An Unexpected Christmas Gift Page 3

  Naomi handed me a flashlight. “Here, you’ll need this.”

  Nancy grabbed another one off the counter. Isaac extracted a flashlight from his jacket pocket, tested it, and found it working. I noticed Nancy and I were wearing matching coats and bonnets. At the back door, we slid into matching tall rubber boots. Isaac grabbed a shovel.

  Moments later, I grasped the railing as I descended the back steps. Icy particles of snow bit into my cheeks. I covered my face up to my eyes with the scarf, but gusts of wind blasted, making me squint. Ahead loomed the quilt shop, which looked more like a metal-walled quadruple-garage.

  Snow slammed against the structure, accumulating up to three or four feet in places. I was curious to get inside and see what the business was all about. Isaac immediately started clearing the snow with his shovel so the door could swing open. He leaned the shovel against the building, tried the knob, and found it unlocked. He said something, but I couldn’t hear him above the moaning wind.

  Nancy scurried inside through the narrow opening, and I followed. Isaac stepped in after us and immediately halted. “Wait, I smell cigarette smoke.”

  “Ach, I smell it, too.” Turning on a propane gas light, Nancy scanned the vast interior.

  I sniffed the air. “So do I.” Proof positive we were not alone.

  Isaac told Nancy and me to stay by the door while he looked around.

  “Be careful.” Nancy took hold of his elbow. Clearly, she was afraid for his safety. Or was that just an excuse to be near him?

  “No,” I said. “I think we should all stick together.” I noticed a six-foot metal flagpole and grabbed it to use as a weapon of defense.

  Nancy and I crept along behind Isaac. Shining the flashlight for guidance, I inched past a cash register on a counter with a telephone sitting next to it. I canvassed the room. Never had I seen such beautiful quilts and quilted items, such as potholders and purses. This shop really was something to behold.

  The smell of smoke grew in volume. No doubt about it, we were not alone.

  A grubby boy in his late teens wearing a knit cap sprang to his feet and nearly fell back to the floor as he attempted to maintain his balance. “Get—away from me!” His words were slurred.

  “Bart? Are you drunk?” Isaac asked.

  “Or stoned?” Nancy stepped closer. “What are you doing here?”

  “My parents kicked me out again. I have nowhere to go.” The young man looked as if he hadn’t bathed or changed his jeans or jacket in days. His greasy dark hair, cut in that funky Amish style the same as Isaac’s and Silas’s, clung to his forehead.

  “Now what?” I turned to Isaac. “Call the police?”

  “Nee, I haven’t broken any laws. The door wasn’t locked.” The guy balanced himself against a post. “And I know you wouldn’t throw me out in the cold. I’ve slept in the Millers’ barn many times.”

  “But this is my parents’ business.” Nancy’s voice came out with unexpected force. The young man sprang up, stumbled forward, and knocked her to the floor.

  “Hey, cut it out.” Isaac came to her side and helped her to her feet, but did not push Bart in retaliation.

  I looked to Isaac with questioning eyes.

  “We must always turn the other cheek,” he told me.

  “But shouldn’t we call the police?”

  “Please don’t. My parents wouldn’t like it.” Nancy straightened her bonnet.

  “Then you’d better get Silas to handle this,” I told Isaac.

  A moment later, Silas opened the door. I’d never been more happy to see someone. “I thought I’d check to see what was taking you so long.” I assumed he’d seize the guy by the scruff of the neck and toss him out, but instead Silas said, “Hello, Bart. Out you go to the barn, if you like. You know where the sleeping bag is. And no smoking, ya hear?”

  “But it’s too cold out there. I’ll freeze to death.”

  “I wish I could let you spend the night in here, but I dare not take the chance.” He stroked his bushy beard. “I tell you what, since it’s such a gruesome night, I’ll let you sleep in our basement.”

  “In the basement?” Bart’s pale face twisted. “Where my parents used to make me sleep when I was a bad boy?” He looked like he might cry. “Or they locked me in the closet.”

  “Now, now, I won’t lock the door to the outside.” Silas’s voice grew gentle. “You can leave if you want to.”

