A Simple Amish Christmas (13 page)

13

 

S
aturday morning dawned crisp, clear, and cold.

Perfect.

For once, Annie had allowed herself to sleep in until near sunrise, since Samuel had said she didn’t need to be at the barn until nine. He had to take care of his own chores before opening what folks insisted on calling “Doc Samuel’s” side of the barn.

Farmer Samuel to the left.

Doc Samuel to the right.

The jokes were quietly offered up, along with payment and items-given-in-lieu-of-payment left on a table near the door.

Charity had told her all about it when she’d questioned her on Wednesday evening.

“How does it feel, Annie?”

“How does what feel?” Annie tugged at the thread that had knotted on her embroidery and willed the blush away from her cheeks.

Her
mamm
was in the bedroom, settling her
dat
for the evening, and Reba had gone to bed early, suspiciously eager to turn in with one hand held protectively over her apron pocket
and the other clutching an empty shoebox she’d found in the bottom of Annie’s closet.

Though darkness had settled around the fields over an hour ago, Adam had returned to the barn in order to work on a mysterious gift for his bride.

Which left Charity and Annie alone by the warmth of the stove, sewing last-minute Christmas presents.

“How does it feel to be
in lieb
?”

“Charity Weaver. You cannot be talking about Samuel.” Annie pulled harder on the knotted thread, tugged it through the broadcloth linen, and stuck her finger with the needle.

Popping it in her mouth, she glared at her sister.

“Don’t glare at me. I wasn’t careless with the needle. Is it bleeding?”

“No, it’s not bleeding.” Annie examined her finger under the light. “But it’s sore, and you distracted me. Now tell me about Samuel’s clinic.”

Charity raised an eyebrow as her needles clicked away on the blue and gray scarf she was knitting for Reba. “In the winter, he takes the large tack room and puts wooden benches inside along one wall. Then he curtains one or more of the stalls for privacy, and that’s where he sees people.”

“There in the barn?”

“
Ya.
And he always has his sign up. It’s only a handwritten sheet of paper, but I’ve never been there when it wasn’t on the wall and on the table where people signed in.”

“What does it say?” Annie let her sewing rest in her lap.

Why couldn’t she remember any of this?

She’d been to see Samuel herself when she was young— once when her throat had swollen and she couldn’t swallow a thing. He’d made her say “Ahh,” shined his light down her throat, and sent her right on to Doctor Stoltzfus, who had prescribed antibiotics.

But she remembered nothing about his barn or home. Her visit there must have been when Samuel first began practicing, maybe a year or so before the accident that killed his
fraa
and
boppli
.

Charity dropped her voice an octave, imitating Samuel’s tone and serious manner. “This is not a medical facility. Neighbors help neighbors, but I am not authorized to dispense medicine. Please go to the
Englisch
facility if you think you need a licensed medical doctor.”

Annie smiled and resumed sewing. “You do a fair imitation.”

“
Danki.
In the summer, buggies line the yard and folks sit around under the shade trees, waiting until he calls them in. It’s easier on the
kinner
if they can be outside.”

“At the
Englisch
hospital where I worked, we had a playroom with toys.”

“Do you miss it?”

Continuing with her row of stitches forming a neat hem on Adam and Leah’s linens, Annie didn’t reply right away.

“I miss the
kinner
,” she finally said, her voice low and honest like the cry of a bleating lamb. “But the city was not for me. I couldn’t have stayed there much longer. It pulled at me, made me
naerfich
deep inside.”

Charity’s knitting needles paused. “I didn’t think anything ever rattled you. You were always the rock that didn’t budge— like
Dat
or Adam.”

Annie’s laughter bubbled up, causing her to slip a stitch. “I suppose I had you fooled so you’d mind me when you were small.”

They both glanced over at Rebekah as she opened her bedroom door. “Is there room by the fire for one more?”

“
Ya.
Especially if you bring the plate of cookies,” Charity teased. As Rebekah sidetracked to the kitchen, Charity leaned
toward Annie. “Are you positive you’re not a little
in lieb
with Samuel? You act like one of Reba’s new kittens when he’s around. Is that how love feels?”

Annie’s heart beat faster and her palms began to sweat so much that she feared she’d stain Adam and Leah’s gift.

She stopped to blot her hands against her apron, met Charity’s quizzical gaze, but before she could answer her question, before she could deny such an absurd thing, Rebekah had joined them, and they turned the conversation to the Christmas meal, which was exactly a week away.

 

But she thought of Charity’s comment later that evening as she readied for bed and again the following morning. She did feel like a new kitten when she was around Samuel—clumsy, warm, alive. Was she in love or could she be coming down with the flu?

But she didn’t feel sick, she felt excited.

So she enjoyed breakfast, checked the supplies in her quilted bag—even though she knew Samuel would have everything she’d need—and thanked the Lord for sunny weather. Driving the buggy to Samuel’s place would be no problem.

Chaos ruled in the house at the moment, but instead of annoying her, the activity energized her even more. Her
dat
stumped around the living room in an attempt to show Rebekah he’d be fine spending the entire day in the barn with Adam.

“I believe my legs are stronger, from having to carry these casts around so long.” He limped across the room’s entire length again, the longer cast making a hollow thumping sound echoed by the crutches he now used.

