A Simple Charity

by Rosalind Lauer

  Jack agreed. “The Amish know how to do desserts.”

  The couple said good night and headed off to their room. Meg closed the French door behind them as Jack shrugged out of his leather jacket and took a seat on the couch in front of the flickering gas fireplace. Meg nestled in beside him, and they talked about how they’d spent the day.

  After a brunch for the inn’s handful of guests, Meg and Zoey had gone online for a video chat with their mother, who kept squinting at the camera suspiciously. “She always worries that she won’t be able to turn the camera off,” Meg explained. “That it’s going to keep watch over her like Big Brother.”

  “I get that,” he said.

  “And how was work?”

  “The real kicker was this neighbor dispute. One family’s hound dog, old Toby, got loose and moseyed next door to where Mrs. Maresh was letting the roast rest. The dog got in the door, darted to the table, and had that boneless beef roast devoured in a matter of minutes.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Meg’s eyes sparkled with mirth.

  “Total truth. Mrs. Maresh came back downstairs in her Christmas sweater to find her husband still napping and their dinner gone.”

  She chuckled. “That must have been disappointing, but I can just imagine the dog’s delight. He scored a Christmas feast.”

  “But the best part is the happy ending.” He told her how relations had been chilly between the two neighbors. That was why Mrs. Maresh had called to lodge a complaint against the dog’s owners. But in the end, the dog people invited the Mareshes to come over and share their prime-rib dinner. “So the complaint was dropped, everybody got a good dinner, and the neighbors might just become friends. Toby was relegated to the garage, but he got a nice Christmas dinner out of the deal.”

  They talked about pets they had been fond of as kids. Meg had grown up with cats in the house—mostly strays but one Siamese that had an affinity for barbecue-flavored potato chips.

  “My grandmother wouldn’t let me take in a dog,” Jack said, “but I totally bonded with this little long-haired dachshund named Odie. Lisa and I found him at the dog rescue shelter one day, and she pushed her parents until they said yes. That Odie, he was a good watchdog. Barked at most men. Didn’t really like Lisa’s dad, but he loved me. I’d lift him up to the couch to watch TV with us. I made sure he got fed and watered and walked. Yeah, Odie and me, we bonded.”

  “Wait. How old were you when you had this dog?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Fifteen or sixteen. I think I’d just gotten my license.”

  “And you were seeing Lisa back then?”

  He nodded. “We were childhood sweethearts who ended up getting engaged. You know how that goes.”

  “Not really. I don’t think I ever dated anyone for more than a year.”

  “Oh, well, the teen couple thing can be a trap. We were best friends first. I was really tied into Lisa’s whole family, and I know they liked me. They thought I was good for her, and maybe I was.”

  You’re so good for our Lisa, her mother had said. I don’t know what we did before you came along, Jack. Our girl is a lost lamb without you.

  At the time, it had felt good to have someone relying on him. He thought he could be strong for the two of them. He would be the foundation, the pillar that held things up, while she was the soul of the relationship, the whimsical, beautiful dancer who made each moment count. But time had taught him that one person could not save another from herself. After so many years spent at the edge of the pond, reaching for Lisa in yet another attempt to save her, he’d had to let her go.

  “So how did it end?” she asked. “I mean, you dated her for years, right?”

  “Yup. We were engaged, planning the wedding.”

  And then, yet again, she’d gone off her medication. The meds, she claimed, stripped her life of all excitement. The drug that was designed to moderate mood swings had left Lisa feeling like her life was an endless succession of mediocre moments. “It makes me boring,” she’d insisted. So she had gone off the meds. And she’d gone into crisis mode. She’d barricaded herself in the apartment and called the cops when he tried to come near her. She’d come to his workplace and blasted him with accusations: cheating and lying and assault. Although none of her charges was true, the department took it seriously when one of Philly’s finest was accused of assault.

  “I can see I’ve hit a nerve,” Meg said, drawing him back to the present.

  In the glow of the fire flickering on Meg’s skin and lighting her hair like a copper penny, he needed to be giving his attention to her—not to the nagging ghost of Lisa.

