A Simple Amish Christmas

by Vannetta Chapman

  “He seemed to be last time I checked on him. You do realize I check on him. Don’t you?”

  Annie rolled her eyes and glanced toward the winter skies. She hadn’t rolled her eyes since she was a young girl in school, but Samuel Yoder had a way of making her crazy. Pulling in a deep breath, she pushed past him on the sidewalk.

  To her surprise, Samuel turned and matched her step for step. “Funny thing, I haven’t seen you either of the times I’ve been by your dat’s place. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe you were avoiding me.”

  She turned on him in a flash, causing others on the sidewalk to have to swerve around them.

  “And why would I want to avoid you?” Her voice rose in spite of her best attempt to remain unfazed by him. “Possibly because you’re rude or arrogant or unpleasant to be around?”

  Tugging her scarf closer around her ears, she spun away and marched down the walk toward Mr. Fisher’s shop where her mother worked, pleased with the image of him standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, his mouth half-open in surprise.

  The man was rude and arrogant and unpleasant to be around.

  Jerking open the door to the shop, she stepped inside. Handmade quilts, scarves, and needlework adorned the left side of the store where several Englischers browsed as Mr. Fisher tidied the display in the window. A small café area had been set up to the right, and the smell of kaffi, tea, and cinnamon muffins immediately surrounded her, calmed her.

  Rebekah waved from behind the sales counter and pointed over to the small café area. Waving back, Annie turned to the right and chose a table near the window. Sitting with her back to the door, she set her bag of purchases in the middle chair.

  Which was when she heard the bell over the door tinkle, turned in her chair, and saw Samuel duck into the shop.

  He slid into the chair across from her and removed his hat, setting it on top of her bag of purchases.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I might sometimes come across as rude and arrogant, but I don’t think I’m unpleasant to be around. Some people actually like being around me.”

  “Why did you follow me in here?”

  “Can’t a man walk into a shop and order something warm to drink?”

  Flustered that she should be in this situation, Annie tried to catch her mother’s attention, but suddenly Rebekah was busy restocking a shelf, though she did sneak a peek and beam broadly at her.

  “Problem?” Samuel asked.

  “I’m meeting someone,” Annie hissed.

  “Oh. Well, there’s a third chair, I can put my hat in my lap.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point, then?”

  “You’re insufferable.”

  “You have a long list of adjectives. Did you learn them from the Englisch?”

  Annie stared at him, wondering if the man had gone mad. Where was the quiet, reserved Samuel Yoder she’d known all her life?

  “I was beginning to think you’d hightailed it back to the city.” He drummed his fingers against the table and waited for her answer.

  As if she would reply to such an accusation. She wanted to pick up the small vase of plastic flowers and chuck them at him.

  Was he actually smiling?

  Yes, she could see the corners of his mouth tugging his beard upwards as heat again flooded her face.

  And why was she the one blushing? He was the one acting completely inappropriate in a store full of shoppers.

  Just as she had determined to snatch her bag of purchases out from under his hat, her mamm showed up at the table. “Samuel, how nice to see you. I can’t remember the last time you stopped into the café.”

  “And I’ve been remiss. I should come in more often.”

  “I’m glad you did. I was supposed to have a sip of tea with Annie—”

  “I’m sitting right here, Mother.”

  “Hello, sweetie.” Rebekah placed a hand on her back, studied her a moment. “Why do you still have your coat and scarf on? You are staying. Aren’t you?”

  “Of course. It’s just that—”

  “Take them off, then. Let me help you. We’ll set them on this chair until I have a break.” Rebekah’s voice had taken on a purring quality, and her face was positively beaming. “Unfortunately, several shoppers have decided to come in at once. I asked Charity to bring you both some hot tea. Is tea gut, Samuel?”

  “Tea would be wunderbaar.”

  “Excellent. We have apple cinnamon this afternoon, but I know sometimes men prefer our straight brew.”

  Annie listened to her mother discuss flavors of tea with Samuel, and she felt the beginnings of a headache pulsating in her temples.

  Rebekah scurried away.

  Samuel leaned back in his chair and smiled. Why was he smiling so much today? The sadness still lurked in his blue-black eyes, but somehow provoking her had become a larger pleasure than basking in his own tragedies.

  The thought had barely formed when she realized how uncharitable it was.

  She glanced away quickly—across the room, down at his hat. Her eyes finally settled on the little menu her mamm had placed in front of them.

  Survive the next few minutes and perhaps he would go away.

  Samuel realized he shouldn’t be playing games with little Annie Weaver, and he told himself he wasn’t.

  Then she had stared into his eyes for those few seconds.

  What had she seen that caused her eyes to blink rapidly, caused her to look away? When she did, he lost all his resolve.

  “See something that bothered you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He leaned forward in his chair, lowered his voice. “I thought you might have seen something that bothered you, when you glanced at me then looked away. In fact, you suddenly look a little naerfich.”

  “I am not nervous,” Annie declared, picking up her paper napkin and beginning to shred it into tiny pieces.

