Winter of Wishes

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Over the next hour and a half the two kids behaved like angels. While Rhoda wasn’t keen on the way they watched television and played with little gadgets in their hands, at least they weren’t aggravating each other. So she focused on sewing their grandmother’s new clothes.

  Using a dress Betty said was still a good fit, Rhoda laid it on newspaper pages on the kitchen countertop to draw a paper pattern. As she allowed for the differences between this dress’s style and the Amish type she herself wore, she became aware that Taylor had sat down beside her grandmother at the kitchen table.

  “Whatcha doin’ now?” the girl asked.

  Rhoda smiled. Any time a young lady seemed curious about sewing, it was an opportunity to show her a skill she could use all her life. “Once I have paper pattern pieces for the dress and the sleeves, I’ll pin them on the fabric and cut them out,” she explained. “Which dress shall I sew first, Betty? I’ll make one, and then we’ll check the fit before we cut into another piece of fabric.”

  Betty, now wearing clean sweats, with her hair neatly combed, leaned eagerly over the three lengths of fabric they’d chosen. “Red poppies,” she declared, pointing with her good hand. “Christmas’ll be here . . . before we know it.”

  Rhoda smiled. “Ya want to save that piece for the second dress, after we try out our pattern on another fabric to be sure it’s right?”

  “Nope. It’ll be . . . perfect if you . . . make it, Rhoda.”

  Rhoda’s breath caught. Could she live up to such an expectation with her makeshift pattern? When the pieces were all cut out, the three of them went to Betty’s room. She and Taylor pulled the sewing machine out of the closet, and with Betty’s gestures and halting suggestions, Rhoda set it up. “I’m not used to an electric machine, ya know,” she said as she threaded the needle with red thread. “So I just press my foot on that pedal, and the needle moves?”

  “Yup. Old machine, but . . . still runs good.” Betty took a seat in her overstuffed chair, while Taylor bounced onto the bed to watch.

  After a few wild, racing starts that made the three of them giggle hysterically, Rhoda got the feel for feeding the fabric under the needle. When the main seams were basted in with long loose stitches, Taylor showed her where the iron and ironing board were—again, a new experience with an English appliance. Rhoda marveled at how easy it was to press the seams open with the steam that came out of the lightweight iron.

  “It’s time for your fittin’,” she announced. “Ya ready for this, Betty?”

  Taylor went out to check on Brett, who was watching a TV show about animals. As Rhoda helped Betty slip out of her sweats, she felt little tremors of anticipation in the older woman’s limbs. The red poppies brightened the whole room, and as Rhoda pinned the front panels of the dress together, she got caught up in Betty’s excitement.

  “So how’s it feel to ya? It drapes real nice in the back,” she said as she went around to look. “Let’s check the mirror, and see how long ya want it.”

  When they positioned the closet door so Betty could step in front of the full-length glass, the older woman’s expression stopped Rhoda’s heart: Betty’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Slowly she turned from one side to the other. She stood taller and squared her shoulders, as though she had someplace to go—perhaps recalling younger, happier days. As Betty smoothed the fabric at the shoulders, a sigh escaped her. “So . . . perty, Rhoda,” she murmured. “Thank . . . you ever so . . . much, dear.”

  Rhoda wiped away a tear. When Betty reached for her with shining eyes, she stepped into a hug that took her by surprise with its intensity. How long had it been since this sweet old soul had worn something new? Had Betty endured long, lonely weeks, staying out of the way while Andy and his wife had ended their marriage? Did she feel that she was imposing on her son—especially after she’d lost the use of one side of her body? Sadder yet, had Betty resigned herself to just hanging on from one day to the next, without any hopes or hobbies?

  Rhoda pressed her cheek to Betty’s, sharing a kind of love she’d never expected, from a woman she barely knew. When she had told Andy that she felt needed here, she’d had no idea how much truer that statement would become . . . or how deep her emotions would run.

  As they eased apart, Rhoda blinked back a last tear, noting the shiny streaks on Betty’s face. “Well, now,” she murmured. “Ya had faith in my sewin’, so we’re off to a real nice start. I was thinkin’ that piece of bright green would make a gut apron—”

  Betty’s smile shone like the Christmas star as she nodded.

