“A little boy. I heard you mention him to the bishop at church.”
“Ya.” Annie reached into her bag, pulled out a letter she had written to him the evening before. “I had a letter from him and another from his parents last week, though. He’s still improving. It’s really a miracle.”
“That’s gut. I’m very glad to hear it.”
“His parents are the nicest Englischers I’ve met. They might bring him for a visit in the spring—if he’s well enough.”
She looked out at the storefront windows in front of her, thought about Christmas and all the promise it held.
She thought of how it held promises for Kiptyn too.
Samuel reached out, touched her shoulder. “I’ll pray he continues to improve.”
“Danki.”
“Did you eat lunch at Sharon’s house?”
“No. Why?” Annie tried to catch up, confused by the change in topic, more confused by the touch of his hand on her shoulder.
“Because it’s half past twelve, and I had finished mine when you drove up. Perhaps you should grab a bite at the store where your mamm works while I take care of a few errands.”
“Do I have enough time?”
“Sure. I could stand to reorder some supplies while I’m here.”
“All right. First I’ll drop off my letter to Kiptyn, then stop and tell Mamm we’re going on a few house calls.”
“And eat,” he reminded her.
“And eat,” she agreed.
Samuel’s hand again traveled to his coat pocket. “I’ll order my medical supplies, then go over to the feed store and the hardware store to check on some work I left there. Why don’t we meet back here in an hour?”
Annie folded his lap blanket, then reached down and turned off the battery heater. By the time she’d opened her door of the buggy, Samuel was there, offering his hand to help her, being sure she didn’t slip on the icy road.
She meant to smile at him properly and look away, but she couldn’t.
Something about his gaze drew hers—until it seemed it was only the two of them standing there on the busy snowy avenue.
Her heart beat faster, her hands began to sweat inside of her gloves, and for the first time since she’d come home she allowed herself to wonder what promises Christmas might hold for her.
19
Annie dropped off her letter in the post office box on the corner, then walked slowly back toward her mamm’s. On the way, she stopped to study the displays in the various store windows, admired the evergreen boughs, the red ribbons, the occasional nativity scenes.
Amish wares lay interspersed among the holiday decorations, and she was sure she recognized the handmade quilts of some of her friends. There was a time when Amish folk made a living solely off the land, but more and more they sold their handicrafts in town in the stores.
She’d heard her parents discussing it several times since returning home. Quilts and canning provided a decent extra income, especially for years when crops failed due to bad weather or insects. The general store was a perfect example of a place where they could sell their wares and purchase the items they needed.
In other words, as a community they still depended on it to survive.
Thinking about how so much had stayed the same even as the small things had changed, Annie opened the door to the general store and walked straight into her Onkel Eli.
“Annie. I haven’t seen you in town since you’ve been home. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Onkel. How are you?”
They stepped aside to allow a pair of Englisch tourists by, and Eli ran his fingers under his suspenders, lowered his voice. “I’m a little worried, since you asked.”
Annie tugged on his arm, pulled him over to a bench in front of the general store window. Oddly her onkel was not really so old—her father’s younger bruder, she thought he’d recently turned forty.
Why was it he’d never married?
He wasn’t a bad-looking fellow, and he had the sweetest temperament of any man she’d ever known. In fact, this was the most worried she’d ever seen him.
“What’s happened? Why are you upset?”
“Remember the toys I sell here in the general store?”
“ ’Course I do. You sent me one for Kiptyn, when I was in the city.” The second mention of Kiptyn in the last hour stirred an ache in Annie’s heart.
She missed the little guy more than she’d realized—seeing Eli, remembering the small horse she had given the boy and the way it had lifted his spirits, all combined to bring back the last time she’d seen Kiptyn with remarkable clarity.
Eli’s eyes brightened. “The boy you met while staying with your aenti? How is Kiptyn?”
“I had another letter this week. He’s still gaining ground with the new medicines.” Annie patted his hand. “But back to your story. What has happened with your toys?”
“Well, nothing happened with them. I’m still making them, and Englischers still love them.”
“Plain folk love them too,” Annie pointed out.
“Ya, you’re right. Well anyway, I just found out old Mr. Bontrager is selling the store.”
“It’s for sale?” Annie turned around to check the window. “I don’t see a FOR SALE sign.”
“Which is the oddest part.” Eli pushed his thumbs under his suspenders, rubbed them up and down as if doing so could produce a better answer. “Bontrager’s being real quiet about it. Says he’s been thinking about moving to Ohio where his kids settled. He went there a month ago to visit. While he was there, he mentioned he might want to sell, and someone offered to buy the place.”
“Just like that?” Annie’s voice went up in disbelief.
“Just like that.” Eli sat back against the bench, stared out at Main Street, and continued to worry his suspenders.
“All right. I suppose such news would come as a shock, but it’s not so bad. Not like the store is closing.” She reached out and patted his knee, determined to help him see the bright side of things. Change was hard on older folk—
The idea had barely slipped through her mind when she realized Samuel was almost halfway between Eli’s age and her own—not so old after all.
