Amish Celebrations

by Beth Wiseman

  Joan’s posture fell as she lowered her gaze. “I thought it went well.” She looked back up at him. “The little girl had told me that she often heard her mother crying in the bathroom with the water running. I didn’t say anything to you because I didn’t want you to think Mary was crazy or something. But Billy, my oldest, did that when he was a teenager. He had severe anxiety, so much so that it became debilitating for him. So I was worried about Mary, and I wanted to see if I could help her. Some people have more trouble than others coping with stress. I wasn’t a perfect mother”—she chuckled—“but I was forced to learn as I went along, and I made plenty of mistakes.” She cringed. “Bad mistakes, like I guess all parents do. But something about Mary, what Rachel said . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I felt called to lend a hand. I thought that if my mistakes might help Mary, then there was a purpose for them. I just felt very strongly that God wanted me to go to her.”

  God. It was the one subject Bruce and Joan didn’t agree on. “It sounds like you did a good thing by helping her family.”

  “Apparently not. I was planning to visit her again this Friday.” She lifted an eyebrow again, as if waiting for Bruce to comment about her taking off another day. Of course he didn’t. “I got a call from Mary on Saturday. She was at a nearby shanty. She thanked me for spending time with her on Friday, but she said she didn’t need me to visit anymore. When I asked her why, since I thought we’d had such a good day, she said her husband didn’t approve of her spending time with an outsider.”

  Bruce shrugged. “Does that surprise you? You know the Amish like to keep to themselves.”

  Joan slumped into her chair a little more. “I know. But I’m telling you, I felt a definite calling to help that young woman.”

  Bruce scratched his chin. “Some people don’t know how to accept help, Amish or otherwise.” He thought about the check that was returned. And right away he recalled what Joan had said about not always being able to throw money at a problem. Joan was one of the most giving people he knew—of herself and her time. “But you tried,” he added.

  She shook her head hard as she captured his eyes and leveled a penetrating dose of confidence his way. “I’m not giving up. That’s the enemy at play. I feel sure I’m being called to—”

  Bruce let out a heavy sigh accompanied by a grunt he wished he would have suppressed.

  Joan squinted at him as she folded her arms across her chest. Then up went her chin. “What was that about?”

  “I’m just not sure God calls us to do anything.” Bruce shrugged. Joan was as good a Christian as he’d ever known. She didn’t just talk the talk. Joan walked the walk in everything she did. The last thing Bruce wanted to do was to hurt her feelings, but he’d come to believe that God doesn’t call on us any more than He listens when we call on Him.

  Joan stared at him long and hard. “You know, Bruce, you are a good man. But more than once, I’ve heard you say something negative about the Lord. You and Lucy were always Christ-centered, faithful people. Now that she’s gone, I can understand that you would still be grieving, but I can tell you blame God for Lucy’s death.”

  “He is God. He could have saved her.”

  Joan smiled slightly. “Maybe He did save her.”

  Bruce frowned but waited.

  “I think about these things, and I wonder—you and Lucy were planning to travel. What if Lucy had survived the heart attack but the two of you were in an awful accident or some other catastrophic event happened that caused even more pain for Lucy . . . and you?”

  Bruce shook his head.

  “Just hear me out. Maybe God saved Lucy from something far worse. It’s impossible to know. I’m not simplifying or minimizing her death at all.” As Bruce shook his head again, she went on. “We can’t know God’s plan, but I will pray that you lose the bitterness you feel.”

  “In your analogy, the situation remains the same. God is God. He could allow us to avoid an accident or other event altogether.”

  Now it was Joan who shook her head. “I believe that when something bad happens, there has to be a reason for it, and we aren’t always meant to know.”

  Bruce wondered how they’d gotten so off topic, away from the conversation about the Amish family. But Joan’s supposed calling in that regard had brought them here.

  She stood up and turned to leave.

  “Are you mad?” Bruce leaned forward, scowling at her speedy departure.

