Winter of Wishes (17 page)

Miriam rinsed her floury hands and then stepped out into the busy dining room, where
Naomi’s daughter, Hannah, was seating four English folks who had become Saturday breakfast
regulars. Rhoda was chatting with the Leitners, her arm slung around Rebecca’s shoulders—probably
telling the story of how this triplet had unexpectedly returned to them last summer.
Curiosity was compelling Rachel to join her sisters and to take menus to the table
for these folks she’d never seen eating here.

Rebecca’s return was yet another thorny situation, when Hiram had tried to call the
Lantz family on the carpet for what he perceived as a sin. But here’s our happy ending,
for all to see
, she reminded herself as her three daughters stood together.
Lord Jesus, I’m askin’ Ya to please show us all the right way to love one another
as Your children . . . Amish and English alike.

Miriam grabbed a carafe of fresh coffee on her way to speak with Hiram, hoping to
distract him before he left his table. When Tom Hostetler, Gabe Glick, and Hiram rose,
however, and the three of them put on their black hats, it appeared they had already
decided on a unified course of action. She refilled coffee mugs for English folks
at the nearest table, watching the men from the corner of her eye as she chatted with
her customers. At this point, she’d best leave the situation to God—

But lo and behold, Andy Leitner stood up and stepped toward Hiram, smiling politely
and extending his hand. “Good morning, Bishop,” he said. “Looks like we all know the
best place to enjoy a fine Saturday breakfast. I’d like you to meet my mother, Betty
Leitner, and my children, Taylor and Brett.”

“And these are our preachers, Tom Hostetler and Gabe Glick,” Rhoda chimed in. “This
is Andy Leitner, the fella I was workin’ for earlier.”

Rhoda looked like a scared rabbit as the three church leaders approached, but she’d
faced the situation straight on, and for that Miriam was grateful. And bless them,
Tom and Gabe reached out to shake Andy’s hand, which forced Hiram to do the same.

Was it her imagination, or had the café gotten quieter? Miriam noticed Ira Hooley
gazing intently at the Leitners, as though to get a good look at the man Rhoda had
ridden off the straight and narrow with. Ben turned to see what was going on, gauging
the scene that involved all the folks standing around Andy and his family. When his
younger brother rose, Ben clapped Ira on the back and steered him toward the buffet
table to keep him from getting Rhoda more flustered. So far, the situation was nice
and polite—

“Hey, you fellows have hats and beards just like the three wise guys in the manger
scene Rhoda gave us!” Andy’s little boy piped up.

A startled silence filled the dining room, and then chuckles rose from some of the
tables.

“Brett, they’re the three wise
men
,” his sister corrected in a loud whisper. Her face turned bright pink as she looked
toward Hiram and the preachers. “You’ve gotta excuse my little brother,” she pleaded.
“He’s only seven. But he’s been so wrapped up in that Nativity scene, he’s not played
any computer games since Rhoda gave it to us.”

Miriam smiled. Some good was coming from Rhoda’s being with these children, if they
were that excited about the birth of Jesus.

“And this man, Preacher Tom, is the fella who carved and painted your Nativity set,”
Rhoda spoke up, gesturing toward the youngest of their church leaders. “He’s the one
who makes the
gut
ice cream I was tellin’ ya about, too.”

Brett brightened and hopped down from his chair. He walked around the table to stand
before Tom Hostetler, gazing up with a wide-eyed smile. “So . . . you preach sermons
at church, and you run a farm with lots of cows to milk, and you carve cool manger
scenes,
and
you know how to make ice cream?”

Tom placed his hands on his knees so he was looking directly at young Brett. “
Jah
, I do. Workin’ with my hands keeps me out of trouble, ya see.”

“Wowwww,” the boy replied as he met Tom’s gaze. “That is so
awesome
.”

Miriam got caught between a giggle and a sob. No wonder Rhoda was so taken with these
two kids. Who wouldn’t love a girl who faced three strangers to stand up for her well-meaning
little brother? And wasn’t the Leitner boy a dear for pointing up Tom Hostetler’s
many fine talents? He was small for his age—the same size as Hiram’s twins—but Josh
and Joey Knepp were usually too busy raising a ruckus to speak with an adult the way
Brett had.