  “Humph. Usually when people shred things, it’s a way of dealing with uncomfortable situations.”

  She jerked her hands into her lap. “Oh, so you’re a psychologist now, are you?”

  “No. I’ve observed a bit of human nature in my years is all.”

  “Samuel Yoder, you act as if you’re fifty years old, and I imagine you’re not a day over thirty.”

  Samuel tugged on his beard, accepted the tea Charity brought them.

  “Samuel, Annie.” The girl actually giggled when she looked at Annie. “Nice to see you both here. Mamm asked me to bring over this basket of sweets for you, in case you wanted an afternoon snack.”

  “Danki, Charity.” Samuel’s stomach growled so he reached inside the checkered cloth and pulled out a warm, miniature honey bun. “I’m usually not one for sweets, but suddenly I’m starved.”

  “Harassing me must work up an appetite.”

  Samuel’s laughter rang out through the café, causing a few Englischers to stop and look their way.

  “I believe that’s what I enjoy about your company, Annie. You don’t mind speaking what you’re thinking—fairly rare these days.”

  “Perhaps it’s only rare around you.”

  “Ya. I think you might be right.” Samuel popped the honey bun into his mouth and sipped his tea.

  “Why do you think that is?” Samuel asked, when the conversation seemed stalled.

  Annie merely stared at him, not rising to the question. But now Samuel had waded too far into the pond to back out.

  It wasn’t like him to stop a woman outside a store and speak to her—a brief nod would be more his style.

  And he’d never followed one into a café and sat down beside her.

  He didn’t have to worry about making a fool of himself in front of little Miss Annie—he could check “task completed” in that column.

  As the sounds around them faded into a comfortable blend of peripheral life, he leaned forward and asked one of the questions that had lately troubled him much, one she had in
advertently touched on.

  “Why do you think it is people are so reserved around me?” He picked up another honey bun but didn’t eat it, opting instead to unwind the miniature roll of dough. “I don’t mean they’re rude. Plain people are among the most polite, in my opinion. But it’s as if an invisible barrier exists between myself and others.”

  He set the sticky bread down, dabbed at his fingers with his napkin. “It might be that I irritate you—ya, I was listening to your words and your body language—but at least with you, the barrier is gone for a moment.”

  Annie looked directly into his eyes again, and his pulse kicked up a notch. He waited, but instead of responding, she sipped her tea, looked out the window, sipped her tea again. When he’d about given up, she cleared her throat.

  “I noticed the reservation you speak of between Englisch doctors and patients too.”

  He sat back and waited, knowing there was more.

  “There’s a respect, but also a distance.”

  Samuel nodded. “I suppose you’re right—though it could be my rude, arrogant, unpleasant personality.”

  Annie smiled now, looked up at the ceiling. “Ya, I suppose it could be that too.”

  “Or?”

  “Or it could be—”

  “Annie. Samuel. I’m sorry to keep you both waiting.” Rebekah pulled out the chair, still beaming at them both.

  Samuel helped her set Annie’s things and his hat at a nearby table.

  The conversation changed, and he had a second cup of tea.

  He was surprised to find he actually enjoyed their company, as he wasn’t usually one to linger and sip tea in the middle of the afternoon.

  But then it could have been that he was gazing across the table at Annie of the beautiful chestnut hair, and though she no doubt took great care to pin it beneath her prayer kapp, wayward curls insisted on escaping.

  They finished their tea, spoke of the cold weather, even talked of the upcoming holiday. He stayed far longer than he’d planned.

  As he said his goodbyes and made his way back out into the lightly falling snow, he couldn’t help wondering what it was that Annie had been about to say—and she had been about to say something else.

  Why did she think people maintained a distance from him?

  Annie was young, but she had a degree of perception that was unusual.

  If he were looking for a wife, which he wasn’t, he’d be tempted to court young Annie. And wouldn’t he be earning himself a tongue-lashing then? He could just imagine the list of adjectives she’d come up with should he ask her to go on a buggy ride.

  Somehow though, driving home through the cold winter afternoon—the idea became less humorous and more something he had trouble putting away.

  Not that he’d ever act on it.

  9

  Saturday, Annie helped the rest of her family give the house and barn a thorough cleaning. The Sunday service would take place at their home the next day—ironic since she was being baptized. It did rotate to their place once every twelve weeks. Still, Annie couldn’t help smiling as she beat out the rugs.

  Things had worked out better than she could have imagined when she was walking down the streets of Philadelphia, cringing at the brazen holiday decorations.

  Then her mind slipped to thinking of Samuel, and she beat the rug a bit harder.

  It wasn’t in her nature to avoid a man or a confrontation. But neither did she enjoy disagreements, and the truth was he did make her a bit uncomfortable.

  She’d been nervous around doctors before.

  Her first rotations had left her more jumpy than Reba’s kitten. The doctors at Mercy Hospital had expected as much though. They’d been patient and kind. They’d also been older, reminding her more of her father than of someone she might consider going on a buggy ride with.

  Is that what she was struggling against?

  An adolescent crush?

  The thought made her blush more than the winter breeze did.

