An Amish Family Christmas (2 page)

Naomi eventually steeled herself and helped Rebecca, her sister-in-law and friend, clean and tidy the rooms of her parents and sister and Luke. The next day the families in the Amish community brought meals for the two women as well as jars of preserves of meat and fruit and vegetables. The day after that,
Englisch
families did the same thing. Rebecca remained by her side the entire time, sleeping in a spare room, eventually bringing over her clothing and settling in, determined that Naomi shouldn’t be alone. Naomi protested the first two days. After that she didn’t protest at all. She
didn’t talk about it, but inside, where her pain and grief and desolation twisted around her soul with sharp spikey thorns and black vines, the only things that gave her relief were long bouts of prayer, gold and crimson sunrises, and Rebecca’s gentle but strong presence.

Bishop Fischer and the ministers hired a driver with a van to take themselves and Naomi and Rebecca to the hospital and back. Two doctors spoke with them for half an hour. Nothing new was said. Naomi sat with her cold-weather bonnet on her head, her hands clasped in the lap of her black dress, eyes focused on the doctor’s shoulders as she rehearsed his instructions.

Catatonic stupor. Deficit of motor activity. Such activity may in fact be reduced to zero. Luke will avoid bathing. He will avoid caring for his hair or nails. He will not make eye contact. Sometimes mute. Sometimes rigid. Sometimes flexibility that is out of the ordinary. No attempt to socialize. Extreme negativity. May refuse food and drink—if this occurs he will have to return to the hospital for an IV. Benzodiazepine must be administered regularly. Excellent chance he will respond to the BZD regimen. The exact causes of catatonia are unknown. In his case we speculate head trauma from the accident. Keep his room dimly lit and peaceful. Don’t be discouraged. Patients suffering from catatonia often respond swiftly to medication. A family setting is a positive influence and may help him on the road to recovery. Keep in touch.

“Here you are, Luke.”

Naomi stood with her brother outside the door to their home. The bishop and ministers and Rebecca were behind them.

“Can I help you to your room?”

Luke didn’t respond. His pale blue eyes were far away from her. She took his hand. It was like holding a rock. Slowly she tugged him up the steps to the porch and drew him into the house. She gently coaxed him up the staircase to his bedroom. His eyes didn’t even
flicker when he saw his bed and books. He had loved to read since he was a boy, but now he showed no interest in the three or four dozen volumes or anything else in his room.

“Would you like to lie down, Luke? Are you tired? Perhaps a nap would help you feel better.”

Luke made no move toward his bed. He remained at his sister’s side, silent and rigid as stone.

“How about your chair? The one you like to sit in when you read?”

Luke didn’t respond.

Rebecca was at the door. Naomi turned to her. “Will you help me get him into his chair? I want to prepare a hot lunch for him, and it would be better if he were sitting up.”

“Of course.”

Together they led Luke to the burgundy armchair with its large armrests and large soft seat and back. Getting him to bend his knees and lower himself into it was almost impossible, for he would not cooperate. Finally Rebecca placed her hands on his chest and pushed him, and he fell back, his knees flexing despite himself. There he sat like the statue of a man on a throne.

Her eyes dark and large, Naomi looked at him. “I’m going to fix your favorite chicken soup, Luke. The one with the dumplings. All right?”

Luke stared straight ahead.

“Will you sit with him, Rebecca?” she asked.

“I will.”

“I’ll bring soup and some of Mrs. Yoder’s sourdough rye for you as well as him.”

“Danke.”
Rebecca smiled. “I should like that. Hot food cheers me up.”

The bishop and ministers were in the hall outside the room.

“Daughter, let us pray for you,” Bishop Fischer said.

Naomi bowed her head. The men had already removed their broad-brimmed black hats when they entered the house.

The bishop prayed in High German. He asked that God bless the home and all who dwelled in it. He asked that Luke be healed and speak and laugh as he had done so easily less than two weeks before. He asked that Naomi be touched in a very special way. All the ministers prayed. Then Bishop Fischer concluded with a plea, his voice rising, his tone almost desperate.

“Mein Gott, wir brauchen einen Ihrer Wunder.”

“Yes, God, we need one of your miracles,” whispered Naomi. “No matter what it looks like, no matter how it comes, no matter how strange or unusual it appears. Even if I don’t recognize it. Even if I don’t believe it. Come, Lord Jesus. Come to us in whatever manner you wish. Please. I cry out to you. Amen.”

The bishop heard her words. His eyes met hers as she raised her head.

“Amen,” he repeated. He and the ministers left, the harnesses on their horses jingling as the buggies pulled away from the house.

The soup was not a great success. Half of it dribbled down Luke’s chin.

But the other half went into his mouth and into his stomach,
Naomi told herself.

They helped Luke into his bed that night, and Naomi got him into his pajamas while Rebecca washed dishes downstairs. Naomi found she couldn’t sleep because she was thinking about him constantly, so she finally took a blanket and pillow and went to his room. The candle showed her that his eyes were closed, and she could hear his breathing, deep and even.

