Amish Triplets for Christmas

by Carrie Lighte

  “How frightful,” Sawyer murmured sympathetically. After a pause, he nudged her elbow and joked, “But you’re safe now. After all, I am the tallest one here. If lightning is to strike, it will strike me.”

  “Perish the thought!” she exclaimed. Her mortified expression made him laugh so hard that she began laughing, too—as did the children—and pretty soon, the raging storm had passed.

  * * *

  On Wednesday, Hannah’s mailbox contained a letter addressed Sarah Plank, c/o Hannah Lantz. The return address indicated it was from Gertrude Plank, Sawyer’s sister. Hannah was puzzled by why Gertrude would send the letter to her instead of in care of Sarah’s uncle. Then she recalled when she was helping Sarah write a letter to Gertrude, she wasn’t sure what John Plank’s return address was, so she had scribbled her own address on the upper-left corner of the envelope.

  She sat in the rocking chair while Sarah stood beside her on the porch. The boys were grateful Sarah was preoccupied with the mail because it gave them an opportunity to push each other on the swing without Sarah counting to one hundred—the maximum number of pushes she allowed her brothers per turn.

  My dear niece Sarah,

  What a wonderful surprise to receive a note from you! I’m glad your teacher, Hannah Lantz, helped you write it, and I am certain she will help you read this letter from me, as well.

  Your initials look beautiful in cursive. I have always liked the letter S more than any other letter in cursive, although L is also lovely. You are very young to be learning cursive—do you know how to draw any other letters besides S and P? You will have to write again to show me.

  Your aunt is feeling better, and the baby is slowly gaining weight. Her lungs are getting stronger, too. Now she sounds like a bleating lamb when she cries instead of like a mewling kitten. The midwife said she had never seen such a tiny baby before. We are blessed the Lord is increasing her size.

  I am cooking for four men here—your uncle and three hired hands. One of them, Seth Lambright, says my meat loaf is the best he’s ever tasted.

  I miss your smile, and Samuel and Simon’s antics. Remember me to your father and tell him I will write to him next.

  Your loving aunt,

  Gertrude

  Hannah read the letter aloud three times until Sarah had it memorized. She bounded down the stairs, waving the page at her brothers.

  “Listen,” she cried to them. “I will read this letter from Gertrude—she wrote a message for you, too!”

  Hannah noticed there was a second sheet of paper folded inside the envelope. It was addressed Postscript for Hannah. She unfolded it and read:

  Dear Hannah,

  I am grateful you are taking such wonderful care of the children. I also appreciate the peace of mind and happiness you have brought Sawyer. He is slow to express his affection, but if you are patient enough to untangle my niece’s hair, you have patience enough for him to prove me right.

  Sincerely,

  Gertrude Plank

  Hannah read the note a second time. What a strange thing for Gertrude to write. She didn’t recall helping Sarah write anything about her hair, and they certainly didn’t mention anything about Sawyer in the letter.

  She was warmed by Gertrude’s complimenting her care for the children, but she dismissed the notion that she’d brought happiness to Sawyer’s life as a sisterly expression of gratitude. It was the kind of thing little Sarah would do—minding her brothers’ manners for them.

  But there was no need for Gertrude to thank Hannah on behalf of Sawyer; he said as much each time he saw Hannah before school and after supper, often lingering to chat with her about the day’s events or else to share a snack together with the children. The week flew by, and before Hannah knew it, it was Saturday—the day Sawyer invited her and her grandfather to come into town with them.

  “I’d appreciate your help fitting the boys with shoes,” he’d claimed. “This will also save your horse a trip, as I’m sure your groossdaadi has errands to run in town anyway.”

  “And we have a special surprise to share with you!” Simon announced.

  “Shush!” Sarah admonished him.

  Hannah didn’t have any idea what surprise they had planned, but it hardly mattered: she considered time together with all of them to be time well spent, and it couldn’t come soon enough.

