Little Amish Matchmaker (11 page)

The boys beat it to the schoolhouse porch, a flock of nervous black-clad boys like frightened starlings. It was Levi Stoltzfuses already. It was barely 12:00. The program wasn’t scheduled to begin until 1:00.

The boys moved in a huddle to the side of the porch as the team pulled up to the steps.

The buggy door opened, and Levi
sei
Rachel stepped down lightly, holding her baby wrapped in a blue blanket.

“
Vit mit da Dat Koinma
?” she asked. (Want to come with Dad?) The little boy clinging to the glove compartment nodded, and the buggy moved off.

Rachel was holding the diaper bag, the baby, and a large plastic container.

Isaac stepped forward. “
Brauchtsh hilf
?” (Do you need help?)

Rachel nodded gratefully. “
Denke
.” (Thank you.)

Proudly, Isaac carried the red container, lowering his eyes to look through the clear plastic lid. Chocolate-covered something! Oh, the wonderful things mothers brought to the Christmas program!

There were plates of cookies and trays of bars and cupcakes and homemade candy. Potato chips and pretzels and cheese. Party mix and popcorn, mounds of tortillas spread with cream cheese and seasonings, crammed full of ham and cheese, cut in little pinwheels of pure pleasure. There were paper cups of fruit punch, iced tea, coffee and hot chocolate.

No one thought of healthy food at Christmas-time.

Isaac was always pleased with Mam’s contribution. She was a fine baker. This year she made extra peanut-butter tartlets for the Christmas program, which made Isaac especially glad. They were a buttery, rich crust shaped into miniature muffin tins, with a small Reese’s cup pressed into them. Calvin and Michael loved them.

Second-grader Sally spied her mother and moved to her side quickly, reaching for her little brother Jesse, bursting to show her classmates how cute he was, what a capable helper she was, uncovering his face, pulling on the strings of his pale blue stocking cap as her friends watched enviously.

Isaac’s heart began to race in earnest when a white 15-passenger van slowed, then turned into the snow covered driveway.

Fremme
! (Strangers!)

The boys jostled each other from their elevated position on the porch, then stood respectfully, watching. A few young girls hopped down, then turned to open the second door, allowing more room for the remaining passengers.

Doddy and Mommy Stoltzfus! (Grandpa and Grandma) Isaac was pink cheeked with high spirits. What a treat!

It was interesting to see who the people were that had to hire a driver, living too far away for their horse and buggy to bring them. Isaac knew Doddy Stoltzfuses lived in
die unna Beckveh
(lower Pequea) which was below Kirkwood and Quarryville, very seldom making the long drive to Gordonville.

It took awhile for Mommy to step down. She had to go backwards, grasping the arm of the second seat. Her black shawl and bonnet and the lower half of her skirt were the only things visible, as Doddy guided her feet to the running board of the van, then handed her the wooden cane with the black rubber tip she always used.

She grasped his hand as he steered her to the porch steps. His wide black hat brim hid his face, and only his white beard was visible in sharp contrast against his
ivva-ruck
. (overcoat)

“
Boova
!” (Boys) he said, as he maneuvered Mommy past them.

“Hello!” Mommy said, smiling widely, as she followed Doddy through the schoolhouse door.

There were other grandparents and aunts and uncles Isaac did not know. The van emptied itself one by one, everyone clad in the usual black. The boys greeted each visitor politely, then unanimously decided it was too cold on the porch, when, really, they were simply curious.

Teacher Catherine’s face looked a shade whiter now, her mouth a grim line. That put fear in Isaac’s own heart. Would everything go well? Would they remember their parts? Steely resolve replaced the fear. Of course, they would. Hadn’t they practiced endlessly? They all knew their parts backward and forward, didn’t they? It was like a repetition now. They said their parts without thinking very much at all.

Yes, everything would go well.

More teams turned in and unloaded their occupants. Little preschoolers followed their mothers up the steps, their eyes wide with curiosity, shyness mixed with anticipation.