  Her expression dropped as she spun around and locked eyes with him. “No. Not mad. Just disappointed. Everyone questions God’s will, but we can’t foresee His plan during our time on this earth. Only someone who has lost a spouse could possibly understand your grief.”

  Bruce took a deep breath.

  “So, imagine my horror at losing my husband, with four young children to raise. I understand your pain. But you can blame the Lord, or you can give your all to Him and trust that He has your best interests at heart.” She paused. “You will be happy again, Bruce. I know it.”

  Bruce wasn’t so sure about that. Right now he felt worse than ever.

  By Thursday evening Gabriel struggled to retrieve the picture he’d stored in his mind. The one where supper was on the table, the children were clean and orderly, and his wife was glowing and happy.

  Mary was scrambling to get bread and jam on the table. Katie was busily pouring juice onto the floor from a cup with no lid on it. The glasses rattled as one of the twins kicked the other under the table. Rachel and Leah were quiet, but probably because Rachel was giving her baby sister pinches of a cookie that was surely going to spoil both their suppers.

  Gabriel closed his eyes, but he still couldn’t find the fond recollection in his mind, and he wondered if he’d made a mistake by forbidding the Englisch woman in their home. But the safety of his family came first. The lady might have been a kind person, but was she committed to the Lord? That was something that Gabriel didn’t have to worry about with members of their community. But worse, would the woman try to con Mary the way an Englisch woman had done to his mother? He shivered just thinking about it. An Englisch woman had wormed her way into his mother’s life years ago, pretending to be someone she wasn’t, and she’d stolen money from Mamm. He could still remember how hurt his mother had been, more about the dishonesty of the friendship, and not so much about the money.

  Gabriel took a bite of roast. A memory of last Friday’s stew surfaced, and it was hard to ignore when compared to this roast, with little seasoning and maybe not quite done.

  “Forgive me.” Mary bolted from her chair, holding her hands across her stomach as she left the kitchen.

  Gabriel glanced at Rachel Marie. “Is your mamm sick?”

  His oldest daughter shook her head. “Nee. She’s not sick.” Rachel took a long, deep breath, and when she let it out, Gabriel heard her chest rattle a little. “She’s going to have another boppli.”

  Gabriel dropped his fork on his plate as his jaw fell open. Nee, Lord, nee. A baby was a gift, but as he looked around the table at his five children, he didn’t see how he and Mary could possibly handle one more.

  “How do you know your mother is in a family way?” He found Rachel Marie’s eyes. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Nee. Samuel told me.” Rachel pointed to the twin on her right. “Right, Samuel?”

  Gabriel looked at his son and waited.

  “She didn’t tell me that,” Samuel said. “But she was sick like this before Katie and Leah were born.”

  Gabriel felt relief wash over him as his heartbeat slowed. Mary might just have a bug, a bout of stomach upset.

  He forked a piece of roast, stuffed it in his mouth, and chewed hard, nodding his head once. Ya, just a stomach flu.

  Mary wiped her mouth, stared at herself in the mirror, and turned on the water in the sink. She sat down on the floor and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her trembling legs. I can’t be having another baby. She just needed a few minutes to gather herself, but
she jumped when there was a knock at the bathroom door.

  “Mary, are you sick?”

  She glanced at the doorknob and wondered if Gabriel would walk in. There wasn’t a lock on the door. Her eyes darted to the water running in the sink, and as she contemplated getting up, the door opened. Gabriel’s sullen expression said it all.

  “Sweetie . . .” He squatted down beside her. Mary couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to her using any type of pet name, and it caused a tear to slide down her cheek.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said as her lip trembled. “It’s a gift, I know.”

  Gabriel hung his head, then looked back at her. “Are you sure?”

  “Ya. You left the babies unattended.”

  “Samuel and John are in charge; they will keep an eye on them.”

  Mary smiled a little. “The same boys who were contemplating jumping off the roof to fly recently?”

  “They’re fine.” Gabriel placed a hand on Mary’s leg, and she fought the urge to slap it away. “Why is the water running?”