That is something. Thank you, God, for his sleep.

She curled up in the chair with her pillow and blanket and quickly fell asleep herself.

In the morning she shaved him and washed his body with a cloth and soap and a basin of warm water. He wouldn’t take the
hash browns she offered him or the muffins or the eggs fried sunny-side up the way he liked. But he did drink a mug of coffee with cream and sugar in slow sips.

That also is something. Not much, but something. Thank you for this.

Feeling more tired than she had in days, she left him sitting up in his chair, staring at the wall, and went down to clean the kitchen with Rebecca. She carried the plate of eggs and hash browns and the empty coffee cup.

“No to that as well?” asked Rebecca, whose arms were up to their elbows in suds as she washed dishes in the sink.

“
Ja
,” replied Naomi wearily. “But at least the coffee he tried.”

“And he drank it all? Or only some?”

“All.”

Rebecca smiled. “Good. He will make it then. Many of the men I know live on coffee and nothing else in the mornings.”

For the first time in weeks Naomi gave a short laugh.
“Ja.
This was true of Papa.”

But the memory brought a dagger with it that pierced her moment of light. Rebecca saw Naomi’s face fall into lines of darkness as she picked up a dishtowel and began to dry plates and forks.

“I can do this,” Rebecca protested.

But Naomi carried on as if her friend had never spoken.

My Lord, I feel like I myself am dead.

“Who is that?” asked Rebecca looking out the window.

Naomi kept her head down, drying a cup. “Someone with a meal?”

“No, it looks like...a soldier.”

Surprised, Naomi looked out into the farmyard. “A soldier? What would a soldier be doing here?”

He was in a desert uniform and carried a duffel bag over his shoulder.

Ice shot through Naomi, and she put her knuckles to her mouth.

Rebecca stared at the man as he made his way to the door. “Oh, Naomi, I can’t believe it!”

“It’s your brother.” Naomi continued to gaze out the window, dishtowel and cup still in her hands. “Rebecca, it’s your brother.”

Rebecca glanced at her sharply. “And your husband.”

“No.” Naomi shook her head. “No. I don’t have a husband anymore.”

A tear cut across Rebecca’s cheek. “It doesn’t matter what you say. He
is
your husband. And God has brought him home alive from the war.”

Two

“M
icah!”

Rebecca, her hands and arms still wet from the dishwashing, threw open the door and ran into his arms. He dropped his duffel bag and gathered her in, kissing her on the cheek.

“I can’t believe it!” She hugged him as tightly as she could, tears on her face. “Praise God! We knew nothing about how you were, nothing!”

“I wrote. I wrote you all. Every week.”

“But we never saw the letters. We were not permitted to see the letters.”

He kissed the top of her head, holding her closely. “I know. It’s all right. I’m home now.”

“Mama and Papa will want to see you.”

“I went to our house first thing and spent an hour with them. Then I walked to the bishop’s place and spent another hour with him.”

“The bishop?” Rebecca pulled back to look at his face and eyes. “And how was that?”

“We talked over everything just like we did a year ago. He told me he thanked God that I had come home alive but that nothing has changed as far as the church is concerned. I’m still to be shunned for going to war...if I don’t repent.”

“And he knows you’re here talking with me? That you spoke with Mother and Father and our brothers and sisters?”

“
Ja.
I have three days to repent. If I don’t, the
bann
is back in force.”

Micah looked at Naomi, who was standing in the doorway. “Hello.”

“Hello,” she replied.

“It’s been a long time.”

“Yes.”

“I wrote you every chance I could.”

“You knew I wouldn’t be permitted to see the letters.”

“Someone must have them. There are more than fifty.”

Naomi dropped her eyes. “What good did it do to make the effort? I asked you not to go to war and you did anyway. You knew how hard it would be on me.”

“On both of us,” Micah said quietly, leaving his sister and walking toward the door.

“It’s the same old argument. You wanted the war more than you wanted me. Or our way of life.”

“I didn’t want the war. I wanted to save the lives of the men in the war, friends and foes. I went as a medic and I wanted you to understand that.”

“Well, I didn’t understand a year ago and I don’t understand today. So what’s the point of our getting together again?”

“You are my wife.”

“That made no difference to you when you enlisted.”

Micah put his hands in the pockets of his desert uniform. “The bishop asked that we resume living together. But we’re not to eat with each other or share the same bed or have any relations with one another, and I may not attend worship services or do business with anyone in the Amish community. I can work the farm, and we can sit under the same roof.”

“And never talk.”

“Not after Sunday, no.”

“Unless you repent.”

Micah shook his head. “Naomi, how do you expect me to stand before God and tell him I’m sorry I saved the lives of hundreds of men and women—American, Canadian, British, Dutch, Afghan? How could I honestly say that to him and mean it? I didn’t take life, Naomi, I gave it back to those who had almost lost it. I gave it back in the name of God and Jesus Christ. You want me to say that was wrong?”