An Amish Holiday Family

by Jo Ann Brown

  Beth Ann clapped her hands and said in a cheerful tone, “If you’re coming to stay with me, you’ll need clothes for tonight and tomorrow.”

  “What should we bring?” asked Crystal. “Our toothbrushes?”

  Beth Ann gave a small shudder. “Why don’t we stop at the desk at the motel and pick up new toothbrushes for you? They’ve got little bars of soap, too, so you can each have your own.”

  “My own soap?” The girl flung her arms around Beth Ann. “Thank you, Lady Beth Ann.”

  “Please call me Beth Ann,” she replied as she had before, but gave Crystal a squeeze. “You’ll need your pajamas and slippers, if you’ve got them.”

  “Tommy does, but we don’t,” Douglas said as he returned to the table and chased the last of the gravy with a final bite of biscuit.

  “That’s okay. The floors are nice and warm. Of course, you’ll need clothes for school tomorrow.”

  Douglas choked on the biscuit and gravy.

  “We don’t go to school,” Crystal said. “We don’t go anywhere. Aunt Sharon told us to stay out of sight.”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand it’s okay while you’re with me,” Beth Ann replied with more serenity than Robert could have dredged out of his outrage at how the kinder’s aenti had left them on their own.

  Tommy’s and Crystal’s heads moved as one so they could look at their older brother, waiting for his decision. Though none of them had said so, Robert surmised the kinder had promised their aenti they would do what Douglas told them to do. What a burden for a ten-year-old boy!

  Sympathy deepened within Robert when he saw uncertainty and fear in the boy’s eyes. Uncertainty about whether he should pass authority for his small family to Beth Ann and fear, no doubt, that if he didn’t go along with her, he’d miss out on breakfast.

  Again he nodded, but reluctantly.

  With a cheer, his brother and sister began to head in two different directions around the table. Beth Ann halted Tommy while Robert called Crystal back. Maybe the kinder knew their way around the unlit house, but nobody else did.

  Beth Ann asked where their clean clothing was kept. When both pointed to an empty laundry basket, he heard her sigh. However, her smile never wavered when she spoke to the youngsters. She worked with one at a time to get what they’d need for the next few days. They didn’t ask why she wanted to have more than a day’s supplies, and she didn’t explain she was as averse to returning to the house as he was. Whenever she saw the kinder about to balk at her requests, she began to talk about the community center kitchen and the treats made there.

  He wanted to congratulate her on such a brilliant tactic to keep the kids from thinking about how they were leaving home, but spent his time trying to keep the stacks of clothing—most in need of being laundered—from tipping onto the dirty plates on the table.

  When they had enough gathered to satisfy Beth Ann, she asked, “Do you have clean bags?”

  Crystal opened one of the filthy kitchen cabinets and pulled out grocery bags that had been shoved into each other. “Like these?”

  “Yes,” said Beth Ann.

  From where he stood an arm’s-length away, he could see what looked like footprints from a mouse across the brown paper. He grabbed a broom leaning against the wall beyond the cupboard where the bags were stored. A faint scrabbling reached his ears, and his stomach turned as he realized the youngsters didn’t react to the obvious sound of vermin racing into the shadows.

  As she helped Tommy with his tattered coat, he noticed Crystal’s was too small and the zipper was broken. Their mamm had left their aenti in charge, but Aenti Sharon was no more capable of taking care of the Henderson kinder than their mamm was.

  Robert picked up the bags, including the one holding trash from tonight’s meal. Though dirty dishes remained on the table, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the containers they’d brought from the community center. He’d dispose of them later or return them to the kitchen if they were reusable.

  “All set?” he called out.

  As they walked toward the front door after making sure the candles were out, Tommy let out a wild cry. “I can’t leave. Not without Woodsy.”

  “Who’s Woodsy?” Robert asked.

  “My bear!” His head swiveled as he looked around. “Where is he?”

