An Amish Christmas (16 page)

There was dead silence on the phone.

“Mother? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you, but I don’t believe you.”

Meg only sighed.

“
Amish
people?” her mother asked. “You mean the ones without electricity and the weird clothes? The ones who refuse to live in the real world? I didn’t even think those people still exist.”

“They do. And they’re very nice.”

“Well, Margaret, that’s a new one on me.” Her mother made no attempt to minimize her monumental disapproval. “What are you doing, mixing with people like that? And you have the
children
with you? You let them be exposed to this cult?”

Meg bristled. “You have no right to say that. They are most certainly not a cult. You don’t know anything about them!”

“I know that people don’t let strangers stay in their house for free, I can tell you that! They want something from you. Are they talking religious things to you? Don’t you let them try to convert you.”

Meg thought that if she had the proper medical instruments, she would be able to see her blood pressure skyrocketing. “Stop it, Mother, stop it right now!” She had promised herself she wouldn’t yell, but she couldn’t help it. “You have no right to
talk like that. These people are just nice, period. Can’t you imagine such a thing, people being nice?”

A deafening silence.

“If they’re so nice,” her mother said, “perhaps they’d like to take you in permanently.”

Checkmate. If Meg didn’t capitulate, and fast, she would have no place to go once the car got fixed. Deep breaths, she told herself, deep breaths.

She didn’t bother taking any deep breaths but rushed out the words before any further damage could be done. “Okay, Mother, why don’t we just figure the car will be fixed in a couple of days, and we’ll be on our way to you. I’ll make sure the children aren’t exposed to anything radical or dangerous.” She lightened her tone, certain the strain of doing so would take five years off her life. “We’re looking forward to getting back to the original plan. We’ll be there in time to celebrate Christmas together.”

That seemed to throw off her mother, who apparently hadn’t given any thought to the approach of the holiday. “Your father and I stopped buying Christmas trees a long time ago. And I know you can’t afford to waste whatever money you have left on a bunch of useless presents. So I’m not sure what celebrating you’re planning on.”

“Maybe I’ll make a cake …” Meg trailed off, unable to keep up this conversation for another minute. “Well, we’ll all be together. So I’ll call you when I know more.”

“Yes, I think you had better.”

“Thanks, Mother.”

“Margaret, you be careful of these people. You understand?”

“I understand.”

“Fine. Good-bye.”

Grabbing the lantern, Meg opened the door and stepped outside. I’ll count until ten, she said to herself, and if my head doesn’t explode by then, I’ll know I’m okay.

Lizzie grimaced at the tall laminated menu. “Why aren’t all these people dead of heart attacks? I can’t even believe what they eat.”

James smiled. “Not exactly like the restaurants back home, is it? No arugula salad, say, or grilled fish.”

Lizzie wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Ick. It’s not like I eat that stuff, either.”

“They really love their ham here, you gotta give them that,” Will added as he scanned the offerings.

The restaurant was a sea of empty tables. It was lunchtime on a Wednesday afternoon in December, so Meg was hardly surprised that the cavernous restaurant was practically deserted. Other than a young couple with twin toddlers and an elderly couple lingering over coffee, she didn’t see any other customers. This place must serve a billion tourists in the summer, she thought. Which was probably a good thing.

Delivering the pies the day before, she had come to understand what a strange relationship the Amish had with tourists. Or at least it seemed strange to her. While the tourists invaded the peaceful existence, they also brought in money to sustain it. During the ride, Jonathan had explained that the increasing price of land made it difficult for the younger generations to buy property near their families. As much as the Amish valued farming, they’d turned to other professions to support themselves, and many had taken jobs outside their community. Selling food, crafts, furniture, and the like to tourists had become an important source of income.

Meg didn’t know how all the Amish felt about it, but some had obviously made their peace with it. If tourism brought in critical dollars, then Meg supposed they had to work with it, not against it.

The Lutzes’ solution combined farming with making food and other things to sell. They didn’t sell directly to the public but to shops and bakeries. The store where they dropped off the apple pies clearly catered to tourists. When they’d arrived, the owner was locking the front door, closing for the night. Jonathan, Amanda, and Lizzie brought the pies in through a back door while Meg roamed the store aisles, perusing an array of crafts. Amid a seeming ocean of goods, she paused to examine colorful place mats and napkins, candles, dried-flower arrangements, the summer straw hats worn by Amish men, and small, soft faceless dolls in Amish dress. She grew hungry just reading the labels on the endless packages of homemade food, everything from apple butter and pickles to candy and chutneys.

By the time they got back to the Lutz farm, everyone was assembling in the kitchen for supper. Meg let herself be carried away on the gentle wave of quiet goodwill at the supper table and the sight of all the activity in the room afterward. While she cleaned up with the other women, the young cousins from next door and several children she hadn’t seen joined the Lutz children for the evening. Lizzie and Will even sat in on some board games, while Sam made Christmas cards with Aaron and Rachel near a crackling fire. Curious, Meg observed them using glitter, rubber stamps, and markers to make their own cards, none of which featured Santa or presents but, rather, simple religious words or themes. Yes, Barbara confirmed when Meg asked her as they wiped down the kitchen counters, they did send Christmas cards to their faraway relatives and some English friends. Sam, Meg noted with a touch of sadness, made several cards but didn’t personalize them or take any to send; apparently, he wasn’t interested in keeping up with the kids back in Charlotte.