  “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” said Meg.

  “I just don’t feel comfortable sharing all her personal details,” he said. “Lisa suffers from a disorder and …” He stopped himself. “I’ve probably said too much already. I really cared about her. I always will. But it’s over between us. I got out of Philly so she could have her space. I’ve moved on, and I wish her well.”

  Meg tilted her head to the side, assessing him in her thorough, concerned manner. “Healing takes time,” she said. “Sometimes it helps to talk. Sometimes a wound heals faster when you don’t pick at it.”

  He snickered. “That’s the medical terminology? ‘Don’t pick.’ ”

  She gave a confident nod. “Yup.” She moved from the sofa to open one of the wooden cupboards beside the fireplace. “I say we crack open one of the board games. You choose. I’ll go get us drinks. Hot chocolate or sparkling cider?”

  He chose the cider and started setting up the Game of Life, which had always been his sister’s favorite. “Kat always wanted to play so that she could buy herself a carload of kids,” he told Meg, once she’d returned with two goblets of sparkling apple juice.

  “Definitely a girl thing,” Meg agreed. “We girls were all about love and marriage while you boys were always trying to get great jobs and insurance policies. So boring.”

  “Yeah, well, most of us guys come around to the kid thing,” he said. “Now I see how important family is, and I think, you and I, we’d make pretty good parents.”

  Her eyes opened wide as she put her goblet down. “Yes, we would. Definitely. I … I really want to have kids.”

  He sensed her awkwardness. “Here I go, pushing ahead. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay. It’s something couples need to discuss … just not right now.” She spun a six. “Woo-hoo! I am going to take my husband and twins and move ahead six spaces.”

  He took a swallow of cider and watched as she moved the little plastic car. There was something mesmerizing about Meg, even her simplest movements: the way she tilted her head, pushed her hair over one shoulder, and then flashed a look up at him.

  “Your turn,” she said.

  Dang if she wasn’t the best thing that ever rolled into Lancaster County, into his life, into his heart. He had it bad and he didn’t even care. If this was love, then, good Lord in Heaven, bring it on.

  24

  Any worries about smoothing things over with Joan Fisher flew out of Fanny’s mind when guests began arriving the next day to celebrate second Christmas. Joy filled the house as family and friends shared Christmas greetings and personal stories and hearty jokes. A chain of Beth’s hand-cut stars hung over the door. Emma had shown the children how to string up the cards the family had received from Englisher friends, and it made for a cheerful design over the kitchen sink. The kitchen table was nearly overflowing with casserole dishes, bowls of fruit, platters of cookies, and melt-in-your-mouth cakes.

  Besides delicious food and good conversation, the house was bursting with so many little ones! Many of the Plain folks whose children Fanny helped deliver dropped by with cookies or sweets or nuts.

  “Oh, let me have a chance to hold little John!” Fanny reached out and Lizzy swung the five-month-old into her arms. “You’re getting to be such a big boy!” Fanny told the baby, who studied her with his father’s keen, obse
rvant eyes. She couldn’t resist running her fingertips over his doughy cheek. “Are you the light of your mamm’s life?” she asked.

  “Ya,” Lizzy answered, “but his dat can’t get enough of him, either. Joe talks and sings to him all the time. He’s been sleeping through the night for two months now.”

  “Such a blessing.” Fanny smoothed down the baby’s dark hair and passed him back to his mother, as Remy King waved from across the room. Adam gently touched his wife’s shoulder and guided her over so that Fanny could see baby Essie, a sweet thing with hair as bright as a copper penny, just like her mother. Adam’s sister Mary joined them. She had little Nathan perched on her shoulder, and Fanny shared a few tips on burping that she had learned from her own children. How Fanny enjoyed the sweet cries and bright eyes of the babies!

  When the Millers arrived, many of the guests spilled out of the house to have a look at the new birdhouse that Zed and Will had built.

  “So how did it all go yesterday?” Zed asked Will, speaking in that low man-to-man banter. “Was your mamm surprised?”