  Crystal ran into the darkened dining room. He heard a warning creak from the floorboards. How stable was the house? He couldn’t miss how the walls bowed.

  “Here he is,” the girl said when she came back with a stuffed toy. “You put him there while we were playing hide-and-seek, remember?”

  As the little boy took the bear that had little of its fur remaining and hugged it close, Robert saw his dismay mirrored on Beth Ann’s face. The idea of the kinder playing with smelly toys in the filthy house sent shivers of horror along his spine.

  He opened the door, desperate to help the kinder flee. After he’d blown out the candle in the lantern and put it outside on the porch, he sucked in great breaths of clean air. He hoped he never encountered the kinder’s mamm or aenti. He feared he wouldn’t be able to hold on to his temper and wouldn’t be sorry if he lost it.

  That thought shook him to the core. It wasn’t the way of Plain People to resort to violence to solve their problems or anyone else’s, but he was furious at the women who’d abandoned three kinder.

  * * *

  The Mountain View Motel had been built, according to the sign by the registration desk, in 1951. It was long and low and snaked along the hillside like a headless dragon. On one side, three small cabins, only a bit larger than the units making up the motel, were clustered near a pair of snow-covered picnic tables.

  Beth Ann led the way to the first one, mindful of skirting the snow piles and the freshly fallen inch of snow. None of the children had boots, or so they claimed. After seeing the state of their clothes and the house, she felt they were being honest. At least, Tommy and Crystal were. Only a fool would believe every word from Douglas’s mouth.

  She edged around her ancient car. Any hint of a shine had vanished years ago. It seemed to burn more oil than gas, and she hadn’t been sure it would get her from Pennsylvania to Vermont. She couldn’t afford anything more reliable.

  “Here we are,” she said with all the cheerfulness she could muster. She set the two bags she carried on the concrete step and pulled out her key. Opening the door, she reached for the light switches. Both the lamp by the door and the interior ceiling light came on. “Welcome to my little home.”

  She stepped inside, moving two steps until she bumped into the arm of the sofa. The small space held a double bed in an alcove with a bedside table and a lamp. In the living area was the foldout sofa and a table with two chairs. Two taller chairs were shoved beneath the tiny kitchen’s counter. A cramped bathroom was behind the other door.

  “You live here?”

  Shocked Douglas was looking down his nose at her neat and cozy home, she forced a smile. “It’s kind of cute.”

  “If you think so...” His tone seemed too world-weary for his few years.

  Or maybe simply weary. She had no idea how long he’d been standing on the village green asking passersby for money.

  To Robert, she said, “Thanks for helping with the bags.”

  “Glad to help.” He was appraising the small space with an expression very similar to Douglas’s. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “We’ll be fine.” She wished Douglas would reconsider going with Robert to stay in the barn’s apartment, but didn’t say anything. Upsetting the children again would be silly.

  Setting the bag he carried on the bed, Robert beat a hasty retreat after telling her he’d return in the morning. She frowned at the door he closed behind him. Did he dislike all children or just these children? He’d seemed uncomfortable from the moment she had come over the table with Douglas. She didn’t h
ave time to ponder those questions, because the children began firing their own in her direction. Where would they sleep? Did she have a TV? How about a bathroom? Was there anything to eat? The last question came, of course, from Douglas.

  Turning her attention to the situation at hand, Beth Ann soon had the youngsters sitting with bowls of ice cream. She unpacked the bags and found places for their clothes—most in worse condition than what they were wearing—with the easy efficiency she’d learned from her time in corralling and entertaining children while their mothers were in labor. She supervised baths for the younger two and a shower for Douglas and pulled out the new toothbrushes they’d gotten at the registration desk.

  She paused as Crystal and Tommy jumped onto the bed, each grabbing a pillow. She hadn’t decided where everyone would sleep. A quick call to the front desk informed her that, yes, there was a cot she could use, but it couldn’t be delivered that night. Trying to imagine where she could squeeze it into the tiny space, she looked at the bed where Douglas sat and chatted with his siblings.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to share the bed tonight,” she said.

