Christmas Visitor (3 page)

There was a high-pitched shriek from Ruth's room, and dutiful Barbara went to find Lillian, reappearing with the crying three year old on one hip. Lillian was indignantly wailing and hitting her sister.

“Lillian, do net!” Ruth called from her rocking chair where she was feeding Benjamin.

Instantly, Ruth's mam was on her feet, trying to take Barbara's heavy, writhing load from her and saying, “Komm, Lillian. Komm. Mommy iss do (Grandmother is here).”

Lillian's shrieks only increased in volume, so Barbara let her slide to the kitchen floor, where she resumed her howling. When Mommy tried to pick her up, Lillian twisted and turned, her legs flailing, her nightgown revealing the large disposable diaper she still wore.

“Ich vill my tootie! (I want my pacifier!)”

Quickly, Barbara scuttled down the hallway to look for the missing pacifier, which, when presented, was refused. The shrieking resumed. Without a word, Ruth rose from the rocking chair, handed the baby to her mother, and bent to pick up her struggling daughter. She took her directly to the laundry room, where she administered a firm “reprimand,” letting Lillian understand that such behavior was completely unacceptable by using the age-old method of the Plain people, who still honored the meaning of molding a young child's will.

Later, with Lillian's head on her shoulder and her pacifier in her mouth, Ruth explained to her that throwing a fit was not allowed as she was a big girl now. Lillian hiccupped and sniffed but stayed quiet, watching her grandmother warily.

Mommy cooked a large pan of scrambled eggs and filled the broiler of the gas stove with slices of homemade bread. She sadly noted the absence of bacon or sausage in Ruth's refrigerator that contained so little, but she said nothing.

“I brought a coffee cake. Elmer, can you go get it? It's under the seat.”

“I'll go!” Roy yelled, almost upsetting his chair in his urgency to please his grandmother.

Later the women drank coffee alone as the children unloaded the corn outside. Mam asked Ruth how she was managing, her large, blue eyes round pools of love and caring, which always and without fail produced tears she did not want to show.

Ruth nodded, struggling for control. She got up and grabbed a handful of Kleenex as she drew her upper lip down to help stay the onset of emotion.

“Alright,” she said.

No, Mam, actually I am not doing well. I'm afraid I'm not doing the right thing with Lillian. I'm weak and tired, and I miss Ben so much I want to die sometimes. I'm afraid my money will soon be all gone, and I feel guilty for everything I spend because it's really someone else's hard-earned money.

But she did not say that.

“Just alright?”

Ruth nodded, unable to speak. She was afraid one word would strangle her and open the floodgates of self-pity and grief and helplessness and inadequacy.

Mam cut a slice of coffee cake with the side of her fork, put it carefully in her mouth, and chewed, wisely allowing Ruth time to salvage her pride.

“It's Lillian, isn't it?'

Ruth nodded, avoiding her mother's eyes. Down came those mother's hands, the hands of a dienna's frau like the hands of an angel, taking up both of Ruth's and accompanied by healing words of praise and encouragement.

“Ruth, you did exactly the right thing. You amaze me with the quiet way you have with these children. Lillian is different, but you know as well as I do that not one child is the same as the others. They are all given a different nature, and Lillian is just…well.”

Ruth lifted her eyes to her mother's, saw the humor, those little stars of goodwill, and laughed.

“Mam, you know what she said the other day? She said she is going to put Benjamin in the rabbit hutch where he belongs.”

Mam laughed heartily.

“I know, Ruth. She's a character. She's jealous, likely, of the new baby. And on top of that, she doesn't really understand about Ben.”

“You noticed the Pamper?”

“Yes.”

“She's three, Mam. I've never had a problem training any of my children. Till now. She's so stubborn. She knows better, but she just doesn't care. It simply tries me to the limit.”

“And she will often continue to do so
—
throughout her life, no doubt. She reminds me so much of your sister, Betty.”

“Help us all!” Ruth said, laughing.

Betty was Ruth's sister, who had taught school for many years. She often spoke her mind to distraught parents, roiling the calm waters around her with blunt remarks that were not always well received. She had finally married a bachelor at the age of twenty-seven, and her marriage was less than peaceful now, even after only a year and a half together.

“Poor Reuben.”