  Will nodded. “I don’t think she expected anything like this.”

  “I didn’t.” Fanny folded her arms against the cold, though it felt a bit refreshing after the close warmth of the house. “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. So nicely built. And Will knows how I enjoy birding.”

  “This is a good thing for the center,” Emma said. “When children come to visit, they can add seed for the birds.”

  “Very sturdy,” said Zed’s mother, Rose.

  His dat agreed. “And the shingles will keep the roof from rotting. It’s good to build something that will last.” Ira nodded at the carriage house. “Let’s hope you’ve made the new center as sturdy as this little house,” he teased. “Tiles on the roof. Do the birds really need that? Don’t they fly in the rain?”

  Fanny chuckled along with Ira and Rose.

  Zed had his hands on his hips, but from his smile it was clear that he also enjoyed his father’s joke. “You see, Dat, the birds don’t mind the rain, but if there’s no roof, the squirrels will be jumping in to steal all the seed.”

  “A good point.” Ira knocked on the side of the birdhouse. “Ya, good quality.”

  “I think the birds will like it,” Will said.

  Behind the group, Fanny noticed a gray buggy approaching, though she didn’t recognize the driver. When Caleb came out of the house to greet the carriage, she realized that it was his friend Kate and the Fisher women, a group that would include her former mother-in-law. She turned back to the chatter about the birdhouse, determined not to stare, but soon she heard shoes crunching on gravel behind her. She braced herself to welcome the women who had caused some difficult times for her.

  “Fanny,” Caleb called, “the Fishers have brought some treats from the bakery.”

  “That was kind of you.” Fanny smiled at the three women, but only two returned the warm greeting. What was it about Joan Fisher’s mouth that kept it too stiff to curve into a happy expression?

  Although she knew these women and saw them at church every other week, she did her best to avoid most of the Fisher clan. She was glad that Kate’s mother, Lydia, had come along, as the woman had a gift for gab and kept the conversation rolling like a smooth marble.

  As Fanny chatted with the visitors, she caught a thorough glimpse of Kate Fisher, a tall young woman with a broad face that seemed to be lit with a permanent smile. It was as if the joy inside her shone out to the world through her face. Fanny could see why Caleb liked her. Strong, serious Caleb kept his eyes on the ground while plodding ahead. He needed someone to help him look up at the sky and find joy in each day, and Kate’s smile was contagious.

  “That’s quite a fancy birdhouse you’ve got there,” Joan said, speaking up for the first time. “Must have cost you quite a bit.”

  Will glanced up from the birdhouse, where he was showing Ira how the floor slid out for cleaning.

  Fanny suspected that Joan was joking, as Amish folks did not spend much money on decorative things like birdhouses. But Joan’s expression was unreadable, flat as a stone.

  “It was a Christmas gift from my son,” Fanny said.

  “I made it,” Will piped up.

  “With some help from Zed, of course.” Fanny glanced up at Zed, who watched with a cool expression.

  “Makes a person wonder why you didn’t make something Plain.” Joan’s lips puckered in disapproval. “You could get a small, simple birdhouse at the hardware store, probably for half of what this cost to make.”

  But you can’t put a price on the tender care that went into its preparation. The attention showered on a young boy. The quiet time together. The learning of a skill. Fanny was on the verge of pointing these things out to Joan, but she didn’t want to cross the woman. She had promised herself that she would try to smooth things over, for Caleb’s sake.

  “Look at those curved doors.” Joan’s face puckered with disdain. “Birds don’t need doors.”

  “But they’re just like the doors on the birthing center,” Kate pointed out, a gentle glimmer in her eyes. “It will serve the birds well, and I think folks will smile when they see it.”

  Kate’s words swept over the group like a spring breeze, bringing ease to the conversation. It was simple to see why Caleb enjoyed spending time with this bright-eyed young woman.

  “There’s nothing like birdsong in the morning to brighten your day,” Lydia said. “We have a seed cake in view from our kitchen window, and I enjoy watching the small birds swoop down on it, their little heads bobbing as they peck away.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful, Gott’s creatures all around us,” Rose added, folding her arms against the cold.