  “Please let me stay in here.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I won’t take anything.”

  “Why did you come in here?” Nancy asked.

  “When the snow started up, it seemed like the best place,” Bart whimpered. “I promise not to steal anything.”

  I didn’t believe him for a minute. What was there to stop him?

  “Come on.” Silas wrapped an arm around Bart’s shoulder. “I’ll take you in the house and feed you before we decide what to do.”

  “Denki. I haven’t eaten a decent meal in days.”

  “We have leftovers in the refrigerator. But you’d better be on your best behavior or my Naomi won’t want you in the house at all.”

  “Yes, I will be. I promise.”

  I was floored. Bart had to be lying, but Silas didn’t seem to care. He spoke to all of us. “Let’s get back to the house. Nancy, make sure the door is locked, okay?”

  “You want me to stick around?” Isaac asked Silas.

  “Yes. Please walk the girls back to the house. Denki.” He and Bart strode out the door at a fast clip.

  Isaac, Nancy, and I followed them out into the blizzard, the snow blasting. Nancy locked and bolted the door, then dropped the keys in her coat pocket. Isaac walked on Nancy’s side, his arm draped across her shoulder like an anchor. She snuggled into him, and I linked arms with her to keep myself upright. I was afraid I might get blown away as we forged the storm.

  Nancy and I slogged up the back stairs, with Isaac close behind. “I best be on my way,” he said when we reached the door. “Good night, Nancy. Maria.” He turned and faded into the flurry of snow.

  Bart sat at the kitchen table, scarfing down a meat loaf sandwich and drinking coffee. Anna stood close by, offering him ketchup and pickles. She seemed delighted to have a visitor, even if he was, in fact, a vagrant.

  “Dat said Bart could sleep on the couch for the night,” she told Nancy. She extracted a jar of applesauce from the refrigerator and scooped some into a dish. “Is one sandwich enough?” she asked Bart, placing the dish in front of him.

  “I’ll take another, if it’s not too much trouble.” Bart spooned into the bowl of applesauce. He seemed comfortable sitting at this table, even though he’d been caught as an intruder. I wondered why his parents had thrown him out—if he was even telling the truth about that.

  As Anna sliced homemade wheat bread and Nancy the meat loaf, they chatted in what must be Pennsylvania Dutch, then switched to English when they saw me staring at them with curiosity. “Mamm put blankets and PJs on the couch for Bart, for after he showers,” Nancy said.

  Anna assembled another sandwich and placed it in front of Bart, who didn’t say thank you. But she seemed pleased with her hospitality and lacked resentment, as far as I could see. The Amish were a conundrum to me.

  Thirty minutes later, while Bart showered and Anna went to her room to wrap Christmas presents, Naomi and Silas said good night and climbed the stairs. Nancy and I settled into chairs at the table, slices of pumpkin pie before us.

  “Why would your father allow Bart to stay here?” I asked her before taking my first bite.

  “We’ve known Bart for years, before his family moved to another church district north of us. That lad has always been in trouble for something and kept returning and asking to sleep in our barn. His family is a mess, so I can’t blame him. His father beat him until Bart grew taller than his dat and finally punched him back. It was a game changer. His dat never hit him again.”

  “I take it they’re Amish.”

  “Yah,
Amish.” She chuckled. “Bart’s sixteen and in his Rumspringa. We Amish are not perfect, but we are taught to obey our parents. Everyone is a sinner. Right?”

  “I guess so.” I thought about how picture-perfect my family had looked from the outside, while a cesspool of secrets lurked in its core. An itchy feeling invaded me. Was I a sinner, too? Of course, I was.

  To change the subject, I asked, “How do you live without electricity?”

  “It’s not so bad. If you’ve never had it, you don’t miss it. Our refrigerator is run by propane gas. Since Anna and I are not yet baptized, we sometimes . . . well, never mind. What you don’t know won’t hurt you.”

  “I found out the hard way that isn’t true.”

  Her expression sobered. “I’m so sorry for your terrible predicament. And to think you tracked me down from one silly little blood test. How can that be?”