  * * *

  Sawyer was perturbed. On Saturday morning, he received a letter from his foreman:

  Vernon Mast’s injury hadn’t yet healed, so I switched responsibilities with him as you directed. Unfortunately, Vernon’s organizational skills don’t match his talents as a carpenter. Subsequently, we missed two important deadlines—both for the Miller & Sons account—and we’ve botched several regional deliveries to boot.

  Sawyer crumpled the paper in frustration and chucked it across the room. As frustrated as he was, he knew it wasn’t Vernon’s fault. Sawyer had put him in a position for which he was ill-suited, and now Sawyer needed to return to Ohio as quickly as possible to set things right with the customers and help his crew get back on schedule.

  He realized that cutting his Saturday working hours in half by going into town wasn’t going to speed things up on the farm any, but he had to get the boys new shoes. He was grateful for Hannah’s attentiveness—he hadn’t noticed how ill-fitting they were until she mentioned it.

  He quickly penned a letter back to his foreman, telling him to resume the accounting and scheduling duties. “Prioritize the Miller & Sons orders. Give Vernon whatever woodworking projects he can handle and ask the other men to work late to take up any slack. I will, of course, compensate them for their time,” he directed. “When I return, we’ll consider hiring another man.”

  Sawyer hoped it didn’t come to that, primarily because he didn’t know any other men in his district who possessed the quality of skills the clients expected from his shop. He hated to admit it, but even among the Amish, he found the workmanship of the younger men to be sloppier than the standards he’d been raised to deliver.

  His business dilemmas weighed heavily on his mind, especially since his decisions affected the livelihood of families beyond his own. He set his pen down with a heavy sigh and folded the paper into an envelope so he could drop it in a mailbox in town.

  When he saw Hannah waving from the porch, a smile decorating her face, he momentarily forgot about his business problems in Ohio.

  “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she asked as he approached, lifting her chin to scan his face.

  Although it was as humid and overcast as ever, he agreed, “A beautiful day, indeed.”

  Hannah squeezed into the back of the buggy with the children, who sang songs along the way, while Sawyer and Hannah’s grandfather took the front seat. When they arrived in town, the old man set off toward the hardware store, while the rest of them entered the Englisch clothing shop that carried the kinds of shoes the children needed.

  “Kumme, Samuel,” Sawyer beckoned the boy. “The clerk needs to measure your foot.”

  “That’s Simon, not Samuel,” Hannah whispered, nudging him.

  “You’re right—it is,” chuckled Sawyer, lifting Simon’s hat and brushing his hair away from his ear. “How can you tell when they are both dressed alike and wearing hats? Even I get mixed up unless I can see which one has the birthmark.”

  “A mother always knows her children,” the Englisch salesclerk interjected.

  Sawyer recognized that if the clerk assumed Hannah was the children’s mother, she must have assumed Hannah was Sawyer’s wife, as well. Glancing toward Hannah, he noticed her fair skin was splotching with pink, and she gave him a quick half smile. He couldn’t interpret her expression for certain, but she didn’t seem to be displeased and neither was he. Although he felt a small pang of disloyalty toward Eliza, Sawyer figured there was no har
m done, and he didn’t correct the woman’s error.

  As they were returning to the buggy, the children stopped in front of Schrock’s Authentic Amish Shop.

  “Look!” Samuel said excitedly, pointing to the window. “A train like the one in your groossdaadi’s workshop.”

  Sawyer noticed it had a Model Only sign attached to the caboose. “It looks as if it’s not for sale,” he noted, just as a short bespectacled man came out of the shop.

  “Guder nammidaag, Hannah,” Joseph Schrock greeted her in Pennsylvania Dutch. Hannah introduced him to everyone in turn.

  “I’m happy to see you,” Joseph said. “All of your groossdaadi’s toys sold! A busload of tourists came in and bought up every last one, except the display model, which we kept for future business. Several people asked to order more and have them delivered in time for Christmas. My daed was so pleased he cleared an extra space for double the toys and the dollhouse besides! Is Albert in town today?”