  Mary shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Gabriel reached up and stretched his arm until he had hold of the faucet, then turned off the water. “We’ll get by. I know six boppli is a lot, but many of the families in our district have a lot of kinner, and they do just fine.”

  Mary began to sob. “Gabriel, I am not doing just fine.”

  He swallowed hard as his wife cried.

  CHAPTER 7

  Gabriel stood facing the elevator, waiting and double-checking the address on the piece of paper in his hand.

  Two women passed behind him. “Look at the Amish man. I wonder what he’s doing here.”

  Gabriel took a deep breath when the elevator doors opened, then slipped in beside three men dressed in black suits. Two of the fellows were talking in another language. The third man looked Gabriel up and down. This is Lancaster County. Haven’t you ever seen an Amish person?

  He took a deep breath and forced himself to stow his frustration. As he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his black trousers, two of his fingers slid through a hole in his left pocket. He jumped when a bell rang to signal he’d reached his floor. He took his hands out of his pockets, tucked his head, and slid past the three men into a large corridor.

  A few moments later, he walked into suite 308 and made his way to a lady at a desk, assuming she was the person who received visitors.

  Smiling, the young woman asked, “May I help you?”

  “Uh . . . I am here to see someone.” He paused and removed his hat. “Um . . . a lady.”

  The woman at the desk raised an eyebrow, waiting.

  “I, uh . . . I’m here to see the elf lady.”

  Grinning, her eyebrow rose even higher. “I’m sorry. Who?”

  Gabriel felt a flush crawling up his neck, pretty sure his face was turning bright red. “She is Santa’s helper. The lady. Can I talk to her?”

  “Sir . . .” The woman smiled broadly. “We don’t have a Santa Claus or an elf who works here.” She glanced around, as if looking for someone.

  “Oh.” Gabriel shifted his weight, then dropped his hat. He scooped it up. “Um . . .”

  The woman stood from her seat. “Wait right here, please.” She disappeared behind one of two doors in the room. A few moments later, she returned with an older man. He was tall with salt-and-pepper hair.

  “Hello, sir.” The man extended his hand, and Gabriel slowly shook it. “I think I know who you’re looking for. I’m Bruce Hanson. Follow me.”

  Gabriel followed the man down a long hallway. On either side hung big framed pictures of tall buildings. Gabriel wondered how long it took to build something like that. The man slowed his stride at a closed door on their left, then opened the door and motioned for Gabriel to go inside, closing the door behind them.

  “You must be looking for Joan. She’s the woman who was dressed as an elf in the store.” He nodded toward a couch against one wall. “If you’d like to have a seat, I’ll go find her for you.”

  “Danki. I mean, thank you.” Gabriel sat down, and after Mr. Hanson was gone, he scanned the fancy office space. There was a big desk with a high-back chair behind it, and behind the chair was another type of desk with files, a phone, and several pictures of Mr. Hanson with a woman—his wife, Gabriel presumed.

  He set his hat on his knee as his foot tapped wildly against the wood floor. The shiny flooring was nothing like the wood floors at home. Gabriel wondered how they got it to glisten like that. He took in a deep breath and waited.

  Bruce opened the door to Joan’s office, but she wasn’t there. He checked the lounge and the copy room, then tapped lightly on Amanda’s office door, knowing the two women were chummy. “Have you seen Joan?”

  Amanda looked up and shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen her this morning.”

  He smiled, left, and headed down the hallway as his heart pounded in his chest. He picked up his pace, then stopped outside Matt’s door. He turned the doorknob and stepped over the threshold without knocking. He recognized the back of Joan’s head as she sat facing Matt.

  “Joan, there’s someone here to see you,” he said in a voice he didn’t recognize, almost crackly like a teenager’s.

  Joan twisted to face him as Matt smiled from behind his desk. Bruce wanted to fire him on the spot.