Teacher Catherine’s desk had been pushed to the back of the classroom, so that was where mothers deposited their offerings of Christmas treats. Fathers carried large five-gallon plastic orange containers of tea and punch, and one marked “ice water.” Rectangular green coffee urns were brought in. Some mothers hurried over to make sure no spigot leaked, and put a few paper towels beneath them to catch any drips.

Isaac thought mothers must be the same, every last one of them. What did it matter if coffee dripped on the tile floor?

The whole classroom looked as if a hurricane blew through it after a Christmas program. He had seen it often enough. It never failed: half a dozen of those little preschoolers—who were never properly supervised—spilled their fruit punch. The other children ran through the sticky liquid before mothers—who talked entirely too much—saw it, leaving Teacher Catherine to clean up the whole unbelievable mess by herself.

A few weeks ago, Isaac would have tried to get Sim to stay and help Teacher Catherine clean up. Wouldn’t that be an excellent opportunity to ask someone for a date?

But he had moved on. He no longer cared. If Sim wanted to be a bachelor and think himself a prophet, then he’d just have to do that. Isaac’s services were over.

He looked at the clock.

12:45.

His pulse accelerated. He felt a bit skittish ­inside.

He needed to find Ruthie. Even a shot in the dark was better than no shot at all.

H
E FOUND RUTHIE IN
the cloakroom, standing by the window with Hannah, watching the teams pull up to the door.

He caught sight of Sam, Dat’s superb black Standardbred driving horse. So they were here.

“Ruthie.”

She looked over at Isaac, her eyebrows lifted.

“You going to do it?”

She took a deep breath. Her shoulders squared visibly. She looked straight into Isaac’s eyes and said clearly and firmly, “Yes, Isaac, I’m going to do it.”

Isaac’s eyebrows danced way up, and his grin was so wide it changed the shape of his face. “You can do it, Ruthie! You go!”

She nodded, her face a picture of radiance. What had happened? Gone was the hand-wringing, the miserable expression.

Well, same as with Sim and Catherine, he wasn’t going to expect too much. Stay levelheaded. Expect her to do it, but accept failure if it came.

The classroom was filling up now. Church benches had replaced the Ping-Pong table in the middle, which had been placed along the side of the room. The cloakroom was piled high with coats, bonnets and shawls. Babies cried. Mothers hushed them nervously, hoping they would fall asleep, or at the very least, remain quiet with some toys or a graham cracker.

Fathers held on to squirming little boys, bending to whisper words of discipline. “
Bleib sitza
.” (Stay sitting.)

A steady hum of voices, laughter, greetings, a kaleidoscope of faces, white coverings, colorful dresses, shirts accentuated with black vests. English people came to the program, too. Vans came, bringing friends of Teacher Catherine, friends of parents, all seated side by side, their colorful coats in stark contrast to the black.

Teacher Catherine herded the children into their curtained-off square of space. She spoke a few words of encouragement, made sure the necessary items for the plays were all in order and warned them all to be absolutely quiet behind the curtain.

“Do you want the windows up or down?” she asked.

“Down!” everyone whispered.

“It gets too warm in here.”

“Too many people.”

“Put them down.”

Teacher Catherine nodded, smiled and said, “Do your best.”

1:00. She tapped a small bell. The signal to begin!

Total silence now, as faces strained eagerly toward the open space in front of the blackboard, their stage.

The pupils sang a resounding chorus of Christmas songs first, the 21 beautiful voices blending into that special innocent harmony that only children can produce.

The emotional individuals in the audience sniffed, lifting spectacles to wipe eyes with meticulously ironed Sunday handkerchiefs.

Isaac stood in the back row between Ruthie and Hannah, singing with all his might. He knew their singing was good. In the guest book they passed to visitors to sign their names, almost all of them praised their singing. Isaac didn’t like Hannah much, but she could sing. Her voice carried well with Isaac’s, although he’d never tell her. Likely she’d take it as an insult.