  Her father had been back to see Dr. Stoltzfus that morning. The danger of pneumonia had passed. Though the two casts remained, he was now able to move around on crutches.

  And though she still needed to check on him, he wasn’t a full-time job for her anymore.

  She broached the subject with her mother that afternoon as her dat hobbled off to the barn, Adam helping him over the snow so he wouldn’t slip and fall.

  “Perhaps I should see about finding a job in town.”

  “Why would you say that, Annie?”

  “Dat doesn’t need me around here all day. The bandages only require changing at night and in the morning. I love working around the house, but more and more I find myself with time on my hands.”

  Rebekah stopped kneading the loaves of bread she was preparing for Sunday’s meal and studied her. “You’ve changed, you know.”

  “How so?”

  “There was a time when you avoided work, and it hasn’t been so long ago.”

  Annie laughed. “I suppose you’re right.” She fiddled with a napkin on the table. “So what do you think I should do? Is there someone in town who is hiring?”

  Rebekah began kneading the dough again. “How many times last week were you called to families’ homes, to help them with their sick ones?”

  “Three, no, four times.”

  “It would be difficult to continue helping others as much as you are and also hold a job. If I remember correctly, two of those times you were gone nearly all night. Adam is becoming quite used to sleeping in people’s barns while he waits for you—not that he minds, but if he didn’t sleep he’d never be able to do his job the next day.”

  “Ya, but that’s my point. Adam has a job. He contributes. Charity has a job. I’m not contributing to the family. I should be bringing in some income.”

  Rebekah gave the bread a final thump. “You’ve been home less than two weeks. I don’t see as our expenses are any more than they were before you returned.”

  “But Mamm, you know Dat feels everyone should work, everyone should contribute.”

  “Has your dat brought this up with you?”

  Annie shook her head.

  “ ’Course not, because it’s not bothering him. If it was, he would have mentioned it to me.”

  “And still I feel I should be adding something tangible to the household, what with you and Dat feeding so many mouths.”

  “And you are adding something to our home—our community.” Rebekah reached across the table, covered Annie’s hands with her own, dusting them with the flour from the bread. “Your dat is very proud of you, Annie, and so am I. You are helping people in a way that few among us can. So you aren’t paid for it. Why should such a thing matter?”

  “I should be earning something,” Annie insisted stubbornly.

  Rebekah pulled a pan of vegetables toward her and began slicing them for a stew. “Perhaps God will provide a way you can do both—earn some money and help others.”

  Annie shook her head.

  “Have you talked to Samuel about this?”

  “No.”

  “Does he know what you’re doing? About your visits to the other families?”

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t brought it up and neither have I.” Annie squirmed in her seat, feeling suddenly like a small kind with her hand caught in the jar of oatmeal cookies.

  “Hmph. He’s a gut man, Annie. It might be he’d have some ideas on the subject.”

  Annie stood, paced back and forth between the kitchen and living room. They’d removed the partition between rooms for the next day’s service and it gave her plenty of room to walk, but somehow it didn’t ease her restlessness. Finally, she stopped beside the table.

  “I didn’t tell you what happened when I first came back, what Samuel said to me.” She drummed the back of the chair with her fingers as she thought back to that day, to the cold and distant man Samuel had been.

  Which was the real Samuel Yoder? The one who had scolded her like a child on the p
orch? Or the one who had spoken to her like a woman while sitting with her at the café?

  The way he had initially questioned her commitment to her family still rankled when she thought about it. And his rebuke that her family had a right to know about her nursing degree still irked her.

  “There’s actually quite a lot I haven’t told you,” Annie murmured. Then she turned, grabbed her coat, and walked out of the house.

  Annie told herself she wasn’t running away, but sometimes she feared she’d go crazy unless she broke free of the house’s four walls. Fortunately, today the weather was unseasonably warm. Clouds hung low over the fields.

  At breakfast the men had discussed a heavy snowfall that had been forecast—it was due to arrive before Monday. All the more reason to walk out to the garden now and have a look at what might be.

  She’d been in the small fenced-in area less than ten minutes, pacing around and doing her best to remember spring, when her mamm joined her there.

  “I come here a lot myself.” Rebekah sounded as if she were discussing where to plant the radishes in April, not questioning why her daughter felt the need to rush out into a snow-topped garden on a Saturday afternoon. “Mostly, I walk out this way when I start feeling like I could outrun one of the horses in Jacob’s barn.”

  Annie stole a peek at her mother. “I thought you were always perfectly content.”

  “No one’s always perfectly content, dear.” Rebekah brushed snow from the top of the fence post, then moved past her into the garden area. “Secrets aren’t always bad, Annie. Unless they weigh heavy on your soul—like the clouds pushing down over our fields.”

  Looking out at the land, Annie realized her mother was right.

  She’d been carrying this burden around far too long—not just since she’d come home, but since she’d left over three years ago.

  “When I went to stay with aenti, I continued my schooling. I couldn’t seem to stop. Learning more made me want to learn even more.” She moved closer to her mother, near where the vines would flower and bear fruit in the spring.