Christmas Comes to Morning Star

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “That’s fabulous. We’ll really enjoy this, Mari—”

  “When you need a heavy coat to walk between the noodle factory and the house, it’s officially winter!” Molly proclaimed as she stepped inside. She brightened when she saw Jeremiah at the kitchen table. “What brings you out our way, Bishop?”

  “Glenn’s place burned down last night,” Marietta replied. “And while Jeremiah fills you in on the details, I’m going to look for those clothes of Dat’s we packed away.”

  “We put them in Mamm’s cedar chest, remember? What a great way to make Dat’s shirts and pants useful again!” Molly focused on the bishop then, her eyes clouded with concern. “So where are the Detweilers now? Is everybody okay?”

  “They are, thank the Lord,” Jeremiah replied as Marietta headed for the bedroom their parents had occupied for their entire married life.

  She lifted the lid of the chest at the foot of Mamm and Dat’s double bed, pausing as a wave of wistful memories washed over her with the aroma of cedar. Their father’s neatly folded clothing was underneath a faded quilt his mamm had made when she and Molly were born. It would be odd to see Glenn or Reuben wearing Dat’s shirts and pants around town or to church . . . but what good were they doing in the chest?

  Marietta picked up an armful of shirts—mostly blue and gray—and several pairs of broadfall pants. Beneath those, she spotted the two suits and the white shirts Dat had worn to church services, weddings, and funerals. As she headed toward the kitchen with the everyday clothes, her sister’s voice was raised in excitement.

  “Why don’t you tell the Detweilers to come here, and they can live in our dawdi hauses? Now that Pete’s living at your house, we’re got the extra space—and your mamm won’t have so many extra men to manage,” Molly was saying. She looked at Marietta, her expression expectant. “What do you think, sister? They’d only be staying with us until their new house gets built.”

  Marietta swallowed hard, letting the clothing drop onto the kitchen table. Most families built a dawdi haus when aging parents needed a place without stairs—but because tourists often visited Morning Star during the summer, she and Molly had added a second one so they’d have more rental income. “Well, jah, we’ve got those two places for them to bunk . . . and with winter setting in, it’s not as though we have any guest reservations.”

  She was about to remind Molly that this would mean a rambunctious little boy and a tiny baby would be moving in—not to mention two men who didn’t cook much—but Bishop Jeremiah’s smile stopped her.

  “I can at least give them that option,” he said with a nod. “And I suspect Mamm would appreciate having less cooking to do while her pots and dishes are stacked along the walls of our front room.” He held up the shirt on the top of the clothing pile. “These should work fine for either Glenn or his dat. And if they’re a little loose, so what? It’s not as though we Amish chase after the latest fashions.”

  Marietta laughed along with her sister—but when the bishop had stepped outside to load the clothing into his buggy, she got serious. “Are you sure it’s a gut idea to have the Detweilers staying out in the dawdi—”

  “Margaret will be so grateful to us that she—and other neighbor gals—will be happy to help us feed them,” Molly pointed out. “And besides, remember how you teased me about being sweet on Pete? This is my payback!”

  Marietta frowned, confused. “How do you figure—”

  “Don’t even try to deny that you think Glenn’s a nice fellow and that you’ve been gazing at his baby boy,” Molly teased. “Here’s your chance to see what mothering’s all about and whether you want any part of it, jah?”

  Marietta was about to protest, but Bishop Jeremiah was coming inside. “Let me fetch the rest of Dat’s clothes,” she said quickly.

  As she left the kitchen, however, she shot her twin a look that said, We’ll talk about this later.

  Chapter 5

  “Whoa, Nick,” Glenn murmured. “We’ll stay right here in the lane, boy.”

  On Tuesday, as he pulled up to the home place where he’d lived all his life, Glenn wished he hadn’t come. He’d been clinging to the hope that he’d find odds and ends he could salvage from the debris—maybe a few of Billy Jay’s toys or some of the pretty bone china cups and saucers he’d given Dorcas for her birthdays over the years.

  But even from several yards away, he could see that there was nothing left to save. The winter wind carried away the cry that escaped him as he stepped out of the rig for a closer look. As he shaded his eyes against the intense morning sunshine, Glenn’s heart sank.

  The foundation was encased in a thick layer of frozen black ashes. He couldn’t dig through the wreckage no matter how badly he might want to. The charred support posts that remained were bleak reminders that despite how well-built their house had been—despite how much love his family had filled it with over the generations—a fire had destroyed it in about an hour.

  Before depression overwhelmed him, Glenn unhitched Nick and led his horse to the barn so he could tend the rest of the animals. Ned, the horse that had remained here, nickered as they approached his stall—happy to see them, yet still skittish from the fire. After Glenn had fed and watered his two geldings, he filled the water tanks in the henhouse and put out more feed for Mamm’s chickens.

  As the weather got colder, it would be more difficult for the animals to get by without someone here on the property to look after them. Keeping the two horses in Jeremiah’s barn wasn’t such an imposition, but the thought of shifting dozens of chickens in snowy weather exhausted him—and he would have to build a new fence at the Shetler place to accommodate them.

