Merry's Christmas: Two Book Set (Amish) (18 page)

Why was it that people found their simple ways to be such a curiosity? If the English world was so fascinating, why did tourists take such an interest in them? Going to town was like living in a fishbowl, complete with wide-eyed faces, tapping insistently at the glass.

Charity glanced sidelong at her father, silently contemplating, as he guided their horse into town.

An affectionate arc bordered her father’s lips. “Your mother used to do that very thing, so she did.”

Charity broke her gaze. “What?”

“Think so loudly that I could not help but hear.”

How did he always catch her? She masked her amusement. “Forgive me.”

Her father adjusted the reins. “For putting to mind your dear Mamm? No need for forgiveness. No, I thank you.”

As much as Dat still loved her mother, he wasn’t one to raise the subject of her so very often. He was giving her an opportunity. “You still miss her?”

“Every day Gott blesses me to wake yet.”

In the privacy of her heart, Charity said a prayer of thanks. As she’d ridden along to town that very morning, she’d made one humble request for her birthday: that another opening would be provided to talk more about what Dat had briefly shared with her that morning. Cautiously, Charity tested the waters. “That must have been so hard. Losing your wife and your sister, all at once.”

He guided the carriage toward a storefront with a place to tie up the horse. There were fewer and fewer of those these days. “I try to mind what I still have.  You and the boys.  Your Opa after all these years.”

As he parked the buggy, Charity gathered her courage. During the night, an idea had come to her. It was the reason she’d scarcely been able to fall back to sleep. She squeezed the seat to her side, trying to maintain at least the appearance of being calm. “Dat, what if I returned her card this year?”

A few seconds passed as Dat considered it. “Now that you know, I suppose you could take it to the post office to send back to her.”

“No, I mean...” Charity reminded herself to think before she spoke. Dat would appreciate that. Assurance was what he’d need to hear. She would lead off with it. “You know that I want to be baptized, to commit to remain Amish for life. You also know I’m still of age for Rumspringa before I do.” She took a breath. “What if—instead of just staying at home like most do—what if I went into the world on Rumspringa? What if I used that time to return the card to her in New York City myself?” 

Dat drew back. “In person? No. The church would never permit it.”

Charity paused.
Be respectful
. “Do you mean the church would never permit it or you?”

Dat ran his hand through his beard. He always did that when he was deep in thought.

“Opa is a minister,” she continued. “I doubt that Bethany’s Uncle Caleb would resist the idea. Perhaps they could persuade the bishop.”

He rested his hand on his chin. “Even if the bishop would allow it, what good would it do?”

“Maybe I could bring her home.”

“Maybe she would convince you to stay.”

Though she rarely did it, Charity reflexively laid her hand on his shoulder. “Dat, trust me. I could never leave my family, my faith. You and Opa, the boys—you are my life.”

How long the silence was that followed, Charity wasn’t sure. He must be considering it. Surely, he was. She watched as he scanned the modern world surrounding their buggy, a sober expression forming.

Finally, he turned to her. He stroked her bonnet affectionately and looked full into her face. “This world is surely not without its allures, Charity. You would do best not to underestimate it.”

four

C
harity stooped to help Bethany gather collards from the Hooley’s vegetable garden. The dark green leaves would be far sweeter now that the first frost had passed. It would take a lot of collards to feed the many who had come to the aid of the Hooleys that day. It was hard work but, at the same time, very satisfying to think how much everyone would enjoy what they prepared.

She gazed across the yard to the building project in process. Dozens of neighboring men had joined her father, grandfather, and brothers to help add on a
dawdi haus
for the Hooley’s ageing parents. The structure was modestly sized—just a bedroom with a small living area—but the addition to the main house would meet their needs well.

It was just one of the things that Charity loved about her community. When one family or another had any sort of need, the others would readily gather around to help. The womenfolk were there in force, too, preparing a tasty lunch of sandwiches and German potato salad for all of the workers. The collards they were picking would be steamed to round out the meal.

Out of the corner of her eye, Charity couldn’t resist watching Daniel. He was assisting her father, framing a two-by-four into place. What a hard worker Daniel was. So strong and capable. All morning, he’d been laboring at Dat’s side. She had no idea of what conversation might have passed between them, but something sang inside her, just at the sight of them together.

Bethany sidled up to Charity. “You realize you’re staring.”

Charity turned. “I was just—”

“He must really want to please your Dat.”