“Oh, he takes care of himself.”

And so the conversation carried on throughout the day as only the chatter of mothers and daughters can. They hopped from one subject to another as they sat on folding lawn chairs under the oak tree in the backyard with wheelbarrow loads of corn and piles of husks surrounding them. The dishpans were piled high with the heavy ears of yellow corn, brushed clean with vegetable brushes.

The two-burner outdoor propane cooker bubbled away as it cooked the corn, which, after being heated through, was plunged into the cold water in the cooling tubs. Roy manned the tubs, and the cold water from the hose often strayed, spraying his sisters or Elmer.

When the corn was completely cooled, the dishpans were filled again and set on a bench where Mam and Ruth cut it from the cobs with sharp knives. Some of it was creamed by sliding the cooled ears of corn across the stainless steel corn creamer. The device had a long, rounded shaft with jagged teeth built into the center, which tore the kernels into small pieces and creamed it for baked corn or just to be eaten with butter and salt.

They set up the corn eating station on the wooden picnic table with salt and butter at each end and a Corelle platter of sliced tomatoes, a jar of mayonnaise, and a loaf of sliced whole wheat bread in the middle.

For a small woman, Mam could eat so many ears of corn that it was almost alarming. She applied the butter with a liberal rolling of the ear of corn, over and over across the cold goodness of it. She poured on the salt with the same generous hand and continued by lowering her head, her teeth crunching. She stopped only to roll her eyes and voice her pleasure before buttering another ear.

Ruth agreed. Corn, especially the variety called “Incredible,” was exactly that
—
rows of perfect yellow kernels bursting with flavor and a sweetness so good it was impossible not to look for another good ear after finishing the first one.

They wiped away their perspiration and cooled themselves by drinking cold beverages and plunging their hands into the cold well water, which also helped tremendously.

“Lillian, voss huscht (What do you have)?” Mommy called.

Ruth shrieked and grabbed at the fat, green tomato worm Lillian was laying gently on top of the cooled ears of corn.

“My worm!” Lillian cried. She quickly picked it up and deposited it in the sandbox, where Ruth decided if she wanted to give the worm a ride with the plastic dump truck, she could.

And Mommy allowed Elmer to drive Ginger the whole way to the freezer, the electric one kept in an English neighbor's shed. Other Amish families also paid a set fee every month for the privilege of having a large chest freezer there.

Mommy told Elmer he was a good driver, even though he almost upset the spring wagon by turning too short. Later she sprouted a summer cold sore where she'd bitten down hard on her lip so she wouldn't yell in fright and perhaps hurt Elmer's feelings.

After the day of freezing corn, Ruth also made spaghetti sauce, pizza sauce, salsa, and tomato soup, turning bucket after bucket of brilliant red sun-ripened tomatoes into row after row of colorful Ball jars of goodness, which were stored in the cold cellar with the pickles and red beets, the corn and zucchini relish. There was still applesauce to be done, and peaches and pears and grape jelly and grape juice.

School sewing, though, was on top of Ruth's list. It glared at her from beneath the square silver magnet on the refrigerator
—
the yellow slip of paper where she had written what she needed. Ten yards of Swedish knit, three yards of black apron material, shirts for the boys, buttons, black thread, sewing machine needles, hair pins.

School would start in a few weeks. The baby was crying from what seemed to be an angry case of heat rash that had developed overnight. Lillian had been stung by a carpenter bee
—
those wood borers that hovered around the barn's entrance like little bombers protecting their territory. Ruth was unsure if Lillian needed to see a doctor, the way her face was swollen and puffed up on one side so her eye had become a mere slit.

The heat had been unrelenting. It sapped Ruth's energy, so she often slept later than intended and then battled frustration, unable to accomplish all she wanted to.

Her steps were lighter now, coming in from the phone shanty, after having received a message from Aaron sei Hannah. Oh my. They were all coming on Thursday. The buddies. They were a precious group of women who had grown up with her. They had gone through their rumspringa (running around) years together and attended each other's weddings. They would bring their sewing machines! It was to be a covered dish gathering, and they would all bring something.

In the cool of the morning, Ruth slid onto the bench of the picnic table and folded her arms on the table. She lowered her head and cried just long enough to thank God for the gift of dear friends who were coming to pluck her out of discouragement.