“You’re not understanding. The new owner sent along a message.”
Annie pulled her mind away from Samuel and back toward the conversation at hand. “What kind of message?”
“A message to all the people currently selling merchandise.”
Eli reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the folded sheet of paper. It was typed on half a sheet—who sent a formal notice on half a sheet?—and still it didn’t take up more than a small portion of it.
Upon my arrival I will determine whose merchandise will continue to be sold in The General Store of Mifflin County and at what rate of commission. Until such time you may continue to sell your wares there if you choose, or you may seek business opportunities elsewhere. Management.
Annie read the note again, as if it would make more sense the second time. It didn’t.
“Mr. Bontrager gave you this?”
“Ya. He gave one to everyone.”
“Did he explain it?”
“Nope. He said he was moving in January and the new management would be here then. Any questions we had we could take up with them.”
Annie tugged on the strings of her prayer kapp. “It’s a little odd.”
“Indeed it is.”
“Do you have a contract with Bontrager?”
“Never needed one. We always had a verbal understanding.” Annie spied Samuel walking into the feed store. “You might want to talk to my dat about it.”
“Ya. That’s a gut idea.”
“I should finish with my shopping.” Annie rose and hugged Eli. “I’m sure things will work out for the best.”
“Let’s hope so.” Eli suddenly brightened. “The Lord has a plan in all things. Maybe things will work out even better than they are now.”
“Maybe so,” Annie agree
d, but something about the notice didn’t set right with her. It had been too terse, too impersonal.
Why hadn’t the person at least signed his name?
She pushed into the store, distracted by the jingle of bells and sound of Christmas carols and bumped right into Charity. When she did, all thoughts of Eli’s problems flew from her head.
Her schweschder was clutching a large package, and Annie saw three bundles of cloth peeking out of the top at the same instant Charity attempted to hide the bag under her coat.
“What are you doing here, Annie?”
“I came into town with Samuel. What’s in the bag?”
“What bag?”
Their eyes locked, and Annie was sure Charity would never have given an inch, but suddenly the sales clerk rushed up, bubbling and breathless. “Charity, you nearly forgot the matching thread for your schweschder’s…”
As the girl’s face turned a red darker than the ribbon decorating the counter, both Annie and Charity burst into laughter.
“I spoiled a Christmas gift, didn’t I?”
“It’s no problem,” Annie said. “Danki for the thread.”
Accepting the spool of thread from the girl, Annie linked her arm with Charity’s and turned her toward the door.
“We almost surprised you,” Charity muttered.
“Indeed you did. Now tell me everything.”
Five minutes later they sat at a table in her mamm’s store, the material spread out between them.
“Three new dresses?” Annie ran her fingers over the cloth, then hugged Charity. “I can’t wait to start sewing.”
Rebekah poked her head between Charity and Annie with some effort—the two girls hovered over the new material as if they’d found a treasure hidden near a rainbow.
“Mamm!” Annie turned and engulfed her mother in a hug.
“I take it that means you’re froh.” Rebekah laughed, then stepped back and smoothed down her dress. “By the way, what are you doing in town?”
“I came with Samuel. He asked me to go with him to see some patients. I was hoping you could let Dat know I might be returning his buggy a little late.”
Charity and Rebekah exchanged a knowing look.
Rebekah beamed as if she’d been given an early Christmas gift herself, then patted Annie’s shoulder. “No problem, dear. Take as long as you need. Now about these dresses—”
“I think three is too many. Two would have been fine.”
“Have you seen yourself in Mamm’s old clothes?” Charity rolled her eyes. “You look worse than ridiculous. You look as if you’ve had some illness that left nothing but an old dress and a few bones. No offense, Mamm.”
“None taken. Charity’s right, and I should have thought of new clothes earlier. I didn’t realize how poorly your old ones fit. You’ve grown since you went to the city.” Rebekah beamed at her girls. “How long do you think it will take us to sew these up?”
“Not long with the three of us working on them.” Annie sat back and shot an amused look at them both. “Charity bought everything we need from the General Store.”
The words had no sooner flown from her mouth than she remembered her conversation with Eli. Her smile slid away as she told her mamm and Charity what she’d learned.
“I’d heard there was a new buyer from two of the ladies who sell their quilts there.” Rebekah straightened a place setting on the table. “Stay here while I bring us some tea. I’ll pay for it out of my tips, and I haven’t had my break this afternoon yet.”
“Your boss doesn’t mind you taking breaks at the same time?” Annie asked.
Charity shook her head. “Store’s quiet right now, so Mr. Eby prefers we take our break while there are no customers.”
Rebekah returned with the tea, cheeses, and some of yesterday’s unsold breads. “I heated them up a bit. They’ll taste as fresh as if they came straight from the oven. Now, tell me again exactly what the note said, Annie.”
When she did, Charity tapped her fingers against the table. “Maybe an Englischer is buying the store.”
“Possibly. The note didn’t say.”
“I’ve known Efram Bontrager all my life.” Rebekah sipped from her tea. “I have a hard time picturing him selling to a complete stranger, and if there’s one thing I’m certain of it’s that Efram would prefer to sell to someone within our faith.”
