Christmas Comes to Morning Star

by Charlotte Hubbard

  The expression was fake—his cheerfulness felt a couple of sizes too small. But he had a store to tend and handmade wooden toys that folks wanted to give their kids for Christmas, so at least until closing time, Glenn had a reason for being.

  Chapter 3

  As Molly drove to church at Jude and Leah Shetler’s place on Sunday morning, she was relieved that not many cars were on the road. “Let’s hope Morning Star’s plows keep this blacktop cleared today,” she remarked to Marietta. “Snow seems to bring out the daredevil in our English teenage drivers.”

  “It’s piling up pretty fast,” her twin noted. “If the roads aren’t passable by the time the common meal’s over, Jude and some of his neighbors might hitch up their horse-drawn plows just so they won’t have a bunch of folks as overnight guests!”

  Molly laughed. At this same time last winter, her sister hadn’t felt chipper enough to joke about the snowy weather. She was pleased that Marietta was remaining calm rather than fretting over potentially dangerous driving conditions, as she’d done when she was ill. Even so, it was a relief to pull into the Shetler place along with other church members who’d braved the weather. Molly considered herself a steady, levelheaded driver, but it only took one close call with a speeding, out-of-control car to spook a horse or cause a buggy crash on slick roads.

  After she let Marietta off near the front porch, Molly parked the rig, unhitched the mare, and led her to the pasture with their friends’ horses. “See you later, Opal! Play nice, now.”

  The white mare with gray markings nickered, trotting toward the other horses as though she was eager to exchange the latest gossip—or discuss her trip on the snowy roads—with them. When Molly entered Leah’s kitchen, the folks there were doing the same thing. As she returned their greetings, she headed toward the nearest downstairs bedroom to place her black coat and bonnet on the pile of winter wraps that was accumulating on the bed.

  “Gut morning, Reuben!” she said to Glenn’s dat. She tugged on the sleeve of his coat, which had gotten caught on his shoulder as he was shrugging out of it. “Glad to see you out and about this morning. How’re you doing?”

  The elderly fellow flashed her a bright smile. “Pretty well, all things considered,” he replied with a nod. He leaned closer, as though he wanted to share a secret. “If I go to the kitchen at night, after everyone else is sleeping, I can sit and visit with Elva over a cup of cocoa. She’s always loved her cocoa, you know.”

  Molly’s eyebrows rose, but she decided to go with Reuben’s flow rather than remind him that his wife had passed on. “And how’s she doing?”

  “When she comes back to me this way, when the house is real quiet, I don’t have to raise my voice for her to hear me,” he said matter-of-factly. “In heaven, there’s no sickness, so she’s not deaf anymore. And she has brown hair again, instead of white, just like when we were young and raising the kids.”

  Molly noted that Reuben’s eyes looked clear and bright, just as his voice and words were steady and perfectly normal. “You know, Marietta has said the same sort of thing about our mother,” she remarked softly. “Mamm shows up in her dreams sometimes, and she’s just like she was before she got sick.”

  “That’s how it is, jah,” Reuben agreed.

  “I used to be jealous because Mamm showed up in Marietta’s dreams and not mine,” Molly confessed. “But it was such a blessing for my sister to feel that Mamm was watching over her while she was so sick with her chemo, I figured Marietta needed her more than I did.”

  “Jah, that’s how I feel too—blessed by Elva’s presence,” Reuben said softly. “I just wish Glenn could settle himself these days, so maybe Elva—or Dorcas—would be present for him in spirit, too. He’s in a bad way, my boy is.”

  Their quiet conversation was cut short when Gracie Wagler entered the small bedroom, followed by her mother, Rose, who carried baby Suzanna in a wicker basket. “Wow-wee but it’s really snowin’ out there!” the little girl crowed. “After church, we’re gonna go out and build a snowman!”

  “I’ll go with you!” Ella Nissley put in as she and her mother, Julia, came into the room. “Us kids are gonna have a lotta fun, so I hope church goes really fast today.”

  Molly laughed. “I said the same thing when I was six,” she remarked, smiling at the girls and their mothers. “My mamm would remind me that I should be getting myself in the proper frame of mind for hearing God’s word instead of wishing my life away.”

