An Amish Christmas Quilt (4 page)

Sol shrugged. “We'll be goin' home soon. I don't know
why
you and Ben think we need this new stable.”

As the boy turned and found a stick to throw for his dog, Seth considered what he'd just heard. He'd had no idea that the Willow Ridge school had so few scholars this term. Had he not been paying attention to the affairs of his hometown? Or had his woodworking projects kept him so busy he just hadn't thought about the school and its students? He and his brothers spent a lot of time on the road, installing cabinets and delivering the furniture they built in their shop . . . and as bachelors, he and Aaron had no direct connection to the school these days.

And where had
that
thought come from? Mary Kauffman was attractive, for sure, but her roots were in Bowling Green. Maybe Sol had it right—maybe he and his sibs and Mary would soon be heading back to her family, so it would be a waste of time to cultivate any interest in her. If Ben had gone to the expense of adding an annex to his barn, that was
his
miscalculation, wasn't it?

Seth laughed, at himself mostly. It seemed the birth of Emmanuel had set the world spinning in a whole new direction—just as it had centuries ago.

C
HAPTER
3

Mary gazed at her baby as he fed at her breast. At six weeks, he looked plump and happy, with dewy skin and crystal-blue eyes that watched her intently as he suckled. Sometimes it was a comfort, seeing this boy's resemblance to his
dat
, and at other times it tore out her heart. While she and Sol and Lucy had found a haven here in the Hooleys'
dawdi haus
, they still had to deal with their life in Bowling Green. Someday soon, she would be able to return to the farm—Elmer's place, half a mile down the road from her parents' home and surrounded by other members of the Kauffman family—and she would have to make a life for herself and three children.

But how would that happen? Now that she had more kids than hands, no income, and no one to tend the farm or the livestock, how would she get her little family through the winter, much less the years ahead?

It's Elmer's family
, she reminded herself.
His kids, his farm . . . and he left me behind to tend them all.

“You, I can handle, Emmanuel,” Mary murmured in a choked voice. “But how long can I live off the generosity of the Hooleys? I
hate
to think of moving back to Mamm and Dat's . . . or moving in with one of Elmer's brothers, but I see no other—”

“Uh-oh.”

Mary raised her head, listening. With Sol going to school during the day, and Miriam and Ben working at their shops across the road, she and Lucy were alone here at the house with the baby. The gurgling of the toilet told her the little girl had used the bathroom—again. Or was she playing in there?

“Lucy?” Mary called over her shoulder. “Is everything all right?”

No answer.

“Lucy?” Mary repeated more insistently. While the little girl was quiet and well-behaved, she also knew that while Emmanuel nursed, Mary wouldn't be moving from the rocking chair. Lucy had a tendency to explore other parts of Ben and Miriam's house then—natural curiosity for a five-year-old without any playmates. Or was it?

Did all girls that age slink around like cats? Had Lucy been so removed and secretive with her own mother, or had losing one parent and then the other made her more withdrawn? Children were such a mystery. Mary had done her best to embrace Elmer's grieving son and daughter after she'd married him, but she'd been the youngest in her family and she'd had so little experience around kids.

Mary glanced up as Lucy entered the bedroom. “I asked you a question,” she said as the girl skirted the rocking chair and avoided eye contact. “What happened in the bathroom that made you say
uh-oh
?”

Lucy stopped but didn't turn around. Her little shoulders rose as though she anticipated a scolding. “Nothin',” she insisted. “I was helpin' you. Washin' diapers.”

What might the rest of the story be? Lucy was an earnest helper and seemed especially fascinated as she watched Mary empty and rinse Emmanuel's cloth diapers in the toilet before soaking them in the diaper pail. “
And?
” she asked in a purposeful voice.

Lucy remained in place, still facing the opposite wall. “It went down. With the poop.”

Mary's pulse accelerated. “The diaper went down the toilet? Lucy, how did—”

But the little girl's shoulders were shuddering and she began to wail—which seemed to be her response when anything went wrong, maybe because her
dat
had turned into a cream puff at the first sign of her tears?

“Oh, Lucy, I'm not mad,” Mary murmured with a sigh. “I'm just—”

But such a downward spiral of depressing thoughts would only make her cry right along with Lucy. It had been inevitable that something would go wrong while she and the kids stayed with Miriam and Ben, so there was nothing to do but face up to it. Mary dabbed at Emmanuel's lips, desperately wishing she could be drifting off into a sated, blissful sleep, the way he was. When she'd laid him in his crib, she went into the bathroom.