  “He is,” Hannah hedged. “But, Joseph, you know he never goes back on his word.”

  Joseph’s shoulders drooped. “Please, will you talk to him for me?”

  “I will try,” Hannah agreed, her expression melancholy.

  When they had made their way down the street, the children galloping ahead of them, Hannah explained the situation about the toys and her grandfather’s promise never to step foot inside Schrock’s shop again.

  “I feel terrible disappointing Joseph, but when Groossdaadi says never, there is absolutely no changing his mind.”

  “But this could be a source of steady income,” Sawyer protested.

  “Jah, but Gott will provide us what we need,” Hannah said with a sigh.

  “Gott already is providing you what you need,” Sawyer argued. “And your groossdaadi is rejecting it. What kind of man would rather have you work like a mule than swallow his pride?”

  * * *

  Hannah’s temper flared. “Work like a mule?” she asked, appalled. Certainly he’d never use such a phrase about a woman who was a mother of her own children. “Is a beast what you’d compare me to? Is that what you think of a woman who teaches other people’s kinner? Or who cares for them? Is that what you think of me?”

  “That isn’t what I meant at all,” Sawyer replied. “It was just a figure of speech.”

  Hannah turned her head to the side and controlled her voice so as not to upset the children, but she was shaking as she said, “Who are you to criticize the way in which my groossdaadi and I run our household? What concern is it to you, Sawyer Plank?”

  “It isn’t any concern of mine,” Sawyer said, gritting his teeth. “It isn’t any concern at all. Forget I said anything.”

  They walked side by side in silence. Tears and fury blurred Hannah’s vision so that she walked crookedly, nearly bumping into Samuel, who had stopped in front of the Englisch ice-cream shop and was holding open the door for her.

  “We’re here,” he said excitedly.

  “It’s our surprise for you!” Sarah exclaimed.

  Simon gave a little hop. “Daed is treating us all to an ice-cream cone, double scoop. They make it homemade here!”

  Hannah winced. Her stomach was tied in such tight knots, she didn’t know how she could eat, but the children were so pleased with themselves, she couldn’t say no. Sawyer asked what flavor her grandfather preferred and then purchased him a dish of maple walnut. Everyone else chose strawberry, in honor of Hannah.

  “It’s like eating pink snow instead of pink sunshine, isn’t it, Hannah?” Samuel asked.

  “It is just like that,” Hannah replied. “What a gut use of metaphor, Samuel.”

  The youngsters darted ahead as the adults lagged behind, not speaking. When they got to the hitch, her grandfather was nowhere in sight, so the children plopped down on a grassy knoll while Hannah and Sawyer stood waiting at the buggy.

  Hannah could barely stomach her ice cream, but the more she prolonged eating it, the more it began to drip. She tipped her head to lick a pink rivulet running down the side of the cone. It was useless; her manners were no better than Doris Hooley’s. But what did she care what Sawyer Plank thought of her anyway?

  “Hannah,” he began, after he had finished crunching the last bit of his cone and swiped a napkin across his mouth.

  “What is it?” she asked impatiently, fixing her attention on her ice cream.

  “There are two things I need you to hear,” Sawyer stated definitively.

  “Go on, then.” She shrugged, licking her cone in a deliberately indifferent manner.

  “The first is that I am very sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you or your groossdaadi. All I meant was that I would expect a man who cares for you to value you so much he’d do anything within his power to share your burdens, or die trying.”

  Hannah felt her insides melt as surely as the ice cream she was holding. No man had ever said such a thing about her value to her before. She glanced under her lashes at him, afraid to trust her voice to speak. “And what is the second thing you want to tell me?”

  * * *

  Relieved that Hannah seemed to have accepted his apology, Sawyer gained confidence. He reached forward to touch her face with his napkin. “The second thing is that you have a dab of strawberry ice cream on your nose and another on your chin.”

  Her laughter was as melodic to his ears as a bubbling brook and twice as refreshing. He readily joined in as she blotted her face with her own napkin.

  “Did I get it all?” she asked.

