A Christmas Promise

by Tamera Lynn Kraft

  “But there won’t be any more experienced brothers to help you when you get into trouble. I’m against this.”

  Paul spread his feet into a wide stance and squared his shoulders. “I hoped you would take this to the elders with me. I plan to talk to them before we meet with my father.”

  “I’ll go with you. But if they ask my judgment, I’ll tell them what I told you.”

  “Even if you don’t agree,” Paul said, “you’ve been a good friend.”

  “I’m honored to be your friend.”

  “So tell me, friend, why are you awake at this hour? You’re not just concerned about me.”

  John pressed his lips together. “We might not be home for Christmas.”

  “I know you would like to be home with your family, but under the circumstances, Sister Anna will understand.”

  Heat flushed John’s face. “I haven’t exactly been truthful with her.” He shifted his weight.

  “You lied to her?”

  “Not exactly. I told her we were coming here to share the Gospel with a delegation of Lenape. That part’s true.”

  Paul stared at the fire. “You didn’t tell her that my father was part of that delegation?”

  “No.” John lowered his eyes.

  “You deceived her.”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that lying?”

  At that moment, John felt more like a chastened boy than the man who had mentored many Lenape. But it wasn’t Paul’s rebuke he felt. It was his own conscience. “It is worse than that. I promised her I would be home for Christmas.”

  Paul delivered a scorching glare. “Why would you disdain your wife like that?”

  “It’s not disdain.” John cleared his throat. “I told you about my son, Noah. Since he died, Anna’s been different. She worries about everything and is frightened easily. I wanted to make things easier for her.”

  “By lying to her?”

  He stared at his hands as he rubbed them together. “I was trying to help her.”

  “No, you just didn’t want to have to help her with her fears. So you hid the danger to avoid the problem.”

  John felt like he’d been hit in the gut.

  Paul sat down beside him. “Brother John, you’ve been a good mentor to me. I know I haven’t been a Christian for long, but if I struggled with worry and doubt, what would you do?”

  The muscle in John’s jaw twitched. “That’s different. You’re not my wife.”

  “Still. What would you do?”

  “I would pray for you, and I would admonish you to read Scripture and to trust God to help you through it.”

  “Sound counsel. Maybe that’s what you should do for your wife. I would do anything to go back and be able to lead my wife to trust Christ.” Paul headed to the ladder. “I’m going to bed.”

  John watched him climb into the loft and out of sight. He poked the fire, poured himself a cup of coffee that had been brewing on the cinders for too long, and wrapped his hands around the cup to warm them.

  He considered everything Paul had said. He’d disappointed Anna, and tomorrow, when he showed up late, it would be one more broken promise.

  Praying, he asked God to forgive him and give him guidance. He needed to help restore his wife’s faith in God, not make empty promises to keep her fears at bay, and destroy her trust in him.

  With God’s help, this would be the last time he failed his wife.

  9

  Anna woke while it was still dark. She stretched, stoked the fire, dressed, and placed the pheasant on the spit over the fireplace to cook. She was grateful for a few moments to herself before the children woke.

  Her husband wasn’t home yet, hadn’t arrived in the middle of the night like she’d hoped, but now she realized how foolish it had been to expect that. If the meetings with Brother Paul’s father lasted late, it was more likely for the men to start out at dawn then to try to traipse the forest at night. It was a three hour trek in good weather. With the snow, it might take more.

  He would surely be home by noonday. They could read the Scriptures hanging on the tree before Christmas Supper. The only things he would miss were the morning preparations and breakfast, maybe the noon meal.

  They still could have a great Christmas together.

  She promised the best Christmas ever. It would be hard to have a better one than when John proposed marriage, but when she told him about the child growing inside her, that would make it almost perfect.

  This time she would give him another son.

  That first Christmas beside the Lehigh River was so special. But that was before Noah had died. Anna wished she had the courage and faith she did then, when she wanted to spend her life with a man who would risk everything to serve God. It had been the promise John had kept. But she hadn’t been as faithful.

