An Amish Christmas: A Novel

by Cynthia Keller

  She felt James’s shoulder hit her hard as he leaned—or was thrown—toward her.

  For a moment everyone was too stunned to speak. Through the open windshield, the cold night air rushed into the car.

  “Mommy!” Sam’s fearful cry broke the silence. “I got hurt. Will hurt me!”

  “Mom, what happened?” Lizzie’s tone was frantic.

  Meg told herself to get control. She couldn’t afford to panic. “What is it, Sam? Will, Lizzie, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Will said.

  “My head hurts,” Sam whimpered. “Will hit me with his elbow really hard.”

  “It was an accident! There’s nothing wrong with you!”

  “Lizzie?”

  Her daughter was beginning to cry. “I want to go home.”

  Meg turned to look at James. His face was white. Blood trickled down his temple from a cut on his head, and she saw several other slashes on his face and neck from the pieces of glass that seemed to be everywhere. “James?”

  “I’m all right.” He spoke quietly. “You?”

  The door on Meg’s side was yanked open from the outside, startling all of them. “You folks okay in there?”

  A man in a black coat and black hat with a wide, flat brim peered in, an anxious expression on his face. He had a full brown beard but no mustache, and dark hair with bangs cut straight across his forehead. The man driving the buggy, Meg realized. An Amish man, of course.

  “You need to get to a hospital?” He had an accent that Meg interpreted as something between German and Dutch.

  James leaned forward to talk to him across Meg. “Just a little banged up. But thanks.”

  The children were staring at the man with mild fright. He looked them over, noting the heavy quilts surrounding the three. “You were lucky, wrapped up like that. Cushioned the blow, I’d guess.”

  “My brother hit me in the head,” Sam volunteered.

  “Shut up,” Will shot back.

  The man turned his attention back to James. “Do you have people nearby? You live here?”

  “No, we’re not from here,” James said. “We were looking for a motel to spend the night. We got lost.”

  “Ah, well.” The man nodded, thinking. “You best come home with me, then. In the morning you can decide what to do.” He straightened up. “I’ll bring the horse closer.”

  As soon as he moved away from the car, Will burst out, his cry urgent. “No way! We’re not going to that freak’s house!”

  “He’s totally creepy.” Lizzie was just as vehement. “You just know their house is disgusting. You can’t make us go there.”

  James closed his eyes and spoke slowly. “Our car is destroyed, and we have no place to sleep. So we’re going to accept this very kind stranger’s offer, and you are going to be perfect little angels. Do I make myself clear?”

  Silence from the back.

  “I understand, Daddy,” Sam finally offered.

  “Be quiet, you little suck-up,” Lizzie hissed.

  “Now, then, let’s see if we can get you out of there.” They heard the man’s voice before they saw his face at the window again.

  Meg shifted her body carefully among the jagged shards of glass scattered about. She realized that she, too, had a number of stinging cuts, some still bleeding.

  But she was weak with relief to see that the children had escaped any real injury. Sam was already developing a lump on his forehead from Will’s elbow, and it would doubtless be much bigger by the next day. Lizzie’s left foot was bothering her; she must have smacked it on something, but it didn’t seem serious. Thank goodness for those quilts and pillows, Meg thought.

  Shivering in the icy night, the children clutching their quilts around them, the family surveyed the wreckage of their car. James had nearly managed to avoid the telephone pole, but his side of the car hadn’t quite cleared it. The front left had smashed into the pole and was pushed in like an accordion. Thinking of their narrow escape, Meg felt faint.

  “Let’s get you out of the cold,” the man said.

  One at a time, he helped them up into the buggy, James and Will in the front seat, the others in back. A thick leather top kept the wind off them, but inside it was far from warm. Meg put an arm around Sam and Lizzie, who slumped miserably against her. James wrapped his arm around Will’s shoulders, and, uncharacteristically, his son allowed it.