It had been a peaceful, happy evening, ending with pretzels and ice cream for everyone. Meg was still full from the night before when she came down in the morning to find a table laden with oatmeal, cold cereal, eggs, bacon, hash browns, muffins, warm bread, and butter.

After breakfast, James and she agreed that they had to give the Lutzes a break from including the five of them in the household meals, even if it meant dipping into their meager funds. Not to mention that her children were still complaining about how few things they could stand to eat at the meals. When Meg informed Catherine that they would be going out for
lunch, Catherine protested but eventually gave in. She suggested that Jonathan drop them off at the restaurant and retrieve them later. Meg was glad they had come, even if it looked as though this wasn’t going to be quite the success she’d hoped in terms of her family finding something to eat.

“I have to tell you,” James said, peering over his menu, “I’ve been doing some work with the men—not even anything big, mind you—and I’ve been starved when we get in for dinner. These people don’t need gyms or treadmills, and they don’t need diets.” He grimaced. “Although the cholesterol is going to kill me.”

“Their cooking comes from another time and place, before anybody cared about that stuff,” Meg remarked.

Sam, seated at Meg’s left, hadn’t said anything since they sat down. “They come from Germany,” he offered. “In the beginning, I mean.”

They all looked at him in surprise.

“How would
you
know?” Will asked.

He shrugged. “I talk to Aaron and Eli. Don’t you talk to anybody?”

“I guess I’m not as popular as you, big shot” was Will’s snide reply.

Sam went on, “People call them Pennsylvania Dutch, but they don’t even speak Dutch. They talk in a German dialogue.”

“ ‘Dialogue’?” asked James. “You mean ‘dialect’?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. In church, they talk in real German. Plus, they learn English. So that’s, like, three languages. Pretty cool.”

“Definitely,” said Meg, impressed with her son’s fact-finding.

“A long time ago, back in Germany, people wanted to kill them. That’s how they wound up here.”

Lizzie muttered under her breath, “Probably wanted to kill them ’cause their clothes are so ugly.”

Will let out a guffaw.

James’s eyes flared with anger. “You kids are the most obnoxious, ungrateful—What is
with
you?”

“Oh, come on, Dad,” Will said. “Seriously, you think you would have liked being here when you were our age?”

“Okay, that’s a fair question.” James was quiet for a few seconds, considering. “I might not have liked it,” he said finally, “but I know I would have kept my opinions to myself. I would never make fun of people right under their noses, or act like it was all too much to be born, the way you and Lizzie are acting.”

“I think these people are great,” Sam said. “They’re so nice.”

“What do you know?” Lizzie snapped. “You’re just running around with a puppy and your new fake grandpa, so you think the world is suddenly a beautiful place.”

Meg stared at her. “When did you get so cynical?”

The waitress appeared at James’s elbow. She was a teenager, with enormous hoop earrings and dark hair pulled back into a tight, high ponytail. “Hey, there, you folks ready?” she asked.

James looked apologetic. “Can you give us another minute?”

“Sure thing. Just sing out if you have any questions.” She left, her ponytail bouncing behind her.

Lizzie mimicked her in disgust. “ ‘
Just sing out if you have any questions.’
Is anybody in this place for real? I feel like we’re among the pod people or something.”

“They’re not pod people!” Sam’s voice rose with emotion.
“Aaron and Eli are, like, the best guys I ever met. And they’re so lucky to be in that family.”

There was a moment of quiet, then, without another word, Lizzie burst into tears. Everyone sat, stunned, as she buried her face in her hands, sobbing. Meg jumped up and came around the table, kneeling to wrap her arms around her daughter. “Lizzie, what on earth is it? What’s going on?”

Lizzie raised her face, flushed and wet. “Yeah, they’re lucky because they’re actually
in
a family. We used to be a family, too.” She looked briefly at Meg, her voice cracking with the effort of holding back tears. “You and Dad used to love each other. Now you hate each other. We’re nothing but a bunch of homeless people, and nobody loves anybody anymore. We’re just sponging off of these people until we can go to our horrible new lives with more people who don’t love us and who we don’t love.” She covered her face again as she sobbed.

“Dear God,” James breathed.

Meg felt her throat close up, as if she couldn’t take a breath. She wrapped her arms more closely around Lizzie, feeling her shake with the force of her sobs.

I can’t believe I could be so stupid, Meg berated herself. How could I have thought the kids would just get in line and do whatever we said. No problems, no worries, as long as we patted them on the head and told them how we expected them to behave. As if, by following a few simple rules, they could overlook the fact that their world had exploded.

She met James’s pained eyes across the table. It wasn’t the house that was the problem, nor the money, nor the moving. That stuff the kids could deal with—not easily, maybe, but
eventually. It was the fact that they could plainly see the rift between their parents. That was the worst thing of all. She knew that she and James had done a terrible job of pretending to get along, but the children understood that their parents’ marriage was hanging by a thread.

She turned to Will, who looked miserable as he continued making believe he was absorbed in running his finger around the rim of his water glass. Sam was watching her, clutching his napkin in both hands, his eyes brimming with tears.

What could she tell them? That she and James weren’t splitting up? She couldn’t make that promise. That everything would be great when they got to her parents’? Not likely, and they wouldn’t believe her anyway.

She rubbed Lizzie’s back. “Don’t worry, sweetie. It’ll all work out,” she murmured.

“Will it?” James asked.

She gave him a murderous look. He stared right back at her.

No one spoke. No one moved.

This, she realized, this very moment, was the lowest point of her marriage, her family, and, quite possibly, her life.