  Glenn sighed tiredly. He had no idea how to handle his livestock.

  But then, he had no idea how he was going to make it from one hour to the next anymore, either. He was filled with such a dark heaviness, he wished he could lie down in the hay, fall asleep, and not wake up again.

  The sound of an approaching engine made him stand absolutely still inside the henhouse. In this neck of the woods, Amish folks didn’t operate motorized machinery—not the kind with a rumble that grew louder as it approached. For fear that someone had come to bulldoze what little remained of his life, Glenn rushed outside, waving his arms above his head.

  A man in a heavy coat, sunglasses, and a stocking cap shifted the big dozer out of gear. “Glenn!” he called out as he clambered down from the cab. “I’m glad you’re here!”

  Well, that’s more than I can say for myself. Who is this guy, anyway?

  A few moments later, he realized Howard Gibbs was standing in front of him, clasping his hand. “You’re just the fellow I need to talk to,” the fire chief said. “How are things going for you at the Shetler place? Everybody okay?”

  Glenn shrugged. “Will we ever be okay?” he demanded. “Dat and the baby are at the bishop’s place and Billy Jay went to school this morning, so here I am. Trying to make sense of a senseless situation.”

  “You’ve been through a lot,” Gibbs said with a sympathetic sigh. “But you should know that during our investigation after the fire, we determined that your gas line was intact. It was most likely a faulty valve or a gas leak inside the stove that caused the fire—not your dat falling asleep with a pan on the burner.”

  Gesturing at the black mess that covered the concrete block foundation, Glenn scowled. “How on earth could you tell? What with the explosion and everything being frozen solid—”

  “We dug through the mess in the wee hours, once the kitchen area was cool but not frozen. We found your dat’s pan, and it wasn’t scorched on the inside—it had flown several yards away from the house during the explosion,” Howard explained patiently. “If he’d left the burner on, the pan wouldn’t have been so clean inside. Reuben had an oil lamp burning on the kitchen counter, right?”

  Glenn blinked. “Probably. So he could see to make his cocoa.”

  “We suspect a leak within the stove caused some gas to drift over, so t
he flame from the lamp shot up and caught the curtains on fire. From there, the blaze got going before anybody was aware of it. Doesn’t take long in an older wooden structure.”

  Glenn shuddered. “It’s a gut thing I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled. “If I hadn’t gone downstairs to get a drink—well, I don’t want to think what might’ve happened to Dat and the rest of us.”

  Gibbs nodded grimly, glancing at the lumpy, black foundation. “Jah, the hand of God must’ve steered you downstairs at just the right time,” he said. “I brought the dozer this morning, figuring you couldn’t make any progress on a new place until this mess got cleaned up. If I work carefully, maybe you can dig through and find some pieces to keep—even if they’ll most likely be burnt and waterlogged.”

  Glenn looked away, blinking back sudden, hot tears. “Jah, but the other issue will be mold, ain’t so?” he reasoned aloud. “Any books or wood or other porous materials eventually stand a chance of being covered with a layer of black stuff that’ll be dangerous to us, jah?”

  “There’s that.”

  A sigh welled up from deep in Glenn’s soul. “No sense risking Dat or the boys getting sick because I was sentimental . . . clinging to the past. I’d better just let it all go.”

  Howard nodded. A few moments of silence passed between them while the fireman allowed Glenn to settle his emotions.

  “Denki for thinking about us, Howard, and for coming to clear away the debris,” he finally said. “Where would we Amish be if our Mennonite friends didn’t share their equipment and technology?”

  “We’re happy to help,” Gibbs insisted. “With the days getting shorter, a local construction crew has offered to bring over big floodlights powered by generators so they—and some carpenters from your church—can work longer. They’ll get your new house framed in and enclosed faster that way.”

  Glenn blinked. “You’re already thinking about—”

  “Oh, jah,” Howard replied with a smile. “Jeremiah’s nephew, Pete, has agreed to manage the building crew. Today he’ll be sketching out a floor plan like the one you had before, to fit your foundation. He’ll order the lumber and organize the crew, and your new home will be up in no time—or at least in a relatively short time,” he amended.

  Was Howard being honest, or just trying to cheer him up? Glenn couldn’t wrap his mind around what the firefighter was saying, although he’d witnessed the rapid response of the Plain community when other folks’ homes had burned down.

  And don’t forget how The Marketplace came together in less than a month, once Pete committed to remodeling that decrepit old stable.

  Glenn let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Well then,” he murmured, “the least I can do is help Pete with his drawings and join his crew. Meanwhile, denki again for coming to clear the site, Howard,” he added, extending his hand. “Hope you don’t mind if I leave before you start your dozing, though.”

  “I’d do the same thing. Take care, Glenn,” he replied as they shared a firm handshake. “Might be too soon to be saying this, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you and your dat and the boys are in your new place by Christmas.”

  By Christmas? How can that be, when it’s already the third of December?

  Glenn didn’t dare believe such a pie-in-the-sky prediction. And yet, as he hitched Ned to the rig to give him some exercise, he felt the tiniest flicker of hope. Despite the fact that his soul felt as frozen over as the black wreckage covering his home’s foundation, he sensed that a spark deep inside him had been rekindled.

