb even in the womb. This is going to be a good baby, she’s already learned to comfort herself.”

  “Do you suppose she’s hungry?” Michael asked.

  “Of course she is,” Keturah said. “Plus, she has that instinctual need to suck. She will be okay. Agnes will be here soon, then her little belly will get filled.”

  “Is there any chance that Agnes will mind nursing her?” Michael asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Keturah said. “She’s fostered babies before. No one loves an infant more than our Agnes. It is very lucky for you that she is lactating.”

  “Me?” Michael was confused. “What does Agnes lactating have to do with me?”

  “Because otherwise, I would be sending you out in this nasty weather to find some formula. Instead, you get to sit and rock a newborn here in this warm kitchen.” Keturah grinned. “You will have to thank Agnes when she gets here for saving you so much trouble.”

  “I don’t think I will do that,” Michael said. “But I will be relieved to let Agnes take over.”

  “Our Noah was a thumb sucker,” Ivan said. “At least that’s what I remember.”

  “He was,” Keturah said. “And the easiest one of the three. By the way, did you remember to put plenty of last night’s milking into the refrigerator to cool for this morning?”

  “Ja,” Ivan said. “No worries there. Our grandchildren will have more than enough.”

  “Good. I churned last week and made plenty of butter. That Jersey cow you bought this fall gives such good rich cream!”

  “Aren’t Betty and Reuben also bringing the eggs?” Ivan asked.

  “Oh yes. I’ve saved enough bacon grease to fry them in once they get here. Agnes and Reuben’s little Clara is bringing two raisin pies she helped her mother make. She’s only four, but Agnes says she did almost all of it herself. Remember to tell her how good they are. Children must be encouraged in their work. Another year, and she shouldn’t have to have her mother’s help at all.”

  Keturah was talking more than usual. Since she was not a woman given to chatter. Michael knew a lot of it was from nervousness. She was still trying to find her equilibrium. He knew her well, and could see that she was determined not to let the night’s trauma show in her behavior. She didn’t want to act upset and ruin Christmas day for her family. Talking about homey things like food and grandchildren was comforting to her.

  Earlier, he had wished Christmas wasn’t today. He was afraid that the chaos and extra work created by married sons, wives, and grandchildren, would be too hard on her. There would be virtually no time for her to rest and recuperate, but perhaps it was just as well. Her family would be a healthy distraction.

  It was such a pleasant kitchen to be in and it flowed naturally into a large living room. The Amish had embraced the open-floor concept long before the Englisch world had discovered it. Needing space to seat two hundred people for church had made an open-floor plan a necessity in those houses that did not have a workshop or basement big enough to fit everyone.

  The wood stove, the now-brewing coffee on the back burner, the aroma of the fresh biscuits, and the sight of freshly-fallen snow outside the window all blended together to absorb some of the sting that had been caused by the divorce papers.

  He often worried about Cassie. She worked such terribly long hours. It was rare for her not to work until one or two o’clock in the morning. She lived on four or five hours sleep per night and plenty of high-priced cups of caffeine. On Saturdays and Sundays, they sometimes tried to go out for a leisurely breakfast, but he could always tell she was distracted. Anxious to get back to her work. It was a little ego-deflating to know that his wife was having to put forth an effort to spend time with him.

  His job at the small animal clinic in the suburbs was pleasant enough, but he felt ungrounded there, as though he were spending his life going through the motions, floating, waiting for something to change.

  Waiting to not be lonely anymore.

  He had often felt like he was just putting in time until he could go home, but home was never their apartment complex. Home was, and always had been, Sugarcreek.

  Chapter 14

  Cassie was stretched out on her sofa, trying to enjoy watching the flames of the gas fireplace she so seldom bothered with lighting. She was having to work very hard at relaxing tonight. It was early Christmas morning after all, and was supposed to be the happiest day of the year.

  Of course, it was the most depressing day of the year for many, but she was absolutely determined not to allow herself to be depressed. There was Christmas music playing on her surround-sound system, but it didn’t seem to help. There was no lighted Christmas tree in her house, of course, even the fake ones tended to shed and she didn’t need the bother. Besides, if she cared to look out her window, she could watch the glow from the city’s Christmas lights and the snow blanketing the city.

  Her entire Christmas celebration had consisted of flipping through a fashion magazine while enjoying a rare bubble bath. Neither had been relaxing. For breakfast, she had toasted a bagel and splurged by spreading real cream cheese on it. That was about as far as her creativity went in trying to enjoy the first day off she’d taken in months.

  It surprised her that Michael had not called last night, not even to wish her a Merry Christmas or yell at her about the divorce papers. It astonished her that he had managed not to have any contact with her since he’d left. Not that anything he could have said would make her change her mind, of course… but it was odd. In their relationship, he was the one who always wanted to talk things out, and always the first to capitulate when they had a disagreement.

