Blessings

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

“Well, now,” Mama blustered, putting down her cup and swiping her apron across the clean countertop, “I don’t think anyone’s ever complained about having you underfoot.”

  Trina’s heart turned over, recognizing her mother’s penchant for covering deep feelings with brusqueness. “I’ll miss you, too, Mama.”

  For a moment, her mother paused, peering across the kitchen at Trina with her chin quivering. Then she gave a nod and swished her hands together. “Yes, but it’s the way of the seasons. Children grow up and move on. It wouldn’t be natural any other way.”

  “I’ll make some toast,” Trina offered and, at her mother’s nod of approval, set to work.

  In time, the good smells drew Dad and Tony from their beds, and the family enjoyed a pleasant breakfast. When dishes had been washed, they carried coffee mugs to the front room, where, as had been the tradition for as long as Trina could remember, Dad read the Christmas story from the Bible. Then they prayed together and opened their gifts.

  Always practical, Mama and Dad had purchased Trina a set of good cooking pans, and Mama had sewn a half dozen new aprons. Trina gasped when she opened her gift from Tony—a book on the anatomy of cats. He had ordered it online with help from Beth, and he blushed crimson when Trina assured him it would be very helpful.

  Afterward in her bedroom to change for the big family get-together at Grandpa Braun’s farm, Trina reflected on the fact that this would be her very last Christmas living under Mama and Dad’s roof. Sadness brought a quick sting of tears, but anticipation washed them away. She had a grand future awaiting—a future that included being Graham’s wife and following her heart’s call. A future designed by God’s perfect hand.

  Someone tapped on her door. “Trina?” Tony’s voice. “Dad’s got the car warmed up. Are you ready to go?”

  Trina smiled. Oh yes. She was ready to go. With a song in her heart, she called, “I’m coming!”

  THIRTY

  The Friday evening before her wedding, Trina turned over the little sign on the café door to show CLOSED. She turned and sent her mother a huge smile. “Now the fun begins.”

  Mama laughed. She slung her arm around Trina’s shoulders and led her to the storage room, where a box waited. “Let’s get busy.”

  They spent an hour rearranging the tables to clear a wide aisle and leave a space at the far end of the dining room that would accommodate the minister and the wedding party. Trina scrubbed the tables and booths clean, and Mama draped every table with a white linen cloth. The café took on a festive air when Trina placed a glass bowl filled with colorful mints in the center of each table.

  When the dining room was finished, they lined up Crock-Pots along the worktable in readiness for tomorrow’s dinner. Although many Mennonite families chose to forgo the wedding dinner, Mama insisted that for her only daughter’s wedding they would celebrate with fellowship and food. Trina didn’t mind.

  “I’m sorry you’ll only have the weekend before you have to go back to your routine,” Mama said as she and Trina walked home. “It would be nice if you and Graham could at least get away for a day or two.”

  Trina shrugged. She and Graham had discussed the situation, and neither resented returning to their routine, as Mama had put it. They felt fortunate that they were able to follow a normal routine considering how different things could be had the accident been more serious. “Graham and I will have our time away from everyone when we go to a campus. In the meantime, we enjoy being here with our families.”

  Mama released a sigh that hung heavy on the frosty evening air. “Ah, Trina, it will be strange not having you at home. But I couldn’t be happier for you. Graham is a good man, and I believe God will bless your union.”

  Trina curled her arm around Mama’s waist, and Mama pressed her cheek briefly to Trina’s temple. Then, in typical Mama style, she tugged loose and scolded, “It’s cold. Let’s hurry.”

  Saturday dawned bright and cold. No clouds cluttered the crystal sky, and even the wind stayed calm, providing a wonderful day for Trina’s wedding. She slipped the light blue dress over her head, smoothing the skirt over her hips. When she’d modeled the dress for Beth, her friend had snapped a photograph.

  “Capturing a moment in time,” Beth had said.

  Remembering the comment, Trina wished she had a photograph of her with Graham—her in her wedding dress, he in his suit—just to know what they looked like side by side in their finest clothes. Then she closed her eyes and created her own image in her mind. She smiled. Perfect.

  “Trina?” Dad stood outside the door. “If you want a ride, you’ll need to hurry. Your mother is eager to get to the café and put the food in the Crock-Pots so everything will be hot by dinnertime.”

  Trina called, “Just let me get my shoes on!” Instead of her typical anklet socks and tennis shoes, today Trina wore flesh-toned tights and black satin slippers. Dad had insisted she remove the little ribbon bows that had decorated the shoes, saying they were too ostentatious for a good Mennonite girl, but even without the bows, Trina thought the slippers made her feet appear delicate and feminine.

  “Trina!”

  “I’m coming!” She snatched up her coat and dashed out the door.

  When they reached the café, several cars and two buggies already waited on the street, and the people followed Trina’s family inside.

  “Just find a seat,” Mama instructed, hurrying Trina into the kitchen away from the others. She whispered in Trina’s ear, “Stay in here out of sight. I’ll let you know when Graham arrives.”