  The rooster crowed as the dawn peeked through the window.

  Lisel jumped out of bed first. “It’s Christmas. It’s Christmas.” She shook Belinda and Katrina.

  Neither of them seemed vexed for being awakened so brusquely.

  Katrina wiped her eyes.

  “Can we play with the Putz first, Mama?” Lisel asked. “Can we?”

  Anna took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out through her mouth. She wouldn’t let on that she was worried. John would be home by noon, and the girls would never know the danger he faced—or that this Christmas was different than any other.

  She tied on her apron. “Morning chores and breakfast, first. And all of you get dressed this instant.”

  The girls finished their chores faster than they normally did. Even Lisel didn’t dawdle. By the time Anna finished cooking bacon and eggs, the girls had set the table.

  “Mama,” Belinda said as they sat on the benches. “Where’s Papa? He said he’d be home by Christmas.”

  “He promised.” Lisel’s lower lip drooped.

  “He’ll be here,” Anna said, working to exude a confidence she didn’t feel. “It takes time, and he probably waited until this morning to start. I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

  That seemed to satisfy the girls. They held hands, and Anna offered the blessing. Before she could say amen, Belinda interrupted. “Lord, protect Papa and bring him home safe.”

  “And help Mama to stop worrying,” Lisel prayed. “Amen.”

  Anna cleared her throat. “Amen.”

  ****

  It was almost noon before Swantaney and his tribal leaders showed up. John tried to figure out what the chief’s answer would be by the look on his face. But it did no good. The man was as stoic as his son.

  Paul was easier to decipher, especially after the conversation last night, and the meeting with the elders early this morning. Luke agreed with Paul, and despite John’s reluctance, the council believed Paul was hearing from God, and that if the chief required him to return to the tribe, they would support whatever he choose to do, provided he followed guidelines they laid out and kept in contact with the Moravian council in Schoenbrunn.

  Paul’s squared shoulders and jutted chin showed he’d made his decision.

  If there was a way to change this, John would do it. But sometimes, one couldn’t protect the people one cared about. Sometimes one had to leave them in God’s hands. All he could do was pray and hope the chief didn’t force the issue.

  Brother Luke greeted Chief Swantaney.

  “I have a decree to make.” Swantaney strode to Paul.

  The warriors around him gripped their spears with a firmness that had been lacking yesterday. Not a good sign.

  Not at all.

  The chief glared into his eyes. “Yaweha, you will return home where you belong, and you will forget about this white man’s religion. You are Lenape, the son of a chief. It’s time you act like it.”

  “Father.” Paul’s posture straightened, until it looked as if he’d added a couple of inches to his height. “I, too, have made a decision.”

  The chief crossed his arms. “Go ahead.”

>   “I will return to the tribe.”

  A low murmur rushed through the crowd.

  “Silence.” Chief Swantaney lifted his hand.

  The noise stopped.

  “It is good, my son. You have made the right choice.”

  Paul’s jaw twitched. “You have only heard part of it.”

  Chief Swantaney backed up two steps. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Tell me the rest. Now!”

  “I meant what I said.”

  John glanced at the warriors behind the chief, the ones gripping their spears.

  “I shall return, and I shall become the next chief.” Paul cleared his throat. “But no matter where I am, whether in the village of the Moravians, or in the Lenape tribe, I serve only one God, the God of the Christians.”

  The chief’s Adam’s apple bulged. Two warriors took a couple of steps closer and stood on either side of the chief. They gripped their spears with both hands.

  John shifted his weight as the muscles in his chest tightened. If they made a move, he’d defend his friend no matter what the cost. For now, all he could do was watch.

  “Father, I will not fight you or your men.” Paul positioned into a wide stance and held his hands out with his palms open. “If you wish to have me killed, I will make it easy for your braves. I will not resist.”