  “—and I’ll make a white one from that piece of twill we found,” Rhoda continued as she unpinned the bodice. “While I’m doin’ so gut on the machine, I’ll hem this dress and start another one. Which fabric do ya want for it?”

  Betty considered the other large swaths they’d pulled from the bin and pointed to a piece of textured tweed in blues, yellows, and greens. “After this one . . . Taylor wants something from the purple . . . with the pink dots.”

  “Jah, so she’s told me!” Rhoda said with a laugh. Then an idea occurred to her. “Do ya know if she’s ever done any hand sewin’? Might be a gut chance for her to learn, on these nice big snaps that’ll go down the front of your dresses.”

  Betty’s eyes widened. “Good idea. I’ll go get her.”

  Was it her imagination, or had Andy’s mother said “gut idea”? Rhoda laughed at herself: with the morning nearly past and a new dress to show for it, her happiness was surely coloring what she saw and heard.

  After their lunch, Rhoda agreed that Brett could play games on the computer while Taylor tried her hand at sewing the snaps on her gram’s poppy-print dress. Taylor sat very still, holding her mouth just so, focused on jabbing thread through the needle’s tiny eye the way Rhoda had shown her. Then Taylor observed closely as Rhoda made small stitches in each of the first snap’s openings.

  It was a gratifying sight, to see Betty giving encouragement as her granddaughter carefully circled each snap with her stitches. This meant Rhoda was free to cut and sew the tweed dress, knowing her paper pattern was an accurate fit.

  This has to be Your hand at work, guidin’ mine, Lord, she thought. An hour later, the tweed dress hung on the door awaiting snaps where she’d marked its front edges with pins.

  At the sound of a loud sigh, Rhoda looked up. “Gettin’ tired of that hand sewin’, Taylor?” she asked gently. “Go on and play with Brett, if ya want. You’ve been a real big help.”

  “My stitches are so big, compared to yours,” Taylor said in a dejected tone.

  “Oh, don’t ya worry about that, honey-bug!” Rhoda exclaimed as she looked at Taylor’s work. “For your first time, ya did mighty fine—”

  Betty was nodding emphatically, hugging Taylor’s shoulders.

  “—and ya know what?” Rhoda continued. “Your grandma’s gonna smile every time she puts on this perty red poppy dress, because the color makes her almost as happy as lookin’ at the snaps ya sewed on for her today.”

  “Real . . . proud of you . . . Taylor,” Betty agreed.

  Rhoda stopped sewing for a while to figure out what to cook for their supper . . . a dish that could simmer until Andy got home, probably in an hour or so. She put some frozen chicken breast tenderloins on to boil. When they were cooked, she would combine them with noodles and a can of cream of chicken soup for a meal everyone would like.

  When she glanced out the window, she grinned at the snowman Brett and Taylor were making in the backyard. It was good to see them outside playing, much like Willow Ridge kids would be now that school had let out for the day. Fat flakes of snow were still coming down. She’d been so focused on sewing for Betty, it seemed like a whole day had passed since this morning when she’d talked with Mamma and Ben in the café.

  Rhoda went into the front room. Her mother and Naomi would be cleaning up the Sweet Seasons kitchen by now, so if she called—

  The jangle of Andy’s phone startled her. Bett
y awoke from the nap she’d drifted into while sitting on the couch.

  “Shall I answer?” Rhoda asked. Betty nodded, so she picked up the receiver. “Jah, hullo? This is Rhoda, who’s takin’ care of Andy Leitner’s kids,” she said, thinking the caller might be confused unless she identified herself.

  “And how are Andy Leitner’s kids?” a familiar male voice asked. “They’d better be behaving for you, Rhoda.”

  “Andy! Oh, jah, they’ve been busy bees today. They’re makin’ a snowman out back,” she replied in a rush, “while your mamm and I, well—we’ve been sewin’ up some new dresses. Ya want to talk to her? She’s sittin right here.”

  There was a pause, filled with a tired sigh. “I have a huge favor to ask,” Andy said. “We’re understaffed today, and we’ve had a steady stream of patients coming in from car accidents on the icy roads. We’ve gotten word of a school bus full of kids that got broadsided by an eighteen-wheeler—”

  “Oh, Andy, how horrible!”