There was no sign of a diaper in the toilet. Had Lucy really flushed one down by accident? How had the whole diaper gone down, as large as it was? Or . . . was Lucy fibbing again? Mary had caught the little girl in a few whoppers, so it was possible that Lucy had made up this story to get attention while her baby brother nursed.

There was only one way to find out.

Mary held down the flush lever. The water whirled in the bowl but it didn't go down.

Oh, this isn't gut,
she thought. But if there
was
a diaper down in the pipes, maybe one more flush would wash it along . . . before other waste could get caught in it and clog the pipe completely. Mary recalled seeing a plunger in the hall closet, so she fetched it. After she pumped it up and down vigorously, she flushed again.

The water rose to the top of the bowl and began spilling over onto the floor.

“Oh! Oh, no, this is—” Grabbing towels from the linen cabinet, Mary dropped them to the floor to sop up the water, once again aware that the men in her life had always dealt with these emergencies. When the toilet had stopped overflowing, she pondered her options. She didn't dare leave Lucy here with Emmanuel while she called Miriam from the phone in the barn . . . and by the time she went that far, she might as well go across the road to the café.

“Let's get our coats on,” she told Lucy. “We have to tell Aunt Miriam or Uncle Ben about the toilet so they can get it fixed.”

Lucy's eyes widened and she began to cry more loudly. Mary badly wanted to join her, but that wouldn't solve their problem, would it? She tucked Emmanuel into his padded carrier basket, and by the time the three of them were at the door where the coats were hung, he was wailing, too. He'd been sleeping so soundly—the day had been going so
well
until Lucy had—

Lord, don't let me hold this against her. She was trying to help . . . I think. Truth be told, I'm so tired from Emmanuel's wee-hour feedings, I'm not sure I
can
think anymore. . . .

They made a woeful little parade as they crossed the county highway, and it didn't help Mary's mood that little snowflakes floated in the November air. When they entered the Sweet Seasons, Mary spotted Aunt Miriam cutting pies at the back kitchen counter. She kept her head down as she went through the crowded, noisy dining room full of people she didn't know, gripping the handles of Emmanuel's basket. When she got to the kitchen, she saw that Lucy had stopped in an aisle to gawk at one of the men who was eating his dinner.

“Lucy!” Mary said in a loud whisper. “Get
in
here before I—”

“And what brings ya here amongst us, honey-bugs?” Miriam asked as she bustled over. “It's
gut
to see ya gettin' outta the house. Let me get ya some of this hamburger soup we're servin' for lunch—”

“The toilet's clogged. I'm so sorry,” Mary blurted. “I've sopped up the water, but Lucy says she flushed a diaper and—”

Mary nipped her lip, watching Miriam's expression. At forty-something, her aunt radiated a perpetual acceptance, a cheerfulness that probably accounted for her crow's-feet, from smiling so much. As she grasped Mary's shoulders, Miriam remained calm and unruffled.

“Ya came to the right place at the right time,” Miriam said with a chuckle. “Just so happens the Brenneman boys, who built our house and installed the plumbing, are eatin' their dinner. I'll go talk to them.”

“
Jah
, my Seth went to plumber school before he joined the Old Order,” said Naomi as she lifted a sizzling skillet of sausage from the stove. “He knows the pipes and drains around Willow Ridge like the back of his hand.”

Seth Brenneman.
Every time Mary heard that fellow's name, it was spoken in a tone that suggested he was above and beyond the average man. Aunt Miriam had recounted how Seth had driven their rig to the clinic, and then he'd sat behind her while she was delivering Emmanuel. Mary didn't remember any of those details. She dreaded the Sunday when the baby would be old enough to appear in church, for she would surely need to thank this stranger for his kindness. Sol and Lucy had gone on and on about how tall Seth was, and how strong—and how he'd gotten Rowdy to behave with a single command.

When she saw the burly blond rising from his chair in the dining room—coming toward the kitchen—Mary swallowed hard. He was a bear of a man, yet his smile suggested a boyish, fun-loving mischief as he leaned against the door frame.