  “My name is David Lutz.” He got in next to James and picked up the leather reins. He made a slight clicking sound, and the horse began to trot. “I’ll send my sons back for your bags. You need to get the car towed.”

  “We can’t thank you enough, Mr. Lutz,” James said loud enough to be heard over the horse’s trotting.

  “I don’t know what we would have done,” Meg added.

  David Lutz turned his head so his words could be heard more easily. “No. I thank you. You put yourselves in danger so you wouldn’t hit me. We just need to see you all get taken care of and get a good rest.”

  He faced front once again and said nothing else for the rest of the ride.

  It was too dark to see much along the narrow roads. The houses and farms were spread far from one another, with few lights on. My poor kids, Meg thought, still comforting Lizzie and Sam. On top of everything else, a car accident. Now this incredibly strange rescue.

  Abruptly, the horse turned in to a long dirt road leading to a house, then came to a halt. The shades on the first floor were drawn, but faint light could be seen outlining the edges.

  “Wait here,” David Lutz said. “I’ll be right back with some help.”

  He disappeared into the house. The children disembarked on their own. As Meg and James began to ease themselves down from the buggy, the front door to the house opened, and David Lutz emerged with two teenage boys, one taller than the other but both dressed identically. Despite the cold, they wore only long-sleeved dark blue shirts and black pants with suspenders. They hastened over to assist Meg and James.

  “You are hurt?” The shorter boy, holding his hands out to Meg, had the same lilting accent as his father.

  “Just a little shaken up,” she said, grateful for his arm as she stepped down onto the icy ground.

  “Come inside. My mother is making you something to eat.”

  All three of their children waited until Meg and James entered the house first, not out of politeness, Meg knew, but so they could hide behind them. They entered a large, dimly lit room that contained a kitchen on the far end and a huge wooden dining table surrounded by what might have been twenty chairs. The furniture was solid but simple. There were no decorations on the walls other than a calendar and a stitched sampler with words that Meg guessed to be German. She realized kerosene lamps were providing what little light there was. On the wall next to her, she saw a long, low bench and, above it, hooks mounted on a narrow piece of wood, each hook occupied by a black coat or cape. Some hooks also held either the same type of hat David was wearing or what appeared to be women’s black bonnets. On the opposite side of the room, Meg saw wooden chairs and a sofa with padded blue cushions. Behind them were additional chairs next to several folding tables set up with crayons and paper, half-done puzzles, and a game of Monopoly still in progress. Everything in the room appeared old and worn from use but immaculately clean.

  Behind her, Meg heard Will whisper. “Can you believe this place?”

  Lizzie whispered back. “Kill me now.”

  Meg shot them a warning look.

  A woman stood by the stove. Short and slender, she was dressed in a mauve-colored dress and a black apron. The dress came down to the middle of her calves, and below that she wore dark black stockings but no shoes. Her hair was all but hidden beneath a white cap whose strings hung down, untied.

  At the sound of people entering the house, she turned. Her face was free of makeup, her features plain. It seemed to Meg that she could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty.

  “Hello. Welcome to our house.” The woman smiled warmly. �
��I’m Catherine. Would the children like tea or hot chocolate? I’m warming some stew, but that will take a little more time.”

  There was an enormous covered pot and a teakettle on the stove behind her.

  “You’re very kind,” James said. “Thank you.”

  “Come.” David Lutz ushered them over to the table, waving to the two boys to pull out chairs for their guests. Lizzie, Will, and Sam took seats, all three keeping their gazes down. Meg wondered if she looked as ill at ease as they did. She couldn’t believe how nervous she felt, afraid she would say or do something inappropriate or even offensive to these people. She cast about to recall anything at all she might know about the Amish.

  “These are two of my sons, Jonathan and Eli,” David continued.

  Both boys said a bright “hello.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I feel ridiculous,” Meg said. “We haven’t even told you our names. I’m Meg Hobart.”