“Thank you,” Tom murmured. He straightened to his full height. “I’m glad you and your
sister like that Nativity set. Merry Christmas to ya.”

Brett grinned. “Merry Christmas back atcha, Preacher Tom. You rock!”

Miriam chuckled. Tom seemed flummoxed yet pleased. And when Hiram looked ready to
bring the conversation around to a more somber subject, Gabe nodded at the Leitners.
“Nice to meet you folks,” he said. “We’ll get ourselves along now, so you can enjoy
Miriam’s fine breakfast.”

Hiram flashed the two preachers a look of irritation, and Miriam thought he might
linger to reprimand Andy again for leading Rhoda astray. Indeed, Andy stood patiently,
watching Hiram’s face. Then his expression lightened. “Nice to meet you fellows, as
well,” he said to the other two preachers. “Have a wonderful Christmas with your families.
You too, Bishop Knepp.”

Miriam relaxed as Tom, Gabe, and Hiram slipped into their heavy coats at the coatrack
and then headed out the door. Conversations started up again in the dining room. After
Miriam refilled the mugs for the younger fellows at the center table, she started
over to meet the rest of Andy’s family.

The bell above the door jangled and Tom stepped back inside, smiling sheepishly. “Forgot
about this,” he murmured as he slipped some folded bills to Miriam. “No need for change.
Have a
gut
rest of your day, Miriam.”

She flashed him a grateful smile, more for the favor he’d done Rhoda than for paying
his tab. “
Denki
, Tom. Have a fine day yourself.”

 

 

As Andy watched the café’s door close behind the three men wearing black overcoats
and hats, something propelled him away from his table. Coatless, heart pounding, he
stepped out into the blustery morning. One of the preachers was walking slowly toward
the road, bent against the wind, while the other two headed toward their separate
horse-drawn rigs—but who was who? To his unaccustomed eye they looked identical from
behind, and it wasn’t Hiram or the ancient Gabe Glick he wished to speak with. On
instinct, he loped to catch up with the man who had parked near the smithy. “Preacher
Tom?” he called out.

“Jah?”
The man who had so patiently engaged his son turned around.

Andy felt a rush of relief. “Do you have a moment? Can we talk?” Hoping he would listen
without lecturing, Andy approached Tom Hostetler, who stood beside an enclosed black
buggy that was hitched to a fine-looking horse. “I—I’ve been doing some research,
but personal questions demand personal answers. How can I become Amish?”

He’d blurted out his question on the spur of an opportune moment, and he hoped Preacher
Tom wouldn’t interpret his tone—his inquiry—as impertinent or even insulting. True,
he knew very little about Rhoda Lantz, to be considering such a major life change.
But didn’t he know the
right
details about her personality? The important qualities he wanted in a wife? Wouldn’t
it be the intelligent thing to fully understand what he was getting himself into
before
he lost his heart to Rhoda?

Too late
, his heart mocked, even as his mind pursued the truth.

“Well, now. For that, we might want to step inside, out of the wind.” Tom nodded toward
the smithy door. “Ben Hooley, the blacksmith, is still eatin’ his breakfast, so we’ve
got a few.”

Nodding gratefully, Andy stepped into the farrier’s shop. None of the gaslights in
the ceiling were on, but the forge fire had been lit and the shop welcomed them with
its warmth. “Thank you so much for your time—”

“I hope your interest in Rhoda, and in our ways, is sincere, Mr. Leitner. But don’t
expect me to encourage ya. She and her
mamm
have already endured their share of trouble after ya drove Rhoda home. And kissed
her.” The bearded preacher studied him with an unwavering gaze. “To become Amish,
ya must accept the Lord as the one true guide in your life. Ya must focus on servin’
Him first, while severing your connections to worldly concerns and conveniences. Even
your family and their needs must take a backseat to your devotion to God. Most English
who want to become Amish have
gut
intentions, yet very few can make the change.”

Andy jammed his hands in his jeans pockets. “When your bishop confronted us the other
night, I offered to confess before your congregation, alongside Rhoda. I—I understand
now how you would never allow such a confession, but . . . but what if I learn your
language, and sell my house to move here, and take up your ways—do my very best to
assimilate your faith—and Hiram still won’t allow me to become a member of your church?”

