The Christmas Quilt: Quilts of Love Series (15 page)

Leah ran her hands over her stomach, said a prayer for the children, a prayer that they would remain in her womb, growing and thriving for another twelve days. Glancing at the clock, she figured it would be another half hour before Adam called. So she picked up Annie’s yarn, and she set to work.

17

A
dam gazed at the bounty of food cooked and placed around his mother’s kitchen. The sight was nearly as beautiful as the snow-covered fields beyond the window. He should feel thankful. It was Thanksgiving, after all. He was appreciative of all his sisters and mother had done to make the day special.

But he didn’t feel hungry.

Hanging toward the back of the line, he was surprised when his mother tapped him on the shoulder. “Something wrong, dear?”

“
Nein.
I just, you know, thought I’d let everyone else go first.”

Rebekah gave him her look, the I-know-you-better look, and he shrugged.

“Guess I don’t have much appetite to tell you the truth. I know you worked hard, and I am grateful for all you’ve done—”

“Stop right there. Are you worried about the auction Saturday?”

“
Nein.
Everything is ready.”

Rebekah squeezed his arm. “Ready and overflowing. We’ve had to start putting things in our barn as well as Samuel’s.”

“I know, and I am grateful. It’s not that at all. It’s—”

“You’re missing Leah, plain as the chocolate on my cake. Who can blame you?”

Adam stepped out of the way as Reba dodged past him, trying to grab something out of Trevor’s hand. Though Trevor Gray was an
Englischer
, the family was growing accustomed to having him around. He was certainly the best vet in town, in Adam’s opinion, and it was obvious they were sweet on one another. The fact that Trevor wasn’t Amish, well, Adam had a feeling his father would say that was in God’s hands.

“Thanks,
mamm
. I’m glad you understand. I will try to eat something though. Maybe later.”

“Have you talked to her today?”

Adam shook his head, his heart tightening as he remembered their conversations the last few nights. “I’ll call her this evening.”

Rebekah waited, but when he didn’t add anything else, she pressed on. “I know you’ve spoken with her every evening. Samuel told Charity, who told me. I also know Leah’s feeling well and the
bopplin
are doing fine. So why the look?”

“Does nothing get past you?”

“Not if I can help it. Not concerning my children. You’ll understand that soon.”

Adam glanced around. The room was full, and the folks somewhat loud, thanks to all the conversations that began as soon as their time of silent prayer had passed. No one but his mother was paying attention to him. Even Samuel’s sister, Rachel, and his
Onkel
Eli were deep in conversation—which seemed to be a civil discussion for once. What was that about? Regardless, it was doubtful anyone would hear what Adam said to his mom. He didn’t mind sharing his private life with his entire family, but this still felt personal and . . . well, raw.

“When I called Leah on Monday night . . .” He shook his head, still unable to believe all his wife had said. “
She
apologized to
me
for not being the kind of
fraa
she should be. There she is, in the hospital, far from home, and she’s asking my forgiveness.”

Rebekah smiled. “She’s a
gut
girl, Leah is. I always said so.”

“That’s it?”

“Son, when a woman apologizes, accept it, say
danki
, and move on.”

“But I’m the one who should be asking her forgiveness.”

“Did you?”

“
Ya
, I did—”

“
Gut!
Sounds like you two have made up proper.”

“
Mamm
, it’s not that simple.”

“What’s not that simple?” Samuel sat down at the table, holding a plate heaped with food that smelled as if it came from heaven’s kitchen.

“Leah apologized to Adam, and he’s feeling guilty about it.”

Samuel’s eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he spread his napkin across his lap and dug into his baked chicken. Adam had wanted to broach the topic with Samuel. His brother-in-law was married to Annie, so no doubt he knew something about women and apologies, but Adam hadn’t found the right time to bring up the subject.

Adam pulled out the chair next to him.

“
Mamm
says I should accept the apology and move on, but I don’t know.” Adam ran his hand through his hair, causing Charity to smile at him from the other end of the table. She pantomimed holding her hair above her head and cutting it with a pair of scissors. He nodded his understanding. He’d been meaning to let her cut his hair before he headed back to Philadelphia. It was sticking in his collar again.

“And?” Samuel asked.

“And it feels inadequate, just moving on. I was in the wrong as much, actually more, than she was. We both had been acting immature and somewhat selfish.” The last word came out mumbled as he stared down at the wooden table. It still hurt to admit, to remember, what a fool he’d been when Leah was here. Now she was gone and he’d do anything to have her back by his side.

“Let me see if I have this right.” Samuel raised his fork, using it to accentuate his points. “You both apologized, both agree you were fools, but now you feel as if you should do something more—”

“
Ya
.
Ya
, that’s it.”

Samuel dug back into the celery casserole as Rebekah beamed at the two men. “This is nice. I like Thanksgiving when families are together.”

“
Mamm
, we’re together every week.”

“I know. Isn’t it nice?”

She patted him on the back and moved over to where Charity and David were sitting together.

“Maybe
Gotte’s
spirit is urging you to do something special, Adam. You have a little time on your hands, I’m guessing.”

“A little. I’m busy in the shop, but the evenings, well, the nights are lonely as I’m sure you know.”

