Christmas Visitor (11 page)

“Oh, come on now!” she broke in.

“I'm serious. You were…are so small, so young. I may as well be honest, Ruth. You look barely of age.”

“What? I do, too!”

But she was smiling, a blush creeping into her cheeks, her lashes spreading against them as she lowered her eyes.

“Anyway, I asked plenty of questions, dug information out of anyone willing to answer. I was a real pest.”

He grinned. He had a shadow along his chin, where the black stubble showed only a bit. My, he would be so handsome with a beard, the style required of an Amish husband.

“So when I found out the children were your own, I….”

She watched his face intently.

“I prayed. I asked God to show me the way. I truly meant every prayer. You see, I was dating Anna King, but….” He stopped, searching her face.

“Ruth, do you believe it's good to push two people together? When someone thinks two others would make a perfect match, so why not give it a try? I'm thirty-five, and everyone means well. They all want to help out. You know the way of thinking
—
poor guy, he just doesn't have the nerve to ask a nice girl out, so they try to play matchmaker.”

Ruth laughed.

“So, I was dating, yes, but I think deep down I never really planned on marrying…her. Then, when I saw you…I saw Rebecca, all over again.”

Ruth lifted questioning eyes.

“Once, long ago, I was in love, the kind of love that is rare. Completely head over heels. The romance book kind of heart throbbing love. And I thought, without a doubt, I would ask her to become my wife and live happily ever after.

“She was the type of girl who
—
let's say she had a roving eye. She kept flirting with other guys, but I would overlook it, thinking it was just Rebecca's way.

“I saw it coming
—
should have seen it long before I actually did. When she broke off the friendship, I vowed to never love again. I imagined myself the tragic martyr, the pitiful one, and for years, I thought wallowing in my lost love was sufficient. I didn't need a girlfriend, though Dat would have loved to marry me off.”

He laughed, a rich baritone chuckle that brought joy to Ruth as well.

“So then I started my own roofing business. That became my life, my love, and…of course, God has blessed me, and I was able to buy the Petersheim place. I still feel God is richly blessing me far beyond anything I could ever deserve. It amazes me.”

Ruth sipped her coffee but remained quiet. He smiled at her and told her she was a good listener, a rare quality in girls.

Ruth said she wasn't a girl. She was, at the age of thirty, practically a middle-aged woman
—
especially with her six children. And after having all them, she better know how to listen.

He laughed again, a repetition of his first joyous outbreak. And then he did something Ruth would never forget. Reaching across the table, he took her mug of coffee from her hand and set it carefully to the side before grasping both of her hands firmly in his own calloused ones. He questioned her with his eyes while maintaining a firm hold on her.

“Ruth you are an attractive and capable young woman, and I would love to know you better. If you believe it's possible that anyone else can take Ben's place, would you let me try?”

Her hands held in his strong, perfect ones, his voice saying the perfect words. All the loneliness of the past months had been turned into a blessing. It amazes me, he'd said. Yes, it amazes me, too, John.

Arme vitve, weine nicht. Jesus will dich trosten. (Poor widow, do not cry. Jesus wants to comfort you.) Was this God's way of sending comfort? Or was she unchaste
—
thinking thoughts that were uncalled for before a year had gone by?

The simple clock on the wall ticked loudly. A drop of water escaped the confines of the faucet, followed by another, and still he held her hands, patiently watched her face, noted the conflicted emotions crossing the tender features.

“If…if you don't think it's too soon.” She whispered the words, so great was her humility. He had to ask her to repeat them, leaning forward to hear the quiet words as she repeated them.

When he heard what she had said, he released her hands, and shook his head. “No Ruth. It's not too soon. We'll take it slow. The children need to have time to adjust. I'm very concerned about Elmer and Roy.”

Ruth nodded.

“Let me hear your story now.”

“Would you be more comfortable in the living room?”

“We can sit there, of course.”

So she told him of meeting Ben at age fifteen and never having any doubts. She told him about her marriage when she was nineteen, life on the farm, the devastation of his fall, the difficult times since then. All was spoken in her quiet, even tones, and as he listened, the ashes of Rebecca's love sprang to life, lit by the Master's hand, and he knew he would not have to journey alone any longer.

At the door, there was no awkwardness, no hesitation. He stood and held out his arms, and she stepped into them. His shoulders were as solid and as comforting as she had imagined, and she smiled against them.

It amazes me.

And he did not kiss her.

John promised to bring their gifts on Christmas Eve, although they felt as if they'd already received so much. The teacher at school had given them pictures to hang on the walls of their rooms. The boys received a wildlife photograph, and Esther a beautiful poem with a yellow rose along the side. From Doddy Lapps, they'd received books and games and puzzles
—
far more than they'd thought possible.

And still the banana boxes appeared frequently and mysteriously in the night, sometimes dusted with powdery snow, but mostly just cold and always filled with useful items like fabric or towels, rugs, groceries, books, anything they could imagine. It became a ritual, the discovery of the banana box, a sort of race to see who would see the contents first.