  He was probably stuffing himself on homemade Christmas foods with his friends in Sugarcreek. Probably hanging out with those Amish neighbors to whom he was so attached. Singing songs. Playing board games. Over the years, she’d heard so much about the marvelous times he’d had with his Amish neighbors that she had grown tired of it. Obviously he was more attached to them than he was to her or he wouldn’t have left. For an only child, he certainly seemed to have a large family!

  “Come with me,” he had pleaded. “I can support both of us if we move into my grandparent’s house in Sugarcreek. No rent or mortgage to worry about. Doc Taylor had a fine practice. You won’t have to work so hard. You can do anything you want to do.”

  Right. Whatever.

  She had seen first-hand what happened to women who allowed themselves to depend on a man to support them, and it wasn’t pretty. She’d watched her mother spend her life waiting for some man to come rescue her. There had been several her mother had gushed over, saying they were her “Prince Charming.”

  Even as a young girl, Cassie got sick of hearing it. She started privately thinking of them as her mother’s “Prince Deadbeats.”

  Still, it would be nice if Michael would call. After all, it was Christmas and she hoped they could at least stay friends.

  She knew he was hurt by the divorce papers, but it was the only way she could think of to bring him to his se
nses. What she was trying to accomplish with her life was important. He had to come to terms with that. Some people seemed to think money wasn’t everything. Michael was among them. But, in her opinion, people who thought that way were either naïve or stupid. Money was everything. Those who did not believe so had never experienced trying to survive without it.

  The coming day stretched out before her, long and empty. With nothing to do and no one to be with, she opened her briefcase and got back to work.

  Chapter 15

  There were no formal Christmas decorations in the Hochstetler kitchen, no tree and no ornaments. No brightly-wrapped boxes of presents. One thing they did have were all the Christmas cards the Hochstetlers had received this season. Ivan had strung a cord from one end of the room to the other up against the far wall of the front room. Since they had myriads of friends and family, it was heavy with bright-colored Christmas cards.

  Then there were the four wooden toys Ivan had made for the grandchildren. Each one had a small, red ribbon tied on it that made it possible to be hung on the pegs that Ivan had placed low enough many years ago for his own young children to hang their hats and coats on without help.

  Michael had noticed that the Amish were puzzled by the Englisch need to shower gifts on their children. There were so many things to enjoy other than presents. Was not being together and eating a good meal enough of a celebration? Especially since there would be board games, singing, or walks together in the woods? If there was fresh snow, there might also be sleigh riding, or snow ice cream and popcorn. If it was cold enough, there might also be ice skating on someone’s farm pond. The day would be filled with joking and much laughter. Many stories would be told and enjoyed.

  From what Michael had experienced, the Amish were only solemn when in church or around Englisch people with whom they were unfamiliar. When they were together for a get-together like this, they could be some of the funniest and best storytellers he had ever known.

  Michael had also noticed that every Amish woman he knew loved pretty dishes. It was one of the few things in an Amish household that did not have to be plain. Over the years, he had watched Keturah slowly collect a set of green and white Currier and Ives Colonial Homestead Royal China from various garage sales and thrift stores. Even he had learned the name and to keep an eye out for it. Every now and then, a member of her family would present her with a stray cup, or dinner plate they’d discovered somewhere. This discovery was always a cause for celebration and they all kept an eye out for Keturah’s favorite pattern. She now had enough to set a festive table for Christmas, which was exactly what she was doing.

  Finished, she stood back and admired her table. The green dinnerware looked lovely on the snowy white tablecloth. Ivan had brought in an armload of holly from the woods, which Keturah arranged in a large, wooden bowl. She had also placed two fat, red candles on either side.

  “It’s lovely, Keturah,” Michael said.

  “I think the children will be pleased.”

  The baby had gone back to sleep. Now that the kitchen was lit with morning light, her downy hair looked like spun gold. She was like a tiny angel lying in his arms. The baby roused, opened its eyes, and looked up at him with wide-eyed wonder.

  “Was the baby’s mother a blonde?” he asked.

  “I don’t remember,” Keturah said. “It was so dark outside. By the time I placed the lantern beside her on the ground, I was in too much of a hurry to try to save the baby to pay attention to the mother’s hair color.”

  Then she shook her head and her voice lowered. “That’s not quite the truth, Michael. I didn’t want to look at her any more than I had to. It was the only way I could do… what I had to do.”

  Ivan was grinding coffee beans at the counter in an old-fashioned coffee mill. The delicious aroma filled the air. The coffee mill was made of wood and iron and looked like it had been in their family for generations. Michael remembered being fascinated by it as a child.

  “You did the right thing, Keturah.” Ivan carefully pulled out the little wooden drawer made for catching the freshly-ground coffee fell. He measured it out by tablespoons into the blue, enameled coffee pot. “I am pleased to be married to a woman with the skill and heart to save the life of this little one.”

