The Amish Teacher's Gift

by Rachel J. Good

  The original plan had been for three wise men, but Lukas had a fit whenever anyone else joined him. He stood quietly beside the manger with Martha by his side.

  After everyone was in place, Ada’s eyes stung. The backdrop might be crooked, one shepherd might be cradling a bunny, and one wise man towered over everyone, but they all looked so sweet up there. The program, which only a few short minutes ago seemed to be heading for disaster, was now back on track. Ada clasped her hands together and pressed her knuckles against her mouth. Please, Lord, let the ending go well.

  Ada signaled to her sister, and Mary Elizabeth held up a sign and read it aloud: “What will YOU give to Jesus?”

  Then in unison, all six children and Martha signed, I give…

  All the rustling in the audience ceased, and all eyes were on the children as they bent down and picked up papers by their feet. Nathan fumbled with his, and all the scholars waited. He couldn’t pick it up with two hands unless he dropped his rabbit. Reluctantly, he let go of the rabbit and lifted his paper.

  As Mary Elizabeth changed the sign to say, I give Him my, all the children stood and held up hearts.

  Soft ohs and aahs breezed through the room as the children stood holding the hearts they had colored. A tear trickled down Ada’s cheek. They’d done it. Put on a program, and it had ended well despite the hitches.

  Suddenly Nathan bent down, dropped his heart, and picked up his rabbit. Tucking his rabbit between his shoulder and cheek, he tilted his head to keep the rabbit in place as he signed, I give…Then he walked over to the cradle, hugged the rabbit one last time, and placed it beside baby Jesus.

  At that impromptu ending, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

  * * *

  Josiah stood, his back against the wall as the other families claimed their children, his heart too full to speak. When Lizzie’s mom collected her baby, she tried to hand the rabbit back to Nathan, but his son only shook his head and pointed at the baby.

  His throat tight with unshed tears, Josiah stared at the sign Mary Elizabeth had propped on the table. What will YOU give? a still, small voice asked. In this Christmas pageant, his son had shown him the way back to God by giving his most prized possession to Jesus. In that silent, dark corner of the room, Josiah’s soul wrestled until he’d made peace with God.

  He might never understand why Ruth had been taken so young, but being angry with God wouldn’t bring her back. By focusing on his loss, he had ignored his blessings, many of them here in this room tonight—his son with a generous heart, his caring mamm, a wonderful teacher, and even her seven siblings who had somehow wormed their way into his heart.

  While he stood there, the last of the families departed. Ada knelt at the front of the room and signed to his son. Tears running down her cheeks, she wrapped Nathan in a hug. Mamm, still sitting on her folding chair, dabbed at her cheeks. Then Ada signed, Daed where?

  Josiah’s gut clenched, dreading the meltdowns that occurred whenever Nathan looked in his direction. He reminded himself that for the last few months, his son had started to come willingly without a fuss, but old habits still made him flinch.

  Ada’s searching eyes discovered him first, and inside him, a spark ignited. Her eyes, so soft and radiant, sparkling with tears, fanned the embers into flames. Flames that threatened to burn out of control. Powerless to break the connection, he remained lost in her gaze until she looked down to sign to Nathan.

  He made his way forward and managed a few clumsy signs to tell his son he liked the program, but he had no way to share all that was bottled up inside his heart and soul. Words failed him too when he turned to Ada.

  She also seemed to be at a loss for words.

  He had to say something to let her know how powerful the program had been. “Tonight’s pageant was”—he fumbled for a way to describe what it had meant to him—“meaningful, touching.” No, it had been more than that. It had been transformative.

  “I’m glad.” The glow in her eyes added to the happiness filling his heart. Ada ducked her head. “I—I should finish cleaning up.”

  He wished he could stand there all night, staring into her eyes, but he nodded. “I’ll put the swings back together.” Such mundane words after a life-changing experience. If only he could express all that tonight had meant to him. She’d had no role in the program tonight, except as director, but if he’d had any say, he would have cast her as an angel. The angel who’d touched his and his son’s hearts.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  When Ada pulled up to the schoolhouse on the Friday morning before Christmas vacation, buggies filled the playground. All her students had arrived before her. She panicked. She was late. The battery-powered clock in the kitchen must have been wrong.

  “I’m so sorry,” she babbled as the parents and students surrounded her. She fumbled trying to unlock the door. “I didn’t mean to keep everyone waiting.”

  Josiah laughed. “You’re not late, but don’t go inside yet. We have a surprise for you, so we’d all like to enter first. Oh, and no peeking.”

  His dazzling smile left her brain so muddled, she couldn’t come up with a coherent thought. She stepped aside so everyone could filter past.

  “You look ferhoodled,” Betty said as she herded Martha and Lukas through the partially closed door. “You know parents always give the teacher a Christmas gift.”

  Her Christmas gift? The last person who entered shut her outside. Even David had slipped inside. Ada stood on the doorstep, shivering. Then Josiah opened the door, and the heat that swept through her at the sight of him warmed her from head to toe. His mischievous half smile left her wondering if they had a prank planned, but she followed him into the building.

  He ushered her toward the cloakroom, which confused her even more. All the parents and children stared at her expectantly. Martha was jumping up and down, clapping her hands silently so she didn’t disturb Lukas. Beside her, Lizzie was windmilling her arms. Even Betty’s recently dour and pained expression had lightened.

  Ada passed them all and stopped dead. Someone had put a door on the cloakroom and totally enclosed it.

  “Merry Christmas from all of us,” Josiah said as he opened the cloakroom door. “Step inside.”

  Ada did and burst into tears.

  The long narrow room had been totally enclosed and painted navy blue. Strings of tiny battery-powered lights hung along the walls, and the far end of the room held a small ball pit. A hammock hung from the ceiling. A reclining chair took up much of the rest of the tight space. Headphones lay on the shelf, along with two weighted blankets.

  Ada had no doubt whose idea this was, and she wanted to hug him. If so many people hadn’t been standing there, she might have, even though it was completely inappropriate.

  She couldn’t have asked for a better gift.

  She turned and, in a tear-choked voice, whispered a thank-you. Then she signed one. Several children appeared alarmed at her tears, so she explained they were happy tears.

  Miriam handed her a card. “The daeds helped with the room, so the mamms wanted to do something as well. Thank you for taking such good care of our children.”

  Ada opened the envelope to find a beautiful handmade card signed by all the children and their parents. Tucked inside the envelope were four slips of paper. Although she could barely read them with tear-blurred eyes, each one was handprinted by a different mother: Good for one full day of childcare along with a dinner. They’d each chosen a Saturday in January or February. What a generous and thoughtful gift! They all had homes and large families of their own to care for, so this was a major sacrifice.

  Ada’s throat clogged so she could barely speak. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you all so much.”

  * * *

  One look at the tears shining in her eyes, and all Josiah’s lost hours of sleep on Friday and Saturday nights faded to nothingness. And when she met his gaze and whispered another thank-you, he was lucky they were surrounded by parents filing out of the
schoolhouse, or he might have been tempted to sweep her into his arms and kiss away each tear.

  Ever since the playground was completed, Josiah had toyed with the idea of building her a multi-sensory environment. During his sign language lessons with Katie, he’d seen the room’s calming effect on Nathan. When he built the therapy swings and sand table, he’d looked at the cloakroom. It seemed a shame for it to contain only six coats and safety vests. The schoolhouse had once been filled with students, but they’d built a new building, and this older building had become the special school.

  This time, before going ahead with the project, Josiah had discussed his idea with the school board. Although they’d been reluctant at first, Martha and Betty’s high praise of the center’s MSE room helped Josiah convince them. Ada’s reaction today made that triumph even sweeter.

  Her smiling face and tear-filled eyes stayed with Josiah throughout the weekend and on Monday as his family gathered at the restaurant for Christmas dinner. For the past twenty years, Linda had closed the restaurant on Christmas Day and on Amish Second Christmas the following day. Eating at the restaurant allowed the extended family to gather in one place. Each of Josiah’s six older siblings came from Ohio, along with their spouses and large families. His oldest brother already had two grandchildren. Along with aunts, uncles, and cousins from both sides of the family, the room was bursting with energy and laughter.

  Josiah had been a few years older than Nathan his first restaurant Christmas. Like his son, he’d trailed behind the older cousins, hoping to join their games and fun. Josiah and Nathan didn’t attend last year; instead they’d stayed in Ohio to keep Nathan’s life as normal as possible after Ruth’s passing. But Nathan seemed to be enjoying himself today. Unfortunately, his son remained distant with him. Laughter and lively conversation flowed around Josiah, but even as he participated, his sense of aloneness and isolation increased.

  His older brother Paul, carrying his two-year-old granddaughter, clapped Josiah on the back. “So how’s that girl of yours?”

  “What?” Josiah regretted his snappishness when a hurt expression crossed his brother’s face. He shouldn’t have been so curt, but Paul’s question conjured up a picture of Ada that Josiah had to banish.

  Paul frowned. “I heard a rumor you were courting the teacher from the special school.”

  “I’m not courting anyone.” Josiah tried to keep his tone even.

  Shifting his granddaughter in his arms, Paul sank into the chair next to Josiah. “I’m sorry.” Rose laid her head on Paul’s shoulder and sighed as he patted her back. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be.” He directed a look of sympathy at Josiah.

  Josiah squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Having his brother pity him bothered Josiah. If he and Paul had been somewhere other than a crowded room, Josiah might have confided some of the rawness and pain. But a festive Christmas dinner was an inappropriate place to delve into such sadness.

  When Josiah didn’t answer, Paul cleared his throat. “So I was mistaken about you and the schoolteacher? Mamm”—he glanced around and located her on the other side of the room, cradling an infant—“seemed worried about a budding relationship a few months ago.”

  “A lot of people were, but it was based on mistaken information.” He pulled the two newspaper pictures from the drawer from time to time. A few glimpses of her when he dropped Nathan at school. Her angelic face at the Christmas program. The joy on her face when she saw the multi-sensory room.

  Paul waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you all right?”

  “Jah, sorry.” Josiah gestured around the room at the chattering crowd. “This time of year, being here alone…” Wishing he were at Ada’s table celebrating with her and her siblings.

  “It must be hard.” Paul rose and squeezed Josiah’s shoulder. “I’ll be praying God sends you someone special.”

  “Thanks,” Josiah managed to say. The problem was he’d already set his heart on someone special. But was Ada in God’s will for him?

  * * *

  Unlike the Englisch who put up flashy outdoor lights and adorned trees with ornaments, the only decorations Ada and her siblings hung were strings of Christmas cards from friends and distant relatives. They also draped a garland of greens across the fireplace. Beside the hearth, Ada placed a small stack of gifts—one for each child. A rather lumpy package lay next to the larger pile.

  For their first Christmas without Mamm, Ada tried to keep all the same holiday traditions, starting with homemade doughnuts on Christmas morning, followed by reading the Christmas story from Mamm’s worn black Bible. Ada shared the reading with Sadie, and her sister smiled in appreciation. After they sang a few Christmas carols, Ada let Sadie distribute the gifts, and Sadie surprised Ada by handing her the oddly wrapped package. They took turns opening the gifts, going from youngest to oldest.

  Despite the package’s unpromising outside, Ada’s gift contained a book on teaching special students. “Thank you so much. I’ve been wanting to read this.”

  “I know,” Sadie said. Though her sister tried to act matter-of-fact, her lips curved in a half smile when Ada exclaimed over the gift again.

  Everyone spent time with their new presents before the afternoon meal. Though no one mentioned Mamm’s name, the silent sideways glances and choked voices made it clear when someone was remembering her.

  “I don’t suppose…” Sadie glanced at her siblings seated around the table and shut her mouth.

  Ada guessed what her sister had been about to ask. Tomorrow was Second Christmas, a time to visit relatives. “Not today.”

  The next day, Second Christmas went similarly to the day before, except without opening presents. The roads were much too icy for travel, and Ada was grateful when Sadie didn’t ask again. They’d made it through the first major holidays alone.

  * * *

  Josiah finished his lesson with Katie and headed out the door.

  “Josiah?” Katie said, her voice gentle. “I think Nathan has the vocabulary he needs to understand about his mamm. I talked to the grief counselor, and she can come on Thursday, if you’re ready.”

  If he was ready? Was anyone ever ready to tell a child his mamm has died? Josiah managed to keep his voice steady. “I’ll plan for it.” But his back to her, he squeezed his eyes shut as he fumbled for the knob and stepped into the hallway.

  A soft hand collided with his chest. “Are you all right?” Ada asked, concern in her eyes. “I almost ran into you.” With a nervous laugh, she removed her hand.

  Her touch stirred him, and he could barely breathe. He wanted to keep her hand pressed against his thumping heart. First he’d almost run into her; now he stood tongue-tied. Say something, Josiah. He blurted out, “What are you doing here?” Then regretted it when she looked taken aback. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that I was startled to see you here.”

  “I’m surprised to see you too. I came to pick up some books Hope has on autism. She’s been a big help with lesson planning. But what are you doing here?”

  “Taking sign language lessons.”

  “With Katie?”

  “Yes.” If he wasn’t mistaken, she winced. Could she be jealous of his time with Katie? If so, she had nothing to worry about. He’d never be interested in anyone who wasn’t Amish, especially not when he had eyes only for her.

  “How is that going? I’ve been impressed with Nathan’s growing vocabulary.”

  “It’s been going well. Katie wants to schedule the grief counselor. When I first started working with her, I told her about your suggestion, and she agreed it would be wise.”

  “No wonder you look so upset.”

  “It’ll be on Thursday.” Josiah pinched his lips together so he didn’t beg her to come.

  Ada appeared as upset as he was. “Poor Nathan. And it must be so hard on you. Would you like me to be there?”

  “Yes, I’d appreciate it. I didn’t want to ask, knowing how busy you are.” He needed to stop
babbling. “I have to go, but thank you.” He crossed the hall to the multi-sensory room to pick up Nathan.

  The days dragged toward Thursday, each one endless minutes filled with dread. At last the hour arrived, and Josiah entered Katie’s office to find everyone already assembled. Katie sat in her usual chair with a stranger beside her she introduced as the grief counselor. Ada sat on a thick mat on the floor holding Nathan. She’d agreed to drive him over after school to lessen the tension between him and his son before the session.

  “We wanted the floor padded,” the counselor explained, “because Ada mentioned Nathan’s tantrums.”

  Josiah nodded. That was wise. Ada sitting on the floor rather than the chair made sense too. Although Josiah would have given anything to hold Nathan while he told him, he had to face his son to make the signs. Pushing aside his own heartache, he knelt before his son and swallowed hard. He signed the word Mamm.

  Nathan’s eyes opened wide, and he backed away, cuddling closer to Ada. Mamm where? he responded.

  Clamping his teeth on his lower lip, Josiah readied his hands to tell his son the truth, but how could he inflict this pain on a little boy? Would Nathan understand?

  He began with facts Nathan knew. Mamm sick and train and Mexico. Ada reached for papers beside her and handed him pictures of the interior of a train and of the clinic in Mexico. Katie had shown Nathan the pictures when she taught him the words.

  Nathan’s brow wrinkled, but he nodded.

  Josiah went on with the story. He explained about Mamm getting sicker. Each step closer he came to the end, the harder it became to continue, and he could barely hold back his tears.

  “Don’t be afraid to cry,” the counselor said. “Seeing your sadness will show him it’s all right to express his feelings.”

  A tear trickled down Josiah’s cheek as he reached the words, Mamm dead.