  “Oh.” She put her pen atop a yellow legal pad in her lap, and right away Bruce wondered if it was just a prop, if there was really any work going on in this room. Joan walked toward Bruce, wearing a dark-brown knee-length skirt that flowed as she moved, and a white shirt that was belted at her waist. She moved quickly in her flat brown shoes, and Bruce wondered if he’d ever inventoried Joan’s apparel before now. “Who is it?” she asked when she got within a foot of him.

  “I, uh . . . forgot to ask his name.” Bruce owned this building, everything in it, and the business. He shouldn’t feel like a visitor, like a person interrupting something that shouldn’t be going on anyway, but as he stammered, his pulse picked up even more. “I forgot to ask,” he repeated.

  Joan scowled as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay. Where is he?”

  “In my office. He’s Amish.”

  Joan left the room ahead of Bruce, but he was quickly on her heels until he was walking beside her. “I don’t care what you do on your own time, Joan, but try to keep your little office romance from interfering with your job.” A knot the size of a golf ball formed in Bruce’s throat. He didn’t think he’d ever reprimanded Joan for anything.

  She kept walking, her eyes straight ahead, her expression unreadable and flat. “Shame on you for even saying that.” Her chin lifted slightly.

  What does that even mean? Bruce wasn’t sure if Joan was saying again that nothing was going on, or if she was just angry that he’d pulled rank on her. But before he could analyze it further, she walked into his office and slammed the door behind her.

  Bruce stood perfectly still as he faced his office door and the sign that hung on it. “Bruce Hanson, CEO.” The man in charge. That’s me.

  Bruce had never felt less in charge in his life.

  What is happening to me?

  Mary wiped milk from Leah’s mouth and lifted her from her high chair, the one Joan had given her. The Englisch woman had recalled seeing a high chair at a garage sale, and during their visit, Joan had left to go buy it. Mary was thankful to have two now.

  Katie was in her playpen, and Mary sat down with Rachel Marie, Leah in her lap. Mary was glad the twins were well enough to go back to school, and a tinge of guilt nipped at her for having the thought.

  “Have you tried to read the first few pages of your new book?” she asked Rachel Marie.

  Rachel would have been in school with her brothers, but Mary and Gabriel had decided to hold her back until next year, hoping her health would be more stable.

  “Nee, but I will.” Rachel drew in a deep breath, her face paler than normal.

  Mary stared at her
beautiful daughter for a few long moments. “How are you feeling?”

  Rachel lifted one shoulder, then lowered it slowly. “Not so gut.”

  Mary put her hand against Rachel’s forehead, thankful it was cool to her touch. “Maybe just rest today. Or do you need one of the pills the doctor gave you?”

  Rachel shook her head before she spoke to Mary in Pennsylvania Deutsch.

  “Use your Englisch.” Mary had been working with Rachel on her Englisch because most children learned it during their first year of school and Rachel would be a year behind the others. But with two older brothers, Rachel had picked up on most of the second language early anyway.

  “Nee, I’m okay.”

  Mary kissed Rachel on her forehead. When Rachel’s heart defect was first diagnosed, the doctors had assured Mary and Gabriel that Rachel would live a full life, but that she might require medication to treat her symptoms until she was old enough to have surgery.

  When Leah began to yawn, Mary placed her in the playpen with Katie, who was already asleep. She was thankful that Leah drifted off to sleep quickly. She’d have about an hour to clean things up while they slept. As she recalled her conversation with Gabriel the night before, she wished she hadn’t said anything to him. Today was a new day, and she was going to do her best to be a good wife and mother.

  After she’d put another log on the fire, Mary picked up two plates the twins had left on the coffee table, along with a cup Rachel had used earlier. She was on her way to the kitchen when she heard a car coming up the driveway. After she set the dishes back on the coffee table, she went to the window. She recognized the black van with a dent on one side. It was her mother-in-law’s driver. Mary was forced to use a driver most of the time because she had so many children in tow, but she’d never understood why her mother-in-law didn’t travel short distances by buggy. Gabriel didn’t have an answer either, saying only that his mother used to drive a buggy all the time. Mary remembered when Elizabeth started hiring a driver, around the time the twins were born.