  “And did you do what she told you?” Ella asked.

  “Always?” Gracie quizzed further.

  With their blue eyes focused so intently on her, Molly knew she should be setting a good Christian example—yet she couldn’t lie to them. “Some Sundays I still wish church would go faster,” she confessed, “because jah, it’s fun to get out and play in the snow.”

  The girls’ giggles followed her out of the small room, and for a moment she relived the memory of dropping off coats with Mamm before church, just as Ella and Gracie were doing. At their age, she’d had no idea how special such ordinary events would become after she no longer had her mother—but the sight of Glenn Detweiler entering the house with his two sons drove such fond thoughts away.

  He looked haggard. His dark eyes were haunted by desperation, and he seemed as fragmented as a bag of dry noodles that had hit the floor. As Billy Jay rushed toward the bedroom, his greeting for Ella and Gracie rang out above the adult voices. Glenn barely seemed able to hold out the blanket-covered carrier that cradled fussy baby Levi.

  And he stuck it out in front of Marietta. And she’s taking it.

  As several of the other folks welcomed Glenn inside, Molly decided that his choice of female recipients was really more a matter of timing—who was closest—than any preference as to who actually took his younger son. She wasn’t sure Glenn even realized whom he’d extended the carrier to.

  Glenn blinked, looking around the crowded kitchen. “Where’s Dat? I let him off at the porch a bit ago—”

  “He’s fine,” Molly supplied. “He was taking off his coat, and now he’s chatting with everyone. Seems to be having a gut day.”

  “Jah, well it’s nice that someone is,” Glenn muttered under his breath. He headed toward the bedroom, oblivious to other people’s concerned expressions as several of the ladies cooed over Levi.

  Molly glanced at her sister, wondering how she was doing. It was a commonplace thing for babies to arrive at church after they were several months old—but neither she nor Marietta had been around newborns much.

  Her twin’s rapt expression made Molly pause. Marietta was studying little Levi closely as Leah Shetler removed his blanket and lifted him from the carrier.

  “This wee boy’s filled out a lot the past couple of weeks,” Leah announced as the other women nodded their agreement.

  “Must be getting the right amount of your goat’s milk now,” Martha Maude Hartzler speculated. “It’s such a blessing that you’ve got those goats, and that you live close to the Detweiler place.”

  Molly smiled to herself. Not so long ago, before she’d married Jude, Leah had been considered odd because she was so much more adept at handling livestock than cooking or cleaning. It was nice that the neighbors’ opinions of her had improved—

  And it’s interesting that my sister can’t seem to take her eyes off of Glenn’s baby.

  Molly’s observation sent a ping of sadness through her, however. Because Marietta’s cancer treatment had been so intense, she wasn’t able to bear children now—

  Not that you’ll have any, either, on account of how you’ll never be getting married. God’s will works out differently for each one of us, after all.

  In a short while, everyone filed into the Shetlers’ front room. The pew benches were arranged with the men on one side facing the women, and a preachers’ bench in the center, so the church leaders could see the congregation. Older members sat in the front rows and younger ones filled in behind them, so Molly and Marietta sat down in
their usual spots near their maidel friends and Regina, who still glowed with the excitement of being the newest Mrs. Flaud. They whispered their greetings to Jo, Lydianne, and Regina until Bishop Jeremiah, Preachers Ammon Slabaugh and Clarence Miller, and Deacon Saul Hartzler greeted them. Then the church leaders went upstairs to decide who would preach the morning’s sermons.

  From the men’s side, Gabe Flaud sang the first line of the opening hymn, establishing the key and the methodical tempo at which everyone would sing it. Folks immediately settled into the church service’s routine, following the verses of the familiar hymn in their yellowed copies of the Ausbund. Molly wished they would sing at a livelier pace: on mornings after a busy Saturday at The Marketplace, it was easy to be lulled into a nap-like state while they sang as many as twelve or fourteen verses of the same hymns Old Order folks had sung for centuries....

  Next thing Molly knew, her sister’s elbow was poking her from one side while Jo nudged her from the other. Her head snapped up and she blinked rapidly. Jo fought a laugh as she kept singing, tapping her finger on the current verse so Molly could find her place on the page.