  I flashed back to my calling Bennett’s Wholesale Furniture, which Nancy had listed as her contact information. I’d spoken to a guy named Troy for a few minutes, and he’d reluctantly given me the Millers’ address. His baritone voice had intrigued me. I wondered where the furniture store was in relation to the quilt shop, and if I’d have a chance to meet Troy before I left.

  “Your name popped up as a relative,” I told Nancy. “We’re related by blood, some way or another.”

  She sucked in her lips. “I never should have taken that test, but having me for a cousin wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

  “No, I like you.”

  My proclamation brought a grin to her face. “But, Nancy, I don’t know what to believe. I took three separate DNA tests, but still, there’s a possibility they were wrong. The lab could have made a mistake. I’m not a scientist.”

  “I feel terrible for taking that DNA test, the cause of all your sorrow.”

  “Please don’t hold yourself responsible for my parents’ lies.” Once again, I felt like a kid discovering Santa Claus wasn’t real. I’d had plenty of disappointments in life but never experienced anything comparable, even with my ex-boyfriend. Kevin had said he wanted to marry me—until he found a long-legged blonde at work who apparently had more to offer. I’d felt like a discarded washrag. Not good enough to be loved. I hadn’t dated since.

  Nancy stood and took our empty plates to the sink. “I have an idea,” she said. “We could set the table for tomorrow morning. A surprise for Mamm.”

  Nancy proceeded to set the table using green paper napkins she said she’d found on sale at Walmart. “I suppose I should wrap my presents tonight, too. Ach, I’m sorry I have nothing to give you, Maria.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not celebrating Christmas this year. Or maybe ever again.” There was only one gift I wanted. I clamped my lips together before I could spout out my disappointments and heartache. I realized I was acting like a juvenile, but the child deep inside of me wanted to cry.

  I needed to change the subject. “Is your mother’s sister really so awful?”

  “No, although she and Dat have never gotten along all that well. Of course, neither of them speaks badly of the other. I love her, even if she is a bit eccentric.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s not like the other women in the district. She goes to church and dresses plain but isn’t afraid to speak her mind. It’s no wonder my dat doesn’t approve of her. He’s a minister and commands respect from everyone in the district.”

  “He went to divinity school?”

  She wagged her head once. “No, he was chosen by lot. By the hand of God.”

  I resisted smirking. Silas didn’t look like any minister I’d ever seen. And he was chosen by random chance?

  “Maybe that’s how childless widows act.” Nancy scanned the room, I assumed to make sure we were still alone. She lowered her volume. “I can’t let that happen to me.” She cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered, “If you’d really like to give me a Christmas gift, then please let me come with you and Isaac tomorrow.”

  I grinned. The way she said his name, like it was a chunk of Milky Way melting in her mouth, told me she was sweet on him, which I’d guessed earlier. He hadn’t seemed to pay her much attention, but maybe that was an act for me and her parents. I hoped.

  Nancy straightened one of the napkins and seemed pleased with how festive the table looked. “I guess I’ll be turning in, too. Did my Mamm show you that the bathroom is across the hall from your room?”

  “Great.”

  Nancy escorted me to the bedroom, where I found a clean and pressed nightgown and bathrobe on the bed. A moment later, she slipped out the door, and I was left alone in a frigid bedroom with green shades. Why hadn’t I brought along reading material? What was I to do with no TV? I took out my cell phone but realized there was no one I wanted to speak to. It needed to be charged anyway, and I didn’t want to use up its remaining juice since there was nowhere to charge it.

  The room was too cold for me to unpack my suitcase, and besides, I’d be leaving in the morning if the snow let up. In fast-forward I undressed and snuggled into the nightgown and bathrobe. The sheets were cold but soft and carried with them the aroma only line-dried sheets could. When I pulled the quilt up around my neck, they warmed quickly.

  I glanced at the bedstand and saw a black-and-white magazine called Family Life. As if there would be anything in there for me. I had no family and no life. But out of sheer boredom I opened it to the first page and started reading well-written letters to the editor. Several were more interesting than I’d expected, but my lids drooped. I felt drained. I figured most of my fatigue came from the aching in my heart. And yet I felt comforted by this lumpy mattress and quilt.

