An Amish Christmas (17 page)

Sam paused on the front porch to give his mother a hug. She stopped sweeping, bending to kiss him on the cheek. “Have fun, pumpkin,” she told him. “And put on your gloves.”

He ignored her advice, running after Aaron and Rachel to get into Old Samuel’s buggy. Today Sam was going to be a guest at the school. He’d been thrilled to be treated like the other two children that morning. Catherine had handed him a silver lunch box and a glass bottle full of soup. Then she sent him off with a pat on the head. Once Sam was safely ensconced in the rig, Old Samuel nodded at a waving Meg, then snapped the reins. The horse set out at a slow trot.

Meg resumed sweeping the front steps. As the week had passed, she had been assuming additional chores around the house. Typically, Barbara Lutz cleaned up the porch and front yard, making sure the grounds remained neat. When Meg’s soreness from the accident had almost completely dissipated,
she insisted on taking over that job. She hadn’t expected to enjoy the early-morning quiet as much as she did, punctuated only by a dog’s bark or a brief commotion in the chicken house. The broom’s rhythmic noise against the porch was soothing. She pictured the ornate front door at their house back in Charlotte, knowing full well she never would have enjoyed sweeping those steps. Was it only in this environment that such satisfaction could be found? she wondered. Was there any way to hold on to the simple pleasure of a job well done? Maybe a person needed to have more simple jobs to do, until they crowded out the ridiculous things that typically took up so much time.

Moving toward the side of the house, she saw Racer stretched out on his side on a brown patch of ground. “Hey, boy,” she called.

He stayed exactly as he was, but she was absurdly gratified by the two thumps of his tail she received in reply.

She finished up and put the broom away inside before heading over to Annie’s house. Today the women planned to bake two hundred muffins, an assortment of blueberry, cranberry, and corn. Meg would do whatever they assigned her. Being around the daily baking was making her itch to do some of her own, but so far she had refrained from asking. She did not want to interfere with their schedules or, worse yet, cause any additional work.

As she walked, she wondered what kind of morning James was experiencing. Things between them had become even more tense since their lunch in the restaurant, and all five of them seemed unable to deal with it. Each of them acted as if it
had never happened. She and her husband were at a complete impasse. She wondered what on earth it would take to change things.

James had gone off early this morning with David, Jonathan, and Eli to help butcher meat in a neighbor’s barn. Meg admired the perfect logic of the activities here. Anything having to do with planting and harvesting took top priority; whatever else had to get done was scheduled around those months. That explained everything, down to why most of their weddings were held in November and December, when obligations in the field were at a minimum.

Meg didn’t care to know too many specific details about the butchering, but she had been surprised by how enthusiastic James was about pitching in. Amazing that the man who once fussed over wine in a restaurant was now hefting a pitchfork, wielding a cleaver, and slogging around in manure wearing borrowed boots. She wasn’t sure if he had embraced all this farm labor or if he was using it as a distraction from their troubles. At the very least, she thought, it was a welcome delay in reaching his in-laws’ house, and she couldn’t blame him for feeling that way. He seemed to have become awfully comfortable, though, with their being the houseguests who wouldn’t leave.

Of course, she didn’t know what James was thinking because they were barely talking. All this division of labor between the sexes, all the hours spent apart, made an argument with your spouse unlikely, she thought. But once you’d gotten into one, it was also a good way to avoid dealing with it any further.

Entering Annie’s house, Meg spotted Lizzie and Barbara in a
corner of the living room. Without electricity, all the Hobart children had been going to sleep a lot earlier than they were used to. As a result, they were wide awake in the mornings. Even Lizzie, queen of the late sleepers, had adjusted her internal clock.

Barbara held a hand-painted plate, removed from a display of dishes in an enormous oak breakfront, and was pointing out the fine details of its pattern to Lizzie. Meg went over to them. “Good morning, Barbara, Lizzie.”

Lizzie glanced up at her mother without much interest, but Barbara flashed her usual big smile. “Good morning, Meg. I’m showing Lizzie what I hope to get after the wedding. As gifts. I have some dishes such as these that I have gotten over the years, but I hope to get the rest.”