  Trina perched on a stool in the corner and listened as more people filled the dining room, their voices cheerful and loud and full of celebration. She smiled to herself. Only a few months ago, she had felt as though the community would never accept her choice to break tradition and go to college. Now here they were, turning out by the dozens to wish her well not only on her wedding day but on her future.

  “Thank You, Lord,” she whispered with heartfelt gratitude.

  A hush fell in the dining room, followed by a wave of excited babble, and instantly Trina knew Graham had arrived. She jumped from the stool, her heart pounding, gaze glued to the doorway, awaiting his appearance.

  Mama rushed over. “It isn’t quite time, Trina. Another ten minutes. Sit back down.”

  Her limbs trembling, Trina climbed back onto the stool and twirled the ribbons on her cap around her finger repeatedly. It occurred to her that after today, she would snip away the white ribbons and replace them with black, a symbol of her new status of wife. Wife. A shiver shook her frame, but she knew the cause was excitement. Only a few more minutes, and she would be Graham’s wife!

  The last minutes passed so slowly Trina wondered if the clock had stopped ticking, but finally the voices from the dining room ceased. Mama stepped into the kitchen, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and crooked her finger at Trina. Trina skipped across the floor on black satin slippers and delivered a kiss to Mama’s cheek.

  Mama whispered, “Be happy, my daughter.”

  “Always,” Trina whispered past the lump that suddenly filled her throat.

  Mama placed a white Bible trailing with pink and blue ribbon into Trina’s waiting hands. Then she took hold of Trina’s shoulders and turned her toward the dining room.

  Through the open doorway, Trina glimpsed Graham. Her groom. Seated in his wheelchair, attired in a black suit and white shirt, his hair neatly combed and face shining. His eyes met hers, and his lips tipped into a sweet smile of anticipation. She stared, mesmerized, almost neglecting to breathe, as he leaned forward and swiveled the footrests of his wheelchair out of the way.

  The soles of his black lace-up shoes met the tiled floor, and he braced his hands on the armrests of the chair. Then his shoulder muscles bunched beneath the black wool fabric as he pushed, and Trina’s breath released in a rush when he stood in front of the chair. His dad stepped into Trina’s line of vision and offered Graham his walking aid—a cane carved from a length of sycamore,
handcrafted by an Amish artisan to resemble a post wound with ivy.

  One hand firmly grasping the cane, he held the other out to her, his smile triumphant. With a little cry of joy, she raced to his side. Tears distorted her vision as she slipped her hand through the bend of his elbow, but she blinked the moisture away, determined to memorize every sight and sound from this special day.

  Graham pressed his elbow against his rib cage, giving her fingers a squeeze, and then—on two sturdy feet, with the assistance of the beautifully crafted walking stick—he escorted her slowly through the center of the café to the waiting minister. Trina felt the gazes of their gathered guests, but her eyes remained riveted on Graham’s strong, proud profile until they reached the end of the aisle.

  The minister cleared his throat, and Trina turned her gaze forward. She listened attentively, aware of Graham’s pulse pounding through the sleeve of his jacket, surely matching the eager beat of her own. The familiar Bible passages from Ephesians and 1 Corinthians took on a greater meaning when read during her wedding ceremony and applied to her God-given duties as Graham’s mate.

  She prayed silently, Let me honor You, Lord, by being obedient to my call as wife and, if You see fit, mother. At one point, Graham’s eyes slipped closed, and Trina sensed he, too, offered a silent prayer. Her heart seemed to double in size, unable to contain all of the joy and gratitude and anticipation of the moment.

  At last, the minister asked them in solemn tones to repeat the selected vows. So many had already been put to the test—for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health—and they had emerged triumphant. Trina’s voice trembled with fervor as she vowed to love, honor, and obey Graham from this day until the day she died or Jesus returned. Listening to Graham’s deep, tear-choked voice as he promised to love, honor, and cherish her filled her with such a tumble of joyous emotion that she could no longer control her tears. They spilled down her cheeks in warm rivulets.

  But she smiled through the tears, laughing out loud when the minister announced to the waiting guests, “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Graham Ortmann. What God hath brought together, let no man put asunder.”

  Trina tipped her face up to Graham and begged, “Kiss me, please.”

  And he did. Willingly.

  Hours later, Graham’s parents dropped him and Trina off at the house. His mother hugged Trina, kissed her cheek, then said, “Welcome home, my dear.”

  Tears appeared in Trina’s dark eyes, but a smile lit her face. “Thank you. I’m so happy to be part of your family!”

  Dad helped Graham into his wheelchair and started to wheel him to the house, but Trina rushed forward.

  “No, no!” She laughingly pushed in front of Dad, taking control of the handles. “He’s my husband—I’ll do the honors.”

  Mom and Dad climbed back into the car with Chuck, and they pulled away with waves and smiles. When they’d first mentioned spending the night at Graham’s grandparents to give him and Trina complete privacy their first night as husband and wife, Graham had protested. They shouldn’t have to leave their own home. But when he’d mentioned it to Trina, she’d exclaimed, “Oh, that would be wonderful!” So he’d told his folks to go ahead and make the arrangements.