  “We don’t mind,” Crystal replied. “We’ve been sleeping together lately.”

  Beth Ann nodded, understanding what the girl didn’t say. Without a working furnace, the trio must have cuddled together for warmth. Again she thanked God He’d made sure her path intersected with Douglas’s.

  “Sorry you got stuck with us.” Douglas didn’t meet her eyes.

  “I’m not stuck with you.” She gave the children a warm smile as she motioned for them to climb beneath the covers. “I like having company.”

  Douglas claimed the side closest to the door. Was he trying to protect his siblings or give himself the chance to be first out of the cabin?

  She couldn’t guess, and she wasn’t going to try. Handing Tommy his stinky teddy bear, she asked, “Shall we say our bedtime prayers together?”

  They looked at her as if she’d started speaking an alien language.

  “You don’t thank God each night for the blessings He brought you today?” She wished she hadn’t asked the question when Douglas’s eyes narrowed with abrupt anger. The poor child! He hadn’t had much to be grateful for, but she hoped that would change.

  “Like ice cream?” Tommy asked.

  “A bar of soap for myself?” added Crystal.

  Happy the younger two had eased the tension, Beth Ann smiled. “Whatever you are grateful for is the right thing to thank God for.” She bent her head.

  She heard stifled giggles when she prayed aloud about how much she appreciated God letting her meet the Henderson children. She asked if they had anything to add. The younger two added their gratitude for soap and ice cream, but Douglas only grumbled.

  “Don’t be like that, Dougie. Lady Bee is grateful for us,” said Crystal, giving her a new nickname. “The least you can do is be grateful for her.”

  “I’m grateful for her,” said Douglas—or Dougie, as she’d decided she’d call him, too. “Good ole Robert ‘don’t call me Bob’ doesn’t like us.”

  “How can you say that?” Beth Ann asked. “Robert doesn’t know you, and you don’t know him.”

  “He acts like we’ve got cooties,” Tommy piped up, not willing to go to sleep if his older brother and sister weren’t.

  She wanted to retort that Robert didn’t act that way, but he’d been quick to find reasons why the Hendersons shouldn’t stay in his apartment.

  Amish men left raising children to their wives and the other women in the family. Yet she hadn’t ever met one who didn’t like children. Most plain men spent time teaching the next generation about the Bible and enjoyed having youngsters tag around behind them so they could learn the skills necessary to be a good member of the community.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling—which the kids had picked up on, too—that there was more to Robert’s discomfort around them.

  Tucking the trio in and turning off the lamp by the bed as well as the overhead light, she realized she was going to have to figure out how to have enough light to read in the evening.

  She watched as the children surrendered to sleep. She smiled when Crystal shifted so her head was toward the foot of the bed. Dougie gripped his pillow as if he feared it’d fall off. Between them, Tommy clung to the ragged bear.

  She could smell the odors the toy’s stuffing had picked up from the dirty house. She wondered if the little boy would agree to put his beloved Woodsy in the washing machine.

  Or she could put the toy in the bathtub and let Tommy help get his bear clean. After, they’d take the stuffed toy to the dryer in the motel. Tommy could watch his bear tumble inside, something she might convince the little boy was fun for a toy. She’d need to make sure he didn’t think it was too much fun and try taking such a ride himself.

  She sighed as she pulled out the mattress on the sofa bed, knowing she might as well try to sleep rather than sit in the darkness. She went into the bathroom to change. She took off her brace and set it to one side along with her clothing. She brushed and braided her hair as she did each night. Going into the main room, she discovered she didn’t have a blanket, so she pulled the afghan off the couch and wrapped it around herself.

  Sleep was elusive, because she kept reliving the events of the so-very-eventful day. Staring at the ceiling that lit up whenever a car or truck passed by on the road, she realized the enormity of the task she’d taken on. What did she know about taking care of someone else’s children?