  “—so I’m hoping you can stay at the house while we patch up those kids. It’s going to be really late before I get home, so if you need to call your driver—”

  “I’ll stay right here,” Rhoda insisted. “If the roads are that bad, I don’t want Sheila comin’ for me. We’re snug as bugs in a rug, Andy. Truly we are.”

  “Thank you so much,” he murmured. “Here comes the first ambulance from that bus crash—but we’ll get you home eventually, Rhoda. We’ll figure it out when I get there.”

  In the background Rhoda could hear tense voices and a lot of commotion before Andy said, “Tell Brett and Taylor there’s no staying up late tonight. The snow’s letting up and the salt trucks are out, so they’ll have school tomorrow,” he explained. “Stretch out on the couch if it gets late, all right? You’ve had a long day.”

  “You have, too,” she replied as his words set her thoughts to spinning. “Be careful drivin’ home, Andy. Things get tricky when you’re drivin’ after dark and you’re tired.”

  “Thanks, Rhoda,” he breathed. “You’re the best.”

  As the phone clicked off, Rhoda tingled. You’re the best. When had anyone ever told her that? She returned the receiver to its cradle. “Andy’s going to be really late,” she told Betty. “A busload of school kids is comin’ to the hospital, after they got hit by a big semitruck—”

  Betty gasped. “Glad . . . our two are home . . . safe. Call your mother, Rhoda.”

  Rhoda lifted the receiver again. “After I talk to Mamma, we can cut out the aprons for your new dresses,” she suggested. “Amazin’ what we’ve accomplished today, Betty! The snow’s been a problem for a lot of folks, but not for us.”

  Chapter Ten

  Andy shut off the ignition and sat in the dark car, rubbing his eyes. While eighteen-hour shifts would be necessary now and again when he became a registered nurse, he prayed days like today would be few and far between. He’d been beyond exhausted when they’d received word about the bus wreck, yet he’d called upon a strength he hadn’t known he possessed. Even so, the images of those kids, some of them with crushed, mangled limbs, would live in his memory for a long, long time.

  As he glanced at the living room window, however, he smiled: Rhoda had left the lamp on, so its glow would welcome him home.

  Get real. She doesn’t want to stumble in a dark house if she gets up from the couch. She’s worn out, too.

  Andy stepped carefully out of the car, grateful to the neighbor who had cleared the driveway with his garden tractor and blade. Where would he be without good friends like Milt Rodgers and the Gaines family across the street, who had helped him through tight spots with the kids while Megan’s presence had been so unreliable? So unpredictable.

  You’ll never associate such words with Rhoda, he thought as he headed for the door. Rhoda the Reliable. Rhoda the Resilient. Rhoda the—

  “That you, Andy? Gut to see ya made it home!”

  Andy’s thoughts raced like the chaser lights on the house next door: as the porch light illuminated the falling snow and made Rhoda’s white kapp glow above her warm smile, it occurred to him that he’d seldom known such a wonderful welcome. His weariness lightened with each step he took toward the young woman who held the door for him.

  Man, do I wish this could happen every day.

  “Saved ya back some chicken and noodles,” Rhoda was saying as he came inside. “The kids and your mamm have been in bed for a while. We all had a real gut day.”

  Andy gazed at her, at a loss for words. How did she perform such magic? How had she won over his kids and taken his mother under her wing and turned his house into a comfortable, cozy home within a week? Rather than rhapsodize over the miracles Rhoda had worked—because his praise would surely cross the line his thoughts had already ignored—he focused on the matter at hand.

  “But if I eat, you’ll be even later getting home,” he reasoned. “And I’ve been wondering about how to work that situation. I hate to have you call your driver at all hours of the night, but I’m not allowed to drive you. Am I?”

  Rhoda clasped her hands demurely at her waist. “Jah, that’s one of the rules. Especially when it comes to me bein’ unmarried and you bein’ English.”

  Oh, but he had stray thoughts about how to fix that situation. He followed Rhoda to the kitchen, where aromas of seasoned chicken still lingered. As he settled tiredly into his chair, she took a plate from the fridge and placed it in the microwave. The countertop was cleared. The sink drainer held no dirty dishes. All was calm, all was bright.