“I do.” Samuel wiggled his eyebrows and forked a piece of ham. The man’s appetite was causing Adam’s stomach to growl. “It’s why I’m working on a special project for Annie. I finished her Christmas gift a month ago, but I miss her, and I might as well channel those feelings into a special gift for her.”

“Okay. So it’s not exactly a repentance gift.”

“
Nein.
It’s a gift of love, something to express your affection.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You’re young.” Samuel broke a roll in half, releasing steam into the air between them, and added a pat of butter to it. “Can’t be expected to think of everything.”

“I’m not that young.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Who’s old?” Jacob asked, sitting down with a plate heaped with food.

“Did you all leave anything to eat in the kitchen?” Adam asked.

“Perhaps a little, but he who waits last—”

“Is in danger of starving,” Samuel finished with a wink.

Adam groaned. The women in his family sometimes quoted proverbs. The men in his family usually quoted nonsense, though in this case they could be right.

He stood and made his way to the kitchen, happy to see there was plenty of food left. As he filled his plate, it occurred to him there was something he could make for Leah. Something she had once asked him for, but he’d told her he was too busy. The question was, could he complete it in the next week?

Certainly he could try. He’d begin this evening, after he used Samuel’s phone to speak with Leah—something he found he was looking forward to even more than his
mamm’s
pump-kin pie.

Annie was surprised when Dr. Kamal walked into Leah’s room after they’d finished their Thanksgiving meal. Most doctors did not do rounds on holidays, and Leah had been doing well for several days. The heart rate for both babies was good, and the contractions had not resumed.

S
he and Leah had taken out the quilting, something they hadn’t done since Monday—the week had sped away from them. Annie was learning, surrounded by so many women carrying precious children who were under critical care, that what day the quilt was finished wasn’t the important thing. Leah’s vision of the quilt had helped calm Annie’s nerves over the exact finish date and whether they’d be done by the end of the next week, when the babies would probably deliver.

Annie wanted to begin another Sunbonnet Sue, her apron a light teal on top of a darker green dress. Leah worked on another nine-patch square. They’d divided up the material and pulled out their needle and thread when Dr. Kamal walked into the room.

“I’m in time for the quilting bee.” His voice was a combination of bass baritone and sweet molasses.

But why had he stopped by, on a holiday?

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here on this lovely, festive afternoon. In my country, Africa,”—as he said the word he rolled the syllables as if he were playing an instrument, like the musicians who came to the town festival—“We do celebrate to the Lord with Thanksgiving, but on a different day. It’s difficult for an old man like me to adjust to new ways when it comes to family celebrations.”

He smiled broadly and walked forward. “May I touch the babies today, Miss Leah?”

She nodded, and he put his hands on her stomach, moving them around, as if he could tell more by that than he could by studying her chart—which he had done standing outside the door. “Yes, we celebrate to God . . . some to the gods of old, to the god of the harvest, but more and more Christianity is coming to Africa. It is good. The celebrations of old continue, the harvest celebrations, but now the people, they call out Yahweh’s name.”

He stepped back and Annie pulled up the covers over Leah’s stomach. “This quilt you are making, it is for the babies?”

Annie nodded, Leah nodded, and Dr. Kamal smiled. He sank down into the chair beside Leah’s bed. “The women in my country still sew. It’s rare for me to see it here though.”

Leah fingered the small squares of fabric on her bed. “Quilting is a skill we pass down, from mother to daughter. We sew anything we can, and only purchase what we must.”

“That is good, too. It brings you peace, I suspect, working with the needle and thread.”

Leah turned her gaze to Annie. They’d been talking about peace, the third fruit of the spirit, both trying to think of a story that might match the Sunbonnet Sue Annie was beginning to appliqué.

“Leah’s looking at you oddly because we are telling stories as we stitch the quilt.”

“One story for each Dutch child,” Leah explained.

“And what is today’s story about?”

“We were stuck,” Annie admitted. “We both were trying to think of a story about a girl.”

She positioned the dress and the bonnet—pieces she was about to appliqué—on her square.

“A girl who has something to do with
peace
.” Leah emphasized the word as if it were some rare quality. “In truth, both Annie and I were a little unruly as children.”

Dr. Kamal’s smile widened. “Hard to imagine.”

He leaned forward, black forearms braced against his white lab coat. “I might have the right story for you though. When I saw you sewing, I thought of this child. Her name was Nailah. You are my last patient to visit today. If you have the time, I will tell you about her. It isn’t a long story, but perhaps it will
serve for your purpose and even, I think, be appropriate for this d
ay.”

Annie set aside her sewing and reached to put up Leah’s, but Dr. Kamal protested. “No, no. You can sew and listen. Continue, please.”

So he spoke, with his deep lyrical voice, and they heard the story of Nailah, the African girl.

Nailah’s family lived in a modest home in a village in western Africa, in Ghana. There they have the Yam Festival. It’s also called Homowo or To Hoot at Hunger. Famine is still a real problem and food considered a blessing, and because of this the people celebrate each September. The rainy season is ending and the crops are ready to harvest. So you see, it is very much like our Thanksgiving here.

Nailah was probably eight years old that year, and I was a young doctor—there was no white in my hair yet! Her mother was nearing the time to give birth to her second child, and both she and her husband prayed fervently it would be a boy. In Africa, it is still important for families to have a male child, though this family had converted to Christianity and they reminded me each time I visited any healthy child would be a blessing.