“Mostly, they get stuff for the kitchen and the house,” Lizzie added. “They don’t ask for any fun things. Fancy dishes are, like, the biggest deal when it comes to something special.”

Barbara laughed. “Lizzie is having trouble with this idea. She says a bride could ask for anything, but we are happy to get mops and pitchers.”

Lizzie shrugged. “I mean, I never heard of getting a shovel as a wedding gift.”

“The English maybe like different things, that’s all,” Barbara said.

“You know,” Meg said to her daughter, “we have wedding showers, and that’s often all about things for the house. And people get lots of appliances for wedding gifts. You’re just thinking of all the extra, unnecessary things.” She laughed.
“Like the million vases and candlesticks people gave Dad and me when we got married. How often do I use those?” She corrected herself. “How often
did
I use those? Or all those crystal glasses, which were almost too fragile to handle.”

“I don’t mean to sound greedy or anything,” Lizzie said. “It’s just that this is the one time you can flat out ask for cool things and nobody minds.”

Barbara put an arm around Lizzie. “When you get married, you will decide what is important to you. But this is how we do it here. It makes sense for us.”

“I should join the others now,” Meg said. “Want to come, Lizzie?”

“Nope.”

Meg turned to leave. “See you later.”

Midmorning, everybody congregated back in Catherine’s house. The families sat down for lunch, their usual silent prayer followed by yet another enormous meal starting with meat loaf, lima beans with molasses and ketchup, and the ever-present bread and butter. After lunch, work began in earnest to transform the barn across the street at Joseph’s house for the wedding. The enormous space was better suited to a large event than David and Catherine’s barn, but the Lutz men, James, and a crowd of men from the community got to work framing an extension to make space for all the tables and benches that would arrive on Monday. Will and Lizzie disappeared, but Meg and the women went back to Annie’s home to sort a steady stream of arriving dishes, glasses, silverware, and pots and pans, all lent and delivered by neighbors and friends.

“You know,” Catherine said to Meg as they sorted platters by
size, “we would like to ask you and James to be among the people who cook and serve at the wedding.”

Meg smiled at her. “You know you can count on us.”

Catherine picked up several pitchers, cradling them in her arms, and moved to put them in a different spot. Joseph’s wife, Sue, had come into the kitchen with a box of coffee cups and was unpacking them near Meg. She moved closer to speak to her.

“We love to celebrate happy times like a wedding,” she explained to Meg. “Everybody wants to be part of it, to help make the food, but only about thirty people can. It is good for you to have this big honor, to be asked to cook?”

Meg turned to her. She’d had no idea. “Yes, of course,” she said. “We’re very honored.”

Sue’s smile was gentle as she moved away. Thank you, Meg thought. Without that little tip-off, she never would have appreciated the significance of Catherine’s request. She made a mental note to tell James.

When Catherine returned, Meg smiled at her with genuine warmth. “You have been so good to us,” she said. “I can never repay you.”

Catherine frowned. “Repay me? What a bad idea. That makes it sound like business.”

Barbara walked by them, carrying a bucket and some clean rags.

“She starts washing today.” Catherine’s eyes followed her daughter. “Our house, Joseph’s house. Wherever the guests will come.” She sighed.

“What is it?” asked Meg.

“No, nothing. I am just—you know, a mother can’t help it. It is a little sad that she is moving to her husband’s family farm.”

“Oh, yes,” Meg said sympathetically.

“It is the right thing, and I want her to do it. It is not so far away, just about ten miles, so I am very grateful. But it is a big change, your daughter leaving your house for always.”

Meg nodded, trying to imagine how she would feel when her children left to be on their own. She could guess that, as much as she wanted to see them grow up to be independent, it would be devastating.

“If only my son Benjamin would decide. I don’t even know if he will come home for the wedding or …” Catherine stopped.

It took Meg a moment to recall that Benjamin was the son who was out in the world, finding out if he wanted to remain a member of the Amish community. How painful this must be for Catherine and her husband. Meg lightly put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Catherine put her own hand over it.

“Surely he’ll want to—” Meg was interrupted by Leah, who appeared behind her. Where had she been standing?

“Catherine, please to come with me.” Leah’s accent was heavy and her words generally difficult for Meg to understand. She understood these, though, and the disapproval behind them.