  Heat traveled up John’s back. For a cold day, he felt unusually warm.

  “But if you allow me to return to the tribe, I will share my new faith with the other braves. I will convert as many as I can, and I will bring my Bible with me, God’s Word written in the Lenape tongue that the Moravians have taught me to read. Those are my conditions.”

  Nobody said anything.

  Paul crossed his arms as if nothing more needed to be said.

  Chief Swantaney’s face turned red. “I am the chief and your father. You dare tell me your conditions.”

  “And I am a grown man, the son of a chief, and a Lenape warrior.” Paul stepped towards his father and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I will not denounce my God, but I’m still your son.”

  The other warriors readied their weapons.

  The Moravian men moved back, respecting Paul’s decision to offer no resistance.

  John couldn’t bring himself to do so and took a couple of steps forward until he stood beside Paul. He couldn’t stand by and not do anything.

  The braves’ glances shifted from Chief Swantaney to Paul, and then back to the chief.

  A chill filled the air as a gust of wind blew through. Snowflakes fell from the sky. Everybody waited.

  Chief Swantaney spoke. “My son, you have given me your conditions. Here are mine.” Then he announced what he required Paul to do to return to the tribe without being killed.

  10

  The smell of pheasant filled the cabin as it roasted on the spit. As Anna cut up potatoes and dropped them into the iron pot, she sliced the tip of her finger. Holding it tightly in her apron, she blinked back the moisture filling her eyes.

  The girls hadn’t asked about their father, but as the day went on, they grew more subdued. At the noon meal, they hadn’t chattered on about the day. Even Lisel didn’t want to play with the putz anymore, and Katrina didn’t fight sleep when Anna made her lie on the rope bed and take a nap. When Katrina finally woke, it was an hour until Christmas supper.

  John still wasn’t home.

  Anna cut up the last of the potatoes and glanced out the window. Clouds darkened the sky and obscured the sun. The winter storm had finally arrived in full force, and white gusts filled the air and blanketed the ground. If John hadn’t left before the storm started, he would be trapped in Gnadenhutten — if nothing had happened to him. Her stomach knotted, and an overwhelming dread fell on her as dark as the snow clouds outside. She couldn’t see the light of God’s love through it.

  Please, Lord, restore my faith in You.

  Now that all the preparations had been made, they would normally gather around the tree, and John would read the Scriptures hanging on it. It was a treat to see what verses held special meaning to them and the girls that year. Except this time, all the Scriptures had been written by Belinda, or given to them by the church. Anna couldn’t bring herself to write out any, and Lisel didn’t ask her to write the verses she’d learned in school. She was too busy with the Putz.

  “It’s time to read the Scriptures,” Anna announced. She needed to keep following the traditions of her family or she would…she couldn’t bring herself to think that this might be the last normal Christmas—or maybe, not so normal. She blinked and wiped her face on her apron as the children gathered around the tree.

  “Papa normally reads them,” Belinda said.

  “Belinda, you’re the oldest. Why don’t you do it this year?” Anna couldn’t keep the catch out of her voice.

  “Mama.” The whine in Lisel’s voice was gone. It sounded calm, composed, maybe too calm. “When’s Papa coming home?”

  “I don’t know.” A sob came from deep inside Anna, and she couldn’t hold it back. She slumped into the rocker by the fireplace.

  Lisel and Katrina climbed into her lap. Lisel wrapped her arms around Anna as far as they could reach.

  Tears filled Katrina’s eyes. “Don’t cry Mama.” She patted Anna’s arm. “Don’t cry.”

  Belinda stood behind her and hugged her from the back.

  “Come here.” Anna pulled Belinda around and scooted Katrina over so Belinda could have room in the chair.

  Belinda cautiously sat. “The chair will break.”

  Anna wrapped her arms around her girls. “I don’t care. I want to hold you, all of you.” They sat hugging each other and allowing tears to flow freely. Anna wiped her eyes. “That’s enough. No more tears. I don’t know when Papa will be home, but we’re going to celebrate Christmas. Whatever happens, God will see us through.”