Thursday arrived with the many teams turning into the driveway. They came bearing smiling faces, piles of little ones her own children's ages, casseroles, fruit, desserts, and salads. The women carried in their Berninas and Necchis and Singers and lugged along their twelve-volt batteries and inverters. The heavy blades from the Wiss scissors flashed as they cut into the fabric using the patterns Ruth kept in her folders in the bureau drawer.

The talking kept pace with the whirring of the needles, humming along as pair after pair of black broadfall trousers appeared like magic, and the ten-yard roll of Swedish knit quickly disappeared.

Elmer and Roy each had a blue shirt and a red one. The ladies decided that wasn't enough, so they cut up the dusty green, too.

The buttons were sewn on, and the buttonholes done by the machines. The women made quite a fuss about their mothers
—
or some of them
—
still making buttonholes by hand.

“Well, if you ask me, that is just dumb.”

“My mother says it's her porch job. Sitting and relaxing in the evening.”

“Seriously.”

“Unfashtendich (senseless).”

“Why would you do that?”

There was talk of David Petersheim's new home being sold at auction.

“Four hundred and some thousand.”

“That shop and all, no wonder.”

“Who bought it?”

“Stop your sewing machines. Who?”

“A Mennonite?”

“Car Mennonite or Team?”

No one seemed to know. Somebody said the chap was English. Pretty old. They came to no conclusions.

Ruth wondered why Petersheims had sold out. It was a beautiful home set in the woods, all level land. She couldn't imagine living there. It looked so perfect.

“You're sure the last bidder wasn't Amish?”

“It's an Amish home.”

And on and on.

They clucked over Lillian's face. Rachel said to put Swedish Bitters on it, without a doubt. Others were less sure with it being around the eye like that.

When they left, the new garments were all pressed and hung in the closets, but her whole house and lawn were a disaster.

No matter.

Ruth sang while she worked, sweeping, wiping Jello off walls, washing fingerprints from the windows, emptying trash cans. The boys picked up sandbox toys. Barbara and Esther hosed down the porch. Ruth got out the blue can of Raid and sprayed the walls around the doors, then slapped at flies inside the house and wiped them up with a tissue.

Later, they discovered the water trough in the barn contained more hay than water. It was soaked and slimy. Elmer voiced his opinion about buddies day, saying they all sat there and talked non-stop and let their children run wild.

But when school started, Ruth could send her three scholars down the road on their scooters, wearing the neon green, reflective vests she required. And she was thankful for her friends whose hearts had overflowed with love and kindness towards her and her family.

September brought cooler nights at least, but the heat persisted during the day. Her sister, Emma, helped her can peaches and pears. She made grape jelly after that, surveyed the stocked shelves in the cellar, and knew God was good.

Church services would be held at her parents' home the follow Sunday, in a freme gegend (a different district), so she ironed her Sunday covering with special care but was undecided about what to wear. Should it be her older black dress or one of the two newer ones she had made after Ben's death for her year of mourning? The older one was a bit too big around the waist, so she always felt as if her apron was falling off, no matter how tightly it was pinned.

She decided on the newer one that had a subtle swirl pattern in the material. The girls could wear their matching green dresses.

She laid out the boys' white shirts and their black vests and checked the trousers for any damage. One could never tell what might happen, the way boys played after services
—
especially at the homes of parents or relatives, when they stayed for the evening meal.

She buffed the boys' shoes, being careful to undo the black laces. Then she checked their drawers to make sure they had black socks, as she did not want them wearing white ones.

Her woven Sunday kaevly (basket) was packed carefully with Pampers on the bottom, an extra onesie, additional white socks, bottles, a pacifier, burp cloths, a small purse containing Goldfish and Cheerios, a keychain attached to a small plastic book, and three rolls of Smarties, enough to keep Lillian occupied at least for a short time.

Yes, she had her hands full with Esther, Barbara, and Lillian seated beside her and Benjamin, who was now two months old. But she learned it was possible to get through, with capable little Barbara as her helper. If only Lillian would cooperate, she'd be fine.

The morning was brisk and invigorating with the air bearing a hint of fall. The leaves were still green but hung tiredly, as if the summer's heat had made them weary and resigned to their coloring and final demise. The goldenrod was brilliant. The sumac had just begun to change color.