“Catch her!” Reba called sharply.

“I am not picking up your rat.” Charity pulled on her gloves and walked toward the door. “Mother, tell her she can’t ride with us if she insists on carrying rodents in her pockets.”

“Come here, Priscilla.” Holding a small piece of cracker out to the field mouse—which she had apparently named—Reba coaxed the mouse out from under the stove. “Don’t be afraid of Charity—she’s all bluster.”

Annie wasn’t a bit surprised when the creature crawled into her
schweschder’s
hand.

Quicker than a raindrop falls to the ground, Reba slipped the mouse into her apron pocket and fastened the button over it against any further escapes. Reba was the only person Annie knew who had sewn button straps over her pockets. With a huge smile on her face, she pulled on her coat and turned to Charity.

“I’m ready.”

“Oh no, you’re not. I told you before, no mouse is riding with us.”

“
Mamm
—” Reba turned toward her mother, a petulant look on her face.

Adam burst through the front door, and all conversation stopped.

“We have a transportation problem.”

Everyone froze in the midst of pulling on coats, gloves, and scarves.

“What are you talking about, son? I checked the buggies myself last night.” Jacob hobbled over to the door on his crutches.

“Problem isn’t the buggies,
Dat
. It’s the horse.” Adam pulled off his gloves, strode to the table, picked up one of the fresh cinnamon buns, and began eating it. When Annie slapped him gently on the back of the head, he moved out of her reach but continued eating.

“What? These smell heavenly. Can’t a man eat?”

“He can after he explains the problem. We’re all ready to go our various ways.” Her impatience surged through her.

“Your
schweschder’s
right. I was headed into town in one buggy with Reba and Charity,” Rebekah said. “Annie was taking the other to Samuel’s to help him with Saturday patients.”

“And I was coming out to the barn to work for the day, alone, with no women-folk around.” Jacob scowled and thumped nearer to the table.

“Hold on.” Adam set his sweet roll down on the table and brushed his hands off on his pants. “I didn’t say anyone had to cancel. I said we had a problem. The older mare has something wrong with her shoe. I noticed her favoring it last night. Now she won’t stand on it.”

Annie groaned and plopped down on the couch. The older mare was the one horse she trusted herself to drive.

“Still have two buggies,” Jacob reasoned. “Charity’s harnessed Blaze to the smaller buggy a few times. No reason Annie can’t drive her.”

All eyes turned to Annie.

“Oh, no. I love your new horse,
Dat
. I brush her nearly every night, but I’ll not be driving with her harnessed to the small buggy. I’d end up in the next county by the time she tires.”

“I wouldn’t mind trying,” Rebekah said slowly, “But I’m headed into town—probably not the best destination for her first formal trip.”

“Charity can handle her.” Adam reached for another cinnamon bun, stepping even farther away from Annie as he did so. “And don’t slap me for eating. A man thinks better as he eats.”

“ ’Course I can drive Blaze,” Charity declared in her no-nonsense way. “But I was headed into town with
Mamm
.”

Annie sailed across the room to her. “You wouldn’t mind coming with me, would you, Charity? Just this once. I’m sure we could use an extra hand, and think of the people you’ll be helping.”

Charity reached into her coat pocket even as she shook her head in exasperation. “Here’s my list for the store,
Mamm
. At least I won’t be riding with a mouse!” Then she opened the front door and trudged off in the direction of the barn.

Annie glanced from Adam to her father. “Are you sure she can handle Blaze behind the buggy? I don’t want to end up in a ditch.”

“Your
schweschder
can handle the mare without any problem. She’s a strong hand about her when it comes to horses.” Jacob chuckled. “The man will be lucky who snatches up Charity.”

“Man maybe, animals not so much.” Reba scooted out the front door before either parent had a chance to correct her.

Soon they were all climbing into their respective buggies, and Jacob and Adam were waving them off. Annie would have waved back, but her fingers clung to the seat for dear life as Charity gripped the reins and clucked to the horse, and Blaze galloped away.

 

“I thought you could control her,” Annie managed to gasp.

“I am controlling her. We’re right side up, aren’t we?”

“Barely. Can’t you slow her down?”

Charity rolled her eyes and jerked on the horse’s reins. When she did, Blaze stopped hard, throwing both girls forward and nearly off their seat.

Annie reached out an arm to break her
schweschder’s
fall, much as their
mamm
used to do when they were small. The
reaction was so instinctive, and so unnecessary given they were grown women, that it threw them both into a fit of giggles.

Blaze first tossed her head, then proceeded to nudge through the snow looking for something to nibble.

Charity wiped at the tears springing from the corners of her eyes. “Hold these reins,
mamm
,” she teased. “I need to have a talk with my horse.”

Annie would have refused the reins, but Charity had already tossed them into her hands and climbed out of the buggy without waiting for an answer. Walking in front of the horse, she spoke soft and low, but even from where Annie sat she could hear the authority in her
schweschder’s
voice.

It reminded her of what her
dat
had said—Charity was fine with horses. How would it translate to a man? She hadn’t stopped to think of her
schweschder
marrying. Charity had always seemed like a little girl to her, but watching her walk back around and step up into the buggy, she realized that was no longer true.