Meg tried to pretend she wasn’t watching as the two women retreated to the farthest point in the room. She didn’t have to hear them to interpret Leah’s stern expression and rapid
speaking—no doubt in their own language—as criticism of Catherine. When Leah, seemingly unconsciously, briefly pointed in Meg’s direction, Meg knew she was the cause of this tongue-lashing.

Abashed, Meg kept her face down as Catherine returned, slightly pink in the cheeks but otherwise composed.

“I’m so sorry,” Meg whispered. “I got you in trouble with your mother-in-law, didn’t I?”

Catherine came very close to her, reaching her arm across Meg to pick up a large bowl. She turned her head so no one could see her answering. “We don’t speak of our problems to outsiders,” she whispered back. “For a minute I forgot to think of you as an outsider. As my little Rachel would say, silly me.”

Meg paused in what she was doing, so surprised she forgot to pretend they weren’t having a conversation. Catherine grabbed some more bowls and hastened away as someone called her name. Before Meg could think about how wonderful Catherine’s words had made her feel, she was distracted by Lizzie’s appearance at the door, Amanda trailing behind her.

Meg’s eyes met her daughter’s, and she raised a questioning eyebrow. Lizzie shrugged as she approached.

“I’m here to help,” Lizzie said. “Amanda said we had to. She said we’d all be in trouble if we didn’t.”

Meg sighed. “You wouldn’t have thought of helping on your own?”

“
Mo-om!
I’m here, aren’t I? What do I have to do?”

“Well, Barbara has a bucket. I think she’s washing furniture. You like her, so maybe you want to help with that.”

Lizzie made a face. “I don’t like anybody
that
much.”

Meg was growing impatient. “Why don’t you go over there and ask Sue what needs to be done.”

Lizzie was assigned to count the forks, knives, and spoons, separating them into piles. Meg was pleased to see someone had put Will to work as well. He came through the door struggling under the weight of split logs. She watched him unload the wood near the fireplace. Something was stirring in her memory, although she wasn’t sure what.

It came to her. This past Thanksgiving in Charlotte. It was only last month, but it felt like another life. She had set the table, and the children had helped bring in chairs. She remembered the hours she’d spent orchestrating the placement of her sterling silver salt and pepper dishes. As if it mattered in the least, she couldn’t help thinking now.

Someone set another box of serving platters beside her, and she began to unpack them. That had been their last holiday, she recalled, the last huge feast they had shared as a family. It was the day she had found out what James had done with the family’s money. It was the last day of their old lives.

“Watch it, stupid!”

At the sound of Will’s voice, Meg turned around to see what was going on. Lizzie, carrying a large basket piled high with serving utensils, had apparently tripped over Will’s foot as he knelt to stack wood near the fireplace. Her daughter had recovered her balance just in time to avoid falling.

“
I
should watch it? You’re the one whose foot is sticking out,” Lizzie snapped. Her tone was disgusted. “Jerk.”

All the faces in the room turned toward the two teenagers. Mortified, Meg practically ran across the room.

Will had risen to confront his sister more directly. “We can’t all be worrying about staying out of Your Majesty’s way.”

Meg reached them and took each one by an arm firmly enough to communicate that she meant business. “Why don’t we discuss this outside?” she said as calmly as she could manage. She hustled them the mercifully few feet to the front door. The instant they were outside, each one started yelling to Meg about the other.

“Both of you be quiet this instant!” she hissed.

They stopped talking.

“Do you see the kids here treating one another like you two do?” she demanded. “No. They are nice. They are kind. They are even, believe it or not, respectful.”

Two sets of shoulders sagged as they realized they were going to get a long lecture.

“I’m so sick of your behavior, I don’t even know how to describe the way I feel,” Meg said. “You embarrass me. Worse, you embarrass yourselves.” She surprised them by turning away. “I wonder if you can even understand that.”

She opened the door and went inside without looking back. Had she been alone, she realized, she probably would have given in to the self-recriminations that were flooding her mind. She wanted to weep with disappointment over her children’s ongoing bad behavior and for whatever hand she may have had in it. But the women here didn’t seem to know the meaning of self-pity, and she knew not one of them would stop working to
feel sorry for herself. They put one foot in front of the other no matter what.