  As Molly resumed the hymn, she fought back another wave of drowsiness. She reminded herself that if the preachers or Bishop Jeremiah noticed her nodding off during church, they might tell her and Marietta to cut back on their noodle production—to work fewer hours in their little factory, or even to reduce the time they kept their store open at The Marketplace on Saturdays.

  Now that we’ve expanded our work space and we’re paying down Marietta’s medical bills, we don’t want anybody meddling with our income. Sit up! Sing louder! Look alive!

  As the congregation began the twelfth verse, a motion across the crowded room caught Molly’s eye. She tried not to snicker as Pete slipped onto the back bench of the men’s side, obviously hoping not to attract attention. Although his mammi Margaret was keeping his clothes washed and pressed these days, so he appeared better dressed than when he’d lived in the Helfings’ dawdi haus, his hair was still damp from his shower.

  Had he not gotten out of bed until Margaret and Jeremiah had left the house? That seemed unlikely, considering his uncle was the bishop—and Margaret would be a stickler for Pete’s helping with the livestock chores before they left for church on Sunday mornings.

  Molly’s musings stilled when she glanced up from her hymnal to find Pete gazing straight at her. At first she figured Pete was looking around to assess who was present. Yet as his intense brown eyes remained focused on hers, she got the idea that he was sending her a message—

  “Pay attention, you slacker,” Marietta whispered. “The preachers are coming downstairs.”

  Moments later, Bishop Jeremiah entered the room ahead of the three other leaders, all of them dressed in their black suits and white shirts. As the hymn ended, the four men removed their broad-brimmed black hats in a unified sweeping motion to signal the beginning of the worship service.

  When Pete stuck his tongue out at Molly, she laughed out loud and then clapped her hand over her mouth. The women in front of them glanced back to see what had caused her outburst, but of course by then Pete was looking down at his lap as though he were deep in prayer.

  Bishop Jeremiah walked a few steps forward, smiling at Molly before he began. “This is the snowy day our Lord has made,” he paraphrased. “We shall rejoice and be glad in it as we open our hearts and lives to Him. Let us pray.”

  Molly bowed her head contritely, vowing not to allow Pete to lead her any further astray with his playful attention. Even as she apologized to God for behaving inappropriately in church, she felt an insistent gaze from the far side of the room.

  Sure enough, when she peeked through the slits of her partially open eyes, Pete was watching her while his uncle invoked the holy presence of the Lord and continued the long initial prayer.

  When Bishop Jeremiah’s amen had folks shifting on the benches to prepare for the morning’s first sermon, Jo leaned closer to Molly.

  “Seems you have an admirer,” she whispered.

  Molly waved her off. “It’s nothing,” she shot back under her breath.

  “Puh. Guys our age don’t play peekaboo during church unless they’re interested.”

  “Your imagination’s running away with you, Jo.”

  From a couple of pew benches in front of them, Martha Maude turned to raise a stern eyebrow. For the rest of the three-hour service, Molly refused to play Pete’s little game of eye tag, even though it intrigued her enough to keep her awake. When at last Bishop Jeremiah pronounced the benediction and folks stood up to stretch, she and her sister sidled toward the aisle so they could begin setting out food and utensils for the common meal.

  When Molly carried the first baskets of sliced bread from the kitchen, Pete—who had conveniently been setting up tables near the kitchen door—stepped in front of her.

  “How about we eat and then skedaddle?” he murmured playfully. “You can ride around with me while I plow out the roads.”

  Her heart did a handspring—but then she blinked. “How can you clear the roads—”

  “I put a blade on the front of my truck,” he replied quickly. “Sometimes English conveniences can be used for the welfare of our Plain neighbors, you know? That’s why I was late this morning—I made a few passes down the gravel lanes where our older folks would have a tough time getting home again.”

  Pete’s dimples flickered in his clean-shaven cheeks. His blond hair had dried, and it fell in soft, clean waves that bushed his white shirt collar. He was the cutest guy Molly knew, even if he was accustomed to getting his way because of his good looks. She was impressed that he’d been performing such a useful service, but—

  “C’mon, Moll, you know it’ll be fun,” he coaxed.