Excitement ran high the day before Christmas. Their own meager presents were placed on the bureau in the living room, the absence of a tree so normal no one gave it a thought. A Christmas tree was unusual in any Amish home, so the bureau in the living room was the perfect place for the brightly wrapped gifts to bring cheer to the entire room.

It wasn't that Ruth didn't decorate at all. She pulled the box marked “Christmas decorations” out of the hall closet and distributed the red pillar candles around the house on windowsills and tabletops. She washed the plastic rings and placed them carefully around the candles.

A few snowmen were set beside the candles, and when the wicks were lit, the little snowmen seemed to come to life. There were no Santa Claus ornaments or any references to his coming down the chimney. Amish people had never believed in teaching children that myth, so there was no Santa Claus in sight.

The house was clean and bright, the cookies and candies set out on attractive trays. There was coffee, hot chocolate for the children, apple cider, seasoned pretzels, and popcorn balls.

Mamie, of course, had sent a huge platter of candy and cookies
—
so many, in fact, that Ruth considered not making any of her own.

She thought about inviting Ephraim and Mamie, but decided against it, afraid they simply wouldn't leave when it was time. Ruth smiled to herself as she set out the chocolate covered peanut butter crackers. She was ready to admit that she wanted time alone with John, and Ephraim and Mamie were notorious for staying up till four in the morning.

“Lillian, no!”

Ruth's words were sharp, bringing the busy three year old to a halt, halfway up the kitchen chair she'd pushed over to the bureau as she reached for the snowman by the burning candle.

Rushing over, Ruth grabbed Lillian around the middle, hauled her off the chair, and set her firmly on the floor.

“You may not have the candle. No, no.”

“Candle so shay (pretty)!” Lillian protested.

“You just let it alone, okay? It will burn you, make an ouchy.”

Lillian pouted and flounced off. She leaned against the couch, watching the flickering light on the little snowman.

There would be no supper that evening, they all agreed. Elmer did chores early, carefully sweeping the forebay in case John drove his horse and buggy. Esther said he didn't need to sweep as John would probably walk, but Roy asked how he would bring all the presents if he didn't bring his horse and buggy.

Elmer asked Ruth if she and John were…. His voice trailed off, and he lifted embarrassed eyes to his mother's face.

“Elmer, I was just waiting till you asked!” Quickly she slid an arm protectively around his shoulders, squeezing him affectionately, and looked into his eyes. “Do you wish I would not like John?”

Elmer shook his head.

“I won't think of doing this…I mean…well, Elmer, I hardly know how to say this. John did not ask me to marry him or anything. But if he did, and you would object, I would say no.”

“I know you would.” Elmer was very solemn, a mature soul in a child's form. His eyes searched Ruth's face intently.

“I would say no, Elmer. For you.”

“But, Mam, if he does ask you, don't say no. We really need a dat.”

“Does Roy think so, too?”

“Yeah. We talked about it a lot already. We think John Beiler is so much like we remember Dat.”

“Really?”

So Ruth learned that her boys approved of John, which was a comfort. Esther just giggled and shrugged her shoulders when she was asked for an opinion, and Barbara said her mother needed help with the coal stove and removing the propane tank when it needed to be changed.

They all burst out laughing.

These dear children would always need to come first, Ruth thought. They may be facing another time of transition, but it would be made easier by generous amounts of explaining, understanding, and patience as she tried to ensure an atmosphere of stability in their young
—
and recently tumultuous
—
lives.

Yes, they approved, but she knew they would all have times of rebellion or disobedience. And yet her heart soared with newfound love.

The banana box came through the door first. There was no knock, no warning, just the door being pushed open by the cardboard box.

“Merry Christmas!”

“John!”

“Hey, are you the banana box guy?” Elmer burst out, unable to conceal his eagerness.

“You are!” Roy yelled, pointing his finger with a gleeful expression on his face.

“What are you talking about? I don't know a thing about banana boxes.”

John took off his black coat, hung it on a hook in the laundry room, tucked his red shirt tail in his black trousers, and grinned.

“You left a banana box full of stuff on our porch. Every day almost!” Roy shouted.

“Shh!” Ruth was a bit embarrassed now.

“Why would I do that?” He caught Ruth's eye and winked broadly, and she knew.

Esther said she recognized his footprints in the snow, which actually made him pause and look questioningly at Ruth.

The boys were hopping up and down now, their brown hair flopping, their white socks like springs propelling them up and down, exultant in the knowledge of his discomfort.

“Gotcha! We gotcha!”

“It was you!”

“We know it was!”

“You have no way of finding out!” John said.

“Take off your shoe.”

“We'll measure the tracks!”

“Tracks? What tracks? You can't do that. Tracks widen with the sun's heat. When snow melts, it changes the shape of the shoe's mark. Or suppose I wore my boots?”

