An Amish Family Christmas (6 page)

He placed his head on her chest. She cradled him and whispered, “The heavens tell us of the glory of God. Day after day, night after night. They speak without the slightest sound, without the tiniest word. You can’t hear a voice. Yet what they say goes out into all the earth, the words carry to the ends of the world. So it is for you and me, Micah Bachman. My language will be the love I bear for you, a love I’ll bear until the day I die. I don’t
need syllables and vowels. Only my smile, only my eyes, only my soul.”

Five

B
ut things did not go as smoothly as Naomi had hoped.

Every morning she dressed as neatly as if she were a new bride and homemaker. She washed her face and hands, brushed out her hair till it gleamed, twisted it back into a perfect bun, placed her prayer
kapp
on her head, and joined Rebecca in a kitchen lit by lanterns, where they prepared the breakfasts Micah enjoyed the most. If Micah’s gaze rested on her, she let it and did not walk away. If his eyes found hers, she did not look down or to the side, but looked right back with all the feeling for him she had locked inside her.

“Your love for my brother is obvious,” Rebecca said quietly as she placed a pitcher of cream back in the icebox.

“I’m glad,” replied Naomi. “He’s my husband. That’s how it should be.”

“I wonder what Minister Yoder would have to say about the way you and Micah look at one another when you are under the
bann
?”

“So now our eyes are under the
Ordnung
too? We can’t talk to each other, and now we can’t look at each other either?”

“Words are spoken with the eyes,” said Rebecca.

“
Ja
?” Naomi put away a loaf of bread. “And what do they say?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“So when love is banned from our Amish community, please be the first to tell me so that I may pack my bags.”

“I didn’t mean to censure you. But others see how you look at him when they visit us. They could complain to the bishop and make matters worse for you. They could demand Micah leave the house or community.”

Rebecca’s words bothered Naomi. But it wasn’t just the words that bothered her. She found that whenever she met Micah in the house or in the yard and their eyes found one another and the love for him lit every part of her body, not being able to hold him or kiss him or speak to him became harder and harder to bear. And making herself perfect for him, cooking his favorite food, and letting him hold his gaze on her just made matters worse. Day after day she grew more and more miserable and began to avoid Micah whenever she could.

“So love has taken a strange twist,” remarked Rebecca as they sewed by the front window that looked out on the fields and the main road.

Naomi’s eyes snapped with a sudden burst of light. “If it has taken a twist, it’s the
Ordnung
that has twisted it. I haven’t seen my husband for a year—he could have been killed!—and now we’re in the same house together and we can’t talk, we can’t touch. I sleep alone while he makes his bed among worn-out rockers and broken cuckoo clocks. I think I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Pray. Seek God.”

“Pray for what? For Micah to change his mind? Or the bishop and the ministers?”

“Both.”

“Ha. Both.
Gut.
That’s easy enough.”

“For God it is.”

“
Ja
, sure, for God. But I’m the one who’s a widow. There’s no difference between myself and Deborah Lantz. She lost her husband to a barn fire. I lost mine to the war and the
Ordnung
.”

“He’s still alive. You see him every day.”

Naomi dropped her sewing on the table. “He might as well be dead. What good does seeing him every day do? We’re like ghosts to each other. I thought the smiles and the warmth would be enough, but I was wrong. It’s torture. It was easier to bear when I couldn’t see him at all.”

Rebecca also put her sewing aside. “Thank God for what you have.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Naomi put a hand over her eyes. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Rebecca. Of course, it isn’t. I’ve had many griefs, but so have you. You’ve also lost grandparents and others you loved in your lifetime.”

“But not my God. Not my faith. And neither have you.”

“I seem to be on the verge some days. He asks too much of me.”

“He will give you the grace you need to handle it.”

“
Ja
? When?”

“I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But that’s his problem to deal with. Not yours or mine.”

Naomi dropped her hand from red and puffy eyes. “And so what’s my problem to deal with then?”

“To not lose hope.”

“Hope.
Ja
, well, hope is good. But I see no way out of this. It’s the most snarled-up ball of yarn I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m at a loss. I feel trapped.”