  “All but this spot here,” he said, cupping her face in his fingers. Her skin was so porcelain and her features so dainty, he felt as clumsy as if he were handling fine china when he brushed her chin with his thumb. Their eyes locked for a long moment, and Sawyer felt his breathing quicken.

  “Time to go!” a loud voice shouted behind him, and Sawyer immediately dropped his hand.

  He retrieved the container of ice cream and plastic spoon he had set on the seat of the buggy and presented it to Hannah’s grandfather, who batted it away. Its contents tipped, landing upside down on the ground.

  “Unlike with my granddaughter, my affections cannot be bought,” he muttered, climbing into the buggy.

  Hannah ducked her head and stepped back. Clapping to get the children’s attention, she called them to the buggy. Sawyer himself felt like a scolded child as he climbed in after Hannah’s grandfather. Oblivious to the tension, Sarah, Simon and Samuel sang all the way home. Sawyer half expected the old man to demand they stop singing out of pure spite, but instead he sat in stony silence.

  When they arrived, Hannah’s grandfather trudged to the house, as the three children spilled from the buggy. Sawyer immediately directed them back into it.

  “Aren’t we going to eat supper with Hannah?” Simon asked.

  “Not tonight,” he said. “Doris Hooley said she would come by today and prepare enough for all.”

  “But she always wants to brush my hair,” Sarah whimpered. “It hurts the way she does it.”

  “Kumme, get into the buggy!” Sawyer called, and the children obeyed.

  “I’m sorry” was all Sawyer could think to say to Hannah.

  “You needn’t be,” she replied firmly, and he knew she meant it. “For anything.”

  He watched as Hannah crossed the lawn. Before disappearing into the house, she turned and waved, calling, “I will see you Monday, Gott willing.”

  Chapter Nine

  Hannah never scrubbed the floors as thoroughly as she did when she was angry, and on Saturday afternoon she was so mad, the wood gleamed.

  Why did her grandfather have to behave that way? It seemed as if he’d intentionally been trying to snuff out any flicker of happiness she experienced—especially in the company of young men—since she was a teenager, and he s
howed no signs of stopping now that she was an adult. But why? What had overtaken him, to make him act so hostile toward Sawyer? And how dare he say her affections could be bought—as if she had ever had her head turned by worldly riches! None of it made sense, and she refused to feel guilty for having accepted the rare luxury of a store-bought ice-cream cone—or a kind expression of support—from Sawyer.

  For the next hour, her grandfather refused to come out of his bedroom. At first, Hannah was so incensed by his rude display in town that after she fixed supper, instead of telling him it was ready, she turned the pot to simmer and went to retrieve the mail. Among the items in her mailbox was a letter from Eve. She settled into the rocking chair on the porch and ran her finger under the flap of the envelope.

  “Dearest Hannah,” the letter began.

  I know such topics are usually left unsaid, but I must confide that the baby has been kicking and somersaulting constantly! I think it is from this hot weather. I cannot wait to become a mother. I thought no love could be deeper than the love I felt for my husband, but I already love this child with my whole being.

  Here, Hannah paused. As happy as she was that her sister was married and with child, it pained her to be reminded of what she hadn’t ever experienced and probably never would, if her grandfather’s abrasive attitude didn’t change. She took a breath and kept reading.

  I enjoyed hearing about the Plank children and their father, Sawyer. Is he really as tall as you described, or might he appear head and shoulders above the rest in your eyes for another reason?

  Confused by her sister’s question, Hannah again stopped reading. Eve had always been closely attuned to Hannah’s feelings, and she wondered what she’d written that may have caused her sister to think she saw Sawyer as larger-than-life.

  I am glad you and Grandfather have another source of income—as long as he doesn’t run Sawyer over with the buggy! How humiliating that must have been for you.

  Hannah sighed. Her sister’s simple comment showed she remembered what it was like to live with her grandfather’s unpredictable behavior. But an uncharacteristic misgiving popped into Hannah’s mind: at least Eve had escaped.