  “James Hobart.” He reached out to shake David Lutz’s hand.

  They looked expectantly at their children, who mumbled their names, trying to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

  “I’ll get some things for you to clean off this blood,” Catherine said. She disappeared through a doorway.

  Their host turned to James and Meg. “I sent my daughter to bring a doctor we know. He should look at all of you.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t have to—” James protested.

  David held up a hand. “While we wait, tell me if I can get you something.”

  “We have to make some calls about the car,” James said. “We don’t have cell phones on us, though. Do you have a phone I could use?”

  “There is a telephone outside in the shed,” David told him. “We don’t keep one in the house.”

  The three Hobart children looked astonished.

  James nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “Jonathan.” David addressed his son. “You and Eli see what you can get out of their car. Their suitcases and such. Come. I’ll tell you where.”

  He quickly strode out the front door as the boys grabbed black jackets from the hooks and followed. Able to see them a little better now, Meg judged Jonathan to be around eighteen, while Eli looked closer to fourteen. They both had blond hair in the same bowl-shaped haircut as their father.

  It struck her that Eli was probably between Lizzie and Will in age. Somehow that didn’t seem possible. It wasn’t just the clothes and haircut. Maybe it was his demeanor or the open and direct way he spoke to them. She wasn’t quite sure what the quality was that made him so different, but there was definitely something. She tried to imagine her children responding so quickly and respectfully to her. The mental image almost made her laugh aloud. Suddenly, she realized that the incongruity of her children and respectful behavior wasn’t funny at all. Not even a little.

  Meg rubbed her eyes, exhausted. When Lizzie was little, Meg would tuck her into bed at night and, trying to get her resistant child to go to sleep, say that it had been a big day and now it was time to rest. Lizzie would always shake her head and demand, “More big day!” The phrase had become something of a family joke.

  “Too much big day,” Meg said softly.

  Lizzie overheard her mother’s comment. “Darn right, too much big day,” she muttered. “Way too much.”

  Meg looked over to see Catherine Lutz enter the room with several small towels and washcloths. She put them down on the table, then went back to the stove, pausing to stir the contents of the pot. “Almost ready,” she said, peering in at what was no doubt the stew she had mentioned.

  Meg had no desire to eat. All she wanted to do was crawl into a bed somewhere and sleep. She glanced at James. He looked as if he was struggling to keep his eyes open. Everything that had led up to this minute seemed to be catching up with them. Leaving the house, making this trip and dreading the day they reached their destination, everyone’s bickering, and then this crash. Meg wanted to sleep for a hundred years so she didn’t have to think about any of it. She would bet James felt the same way.

  The children, on the other hand, were seated at the table looking bored but fully awake. Will was rhythmically kicking the rungs of his chair. Sam had folded his hands on the table in front of him and was turning them this way and that, intently examining them. Lizzie sat slouched over, an elbow on the table, her head resting on her hand. All this might catch up with them later, but for now Meg felt certain they would be fine sitting here, eating—or rudely turning up their noses at—whatever this lovely woman was nice enough to serve them.

  Catherine came to the table with a large bowl of warm water. She dipped two worn but clean washcloths into the water, wrung them out, and handed them to Meg and James. For the first time, Meg looked closely at her own arms and saw the thin streaks of blood.

  These are truly kind people, Meg thought as she dabbed at her cuts with the warm cloth. Imagine opening your house to help a bunch of strangers who had almost run you over. Taking a quick look at her sullen children, she hoped the Lutzes wouldn’t come to regret it.

  Chapter 7

  Meg opened her eyes to see an overcast day through the panes of an unfamiliar window. The gray sky gave no clue whether it was morning or afternoon. Trying to clear her head, she stared at the short beige curtains framing the window. As she shifted position on the bed, she let out an involuntary groan. Every inch of her body hurt.

