by Naomi King
Wyman rose from his armchair to join the children, maintaining an air of solemnity even as his lips twitched with a grin. “Jah, kids, here He is,” he said. He lifted Alice Ann to his shoulder before she could snatch up the fragile figurine in her eagerness. “The Lord’s come into our home, and when we let Him into our hearts, all will be right with the world.”
“I know!” Cora said. “Let’s sing ‘Away in a Manger.’”
Dora clapped her hands. “And then ‘Silent Night,’ even though it’s daytime.”
As the little girls’ voices swelled in the sweet, timeless melody, Simon joined in and so did Wyman and the four older kids. Jerome felt Amanda quiver as she leaned into him. She swiped at a tear and whispered, “Oh, isn’t that a sight?”
“Jah, it is,” Jemima agreed in a breathy voice. “All the kids singing together like they’ve been doing it all their lives.”
Jerome hugged the two women, his heart swelling with the music that filled the front room. He resisted the urge to sing along, allowing the sweet younger voices to fill him with a sense of wondrous love. This is what it’s all about, he thought. And I hope someday it’ll be my kids . . . Emma and I gathered with them, telling them the Christmas story and teaching them these dear old songs.
As the last notes of the first carol drifted, and Dora’s clear voice took up “Silent Night,” sunbeams shone through the window where Jemima’s Christmas cactus sat. Its waxy green branches were especially full of blooms this year, as though the plant also sensed this was a very special Christmas. The deep pink flowers swayed in the air current from the furnace, shimmering in the sunlight.
Jerome suddenly had an idea.
“Do I remember correctly that your Christmas cactus belonged to your mamm, Jemima?” he murmured.
“Jah, it goes way back to when she was about to marry,” she replied. “The young fellow who became my dat gave it to her as a Christmas gift when they were courting.”
Jerome’s heart sped up as he carefully phrased his request. “It’s probably not the right time to mess with that plant’s roots, but do you suppose we could put a section of it in one of Amanda’s pots? I’ve been trying to come up with a gift for Emma, and—”
“Oh, what a wonderful idea!” Amanda exclaimed.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to transplant that poor root-bound cactus for the last couple of years,” Jemima said. She smiled up at him, her wrinkled face alight. “It’s not the best time, like you say, but I think the plant will forgive us if we pot a starter for your Emma and then put the rest of it in a bigger container. I’d be pleased for her to have it.”
What better blessing and benediction could he hope for? Jerome kissed Jemima’s temple, his pulse thrumming with the rightness of the idea. “Denki, Aunts,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to see her eyes light up tomorrow when I give it to her.”
* * *
The next morning was dawning cold and clear as Wyman, Simon, Eddie, and Pete did the chores. Wyman took deep satisfaction in spending this time with his boys before the Grabers arrived later that morning. He shared a special kinship with his three sons as he watched Eddie and Pete growing toward manhood while Simon was leaving his early childhood behind, getting ready to start school next fall.
“You boys all did a fine job of observing our quiet, worshipful time yesterday,” Wyman said. He poured a bucket of water into one of the troughs, smiling as his youngest son hefted a heavy bucket of feed. “What did you like best about our Christmas, Simon?”
Simon’s eyes sparkled in the dimness of the barn. “It was cool that Baby Jesus showed up just in time,” he replied. “And it was a better Christmas than last year because I had Cora and Dora to play with—and because we have a new mamm.”
“Jah, those are gifts we’re all enjoying this season,” Wyman agreed.
“Even if they’re all about girls,” Pete teased his little brother.
They all laughed at that observation as they kept working. “And how about you, Pete? What have you liked best?” Wyman asked. “I for one am truly thankful that you’re home with us instead of on that cattle ranch in Kansas you mentioned.”
Pete let out a short laugh as he untied another bale of straw. “Well, the Christmas Eve program came out better than I thought, considering how Lizzie and Fannie Lehman kept bossing me about how to paint those backdrops after I built them.”