  Now, as she pushed him around the back of the house and up the ramp to their own little deck, he was glad he’d told his family to go. Being alone with Trina—his wife—was a blessing beyond compare. They reached the glass doors, and Trina scampered around the wheelchair to slide the door open.

  A pang of regret struck, and he sighed.

  Trina paused, looking over her shoulder. “What is it?”

  He pinched his lips into a brief scowl. “I wish I could carry you over the threshold.”

  Trina stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide. Then she hunched her shoulders and giggled. “Okay.” With a graceful swirl, she seated herself in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Carry me in!”

  Graham hooted with laugher. He grunted with the effort of pushing both of them over the slightly raised threshold, but he made it, and they celebrated his success with a kiss that lasted longer than Graham knew two people could kiss without losing consciousness.

  Finally, the cool breeze through the open sliding door forced Trina off his lap. Once she’d closed it, however, she came right back and made herself at home again.

  Graham curled his arms around her waist, relishing the feel of her cheek against his shoulder. They sat for long moments, their hearts beating in synchronization with each other, even their breathing finding a matching pattern that made Graham feel as though they truly had become one, just as the minister proclaimed them to be.

  He whispered, his lips brushing the organdy cap of their faith, “I love you, Trina.”

  She released a breathy sigh, her lips curving upward in a sweet smile of contentment. “Oh, I love you, too.”

  Then slowly, he lifted his hands and removed the pins that held her cap in place. Trina sat up, staring at him with her eyes wide and lips slightly parted, as he slipped the cap free and laid it on the end of the bed. Reverently, he smoothed the ribbons into a line over the edge of the coverlet. Raising his hands to her head, he went on a second pin hunt, popping them loose one by one until her hair fell in tumbling, walnut-colored waves across her shoulders.

  He smiled, his heart catching at the sight of Trina with her hair down. “As beautiful as I always imagined it.” To his ears, his voice sounded husky.

  “Oh, Graham. . .” Trina leaned forward, meeting his lips with hers.

  He crushed her close, breathing in her scent, twining his fingers through her silky hair. She shifted in his lap, and a shaft of pain shot through his lower back. Involuntarily he grimaced.

  She pulled back in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

  “A pinch in my back, that’s all.”

  She hopped off at once, slipping to her knees beside the chair. “I hurt you?”

  The concern in her eyes brought tears to his. She was so sweet. He cupped her cheeks. “Not you. Never you. It comes and goes. But I don’t want you to worry about it.”

  She remained beside the chair, clinging to his hands and peering up at him with love-filled eyes. “Of course I worry about it. I’m your wife. That’s what wives do—worry about their husbands.”

  He grinned. “Is that right?”

  She nodded, her hair bouncing. Her long lashes swept up and down in a beguiling blink. “Wives are very busy people. In addition to worrying, they also cook for their husbands, and clean, and mend socks, and do laundry, and—”

  “That all sounds very monotonous,” Graham said, pretending to yawn.

  “Oh, not at all,” Trina protested with an innocent expression. “It’s pure joy when you love the person very, very much.”

  “The way you love me?”

  “Of course.”

  Graham chuckled. “So what else do wives do?”

  Slowly, Trina shook her head, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh no. Now it’s time for you to tell me what husbands do.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, narrowing his eyes and trying to appear wise. “The husband’s duties. . .” He stroked the length of her hair, catching a silken strand and twisting it loosely around one finger as he recited, “Husbands provide for their wives and protect their wives and listen to their wives and—” He gently tugged Trina close and whispered a husbandly privilege in her ear.

  She jerked back, her eyes wide, and gasped, “Graham!” But then she erupted into giggles.

  His laughter rang, too, and when it died out, she rose and held out her hands.

  “You said husbands listen to their wives, so. . .come out of that chair, Mr. Ortmann.” The love light in her eyes sent a shaft of warmth through Graham’s chest. He pushed himself free of the chair, and she tucked herself beneath his arm and walked him to the bed.

  He sat on the edge of the mattress, and she curled next to him, nuzzling her face into his neck. All teasing left her voice as she murmured, “Of all the bles
sings of the past year, Graham, you are the one I treasure most.”

  Graham wrapped his arms around his wife—his greatest blessing. He searched for words to convey everything his heart felt, but in the end, the only thing that found its way from his lips was the simple statement, “How I love you, Trina.”

  And her smile told him those words were enough.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kim Vogel Sawyer is wife to Don, mother to three girls, grandmother to four boys, and a former elementary school teacher. A lifetime writer, Kim travels to women’s groups to share her testimony and her love for writing, tying together the skill of writing a good story with the good plan God has for each life. She is very active in her church, where she serves as adult Sunday school teacher and participates in the music ministry in both vocal and bell choirs. Please learn more about Kim’s writing and speaking ministries by visiting www.KimVogelSawyer.com.

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty