The Amish Teacher's Gift

by Rachel J. Good

  Nathan did not react. He stared straight ahead, past Josiah or maybe through him.

  Had he seen the words? Understood them? Josiah had no idea what to do. Repeat the words? The words were too difficult to sign again, so he moved ahead with the signs he had rehearsed: Mamm go heaven. Mamm with God.

  Again Nathan sat still and silent. Then without looking at Josiah, he signed each word slowly. Mamm…come back…when?

  Josiah choked back a sob and signed the word never.

  Nathan shook his head wildly, then wrenched himself from Ada’s arms and launched himself at Josiah, pummeling with his small fists.

  Too overcome by his son’s grief to stop the blows, Josiah sat there, stoically taking each hit both inside and out. Ada tried to intervene and stop him.

  “It’s all right,” Josiah said. “He’s not hurting me.” At least not with his fists.

  His anger spent, Nathan crumpled to the ground, wailing and throwing a fit.

  “Let him go,” the counselor said. “He needs to express his grief.”

  “Is it all right if I touch him?” Ada asked her.

  “As long as he allows it.”

  Ada sat on the floor a safe distance from Nathan’s kicking and pounding limbs, stroking his back. Josiah couldn’t bear to sit there without responding. Josiah sat opposite Ada, who lifted damp eyes to meet his. The message of caring and sympathy on her face breached the dam of emotions he’d been struggling to control. A strangled sob escaped his lips as he reached out to lay a comforting hand on Nathan’s head.

  Why, why did Nathan have to go through such agony?

  The minute his hand touched Nathan’s hair, his son bucked away and batted at his hand. Josiah let his hand fall to his lap. To be so close but unable to touch Nathan was unbearable. He needed to do something to ease his son’s pain.

  After what seemed like hours, Nathan’s cries subsided to whimpers, and he lay still. Ada reached out as if to gather him close but first glanced at the counselor. At her nod, Ada cradled Nathan close, and he slid his arms around her neck and snuggled against her shoulder.

  Josiah ached to wrap his arms around both of them, hold them close, never let them go. If he’d done anything right today, it was inviting Ada to join them. She’d been a Godsend.

  The lights flickered, signaling the center would soon be closing. Ada rose, still holding Nathan. Josiah reached for his son, but Nathan shrank away.

  “I’ll help him get his coat on,” Ada offered, “and carry him out to the buggy.”

  The counselor stopped Josiah as he started out the door after them. “He may blame you for his mother’s death. It’s not uncommon. Give him some time to work it out. And don’t be afraid to show your own emotions. It can be helpful for him to realize you’re grieving too.” She handed him a booklet titled The Stages of Grief, stages Josiah already knew intimately. The subtitle indicated it would help children, but how could he help Nathan when his son wanted nothing to do with him?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Josiah, his eyes stinging and his throat tight, leaned his head against the bedroom door as Nathan cried himself to sleep for the fifth night in row. All he wanted to do was cradle his son in his arms and comfort him. He’d tried the first night, but Nathan bit and clawed and kicked until Josiah left him alone. The second night Josiah entered the room determined to weather any storms, but the minute Nathan glanced up, he’d shrieked and signed, Go away. Go. Go. Go. As soon as the door closed behind Josiah, Nathan’s shrieks ended, and the sobbing began. Sobbing that lasted for hours.

  Nathan picked at his food, refused to participate in class, and stopped playing with David. He cried and clung to Ada after school and kicked and screamed when she placed him in the buggy. The few strides he’d made with Nathan during the school year had been lost in the storms of grief.

  Josiah went to bed exhausted and woke discouraged. On school days Nathan dressed and crawled into the buggy, but his movements were listless and his face despondent.

  When Josiah woke on Tuesday morning, two feet of snow covered the ground. Mamm took one look at the weather and went back to bed. Josiah let Nathan sleep in. The roads hadn’t been plowed, so today would be a snow day.

  Nathan woke and padded down to the kitchen looking confused. He barely glanced at Josiah, but he signed school.

  Josiah pointed out the window. Nathan’s eyes widened, and he pressed his face against the glass. He’d spent years in Mexico and last year indoors with Mamm, so snow was a new experience for him. Josiah set Nathan’s heavy coat, snow pants, gloves, and boots on the bench near the door. Then he pointed to them, turned his back, and donned his own outer garments as slowly as he could. By the time he reached the door, Nathan had his winter gear on.

  The two shovels Josiah had leaned against the side porch last night had frozen against the wooden wall. While Josiah chipped the ice to free them, Nathan took off one glove, scooped up a handful of snow, and screamed. Shaking and blowing on his hand, he jumped up and down on the porch. Josiah wished he could take his son’s hand in his and rub it warm. Instead he kept his distance and signed cold and snow.

  With a barely perceptible nod, Nathan rubbed his red hand against his jacket and donned his glove again. Josiah took the large shovel and left the smaller one on the porch. Nathan ignored Josiah as he started shoveling the path to the barn. A little while later, though, metal scraped on concrete behind him. Trying not to be obvious, Josiah turned his head far enough to see from the corner of his eye. Nathan was copying his movements, so Josiah left a bit of snow on the walkway as he shoveled, and Nathan scooped it up and tossed it onto the piles Josiah made.

  After they reached the barn, Josiah fed and cared for the horses as Nathan peeked from behind the buggy. While Josiah fetched water, Nathan petted each horse in turn, but he disappeared as soon as he spotted Josiah returning. Having Nathan imitating his movements was exciting, but Josiah still longed for the normal father-son relationship of sharing chores, communicating, having fun together.

  A long day stretched ahead of them. Josiah had an idea, but he wasn’t sure he could convince Nathan to try. He headed back to the house with Nathan trailing behind. His son imitated Josiah’s shuffling steps to avoid slipping and falling on icy patches.

  The aroma of warm cinnamon rolls greeted them as he opened the back door. Josiah breathed in the heavenly aroma as he hung his wet coat and snow pants up to dry. Once again, Nathan copied his every move, although his face remained pensive.

  Mamm smiled. “Looks like you had a helper today.”

  Turning so Nathan couldn’t see his lips, Josiah said, “He followed me and tried to do what I was doing.”

  “Wunderbar.” Mamm smiled at Nathan and offered him a cinnamon roll. She laughed when he snatched it and wriggled onto a chair to stuff it into his mouth. “Would you like one too?” she asked Josiah.

  “Shortly. I wanted to check the attic for something first.”

  When he returned, slightly dusty, about ten minutes later, he carried his childhood toboggan. “I’m hoping I can convince Nathan to try it. What do you think?”

  Mamm’s eyes got a faraway look in them. “You always loved sledding down that steep hill at Miller’s farm when we visited Linda. He probably will too.”

  Outside snow plows rumbled by, clearing the roads. Mamm’s words gave him an idea. Miller’s farm was only a short distance from Ada’s. Perhaps having David along would convince Nathan to try sledding. And it would give him an excuse to see Ada.

  * * *

  Enjoying the peace of the snow day, Ada curled on the couch to read the book her siblings had given her for Christmas. A knock on the door interrupted her. She hurried to answer the door, unsure who would be calling in this weather.

  “Josiah?” Ada stood dumbfounded for a minute before realizing he was standing outside in drifting snow and freezing temperatures. “Come in.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to track snow into your house, and Nathan’s all wrapp
ed up in the buggy with blankets and a hot water bottle, so I need to keep an eye on him. I came to see if David wants to go sledding with Nathan.” He cupped his hands and blew into them. “If it’s all right with you, of course.”

  “It’s fine with me. I’ll call him.” She turned and called up the stairs to Noah, “Please send David down.” Icy wind blew in the door, and she shivered.

  “I’ll shut the door,” Josiah said. “I don’t want you getting chilled.”

  “Nooo…” Ada pressed a fist to her mouth. That had almost sounded like a moan, like she was begging him not to go. Too embarrassed to turn around, she waited for David to descend and signed Josiah’s message.

  David danced up and down while signing thank-you to Josiah.

  Ada signed for him to hurry and get into warm clothes. As they waited, she said wistfully, “What fun! I remember being David’s age and going sledding.”

  “You haven’t been sledding since then?”

  “Not that I remember. Mamm was too ill. Daed, well, he didn’t have time for that. And there was always too much work to do.” Ada had missed out on a lot of the play and fun other children had while caring for her mamm.

  “Why don’t you come along?”

  “I couldn’t. I don’t like asking Sadie to watch the others.”

  “So bring them all. Miller’s farm isn’t far from here. We can all walk over together.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Of course. You work hard and deserve some fun. And Nathan will be delighted to have extra friends.”

  Ada studied him to be sure he meant the invitation before turning to call her siblings. They all rushed to get ready, and soon everyone was trooping through the snow to Miller’s Hill. Sadie took David’s and Nathan’s hands to help them over the drifts, and Noah helped Mary Elizabeth. The twins and Hannah walked in a line behind them, leaving Ada and Josiah to bring up the rear.

  Nathan watched intently as Noah pushed off and jumped on behind Mary Elizabeth. Then the three other girls took a turn. The next time David hopped on and patted the wood behind him. Nathan, a look of fear on his face, stepped back and shook his head. Sadie hopped on behind David, and they sailed down the hill. Nathan watched them with a wistful expression.

  The next time it was David’s turn, Ada took Nathan’s hand and led him to the toboggan. He cooperated until she tried to get him to sit, but with David’s encouragement, he took his place on the toboggan. Instead of pushing off, Sadie climbed on behind him and wrapped her arms tightly around both boys.

  “Can you give us a small push, Ada? I don’t want to go too fast for his first try.”

  “Good idea.” Ada leaned over to push, and the toboggan took off slowly.

  Stepping back, Ada stumbled, and Josiah took her elbow to help her regain her balance, but he didn’t let go. Although the rest of her was frozen, the place where his hand touched stayed warm, or perhaps it was only her imagination.

  At the bottom of the hill, Sadie helped Nathan off the toboggan. David walked up the hill beside Nathan, whose eyes were shining. For the first time since the grief counseling session, he smiled.

  When Sadie reached the top, Josiah took the rope from her. “I think it’s time your sister had a turn.” He motioned to Ada, then took her hand to help her onto the toboggan.

  Ada was convinced his body heat penetrated through her thick gloves. And the sparks he generated when he set his hands on her shoulders to push the toboggan warmed her from head to toe. He took a running start, leaped on behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. The exhilaration that filled her was partly the excitement of zooming down the hill, but mostly it was from having her back pressed against his chest, his arms cradling her.

  Wind whistled past her face, stinging her cheeks; snow sprayed as they slid, icing her eyelashes. Ada gasped for air as the toboggan swooped down the hill. Both her heart and the sled were racing out of control.

  At the bottom of the hill, they stayed pressed together, Josiah’s arms encircling her, catching their breath. Although Ada had no idea how she’d ever catch her breath while she was so close to him. She relaxed back into his embrace, and he seemed as reluctant to let her go as she was for him to release her. She’d have been content to stay there for hours, if the children hadn’t been clamoring at the top of the hill.

  “My turn,” Mary Elizabeth shouted.

  “No, it’s not,” Sadie countered. “Nathan should get another turn. He only had one turn. Everyone else had two.”

  “Hurry up,” Noah called.

  Josiah sighed and stood. He reached down to help her to her feet, and as their hands interlocked, she tilted her head to look up at him, and their eyes met. She stood only inches from his broad strong chest, and his gaze moved to her lips. Her stomach swooped with the same exhilaration as whooshing down the hill, leaving her breathless.

  “Adaaaaa!”

  Mary Elizabeth’s scream broke the spell. Josiah shook his head and bent to pick up the toboggan rope, leaving Ada bereft.

  He took her hand to help her up the hill, and Ada clung to that connection, but she couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if her sister hadn’t interrupted. The rest of the afternoon, they let the children take turns. When it was almost time to go, Josiah caught her eye and motioned toward the toboggan with his chin.

  Ada yearned for one more ride with him, but knew she shouldn’t. Reluctantly, she shook her head.

  * * *

  As Ada shooed her siblings toward home, Josiah could barely mask his disappointment. He’d had so much fun this afternoon, and so had Nathan.

  Although his son had steered clear of him, he’d taken his first ride down the hill sandwiched between David and Sadie. After that, he’d gone eagerly. During one of his rides, Josiah stood at the bottom of the hill and mentally snapped a picture of Nathan’s happy face and tucked it into his heart. His son’s eyes and mouth wide, his scream of excitement as they hit a bump and almost tumbled off. Sadie righted the sled by tipping in the opposite direction, and they made it safely down the hill.

  Josiah wished the day would never end. For the first time in years, he felt whole. The ache still remained, but joy had erased the sadness and pain.

  After Ada supervised the groups and started them on the trail homeward, she waited for him to catch up. Although it wasn’t right, he almost hoped she’d stumble so he’d have an excuse to take her arm or hold her hand. To his dismay, she stayed surefooted the whole way home.

  When they reached the house, she turned to him. “Would you like to come in for some hot chocolate?”

  An eager yes almost jumped from his lips, but he managed to contain it. “I’m sure Nathan would enjoy it.” And so would I.

  “Oh.” If he wasn’t mistaken, she appeared disappointed at his response.

  “I’d like it too,” he added, and was rewarded with a sunny smile. So she hadn’t asked only out of politeness. She wanted to be around him the same way he desired to be near her.

  Ada directed everyone to the basement to take off their snow-caked clothes. Then they all trooped up to the kitchen. Sadie put milk on to boil, Hannah got down mugs, and the twins scooped cocoa into the pot. Ada measured out sugar, and Mary Elizabeth went to the pantry and returned with a bag of marshmallows. Each move seemed carefully orchestrated.

  The warmth of the kitchen thawed his frozen fingers, while the warmth of her presence melted his frozen heart. When he was around her, his loneliness disappeared, and his heart filled with a longing never to leave. That desire had overwhelmed him on the slopes today when she’d stared up at him with dazed eyes. He’d almost made a fool of himself. If Mary Elizabeth hadn’t startled him with her yell, he’d have lost control and kissed her. What would she have done? Would she have returned the kiss?

  “Would you like a slice of snitz pie?” Ada’s soft voice jerked him back to the kitchen.

  He blinked. Pie? His eyes focused on the lips forming the words, but his imagination struggled to make sense
of them. Somehow pie and kisses and lips had all jumbled in his brain.

  Ada leaned closer and stared at him in concern. “Are you all right?”

  “What? Oh, yes, I’m fine.” More than fine. All his senses buzzed with her nearness, but he needed to give her a coherent answer. “I’d like…um, pie.” He’d almost said he’d like to kiss her, but stopped himself in time.

  A vision of loveliness, she flitted about the kitchen. Josiah couldn’t take his eyes off her. A piece of snitz pie appeared before him. When she set a mug of steaming hot chocolate in front of him, he inhaled the sugary scent overriding the bitter cocoa, the same way her sweetness had overcome the bitterness in his heart.

  * * *

  The weather hadn’t improved much when Miriam showed up that Saturday as her part of the Christmas gift of service. Ada found it hard to believe someone else would be doing all the cooking, cleaning, and childcare. She had no idea what to do with her free time.

  “I’ll put this casserole in the oven for your dinner,” Miriam said. “Now go and have fun.”

  Ada had forgotten the mothers were babysitting so she’d have free Saturdays. She’d made no plans for the day. “What about your family?”

  “My mamm and Levi are caring for the children, and I made a casserole like this for our dinner. It was no trouble to make one more.” She made a shooing motion with her hands.

  “Thank you so much.” Ada hadn’t had a break from childcare for years, except for the night Josiah had watched her siblings. Josiah. They’d had so much fun sledding earlier this week. If only they could spend today together. She’d thought several times he’d been about to ask about courting—especially now that his mourning period was officially over. The way he’d stared at her every time their eyes met. She hoped she hadn’t been reading into those looks, the accidental touches.

  Ada slipped on her coat. The only place she could think of to go was Leah’s store. Her friend had guessed Ada’s feelings for Josiah; she’d be the perfect person to tell about the sledding adventures. Leah would be honest too and tell her if she was making too much of the looks and touches.