“That’s a chance you’ll have to take.” Preacher Tom seemed to be processing his thoughts,
taking his time with his response. Up close, the lines in his face and the silvery
spangles in his hair made him look older than Andy had figured him. He seemed a pleasant
enough fellow, but not one to suffer fools or bend the rules.

Tom focused intently on him. “We are who we are.
You
must make the changes in your lifestyle, and take the instruction that leads to baptism
into our church. Ya must become like us in thought, word, and deed, because we will
not change our ways to accommodate ya.”

Preacher Tom glanced away, as though gathering more verbal discouragement. “Becomin’
Amish is an all-or-nothin’ decision that will affect your children and your mother,
as well. For the rest of your lives,” he added firmly. “For one thing, it’ll mean
your kids will be educated in a one-room schoolhouse, only through the eighth grade.
To a professional man like yourself, that probably seems backward or uncivilized—especially
because your two kids are obviously bright.”

Andy let out a long sigh. The preacher’s honesty was taking a toll on his exuberant
affection for Rhoda. “And what about my own profession?” he asked quietly. “I completed
my nursing degree yesterday. Took out loans to pay for it, and with two kids to raise
I have to generate some income pretty quickly.”

Tom Hostetler’s eyes widened at the mention of Andy’s new career, yet he seemed intrigued
rather than put off by his traditionally female occupation. “Folks of our faith believe
in trustin’ God to provide our ways and means, but that much aside, I don’t know the
answer to your question,” the preacher murmured. “Truth be told, we’ve never had an
Englischer
join our district. We live on farms because we raise the crops to feed our horses
and other livestock . . . but beyond that, I can only say that your question about
your career will be answered once you’ve satisfied our other requirements. From our
standpoint, there’s no need to concern ourselves with how you’ll earn your livelihood
until you’re actually one of us, ain’t so?”

Andy sighed, but he could see Tom’s point. He felt encouraged yet overwhelmed by the
answers he’d received—and compelled to test a sentiment that Bishop Knepp had rejected.
“I hope you’ll believe it was never my intention to compromise Rhoda’s reputation
or her faith.”

The preacher’s expression didn’t soften. “No matter what your intention was, she’s
bein’ held accountable for her sin, because she fell prey to temptation . . . as we
all have at some time or another.” Tom sighed as though he had borne a lot of burdens
during his time as a minister in Willow Ridge. “Rhoda’s a strong girl, and I believe
she’ll do the right thing. I hope you will, as well, Mr. Leitner. Her entire family
has a stake in your behavior, ya see. None of us lives unto ourselves. We’re each
a part of the whole, a member of our community and of God’s world.”

Andy nodded ruefully. “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he murmured. “Thanks
again for talking with me.”

The minister opened the smithy door, letting in a shaft of bright sunlight where tiny
snowflakes danced like diamonds. “Never forget that when the world pushes ya to your
knees, you’re in the perfect position to pray,” he said as he turned toward Andy again.
“Works wonders, whenever it seems there’s no easy answer to the predicament you’re
in.”

From the doorway, Andy watched Preacher Tom unhitch the reins from the post, step
up into his buggy, and then back his horse a few yards so they could head toward the
road. It was a simple, everyday maneuver for an Amish person, yet he didn’t have the
slightest idea about driving a horse-drawn vehicle . . . one of a million things he
would have to learn if he followed through on the idea of becoming Plain.

Had he been a fool to admit this aspiration to Rhoda’s preacher? What if Tom talked
her out of any interest she might have in becoming a member of his family . . . becoming
his wife?

When the preacher gave him a quick wave, Andy’s heart fluttered with hope. He waved
back, certain Hiram Knepp wouldn’t have shared such a gesture. He hurried across the
snowy parking lot and back into the Sweet Seasons, gladdened by the smiles on his
kids’ faces as they returned from the buffet table with loaded plates.

“Where’d you go, Daddy?” Taylor asked brightly. “We decided to help ourselves—”

And wasn’t that exactly what all of them would have to do, if his crazy scheme to
connect with Rhoda was to work out?