Too late, he caught himself, then threw back his head and laughed uproariously. Elmer and Roy pounced on him and tried to make him sit down so they could remove his shoes.

It all ended with Elmer and Roy overpowering him, landing him on his back on the living room floor, where he laughed as Roy held him down and Elmer undid the laces of his black shoes. Happily, they raised them high in the air, then slipped out the door, standing in the snow in their stocking feet to carefully evaluate the length and width and pattern of the footprints. They burst into a gleeful cheer and gave each other a high five before rushing back into the house.

“Yup, they match. It was you!”

John conceded, and the children suddenly became shy, watching him with careful expressions.

“Was it really you?”

“Why did you do it?”

The questions flew thick and fast, till John put up a hand and said if they all hushed, he'd tell them about it.

“I saw you driving the horse to church at your Doddy Lapp's house and asked many, many questions afterward. I decided your mam could not have an easy life and no doubt could use some help. It was my pleasure. I have no children, you know.”

“So, what about the playhouse?” Barbara asked.

“It snowed playhouses that night, I told you!”

“You're schnitzing (fibbing)!”

“Mamie's husband works at Stoltzfus Structures, remember?” Elmer watched John's face, saw the seriousness.

“He does, that's right. I bet it was Ephraims.”

“It would be just like Mamie,” Roy agreed.

Ruth met John's eyes and played along. She knew Eph and Mamie could not afford a new playhouse, but she'd let John trick them, for now. What fun!

“Wow, I didn't know Eph had money.”

“Well, you know how Mamie bakes. I bet she made five thousand dollars making Christmas cookies.”

“Nah, Roy!”

“Hey, two thousand! Three!”

There was a discreet knock on the door, and Ruth's heart sank. Oh please don't let it be Ephraims. How could a person love a friend the way she loved Mamie and cringe at the thought of having her and her family there with John?

It wasn't right. As the Bible said
—
actually Jesus had said
—
it was wrong to give high seats to classy people, or those of high status, and barely acknowledge those of lower class.

Mamie was not lower class. She was just relaxed and dear to Ruth's heart. And Ruth knew she was only being selfish, desperate to have John to herself, so she flung open the door, letting in a blast of cold air and a tumble of children and Mamie and Ephraim and Trixie, the dog.

John looked surprised, then pleased. Ruth let out a quick sigh of relief. It was okay.

“Trixie! Ach my! Trixie!” Mamie raised embarrassed eyes to Ruth's face.

“Children! Fannie! Why did you bring Trixie? She wasn't supposed to come. Ruth, fa-recht (for real)!”

As usual, Mamie fussed and explained, taking coats, pushing children forward, as Eph stood smiling eagerly, saying nothing.

“Well, here we are, crashing your party. Siss net chide, gel net (It isn't right, is it)? But our noses grew steadily longer all day. I told Eph I can't stay at home. Trixie! Fannie, get Trixie. Put her in the kesslehaus. Waynie, no. Mam will smack your patty. Waynie!”

Moving with remarkable speed, she flung herself at her ambitious little boy, who was scuttling along, intent on the potted palm tree in the corner. She grabbed him by the waist band of his black Sunday pants, swung him to her shoulder, and patted his bottom a few times.

“Here, Eph. Take him.”

Waving a hand to cool her reddening face, she scooted back to Ephraim who received little Waynie with a solid thunk, whereupon the small boy set up an awful howling.

Ruth watched and smiled, catching John's eye. Yes, the evening would be extremely interesting.

John and Ephraim got along fine, of course. Mamie whispered to Ruth that everyone liked Eph. He didn't know what it would be like to meet someone and not have them like him.

Then she spied the presents, and said, oh my, you didn't have your gifts yet? Ruth assured her it was alright. They would exchange gifts in spite of them being there.

So Mamie settled herself on the sofa, eager anticipation shining from her generous blue eyes. Trixie repeatedly yapped from the kesslehaus, very effectively driving Ruth to distraction.

The children were seated now, on the floor or on chairs. Esther clasped her hands in her lap
—
dutiful and restrained like a much older child. Barbara was trying hard not to bounce up and down, but she kicked one foot constantly. Lillian squirmed and wiggled and bounced and squealed. She clapped her hands and tried to lift the lid off the cardboard boxes, until her mother sternly told her to sit down and hold still for a minute.

Elmer was very grown up, holding Benjamin, trying to hide the excitement he must be feeling. Meanwhile, Roy let his spill out all over the place, bouncing and hopping from one end of the living room to the other.

“Now your children don't have anything,” Ruth told Mamie quietly.

“Oh, they will in the morning. They know that.”

First Ruth gave the boys their package. Eagerly, they tore off the inexpensive wrapping paper, crumpled it, and held up the new Monopoly game, exulting in the game they knew they would play with every single evening.

Barbara and Esther were equally pleased to receive the set of dishes, explaining to Mamie's girls that their dishes were either lost or broken, and this was exactly what they wanted.