  “Mama.” Belinda stood and walked to the tree. “Shall I read the verses, now?”

  Anna blew her nose and pulled Lisel and Katrina closer. “Yes, Belinda. Go ahead.”

  Belinda pulled the paper off nearest to the top. “This one’s my favorite Christmas verse.” She read it out loud. “Matthew 1:23. Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us.”

  “Why is it your favorite, Belinda?”

  “I know Jesus has always been God, but when He was born, He became God with us. His name even means God with us. And He’ll be with us forever. This year I wrote out the verses where Jesus promised to be with us and to help us.”

  Lisel laid her head on Anna’s shoulder. “Is Jesus with us even when Papa isn’t?”

  “Yes, child. And he’s with your papa, too.” A lump formed in Anna’s throat. “Belinda, read another promise.”

  Belinda pulled off another verse and cleared her throat. “John 14:7 says, ‘Peace I leave with you. My peace I give you.’”

  Anna’s oldest daughter pulled off more verses and read the promises Jesus made, and Anna listened as Belinda read His pledges, that nothing would separate the people from the love of God, vows that He would always be with them. Verses Anna had forgotten.

  She’d been too intent on the promises that John had made. He kept the first promise, the one about serving God, no matter what. But the promises he’d made since, about Noah, about not being in danger, and about returning in time for Christmas, were ones he had no control over keeping. Those things were in God’s hands. She’d relied on empty oaths, no matter how well intentioned, instead of turning to Jesus, God with us, for the peace she needed.

  Belinda ended with Hebrews 13:5. “Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.”

  “Children, join hands with me and pray.” Anna prayed like she hadn’t since Noah died, asking God to forgive her for her doubt and to give her His peace. By the time she’d prayed for protection for John, warmth swept through her. No matter what happened, no matter how hard it was to go through, God would be with
her.

  “Girls, come to the table.” She stood and placed the pheasant on a large platter. Picking up her butcher knife and fork, she paused.

  The door burst open, and a gust of snow blew into the cabin.

  11

  John marched through the door and dropped his bedroll and rifle on the bed.

  Paul followed him in, but stood next to the door.

  When John had invited him to Christmas supper on the way home, Paul insisted he wouldn’t stay unless Anna asked him to sup with them.

  Anna had a knife and fork in hand, ready to cut into the bird.

  John grinned at the sight of her trying to carve a pheasant. She wasn’t very good with knives. “You’re not going to eat Christmas supper without me, are you?”

  “Papa.” The girls, in one accord, ran to him and encompassed him in hugs and kisses.

  Anna dropped the fork, and grabbed the side of the table. Her olive complexion had turned as white as the snow on the path outside.

  “How about you, wife?” He tried to tease her, but he couldn’t help but allow a smile to overtake the corners of his mouth. “Is this the kind of greeting I get? No kiss or hug.”

  “Oh, John.” She sank onto the bench. “I thought you were…” Tears flowed out of her eyes, breaking his heart.

  John ran to her side and took her into his arms. “I’m sorry I worried you.” He kissed her. “I’m so sorry.”

  Anna wiped her eyes. “Supper’s getting cold, and the pheasant still needs sliced.” She handed the knife to John. “Brother Paul, will you stay and sup with us?”

  “Thank you.” Paul dropped his gear by the door and sat at the foot of the table. “I would be pleased to sup with you.”

  John picked the fork off the ground, wiped it on his trousers, and prepared to cut into the meat. “Pheasant? I didn’t manage to bag anything before I left.” He winked. “Don’t tell me you went hunting and shot a pheasant?”

  “No.” Anna’s mouth twisted. “Pastor Jungman was kind enough to provide for your family.”

  He couldn’t tell if there was animosity in her statement. He imagined there would be plenty of making amends after the children went to bed.