“Your scenery really looked gut,” Eddie remarked. “You’ve got a fine eye and a steady hand for the detail work.”
Wyman caught the satisfaction on Pete’s face. “And how about you, Eddie? You’ve had a busy season, what with painting and clerking in the mercantile.”
“While I’m grateful that Sam gave me the job,” Eddie said, “there’s no place like home, far as spending time with regular folks. The Lambrights are fine, fun people—”
“Especially Gail?” Pete teased.
“But living with Preacher Sam in a house full of women is another thing altogether,” Eddie went on with a chuckle. Then he focused on his father. “If my painting business does well, I want James to build me an enclosed wagon big enough to hold my equipment, with a built-in bunk for when I’m working a distance from home.”
Wyman’s eyebrows rose. His son seemed awfully young to be living on the road, yet he didn’t want to discourage such a forward-thinking idea. “Start saving up your money for that,” he replied. “I appreciate how all you kids have been pitching in to help pay the family bills this winter—”
The ringing of the phone on the barn wall made all of them look up. Simon raced over to grab the receiver before the message machine kicked on. “Hello? This is Simon Brubaker . . . Okay, Dat’s right here. Just a minute, please.”
When Simon thrust the receiver in his direction, Wyman set down his water bucket. “You did a nice job of answering that, Son,” he said. No doubt Amanda and the older girls had been coaching him on his telephone etiquette.
The boy pressed the receiver against his coat. “It’s Reece Weaver, Dat. He sounds kinda . . . jumpy.”
Jumpy. And wasn’t that an interesting observation from a five-year-old?
“Jah, Reece.” Wyman mentally prepared himself for whatever his contractor had in mind, calling so early in the morning—and on Second Christmas, too, as though he’d forgotten that Plain people celebrated it. “Gut morning, and merry Christmas to you.”
“It’d be a lot merrier if you’d tell that television reporter to back off,” Reece replied. “I can’t believe you’re joining in on that farce, Wyman.”
Wyman considered his response. He wanted a fair shake from this contractor, but he was also setting an example for his boys. “When I tell the farmers who bring their grain to my elevator what I’m going to charge them for drying their corn, and what I’ll pay them when I sell their crops,” he began, “I stand by my agreement. I expect nothing different from you, Reece.”
“What if I have your elevator finished by the end of the year? And consider your account paid in full?” Weaver shot back. “Would you get that Calloway fellow—and that Clearwater attorney—off my case?”
“I’d have to see that to believe it,” Wyman replied. “Seems you have several customers awaiting completion on their jobs, which date back before mine. There’s no way you can get to them all by the end of this week—nor could you do a gut job on my elevator in just six days.”
“You saw that list?” Reece demanded shrilly. “I’m going to sue that Lock fellow for—”
“Those names are a matter of public record,” Wyman interrupted firmly. He was so glad he and Ray had seen the attorney before Reece called him this morning. “Seems to me your time would be better spent making gut on your construction projects rather than taking Graham Lock to court. You’re right about one thing, though,” he added. “I’m not paying you another dime until my elevator’s completed, and then I’ll only give you
the balance of what we originally agreed to. No more surprise fees.”
Wyman sighed as Reece ranted for a few moments more. “Tell you what,” he said when he could get a word in edgewise. “Ray and Tyler and I will be at the site Tuesday morning with the reporter. If you want to look like a more reputable contractor, be there with your construction crew. The way I understand it, Cole Calloway will keep following your progress until every one of the fellows on his list is satisfied,” he insisted. “If you fall short, thousands of people will know about it. It’s the sort of accountability you should have been showing all along, Reece—just like your dat taught you when he was bringing you into the business.”
The silence on the line suggested that Reece was finally listening, taking him seriously now.
“After all,” Wyman went on calmly, “we agreed to have my elevator finished in the spring. I expect your top-quality work rather than a shoddy job done in a hurry to get Calloway off your case, as you put it. We’re talking about sophisticated mechanical and technical equipment that has to be properly installed. My business will go down the drain just like yours has if I’m constantly shutting down for repairs.”
Wyman paused again, letting Reece absorb what he was saying. His three sons had stopped working to follow this conversation closely, as well they should. “This might be just another job to you, but my family’s welfare is riding on this project,” he continued. “If you can’t properly complete my elevator, I want most of my money back and I’ll get another contractor. But I won’t let you off the hook, Reece. Nobody wins if you don’t come through with what you promised.”
A long sigh came over the phone line. “Stay with me, all right? I’ll see you Tuesday.”
“All right. We’ll go from there.”
As he hung up, Wyman took a deep breath to settle his nerves. Confrontation and disagreement went against his nature and his religion. But at least now Reece was facing the consequences of his unethical behavior.
“I won’t belabor the point,” he said to his boys, “but we reap what we sow. If you’re ever tempted to do less than your best work, or to cheat people out of their money with false promises, I hope you’ll think back to how Reece Weaver has affected our family. And if you realize someone’s taking advantage of you, I hope you’ll stand up to him a lot quicker than I did.”
Wyman smiled at Eddie, Pete, and Simon. “End of sermon. Let’s finish up here and go in for breakfast,” he said in a lighter voice. “I’m ready to have some fun!”
“And open presents!” Simon exclaimed. “I can’t wait another minute!”
When he got inside, Wyman wasn’t surprised to find all the girls in the kitchen, eager to enjoy their Second Christmas celebration. Even Jemima was in a fine mood as she helped Amanda, Vera, and Lizzie set out steaming bowls of hash browns, sliced smoked sausages, scrambled eggs, onions and green peppers, and cheese sauce for making breakfast haystacks. After the blessing, Wyman took particular pleasure in watching the kids dig into their food—all of them healthy and so much happier than they’d been last year at this time.
His gaze lingered on Amanda, sitting to his left. Was it his imagination, or was she fuller in the face, already abloom with the life growing inside her? When he squeezed his wife’s hand, she shared his purposeful gaze, as though silently saying her thoughts were aligned with his.
After the meal, everyone gathered in the front room. Wyman, Jerome, and the older boys agreed that the purple and turquoise fabric Amanda had wrapped as gifts would make great shirts, and they liked the catch-all containers she’d made them, too. Jemima was pleased to receive her new kapps and black stockings. Lizzie, Vera, and the twins exclaimed over their heart-shaped ceramic what-not boxes, and when the younger kids unwrapped the lined writing tablets, Simon seemed eager to practice his alphabet—mostly so Cora and Dora wouldn’t get too far ahead of him at learning their letters. Alice Ann squealed as she unwrapped a pair of faceless Amish cloth dolls, mostly because the girl doll wore a dress of bright pink.
While other presents were being unwrapped, Wyman watched closely as Simon handed his gift to Amanda. The odd-shaped bottle hadn’t been easy to cover, so it looked clumpy with all its tucked corners and tape. But Amanda complimented their boy on the paper he had colored, then held up the bottle of cooking oil with a wide smile. “How did you know I just used up the last of my oil, Simon?” she asked brightly. “This is a wonderful-gut present!”
Simon flashed her an adoring grin. “The Wise Men brought precious oil and gold to Baby Jesus,” he explained earnestly. “Seems like a dumb thing to give a baby, but you, Mamm—I know you’ll make gut things with that oil. Like fried pies, ain’t so?”
As laughter filled the room, Wyman delighted in how his youngest son had presented such an unusual gift in his inimitable way and how Amanda grabbed Simon in a hug and loudly kissed his cheek.
Vera then walked over to the china hutch and pulled a slender, wrapped rectangle from behind it. As she handed it to Wyman, she glanced toward Amanda. “All of us kids worked on this for both of you, Mamm and Dat,” she said. “We hope you’ll like it.”
Amanda’s face lit up with curiosity as she came over to stand beside him. The children got quiet, anticipation on their faces as Wyman offered Amanda an edge so they could unwrap the gift together.
“It’s a list of our names, to hang beside the front door!” Amanda exclaimed as she tore away the last of the paper.
“I’m glad you kids thought of this,” Wyman said. “With so much going on lately, it slipped my mind that the plaque at the Clearwater house was destroyed.”
“And it needed updating, just like the one at this place,” Amanda pointed out. “Denki so much, to all of you!”
Wyman felt a rush of emotion as he read THE BRUBAKER FAMILY across the top, followed by his name and Amanda’s together, and then the names of everyone else in the household, from the oldest to the youngest. He was secretly pleased that a lot of space remained at the bottom for new additions.
“I was tickled that the kids asked if they could include me on the list,” Jemima spoke up. She was smiling as brightly as Wyman had ever seen, looking ten years younger.
“Jah,” Jerome said as he clasped his great-aunt’s shoulder, “we carry the Lambright name, but we’re pleased to be considered a part of the Brubaker household.”
“Pete made the frame and the wooden plaque. And Eddie painted it,” Vera began.
“But Lizzie did the lettering, because she writes prettier than I do,” Eddie said.
“And Vera made the little flowerpots along the sides of the frame with pottery chips,” Lizzie continued eagerly. “And it was Simon who got us the shelled field corn for the centers of the flowers.”
“We twins glued on the dried beans and macaroni shells for the petals,” Dora chimed in.
“And you’ll never guess who wanted the pink buttons in the corners,” Cora added with a grin.
“Me, Alice Ann!” the toddler crowed as she climbed into Wyman’s lap. She touched each of the buttons with the tip of a tiny finger. “Pink! I wuv pink!”
As Amanda’s hand fluttered to her throat, she looked as ready to cry as Wyman felt. “It’s perfect, kids,” he murmured. “You each used your special abilities to make this such a special record of our blended family.”
Everyone in the room basked in a moment of collective happiness. Wyman smiled at each one of the kids then. “I bet we can hang this on the wall before the Grabers get here,” he said. “They’ll get a kick out of hearing how all of you kids helped with—”
“So, Mamma, does this mean our name is Brubaker now?”
“Like yours?”
Cora and Dora stood together, clasping hands as they gazed intently at their mother. The soft brown tendrils escaping from their buns to frame their little faces made them look all the more precious, so much like their mother that Wyman could envis
ion the lovely young women they would become. He and Amanda had discussed this subject before they’d married, but he felt it best to let her respond to her daughters now that they had raised the issue.
“Your new dat is adopting all three of you girls. It’s just a matter of waiting for the legal paperwork to come through.” Amanda smiled at Cora and Dora. “Would you twins like to start going by Brubaker? That way, by the time you go to school, your new name will feel like a natural part of you. We can practice writing it on your new tablets.”
The twins looked at each other, smiling simultaneously. “Jah, that would be gut,” Dora said.
“Everyone at church and school will know we’re Simon’s for-sure sisters, then,” Cora pointed out. “That’ll be real special.”
Wyman kept his chuckle to himself as he watched Simon formulate his answer to Cora’s endearing remark. His youngest son was all boy, yet he and his new look-alike sisters were practically inseparable.
Amanda was smiling at her teenager, continuing her discussion before the younger kids sidetracked it. “This adoption situation is a little different for you, Lizzie,” she said gently, “so we’re leaving up to you which name you want to go by.”
“You’ve been a Lambright for more than thirteen years,” Wyman added, “so I’ll understand if you keep your father’s name. You don’t have to choose right now. It’s a big decision, and you’re grown-up enough to make it.”
Wyman smiled at the slender girl as her face got pink around the edges. While Lamar Lapp had counseled him to announce that Lizzie would become a Brubaker when the adoption was final, the Bloomingdale bishop’s well-meaning advice had sounded like something Uriah Schmucker would say. Wyman sensed that Lizzie would be best left to decide on her own. She was looking down now, her long lashes brushing her cheeks as she twirled the string of her kapp around her finger.