  She was on the verge of saying yes when her reasonable, responsible self took over. “That would leave Marietta without anybody to drive our rig home.”

  Aware that other folks were watching them, Molly stepped around Pete to place her baskets of bread on the tables. “She doesn’t feel comfortable driving on snowy, slick roads. If Opal should spook, Marietta probably couldn’t keep her under control the way I could. Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not! You’re playing hard to get,” he protested. “Surely somebody else can give Marietta a ride—”

  “Nope. Not happening.” Molly widened her eyes at him. “You’re skating on thin ice if you think I’ll shirk my responsibility to my sister, Shetler. End of conversation.”

  She headed for the kitchen again, sorry she’d shut him down yet feeling she’d done the right thing. After all, if Pete got carried away playing with his new snow blade, it was anybody’s guess when he might decide to take her home—even though she knew one of their maidel friends would’ve gladly given Marietta a ride back to the farm.

  And think of the talk that would cause. You’d never hear the end of our friends’ teasing. Besides, you’ve told Marietta you’ll stick by her. She’s the last person you should leave in the lurch.

  Focusing on the food that was waiting to be set out, Molly didn’t make conversation with any of the other women. Something inside her jangled sadly, like a tiny, forlorn bell, but she moved purposefully toward the tables again so she wouldn’t change her mind and succumb to the temptation of Pete’s offer to have some fun.

  Nothing would come of it anyway, right? He’ll never join the church or get serious, and you’re a woman of your word. Stick with your sister.

  Molly knew she was doing the right thing. It was just a shame that being right—and responsible—left her soul feeling a little emptier these days.

  * * *

  Glenn tossed restlessly in his bed that evening, exhausted yet unable to sleep—again. As always, he missed having Dorcas in his arms to keep him warm in their drafty bedroom. And if she were still alive, she would’ve helped him outside with the shoveling that had tired Dat so quickly—and she would’ve joined Billy Jay to build a snowman. His wife had adored wintry days, a
nd she’d been childlike enough to engage in the snowball fights their son loved to start.

  Glenn felt anything but childlike these days, however. He regretted snapping at Billy Jay after the boy’s snowball had hit him square in the back while he was scooping a path between the back door, his wood shop, and the barn. But he couldn’t unsay the harsh words that had sprung from his mouth. It would be a long time before he could forget the way Billy Jay’s face had crumpled as he’d begun to cry.

  “Mamm would’ve played with me,” he’d whimpered.

  And the truth had hurt both of them, making their loneliness and pain flare up all over again. When it came to getting past their grief, it seemed as though God just kept picking at their scabbed-over emotions to make them bleed.

  With a sigh, Glenn went to the bathroom for a drink of water—but his first step out into the hall made him frown. Something was burning. Could Dat have fallen asleep while making cocoa and let the pan boil dry? Was it his imagination, or did he also smell gas?

  By the time he’d reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard the crackling and saw flames dancing in the kitchen, devouring the curtains nearest the stove. He broke into a run.

  “Dat! Dat, wake up!” he hollered when he saw the figure slumped over the kitchen table.

  Thank God his father awoke with a start, crying out when he saw that the gas stove had caught fire.

  “Dat, grab your coat and go outside!” Glenn yelled frantically. “I’ll get the boys!”

  As he ran back upstairs, his mind raced. Did he have time to put on any clothes? Would they be able to save any of the precious mementos Dorcas and Mamm had left behind?

  “Billy Jay, grab your clothes and run downstairs—now!” he hollered as he entered his son’s room. He shook the boy, rousing him from a deep sleep. “Here—take these pants and hurry outside with Dawdi. Go out the front door, because the kitchen’s on fire!”

  Billy Jay’s terrified expression reminded Glenn of a trapped animal’s, but he didn’t have time to reason with the boy. Into the next bedroom he rushed, scooping his infant son from the baby bed and then grabbing a plastic basket of clothes one of the neighbor ladies had recently laundered. When he got back into the hall, he steered Billy Jay toward the stairs ahead of him.