After the singing, the smallest boy in school welcomed the audience to the Christmas program. Standing all alone, his head lifted high, his voice carrying well, he said clearly,

I’m very small, and very scared,

But this job I have to do:

Welcome you all on this glad day,

Plus, “Merry Christmas,” too!

Smiling shyly, he turned on his heel and hurried behind the curtain.

Smiling shyly, he turned on his heel and hurried behind the curtain.

There was a skit after that. Second, third and fourth grades came onstage with their skates and winter clothing.

Isaac’s poem followed. He stood straight and tall and spoke in his usual crisp voice that carried well. His poem had 14 verses, which streamed from him effortlessly.

He spied Sim, lounging along the back wall in his red shirt, a head taller than his friend Abner. So he was here. Good.

Laughter followed the humorous parts. Babies became restless, were taken outside or given to another person.

The Abraham Lincoln play went well. Ruthie spoke with confidence, using her best voice, with Isaac supporting her.

The play about the wise men was flubbed a bit when Matthew forgot to finish his lines, confusing Rebecca, who bravely soldiered on, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Good for her!

The first-graders wouldn’t hold still behind the curtain, so Isaac snapped Ephraim’s suspenders and shot them all a vicious glance, which did wonders. The little chap was always the one who stirred up everyone else. Like Bennie, probably no one made him listen at home.

The upper graders sang two German songs, “
Stille Nacht
” (Silent Night) and “
Kommet Alle
” (Come All).

That was always touching for Dat. Being conservative, he was touched by the continual teaching of German in the schools. He fervently hoped that the
Muttasproch
(mother language) of the forefathers would not be neglected and that the old, but precious, tradition would be kept. So when these young people sang the old hymns in the beloved language, it meant much to him, and his respect for Teacher Catherine was heightened.

Isaac saw Mam lift her glasses, unobtrusively extending a forefinger to wipe the wetness that had pooled beneath one eye.

Little, first-grade Daniel’s part was to sit in a Christmas cake, accidentally, of course, while wearing an extra pair of pants, of course, which was always funny. The classroom erupted into unabashed laughter. Very loud, Isaac thought, which was good.

A soft footfall, and he heard Ruthie. Isaac froze. Chills chased themselves up his back. He became warm all over. Her voice was strong. The words came slowly, but they were absolutely distinct. He caught Calvin’s eye. Calvin shook his head in disbelief. From the first line to the very end of her poem, she spoke without faltering, her voice rising and falling in time to the beauty of the words.

No one in the audience knew there was anything unusual about the fact that Lloyd Allgyer’s Ruthie spoke her whole poem slowly and clearly.

Only the SOS group and Teacher Catherine, who were bursting with Christmas joy.

The hour and 15 minutes flew by, as the plays and poems mixed with singing filled up everyone’s senses. The spirit of Christmas swirled about and infused everyone who was in the room. Many of the guests were sorry to hear the closing song, telling each other it had been an outstanding program this year, that someone had spent a lot of time putting all this into the students.

Amid hearty hand-clapping from the audience, the pupils poured out of the back door into the clear cold air, relieved of the pressure to perform well, relieved of the month of practice, the hard work of memorizing and delivering the lines just right.

The upper-graders were pulled to Ruthie as if a gigantic magnet’s force drew them there. Hannah and Dora hugged her and squealed high and long. Isaac found that a bit overboard, but what else could you expect from girls?

“Ruthie! You did it!” Calvin yelled.

Isaac wanted to know how. “How could you do that?”

They all huddled together in the cold, cold air, as Ruthie crossed her arms tightly around her waist to stay warmer and keep from shivering. She told them she had practiced in front of a mirror, over and over and over, finally grasping the concept of speaking slower. “When I stutter, I’m afraid I can’t say it, so I go too fast. Sort of like someone falling down the stairs. When they feel themselves slipping, they go too far in the opposite direction to stop themselves and roll down the stairs.”