Charity smiled as she flattened collard leaves into her basket. “Do you think we could change the subject?”

“All right. No problem. So, you really had an aunt who was shunned?”

Charity checked the attentions of the nearby women. “Shhh!  They might hear.”

Bethany moved closer. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “What happened? What is she like?” 

“I wish I had thought to ask.” Charity glanced around. Indeed, Esther Burkholder appeared to be eavesdropping as she harvested parsnips nearby in the garden. Discreetly, Charity tipped her bonnet toward Esther.

Bethany nodded. She was well accustomed to Charity’s signals.

One challenge that knowing everyone in the community presented was keeping private things truly private. With Esther, it was easy to understand. She was a widow and probably just curious. Charity turned to face the woman. “Will this be enough of the collards, Esther?”

Esther checked over their baskets. “I suppose.”

Charity led Bethany back toward the others.

Bethany leaned in close. “Esther is older.  She would have known her.”

“Bethany Beachey,” Charity teased. “Are you saying I should engage in gossip?”

Bethany grinned. “Do you know that, in the English world, there are people who make their entire living on gossip? They call them gossip columnists. I read their stories in the newspapers when I was away last summer.”

Bethany’s Rumspringa years certainly had taken her far beyond their borders. It was another way she differed from most of the others their age. She’d taken a bus all the way to the Florida settlement where others in the Beachey family still lived. Charity knew better than to chatter too much with Bethany about her travels. It wasn’t disinterest, not at all. But one minute they’d be talking about Bethany’s adventures, and the next she’d be trying to explain all over again why she’d never chosen to take advantage of Rumspringa herself.

Why it was that her Aunt Hope had never returned, Charity didn’t know. But maybe something in Bethany’s experience could help. “Was it ever hard for you, when you traveled, to come back?”

Bethany’s eyes widened. She leaned closer. “What... Are you thinking of going somewhere?”

Charity checked to be sure they weren’t being overheard. Esther was at a safe distance. “Maybe, but...  Was it hard?”

Bethany shrugged lightly. “Not really.  I thought it might be, but in the end...this is my home. And you are here. I could never leave you.”  

Charity tapped Bethany’s arm playfully. “You just wanted to rush back and catch that handsome Levi Hooley’s eye.”

Bethany’s expression drooped. She glanced over at Levi where he worked with the men. “Hannah told me he called on her last night.  She was elated.”

Disappointed, Charity stopped. “Your own cousin... She never knew?”

Tears brimmed as Bethany shook her head. “I never told anyone but you. I guess you were right. It wasn’t about the changes.”

“Bethany... Oh, I am so sorry. I know you’ve had your hopes up about him for such a long time.”

“Sometimes, I wonder,” Bethany sighed. “They always talk to us about the virtues of being Plain, but...maybe I’m too plain.”

Charity took hold of Bethany’s shoulders and regarded her squarely. “Look at me, Bethany.” She waited till Bethany tipped her chin up and returned her gaze. Bethany’s reddening complexion made Charity ache, all the way to the pit of her stomach. Why had she brought Levi’s name up at all?

Bethany ran a hand over her face, brushing the wetness away.

“Look at me and know that I will always tell you the truth.” Charity felt her own eyes filling. “Bethany, you have the most beautiful heart of any woman I know. You are clever and delightful and, in every important way, truly exquisite. One day, I promise you—the right man—he will see that.”

Leanne groaned. It figured that Hope’s absentee roommate would have one of those clock radio alarms, the kind that were practically impossible to figure out how to mute. The pre-dawn D.J. needed to dial it back, too. For a New Yorker, the guy was maddeningly perky.  

No one had ever accused Leanne of being a morning person. All during her growing up years, coaxing herself to push aside the warm covers and crawl out of bed had always been something of a battle. Now that she was sleeping for two, it was that much worse. First, there was that ever so delightful impulse to hurl just as soon as the day dawned. Next came the random kidney kicking. Had to be a boy. No girl could punt like that.

The bigger she’d gotten, the harder it was to get comfortable enough to sleep a wink at all. No matter which way she turned, something ached. There was no shutting her mind down either. It kept reminding her how little time she had left to sleep. Yeah, that helped. Then—wouldn’t you know it—just after she’d finally managed to nod off, there was Dobie D.J., squawking his cock-a-doodle-doos.