  “You know how to use a microwave?” he asked, figuring it was a safe subject.

  Rhoda’s grin tickled him. “Taylor showed me how it works. She did some hand sewin’ today, too. Puttin’ snaps on your mamm’s new dresses.”

  “Taylor used a needle and thread?”

  “Jah, she did! We didn’t let a moment get by us today, sewin’ on your mamm’s machine,” the young woman said with a smile. She set a plate in front of him that was loaded with noodles and chunks of chicken, laced with seasonings. Then she took the chair beside his.

  “My God, but this smells wonderful,” he murmured without thinking about it.

  “Sounds like the perfect table grace.” Rhoda leaned her head on her hand, gazing at him. “I think your mother came a long way today, Andy. She’s excited about havin’ two new dresses, and aprons to go over the top of them—like her mamm used to wear, she told me.”

  Andy had a flash of memory—Grandma Whitney had considered an apron part of her everyday attire as she’d baked bread and cleaned and kept the household running . . . just as Rhoda Lantz did in this day and age. Something about that connection of past and present felt right to him, even as he knew he should concentrate on what this young woman was telling him. “Let me know what I owe you for that, Rhoda. Mom needs new clothes, but I’m not so good at taking her shopping—”

  “Puh!” Rhoda said as she grabbed his wrist. “It was somethin’ for us to do together—with Taylor—and she already had the fabric.” She drew back her hand then, her eyes widening with sudden realization. “It—it was no trouble at all, Andy. Truly.”

  Andy took a bite of the creamy chicken and noodles, every nerve ending in his body a-jangle. Rhoda had touched him. She, too, had felt the jolt of awareness jump between them. “How am I supposed to get you home without getting you in trouble? I assume your mother knows you’ve stayed here this late?”

  “Jah, she does.” Rhoda glanced at the wall clock. “Won’t be but a couple of hours and she’ll start her day’s bakin’. We Amish are gut at seein’ the practical side to what the Ordnung says we’re to do—not bein’ sneaky, understand. Just gettin’ things done without makin’ a fuss. So, since it’s all right for us to pay English fellas to drive us—and since it’d be wrong to get Sheila outta bed at this hour—”

  “You’re not going to pay me, after the day you’ve put in!”

  “Jah, I am! Or we’ll have Mamma do it,” she said with a decisive
nod. “That way, if our bishop, Hiram Knepp, gets wind of the situation, you and I kept it all business between us. Mamma knows about doin’ that, from when Rebecca’s English dat bought the café building out from under Hiram last summer.”

  His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “I suppose Amish women have to be resourceful sometimes—”

  “Jah, that’s Mamma. Resourceful. Smart.”

  “—but do you really think it’s all business between us, Rhoda?”

  As her eyes widened, Andy groaned. Had he really opened that can of worms? “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m too tired. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Rhoda glanced away. Then her blue eyes shone with determination in the low light of the kitchen. “It’s usually the words we try to keep to ourselves that most need sayin’, ain’t so?” she murmured. “I love bein’ in your home, and bein’ with your kids, Andy. And I love—”

  “Don’t go there.” He gazed at her more sternly than he wanted to. She couldn’t use that love word. If her feelings for him were on the tip of her tongue—if she uttered those three little words—they’d be in an even stickier situation. “It’s too soon to have these feelings, and we both know it.”

  Rhoda sighed plaintively. “The heart always knows best. Mamma says so herself.”

  Andy swallowed. How had he gotten into this pickle? And now Rhoda was in it with him, and using her mother to validate it.

  No, you are grasping at straws, trying to justify your feelings. You’re lonely and tired, and Rhoda’s filling in all the gaps in your life. Get her home. Get over it.

  “I have tomorrow off, so you won’t need to come. Meanwhile, let’s get you back to Willow Ridge.” Andy hoped he sounded honorable rather than peeved at her. Poor Rhoda hadn’t done anything but answer his ad and connect with his kids and befriend his mother. Not her fault that in her Plain clothes, without makeup, she appealed to him with her openness, her candor . . . the absence of schemes and mind games.