“It was more than the fact that the note didn’t give a name. The tone of the note was a bit unfriendly.” Annie looked up as the little bell over the door chimed, indicating a customer.
“Belinda Strong.” Rebekah jumped up from her chair, hurried over, and embraced the older woman who had entered.
Short, thin, and at least sixty years old, she wore her gray hair in a stylish bob. There was no doubt she was an Englischer, but Annie had to smile when she heard the woman utter a nice strong, “Gudemariye, Rebekah. How are you this fine December day?”
Annie hadn’t seen the midwife in quite a few years, but there was no mistaking her for anyone else.
Few people managed to completely bridge the gap between Amish and Englisch, fit into their society as well as Belinda had. She was not only welcome in all their homes, but Annie had overheard families mention “our Belinda” in passing, as if she were in fact an integral part of their community.
And perhaps she was.
She had birthed more of their children than the local hospital, including all of the Weaver children.
“Charity and Annie?” Belinda hugged them both, then held Annie at arm’s length. “I was about to say you’ve grown, but it’s something more. Do you have time to tell me about it?”
“Actually, Charity and I need to be getting back to work.” Rebekah herded them back toward the table. “I’ll bring you some fresh tea—I remember exactly the kind you like, and I’ll put a wedge of lemon on the side.”
“You’re gut to me, Rebekah. It was nice seeing you too, Charity. You’re even prettier than the last time I was in—you look so much like your mother.”
Charity blushed and excused herself.
“You have a few minutes?” Belinda asked, now all business.
“Ya. I’m supposed to meet Samuel soon, but—”
“But not yet. Tell me about your training. What did you think of the Englisch? What did you think of Mercy Hospital?”
“So you know?” Annie asked.
“What the bishop speaks of spreads quickly through the entire Amish community, and what the Amish know, I know.” Belinda reached across the table, squeezed her hand, then patted it twice. “Now tell me everything.”
And so they talked medicine. Heads together, as the sun continued to melt the snow outside the window, customers now coming and going, Annie poured her heart out to Belinda.
When she saw Samuel begin to load feed into the back of his buggy across the street, she thought of staying, waiting until her mother went home later in the afternoon.
“Don’t worry, dear. I need to be going as well. Two prenatal visits on the east side, and a wee one probably due before morning.” Belinda stood and pulled her heavy coat more tightly around her, wrapped her scarf snuggly around her neck, and tugged on her gloves. “There was a time I didn’t need all of this to stay warm, but age changes things. Now I’m still cold in April.”
They said their goodbyes to her mamm and Charity, then walked out into the afternoon sunshine.
“Samuel said you were planning to look in on the Smucker girl.”
“Ya, I did this morning. I’ll give him all my notes, but Belinda, there’s something bothering me about her case.”
Belinda had been fiddling with her scarf, but now she stopped, put both her hands on Annie’s shoulders, looked straight in her eyes, though she had to look up a bit to do so. “When you’re feeling there’s something different about a case—something more than what they’re telling you—usually there is.”
A sadness entered her eyes then, and Annie wondered what all she’d seen in her twenty-plus years
of birthing. “Trust your instincts, that’s what I’m saying. God gave them to you, and they’re as valuable as what you learned in school.”
Annie waved at Samuel to let him know she was coming, then turned back to Belinda. “It’s that Sharon is so skittish. She’d barely let me touch her, and I didn’t dare suggest a vaginal exam, though she should have one.”
“Do you think she was raped?”
Annie stared down at her shoes. “I honestly don’t know. She hasn’t talked to me about the father of her baby at all.”
Belinda looped arms with her, walked her toward Samuel’s buggy. “Watch her for signs of depression, and tell her I’ll be out in the next two weeks—regardless what her father or the bishop says. We shouldn’t risk the health of the girl or the baby because someone might be embarrassed.”
“All right.”
“And think about the apprenticeship. I could use your help.”
“I’ll pray about it,” Annie agreed.
“Do that, too.”
Belinda waved at Samuel, then continued down Main Street.
Annie climbed into the buggy, clutching her packages from the General Store. She was still eiferich about the new material, but somehow it didn’t bring her quite as much happiness as it had an hour before.
Belinda had given voice to her gravest fears about Sharon, and there was little she could do about it.
20
Samuel knew he should stay away the next day.
He thought he could wear himself out working on his pastures’ fences.
He convinced himself he would not drive to Annie’s house.
Walking inside, he looked around the kitchen, spied the still unmailed letter to Rachel he had placed on his desk when he returned home from town. He should take it to the post office, mail it today. But then it would arrive directly after Christmas.
Better to wait a few days after the holiday.
He didn’t need to go to town, and he couldn’t think of a single excuse for going to Annie’s.
When he found himself hitching up his buggy, he drove in the opposite direction—toward the Umbles’ farm. Stephen had not come in on Saturday, and no doubt his hand needed checking. Or that was the story he invented as he directed the mare.
A Simple Amish Christmas Page 17