  Keturah said nothing in return, but Michael saw her face light up with pleasure. The Amish did not shower one another with praise. He’d never even heard Ivan or Keturah say that they loved each other, but Ivan had just now come as close as an Amish husband could to telling his wife that he was proud of her—and Keturah had needed that reassurance.

  “I am so grateful you found that sleigh and purchased it,” Keturah gently praised him in return. “If it remains cold today, we should have enough snow to take the horses out and give the grandchildren rides. It will be a good activity for the whole family.”

  “I’ve been thinking about where to go,” Ivan said. “I think I will take them through that trail that goes through our woods and then across that back pasture. While we eat, I will put some bricks into the oven to warm so our feet won’t get too cold.”

  “That will be a good thing,” Keturah said. “A sleigh ride on Christmas day will be something they will never forget.”

  Michael heard the sound of the two oldest Hochstetler sons and their families trotting up the driveway. The jingling of their harnesses sounded almost like bells. As the men took care of the horses and buggies, the women ushered the children in. Ivan stood in the middle of the room with a big grin on his face, waiting for the children to discover their toys.

  At first the three older children, four-year-old Clara, eight-year-old Benjamin, and six-year-old Aaron, were hesitant when they saw the hand-carved toys hanging from the pegs. Two-month-old Rosie, of course, was too little to notice hers.

  “Go ahead,” Ivan said to the older ones. “You can play with them. I made them for you.”

  In awe, the children lifted the little toys from the pegs, put their hats and coats in their place, and began to choose. There was a cat, a horse, a dog, and a little lamb. Clara immediately chose the lamb for her baby sister and brought it to her. Benjamin chose the horse. Aaron was partial to the dog. That left the cat for Clara, who was quite happy with her gift. Michael had watched Ivan putting much love and joy into carving those farm-animal figurines. They were primitive, because Ivan wasn’t a great carver, but Amish children didn’t get gifts often and the little toys seemed to be greatly appreciated.

  Then the two daughters-in-law saw the baby.

  “Michael!” Betty teased, as she brushed snow off her coat. “Is that a baby I see in your arms? Is there something you have not told us? Or did you find it lying in a manger?”

  “There is probably a great deal I have not told you,” Michael said. “But Keturah delivered the baby early this morning.”

  “And where is the baby’s mother?” Betty’s head swiveled as she looked around the kitchen.

  He waited for Keturah to explain, but she didn’t. It was Ivan who told the story, very carefully, leaving out the details for the sake of the children. As he did so, Betty quietly helped the children remove their boots, and Agnes handed little Rosie off to Keturah.

  “Let me see this kinder,” Agnes pulled the receiving blanket away from the baby’s face and took a good look at the newborn who was sucking on her fist again. “Has she eaten?”

  “No, but she is only a few hours old.” Keturah jostled her own fat grandbaby, Rosie, who was growing restless. “I knew you were coming, do you mind…?”

  “Of course I don’t mind. Come here, little one.” Agnes lifted the baby from his arms and carried her to an armchair at the far end of the adjacent living room, then she turned her back on those who were in the kitchen and began to nurse the new baby.

  Michael heard men’s voices, and a great deal of stamping snow off booted feet directly outside the door. John and Reuben brought a long gust of cold air into the kitchen with them after taking care of their horses.

  “I
t’s coming down fast out there,” Reuben said. “If it continues, and if we eat very slowly, there might be enough accumulation of snow for that sleigh ride you’ve been talking about, Daett.”

  “And where is Noah,” John asked.

  Ivan investigated the stove’s firebox and placed more wood inside. “He’s still abed.”

  “And you are allowing it?” The other two brothers hooted with laughter.

  “You never let us sleep in this late!” Reuben pointed out. “Didn’t you make him help you with the milking this morning?”

  “No, I did the milking,” Ivan said, quietly. “Your brother had a rough night last night. We all did. Your mother especially.”

  “What happened, Maam?” Reuben put his arm around his mother’s shoulders.

  “She delivered a baby out on the road last night,” Betty said, as she lifted the lid off a large cast-iron Dutch oven she’d brought in and placed on the stove. “She performed a C-section during the night, that’s what your mother did!”

  “Where’s Agnes?” John asked.

  “She’s nursing the baby,” Keturah said. “Here, Clara. I saved a job for you. You may put the napkins at each place. Fold them first, like this.”

  The little girl had to stand on her tiptoes to place the napkins at each plate, but she did so carefully, and studiously. Michael knew that Keturah had intentionally saved that job to make the child feel like she was a useful part of the bustle in the kitchen.

  As John went to check on his wife, Michael excused himself for a few minutes to go back to his house. Another dairy farmer’s wife had given him a fruitcake yesterday. He had deliberately not sampled the cake yet because he knew it would make a fine contribution to the Hochstetler’s meal and bringing it would keep him from making himself sick on it. He had always been too fond of a good fruitcake.

  It was going to be a messy, chaotic, busy morning, with a great deal of talking and laughing. At least one child would knock over their glass of milk, and the baby would be passed around and made much over.