Rebecca put a hand on her arm. “I don’t want to come across as though I’m judging you and Micah. Truly, I’m on your side. The Lord who knows my heart can tell you I wish you to be in each other’s arms again and Micah to be welcomed back into the Amish
community. Perhaps I’m too forthright with my tongue. Pardon me for that. But I’m not against you. I would rather the
Ordnung
changed its position than my brother changed his. I don’t believe there’s a great chance of that. Yet as I say, it’s God’s problem. If it’s true he sent Micah to war to be a healer in the name of Christ, then yes, it’s completely and utterly his problem. Ours is to remain steadfast and anchored in him.”

Naomi stared out the window as snow began to fall and wind began to swirl it in tight circles. “I wish my mother were here. I wish I could speak with her.”

Rebecca squeezed her arm. “You can.”

“What do you mean?”

“She kept a book. You always told me about her book.”

A small smile came to Naomi’s face. “
Das Buch von Wunder.” Her book of wonders.

“Didn’t she leave messages in it for you to read?”

“
Ja, ja.
Not just me. Papa. Luke. Ruth. It was her way.”

“She spoke to God in it, didn’t she?”

“
Ja.
Sometimes she asked us to read those conversations, those prayers. Other times no, she sealed those pages from us if she put the book in our hands.”

Rebecca interlaced her fingers with Naomi’s. “Do you know where this book is?”

Naomi’s eyebrows came together. “Why, I haven’t thought about it. No. Somewhere in their room, I suppose. I can’t go in there. I can’t bear to. Not yet.”

“
Ja
. I know. But I have been in there. When I cleaned your parents’ room I saw the book. It was impossible not to notice. It was lying open on the table by the window. Your mother—” Rebecca paused and took a breath, glancing out at the snowfall. “She had been writing in it that morning before she climbed into the buggy.”

“What?”

“I read very little of it. Only enough to make note of the date. Then I closed it and put it away.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

Rebecca continued to watch the snow. “I felt you had enough pain to deal with. But now perhaps you should sit down and read what she wrote her final morning on earth.”

“The way you put it, I’m almost afraid to.”

“Don’t be afraid. She was your mother. She loved you.”

“Was...was what she wrote addressed to me?”

Rebecca nodded. “
Ja.
”

Naomi slipped her fingers from Rebecca’s and slowly got to her feet. “Where will I...where will I find the book?”

“Under her pillow.” Rebecca picked up her sewing again. “I will pray for you, Naomi.”

“
Danke
.”

“I’ll be here by the window when you’ve finished, Naomi. If you wish to talk.”

Naomi crossed the house to the staircase. She stared up the flight of steps to the second floor.

Lord, I don’t want to go into that room. I will just cry my eyes out once I open the door and see their bed and the clothes still hanging in their closet. I cannot do it. Every day you ask too much of me.

She climbed the stairs as if it hurt her to move each leg. At the top she waited again. She was tempted to look in on Luke, but she had just taken a peek an hour before. Biting her lip, she walked along the hall to the door with the well-worn brass knob. Resting her hand on it, she closed her eyes, twisted it, and opened the door. The air was cool. Scents of the room rushed over her like a breeze from an open window.

Mama’s hand cream she used to get rid of the dryness. Papa’s shaving soap to keep his upper lip clear. The dried flowers Mama kept in a jar.

She opened her eyes. The snow was falling faster and thicker and coating the windows. She entered the room and closed the door behind her, leaning with her back against it a moment. She felt as if both her parents would be sitting on their sides of the bed that night and talking as they always had. Nothing looked out of place. Rebecca had kept the room tidy. It was as though her mother had just swept the floor and wiped down the furniture with a damp cloth.

“Blessings on this place,” she whispered. “Blessings on your souls in the Lord Jesus Christ.”

She went to the bed and gently turned her mother’s pillow over. The book was there as Rebecca had said. She lifted it up. It was bound in the dark brown leather her father had tanned himself. Sitting on the bed she pressed her lips to it and smelled the thick leather and the cream from her mother’s hands. She was careful as she opened it, for she remembered that several old flowers were pressed between its pages.

Six

T
he book fell open to the middle, and a dried red rose fell into her lap.

Naomi glanced at the fine, almost spidery writing of her mother’s fountain pen. She had never been shown these pages. They were prayers for each of the children. She read the ones for her sister and for Luke. Putting the book down, she looked at the snowfall again, bracing herself. Then she read the prayers her mother had written for her.