  It all came back to her at once. The accident, the buggy ride to the Lutz household, James going outside to the shed where the Lutzes kept a telephone so he could call a tow truck. His second call had been to the insurance company, and Meg had breathed a sigh of relief knowing that their policy was paid up until the first of the year.

  When the doctor arrived, Meg had been surprised to see that he wasn’t Amish, but he was a friend of the Lutz family. He examined them all to check for broken bones or signs of trauma and prescribed ice for the bump on Sam’s head and the bruise on Lizzie’s foot. As the doctor removed slivers of glass from the cuts on James and Meg, he warned them that they might feel a bit battered in the morning. Reassured that they had ibuprofen in their possession, he left, refusing James’s offer of payment.

  After that, Catherine Lutz had served bowls of steaming beef stew with warm home-baked bread and butter, tall glasses of water, and hot tea. Meg hadn’t realized she was hungry until she caught the aroma of the food put in front of her. Although she and James quickly finished their portions, she saw that her children ate only the bread, making disgusted faces at one another behind Catherine’s back as soon as they tasted the thick stew.

  After she finished eating, Meg picked up her bowl and glass and came around to Will, who was about to step away from the table. “Clear your dishes and push in your chair,” she whispered.

  His startled expression confirmed that he hadn’t thought of doing either, but he carried his plates to the kitchen counter. Lizzie and Sam followed suit.

  Catherine told Lizzie she could share a room with her daughter, Amanda, who was sixteen. She had gone to a friend’s house nearby, but she would be back later. Will and Sam would be given the bedroom of the Lutzes’ seventeen-year-old son, who was away. They all grabbed their bags, which had been retrieved and neatly lined up near the door, and trooped upstairs, Lizzie limping and complaining about the pain in her foot. Only a few kerosene lamps lit the steps and hallways. It was a large upstairs with numerous doors, Meg noted, but without having seen the outside very well in the dark, she found it difficult to make out just how big the house might be. She wondered how many people lived there.

  Catherine directed them to the room at one end of the hall where Lizzie would be sleeping. As her daughter went in and dropped her bags on one of the twin beds, Meg took a quick look around. Plain wooden furniture, a dresser and a night table with a Bible on it. The curtains, doubtlessly hand-sewn, were yellow-and-white-checked, and the beds had yellow sheets and unadorned white dust ruffles. There were no computer photos, posters, or decorations like Lizz
ie or her friends would have displayed. Instead, Meg saw that the room’s inhabitant had hung up rows of notes, cards, and letters she must have received over the years.

  The room where Will and Sam were to spend the night was very different. Meg saw free weights in one corner, an archery bow propped nearby, and posters of various athletes hung up on the walls. On the high chest of drawers, she spotted a framed photograph of several smiling Amish teenagers, buddies having a good time.

  Sam reached for a quick good-night hug from his mother, the fearful look in his eyes causing her to kneel down and put a hand on his cheek. She smiled at him. “We’re right here,” she murmured into his hair as she held him close, “and you’ll be with your brother.”

  “Yeah, come on,” Will said as he dropped his bags on the floor. “I’ll tell you ghost stories.”

  Sam shot his mother a look of panic.

  “Just kidding, Sam.” Will laughed.

  Meg hugged and reassured Sam for another minute before he was willing to let her go.

  Catherine led Meg and James to the far end of the hall. The bedroom was spare, with two small windows framed by beige curtains, and furnished much like the others with a heavy wooden dresser and a night table in between twin beds. The beds looked freshly made.

  “This is Annie’s old room,” Catherine explained. “She’s married now and living next door. Amanda put clean sheets on while we were downstairs.”

  Meg and James tried to express their gratitude once again, but Catherine waved away their words. “We eat breakfast at six, but you don’t need to get up that early. Is eight o’clock all right for you?”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  Catherine nodded and headed toward the stairs. Meg closed the door.

  “This is quite the situation,” James said, dropping down onto one of the beds to take off his shoes.

  There was a tap on the door.