  During the night, in the depths of my dreams, my mind explored the possibility of meeting my real mother. Why go to all that trouble to meet someone who didn’t even care about me enough to track me down herself? My whole existence now seemed to pivot around the fact that she’d abandoned me. Hey, who was I trying to kid? Of course, I wanted to meet her.

  The what-ifs and could-have-beens melted away like an ice cube in a cup of warm tea. In what seemed like a moment, I awoke refreshed. The smell of breakfast wafted under the door, telling me someone had made coffee and was preparing eggs and bacon. And corn bread. Yum.

  I clambered to my feet and showered in lovely warm water, then dug through my suitcase. None of my clothes seemed appropriate, since the Miller women all wore dresses, black aprons, and white head coverings. I let out a sigh. Nothing to be done about it now, so I grabbed a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a fleece vest. Wearing the slippers Naomi had lent me, I headed for the kitchen. I was suddenly starving again, even after that delicious supper.

  Passing through the living room, I slowed to look out the window at the ocean of white snow sparkling like lavender- and peach-colored diamonds in the brilliance of the sunrise.

  Bart wasn’t sleeping on the couch, and the blankets were folded. The door from the living room to the kitchen was shut, but I opened it and entered. Naomi stood at the stove turning bacon, with Nancy at her elbow, scrambling eggs.

  “Good morning, dear.” Naomi placed the bacon on a plate and set it on the table. “I’m sorry if we woke you.”

  “This house smells so scrumptious I couldn’t resist getting up.” I glanced over to Nancy, who looked exhausted and had dark rings under her eyes.

  “Silas is still out in the barn. Bart and Anna are helping him. They’ll be in any moment.” She glanced at Nancy and asked, “Why are you so long in the face?”

  Nancy stifled a yawn just as Anna plodded through the back door. “Ach, why do I always have to go out and help Dat with the milking?”

  “You’re so good at it.” Naomi sent her a sly smile. “You want me to ask one of your brothers to leave his family in Ohio and come home to help?”

  “But it’s so cold out there. My fingers are like icicles.” Anna rubbed her hands together.

  “Then you’d better not marry a farmer.” Nao
mi’s voice was upbeat. I figured she was teasing Anna, not that I understood what the joke was about. After all, who would want to be a farmer’s wife? Especially an Amish farmer. I felt sorry for Naomi, for all her strenuous work. And yet she seemed content, perhaps even delighted to be living in this big old farmhouse without electricity. I couldn’t live without it, that’s for sure, which reminded me of my cell phone. How and when would I get it charged?

  “I’m glad Bart decided to spend the night and then stay.” A smile bloomed on Naomi’s face. “In truth, he didn’t have much choice. Ach, his clothes were so filthy I put them in the wash immediately. Then I climbed up to the attic and sorted through our sons’ old clothes until I found things that fit. He had to dress Amish today, much to his displeasure. At least he has his knit beanie.”

  Anna tittered. “He was fit to be tied when he found out his clothes were in the basement drying on the line, but I think he was glad to help Silas and me in the barn.”

  “I promised Bart all the breakfast he could eat as soon as they were done.” Naomi placed an array of jams and jellies on the table.

  “Those look delicious,” I said. “Did you can them?”

  “Yes, with my daughters’ help.”

  “We grew all the fruits and berries in our garden.” Anna’s enthusiastic voice was a testament to her satisfaction. “The honey is from our hives.”

  As Silas and Bart entered the room, they were speaking Pennsylvania Dutch. I could make out bits of words here and there, thanks to studying German in high school. My father had insisted I switch to Italian in college. He was proud of his heritage.

  But, alas, his heritage wasn’t mine.

  Silas and Bart’s conversation sounded cordial but serious. I wondered what they’d been talking about while doing the milking and feeding the livestock.

  Naomi and Nancy placed more food—eggs, bacon, corn bread, toast, and sausage—in front of me. Silas hung his hat on a peg and took his place at his end of the table. I reached for a square of corn bread, but his glare stopped me. Oops. We hadn’t prayed first.