  “You’re shivering, Rose.” Fanny patted the older woman’s arm. “Let’s all get inside where it’s cozy. I’m ready for some hot apple cider.”

  As the group made its way in, Will came to Fanny’s side and took her hand. He waited until the Fishers ducked inside, then turned up to her and whispered, “Is the birdhouse too fancy, Mamm?”

  “No, Will. It’s as Plain as our carriage house. You worked hard on it, and there’s no shame in that.” She squeezed his shoulder, reassuring him. “It’s a wonderful good gift.”

  With a grin, he stepped over the threshold and bounded over to play with his cousins, leaving Fanny relieved that she could undo the damage Joan had done. At least this time.

  Although Fanny enjoyed having family and friends visit, she knew all good times had to come to an end. Already Gabe and Emma had gone home, as Emma and the children would return to school in the morning. Tom’s brother Jimmy had gone out to get their buggy, and Fanny was wrapping half a chocolate chip pie and some cookies for them to take home.

  “Don’t forget the crybaby cookies,” Edna said. “They’re my favorites.”

  “And to think I almost didn’t make them,” Fanny teased. The simple cookies, flavored with leftover coffee, were not traditional holiday fare, but they were easy enough to bake. She added a few extras for her dear friend and covered the plate with tin foil. “There you go.”

  “I’m sorry to see the day end.” Edna smoothed her fingers over the little pink scar on her chin—a habit from childhood, when a fall from a scooter had required stitches to heal the cut. One day, when Edna had confided that she was self-conscious about the scar, Fanny had taken a red pen and put a little squiggle of ink on her own chin, just to show Edna that the mark was barely noticeable. “It’s been good to spend time with family and friends that we don’t get to see often,” Edna added.

  “I hope we don’t wait until next second Christmas to get together again,” said Fanny. “Though both of us have had a busy year. You’ve been caring for James, and I’ve been trying to make do without Tom.”

  “A sad year, indeed, but I’m glad to put it behind us. And I’m back to my old daily routine now that James and Rachel are married. Rachel takes James to the clinic every day, and he’s learned to move about with on
ly crutches or a walker, thank the Almighty. You know, he came here tonight without a wheelchair, in the buggy. He’s a determined young man.”

  “Gott bless him,” Fanny said. “And does he get around the orchard, too?”

  “Oh, he’s been out there ever since he could move his own wheelchair, though there’s not much need for it this time of year.” Edna cradled the plate of cookies. “Let’s get together soon, Fanny. Bring Beth and Tommy over and we’ll do some sewing. Or I’ll come help you finish setting up the birth center. I’m sure there’ll be windows to wash and curtains to hang.”

  “That would be wonderful, Edna. It’ll give us a chance to catch up.” As Fanny squeezed her sister-in-law’s shoulder, she realized she did have some women here in Halfway who were like sisters to her. She simply had to find the time to enjoy some fellowship with them.

  She walked out, arm in arm with Edna. Edna’s daughter Verena was shepherding the younger ones into the buggy. The teens, who were now playing games in the buggy garage, would be staying on for a while. With the noise contained in a separate building, Fanny didn’t mind if they extended the celebration.

  “Tell Zed I’m serious about donating that newel post to the center,” Jimmy said when Fanny approached the buggy. “We had to take it down to fit the wheelchair and ramp, and now it’s just sitting out in our barn, no good to no one.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell him.” Fanny smiled and watched as the Lapps’ buggy rolled down the lane. Her arms were crossed against the chilly night, but she didn’t feel the cold so much. Not quite ready to return to the crowd in her house, she gazed up at the sky with its gleaming stars. It had been a good Christmas, and she was grateful to have a loving family and kind friends.

  So grateful to be loved.

  Edna had been right about putting the sadness behind her. A new year was coming, a year of many miracles, if she could count the babies about to be born in their community.

  The first year that they would have the birthing center. She gave a happy sigh at the sight of the old carriage house with its sparkling white trim and shiny windows. Inside those walls, good things were about to happen.