Her parents were always up with the birds. That was a gene she sure hadn’t gotten. She missed them something awful. No point thinking about that. She stared at her phone, then back up at the ceiling. No way she could face them. Not with her belly the size of a hot air balloon.

Shame pummeled her. She tossed it away, but it came flying right back, like a boomerang. It taunted her constantly with its na-na-nas, calling her every ugly name in the book. The only way to shut it up was to sleep. As if that ever happened. Truth be told, she’d hardly slept at all the night before on the Café Troubadour’s freezing cold pantry floor. She closed her eyes again. At least she could soak in the warmth of the quilt and the softness of the pillow. Even the futon wasn’t half bad.

A knock sounded at the door. That had to be Hope.

Moan
.

Hope knocked again, this time a little louder. “Are you up?”

Leanne relished a last moment of comfort before throwing the covers back. “Not exactly, but I’m getting there.”

Hope’s voice carried through the door. “There’s a terry robe of mine in the closet you can borrow.”

“Thanks. Like it’ll fit over this spare tire I’ve got goin’.” As much as her lower back smarted, Leanne forced herself to sit up. She yawned groggily, and then rose to her swollen feet. The apartment smelled of fresh-brewed coffee, no doubt the caffeinated kind that she wasn’t supposed to drink. Nothing about having this kid was easy. Absolutely nothing.

Leanne opened the door and shuffled into the kitchen. Hope was already up and dressed, hustling about, a whirlwind of energy, despite the early hour. It wasn’t easy to know how to behave in someone else’s home, but Hope seemed to make nothing of it. Maybe she shouldn’t either.

Before Leanne even had time to mention her growling stomach, Hope flung open the refrigerator door and pulled out a pitcher of orange juice. “I know you’re eating for two, Leanne, so help yourself to whatever you want,” she offered. “Although that cream cheese in there is kind of dicey. Fine line between cheese and all out fungus, you know? I should toss that.” Hope reached in and grabbed the cream cheese. She left the door open for Leanne.

Amidst the dairy, produce, and juices, Leanne spotted a gallon pickle jar, three quarters filled with coins. “That’s where you keep your tips?”

Hope took a swallow of coffee. “Cold, hard cash. It’s not like I can go to the bank every day, so I just toss it in there till it’s full. I figure anybody who’s desperate enough to forage for food while they’re robbing me needs it way more than I do.”

Leanne poured herself a glass of juice. It was hard not to envy Hope. For starters, Hope wasn’t pregnant. She was also kind of pretty. Hope had one of those annoyingly sunny personalities. She really could light up a room. With her talent, she probably filled that pickle jar to bursting with change every single week. “Wish I could sing like you,” Leanne muttered. “Then maybe Frank would let me wait tables, make some tips of my own. Can’t hardly keep up, with what he pays me to wash dishes.”

“Speaking of which, aren’t you coming?”

Leanne leaned against the counter wearily as Hope rinsed her coffee cup. “Maybe I should call in sick.”

Concern crossed Hope’s face. “Are you?”

Leanne returned a chagrinned grimace. “Sick of being preggers. And I got five, six weeks left to go. Guess I should motivate.”

Hope grabbed her keys and headed toward the front door. “All righty. See you there.”

Leanne took a sip of juice. “Buy me some time with Frank, will ya?”

“I’ll try. Lock up, okay?”

“Okay.”

Hope hurried out and shut the door. But for Hope’s illusive cat, Smokey, who hadn’t yet made an appearance, Leanne found herself alone. Again.

Flying solo was definitely the worst part of being pregnant. Sure, the baby was moving around inside her, but that did little to cut through the loneliness that running away to New York City had caused. She had a bazillion virtual friends on her networking sites, but she’d known better than to give herself away by contacting any of her actual friends or relatives. She told herself that, soon enough, she’d be out of this mountain of a mess. She’d be able to take the bus home, as if it had never happened.

Leanne opened up the refrigerator again and surveyed its contents. Cooking eggs seemed like too much work, but a bag of bagels caught her eye. They were the cinnamon-raisin kind, like her mom always used to buy.

As she reached for the bag, Leanne took another gander at all the coins in Hope’s pickle jar. Judging from the high concentration of quarters, she figured there had to be hundreds of dollars in there.
What I couldn’t do with all that money
. Guilt grabbed her by the tonsils. Hope had been so nice to her, the last thing she should ever let even enter her mind was touching a red cent of that money. Still, in the secrecy of her thoughts, she had to admit that it was tempting.