Pete was eager to go, so she let him run while half listening to Elmer's constant chatter as they passed homes, farms, and cornfields. He sat beside her, holding Benjamin, who was wide-eyed as the rumble of the steel wheels on the road made him aware of a change in his little world.

Ruth looked at him and smiled.

“Voss? Bisht bye gay? (What? Are you going away?)”

When a wide smile illuminated his face, Ruth bent sideways and kissed the top of his head.

“You're going to be good today, right?”

“You better watch where you're going.”

“You want to drive?”

“Sure!”

“Give Benjamin to me.”

So for the next few miles, Elmer was the attentive driver, carefully pulling on the right rein to keep Pete on his side of the road.

When they pulled into her parents' farm, there were already quite a few buggies parked in neat rows along the fence back by the corn crib and the implement shed.

“My goodness! No one going in the lane? I hope we're not late.”

“Nah,” Elmer assured her, handing over the reins. He did not want to be responsible for the parking, which was sometimes a difficult thing to do with so many buggies already taking up a lot of the space. Of all the things that were changed by Ben's death, this one was one of the most difficult. Driving alone, a woman, so unaccustomed, having to worry about unhitching, even with Elmer's help. It was not exactly a humiliation. It was more the effort of staying calm and brave despite the appearance of being alone, different, the widow, the recipient of people's sympathy. She hated being alone in the buggy without Ben, always.

Where to go? Oh dear.

“Mam, over there,” Elmer said, pointing a finger helpfully.

“All those boys,” she said quietly.

“They won't look.”

But they did. They all turned to watch as she pulled Pete up beside the silo and said, “Back!” as she tugged on the reins.

Pete had other ideas, of course
—
the cranky beast
—
so she was getting nowhere. Handing the reins to Elmer, she slid back the door of the buggy and was surprised to see one of the young men stepping out from the crowd and coming over to help her park.

Taking a firm grip on the horse's bit, he applied steady pressure, and Pete, who must have known he was in experienced hands, leaned back against the britchment and put the buggy right where Ruth had wanted it.

Then he stepped around to Ruth's side of the buggy. She stepped down from her seat in her black mourning dress and looked at him.

“G'mya (G'morning).”

“Hello.”

“Shall I put your horse away?”

“You may, yes. Thank you.”

There was a question in his eyes as plain as day, but he said nothing further. Ruth just went to the other side of the buggy and held out her arms for Benjamin as the young man reached under the seat for the halter and the neck rope. He went to release the buckle on Pete's bridle and looked at her, this small, young woman with all these children.

Ruth saw he had no beard, and his hat was well shaped, low in the back and pulled low over his eyes in the front. Someone had said at buddies day that Paul King's Anna was dating someone from the Dauphin County settlement. Oh, but it couldn't be him. Anna would be at her parents' church in a neighboring district.

Her helper was forgotten as Ruth was caught up in greeting relatives including some of her sisters she did not see on a regular basis. They had moved to neighboring counties and lived in smaller settlements of Amish folks.

Quite a fuss was made of little Benjamin's growth and his likeness to his father, though not without quick glances of kind sympathy and questioning her with their eyes.

Are you doing okay?

Did we say too much?

It's been nearly six months, hasn't it?

She shook hands with many friends and some women she did not know but who were all a part of the faith she was so accustomed to. By the time the first hymn was announced, Benjamin had had enough, and his wails became loud and urgent. Bending to tell Esther to remain seated, she made her way past her sisters, crossed the yard, and went into the house.

This was the home of her youth, the dear old stone house with the high ceilings and deep windowsills. Mam's wringer washer stood all by itself in the cement-floored laundry room with the drain in the floor beside it, like a milk house floor. Most younger women's washers were put in a closet or fastened to the floor, with drains underneath the washer and the rinse tubs and a lever to open or close them.

Not Mam. What would happen if there was a clog in there, she'd say, a hairpin or a safety pin? No sir. She let her water out of the wringer washer the old fashioned way
—
by unhooking the drain hose and letting it run across the floor and down the drain. Then, if there was an object in the washer that shouldn't be there, it came flying out in full view and could be picked up and thrown in the trash can.