  The children were blessed with having one another. Dougie had taken on too much responsibility in the care of his siblings, but she guessed he’d done it because he didn’t want them separated. She turned on her side and closed her eyes, praying everything he’d done to help his brother and sister wouldn’t be in vain.

  Chapter Four

  Something disturbed Beth Ann’s fitful sleep. She didn’t move, but strained her ears, anxious to discover the source of the noise sifting into her dream.

  Soft footsteps.

  Steady, but uneven footsteps. A step, then a slap. They seemed to be passing right by the foot of her bed.

  No, not her bed, she realized as she shifted and an unyielding support cut into her side. She was stretched out on the sleeper couch, which hadn’t been designed for comfort.

  Keeping the afghan close, she sat. Squinting into the dark, she tried to see who was walking past her bed. As good sense emerged out of her sleep, she realized she must have heard one of the children going to or from the bathroom. She’d been living on her own for too long.

  She settled into her pillow, hoping for sleep to return. It had begun to cover her like a warm blanket when another sound brought her to her feet.

  A frightened cry came out of the dark.

  And into her heart.

  Without her brace, her steps were uneven as she rushed into the bathroom. She knew, without turning on the light, who stood by the tub because what she’d heard must have been Tommy’s footsteps.

  In the moonlight, she could see the little boy had his arms wrapped around himself as he crouched on the floor. She dropped to her knees and enfolded him against her. She didn’t speak, unsure if he was awake or walking in his sleep.

  “Lady Bee?” Incredulity filled his voice.

  “Sweetheart, you can call me Beth Ann. You don’t need to use lady.”

  He shook his head, his hair brushing her cheek. “I’m scared.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” She ran her hand up and down his back in a slow rhythm she hoped his breathing would match.

  “Where are we?”

  “At my cabin. Remember? You came with your sister and brother to spend the night with me.”

  He nodded. “I’m scared.”

  “Would you like to sleep with me tonight?” She released him and clenched her fists and flexed her muscles as if she we
re a superhero. “I’ve been known to scare off nightmares.”

  “All right.” He remained serious, but at least he took her hand as she came to her feet. He shook his head when she asked if he needed to use the bathroom.

  As they walked into the other room, she couldn’t help noting how their footfalls matched. Tomorrow, she’d ask if he had a brace to wear to help his gait. Even if he hated it, as she had hers when she was a child, she knew how important it was for him to use it.

  As he nestled into the foldout, pressing to her like a puppy to its mother, she closed her eyes. She was a light sleeper, so she doubted she’d get more tonight. Feeling the soft coolness of his breath against her nape as he began to snore, she tried to shift away from him to give them both a bit more room. His arm reached out and settled on her shoulder. A moment later, he was close to her once more.

  She looked over her shoulder. Tommy was asleep, but his brow was threaded with lines of worry.

  Her heart ached. Three children left to fend for themselves.

  A soft whimpering in her ear broke her heart anew. She put her hand on Tommy’s draped atop her shoulder. When his fingers clutched hers, she knew one night’s sleep wasn’t too much of a sacrifice to let the little boy find peace.

  * * *

  Since the first hurricane more than a year ago, Elton Hershey, the local Mennonite pastor, had handled plenty of problems. Beth Ann had to wonder if he’d faced any like the dilemma she and Robert brought to him before breakfast the next morning.

  The three of them were in the pastor’s cluttered office while the children sat out in the hall. The pastor’s assistant watched them eat the lollipops she’d found somewhere behind the counter. Beth Ann didn’t worry about the candy ruining the kids’ appetites. Nothing could. They’d finished off everything in her tiny refrigerator last night and emptied out the few boxes in her cupboard this morning as soon as they woke. While they’d had cereal and toast, they hadn’t spoken of anything but how many pancakes and waffles they planned to devour.