“It's
gut
to see ya up and around, Mary, lookin' a lot more chipper than when we first met,” he said in a mellow baritone voice. “Shall we go over and see about that troublesome toilet?”

Mary nearly fainted. Seth Brenneman was easygoing and pleasant and muscular and cute and—

Mary chided herself for such an uncharitable thought. Her husband had been a fine, upstanding man of the faith. A good provider, until he'd died in a fire at his sawmill. She braced herself against Seth's friendliness as she gripped the handles of Emmanuel's basket. “
Jah. Denki
.”

“I'll be right over, soon as I fetch my tools.”

Mary steered Lucy toward the back door of the café's kitchen, so she wouldn't have to wait for Seth to move from the other doorway. “See you later, Aunt Miriam,” she said. “We've got a mess to clean up.”

And it's
you
that's in a mess,
Mary's thoughts raced.
How embarrassing, to finally meet this man while he has to do such a nasty job.

But maybe that was for the best, Mary reasoned. If Seth was occupied with unclogging a toilet, he couldn't pay any attention to
her
.

 

Half an hour later, Seth tugged carefully on the drain snake he'd coiled down Miriam's toilet. The diaper hadn't gone too far into the pipe, so he was able to snag it and ease it back up the way it had gone down. From across the small bathroom, Lucy watched him with wide eyes. She was clutching a faceless Amish doll as though it might protect her from him.

“I was rinsin' Emmanuel's poopy diaper,” she confessed in a tiny voice. “I flushed too quick and the potty
ate
it.”

Seth stopped tugging for a moment to smile at her. Lucy appeared to be doing well now—her blond hair was coiled into neat braids that joined at the back of her head, and she wore a cheerful blue dress. “When I was a kid, I dropped all kinds of stuff down the toilet,” he replied. “Not because I was helpin', either—I was just playin'. That's probably why I went to school to be a plumber.”

Lucy screwed up her face. “You played in the potty?
Ewwww
.”

“
Jah
, boys are pretty dumb sometimes.” Seth grasped the edge of the diaper and pulled steadily on it as he brought up the end of the snake. He dropped the snake on the towels that covered the floor, wrung out the diaper, and then went to the sink to wash up. “I've got ya all fixed up now, Lucy. No harm done.”

The little girl watched him as he recoiled the snake and gathered his tools. He felt more at ease with her today . . . found it gratifying that she had watched him work, even if she'd stayed as far away from him as the bathroom walls allowed.

“So your brother's in school?” he asked.

Lucy nodded.

“And your kitties and Rowdy are doin' all right?”

A grin twitched her lips. “Rowdy herds Aunt Miriam's chickens. They don't like it much,” she added matter-of-factly. “When Ben gets home, I'm gonna ride Clarabelle. She's our pony.”

When Lucy raised her hand to indicate Clarabelle's height, Seth nodded. “A miniature pony, is she? I guess you don't want
me
to ride her, then.”

Lucy's stricken expression made Seth wish he hadn't made that joke. He sighed. While it was easier today to make small talk with this wee blonde while her judgmental brother wasn't here, Seth really wanted to ask how the girl's mother was getting along. The rhythmic sound of a rocking chair on the sitting room's hardwood floor suggested Mary was looking after the baby—

Emmanuel, which means
God with us
. A
gut,
sturdy name for a little fella who has a long row to hoe.

As the words to an old carol about Emmanuel filled his head, Seth concentrated on gathering the wet towels, leaving the bathroom in better shape than he'd found it. This being mid-November, he had several Christmas furniture orders to keep up with—no time for lollygagging, letting his thoughts wander, or getting caught up in Mary's green-eyed gaze. Lucy had gone into the other room with her
mamm
, and when Seth stepped out of the bathroom, he stopped, speechless.

What a picture Mary made, cradling her newborn to her shoulder, slowly rocking him as she, too, looked ready to nap. She had draped a quilt over them, a design featuring deep red poinsettias over green stars that formed the leaves. With her eyes closed and the hint of a smile on her lips, she looked pretty and peaceful . . . draped in festive colors that covered her black dress. Seth's mind whirled with questions he longed to ask her, but it was just as well that Mary was occupied with a much more important little man. What would he accomplish, getting friendly with her? She had three kids and was grieving a deceased husband. She was in good hands here, with Miriam and Ben, and nothing he could say or do would improve her lot—or his.