  Don’t let it go out, Lord! Help me hold on—and help me believe that in You, all things are possible.

  * * *

  That evening before Mammi served supper, Pete sat at the kitchen table between Glenn and Reuben as they completed the sketches for the new Detweiler home. It was gratifying to see a glimmer in his friend’s eyes that had been absent for a while—and he was pleased that Glenn’s dat was following the conversation closely, too, with no sign that his mind was wandering.

  “Do I remember correctly that your mudroom extended off the kitchen here?” Pete asked, pointing toward that area of the floor plan. “I’m thinking it covered the concrete slab I saw, rather than being over an excavated part of the basement.”

  “Jah, you’ve got it right,” Reuben answered with a nod. “We added that mudroom back when we built the dawdi haus—which was right here, on this end.”

  Nodding, Pete quickly sketched the outline of the mudroom and added in the dimensions he’d jotted on his notepaper earlier in the day.

  “Where’s my room?” Billy Jay asked. He was seated in his dawdi Reuben’s lap, eagerly eyeing the sketches even though he wasn’t yet able to make all the connections between the paper drawings and how a three-dimensional house would result from them.

  Pete smiled as he reached for the large piece of paper that showed the home’s second story. “Here’s the stairway up from the front room,” he said patiently, following the lined rectangular section with his fingertip. “At the top of the stairs and to the left is your dat’s room—”

  “Mamm’s room, too,” the boy put in softly.

  Pete nodded. “Jah, that’s right. So if this is the hallway, which of these squares is your bedroom, Billy Jay?”

  Without missing a beat, Billy Jay jabbed the appropriate room with his finger. “Right here! And this is where Dawdi and Mammi were before they shifted downstairs to the dawdi haus.”

  “You got it right, son,” Glenn put in, squeezing his boy’s shoulder. “If you’ve figured that much out, it won’t be long before we put a hammer in your hand and take you to the work site.”

  The kid’s grin took Pete back to when he was a boy about that age. He recalled the sense of wonder he’d felt for carpenters who worked from drawings, as though they didn’t even have to think about how to build a house from a paper sketch.

  “Jah, and Billy Jay will soon be giving me the what’s what about adding in the detail work,” Pete said with a chuckle.

  “But the real what’s what will always be my say,” Mammi teased from the stove. “Supper’s ready! Let’s clear away your drawings now and wash up, while the food’s hot.”

  Nobody argued. Pete rolled up the drawings and stashed them among the boxes of kitchen equipment that were stacked in the corner, where cabinets and a countertop used to be. When his mammi had set steaming bowls of green beans and crispy hash browns alongside a platter of baked chicken, he caught a secretive edge to Uncle Jeremiah’s smile as they all took their places at the table.

  After a few moments of silent grace, the man at the head of the table cleared his throat. “Looks like a lot of progress was made at your house site today, Glenn,” he remarked as he reached for the platter in front of him.

  “Jah, my head’s spinning at how fast things are moving—thanks to Pete and Howard Gibbs,” Glenn replied. “Howard was clearing the debris from around the foundation this morning. Said a local Mennonite crew would supply generator-powered floodlights so the construction team can work longer as the days get shorter.”

  Glenn clasped his father’s arm fondly. “He also assured me that it was a leak or a faulty stove valve that caused that explosion, Dat—not a pan that boiled dry because you fell asleep,” he continued. “That’s great news, ain’t so? You can rest easier now, knowing that none of this disaster was your fault.”

  Reuben’s eyes widened. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

  “Nope!” Glenn replied.

  As Pete followed the fire chief’s explanation, he was relieved that Reuben hadn’t caused the fire. He passed the bowl of hash browns to his uncle—and was again aware of a flickering in his grin. It wasn’t until they’d finished their main meal, however, that Jeremiah revealed what was on his mind.

  Mammi took the foil from a big pan of warm dessert. “We have Marietta to thank for this noodle pudding,” she remarked as she stuck a serving spoon in it. “Those twins have more ways of
using noodles than anyone else I know!”

  Pete’s pulse revved up. He’d come to love noodle pudding while living in the Helfings’ dawdi haus. Spooning the warm, creamy dessert onto his plate wasn’t as satisfying as sharing it with Molly in person, but it brought her to mind—and in his mind, Pete could look beyond his memory of the way she’d shut him down on Sunday.

  “We got more than dessert from Marietta and Molly today,” Jeremiah put in as he focused on Glenn and Reuben. “I’ve also brought you several sets of their dat’s clothes. As soon as Mamm launders them, I bet they’ll fit one—or both—of you fellows just fine.”

  Glenn’s forkful of dessert stopped in front of his face. “Oh my,” he murmured. “So much kindness that so many folks are showing us—”

  “And the twins are also offering to let you Detweilers stay in their two dawdi hauses,” the bishop continued. “What with our kitchen torn up, they thought it might be more comfortable for you—and a little easier for Mamm—”

  “But you’re welcome to stay here if you prefer!” Mammi Margaret quickly insisted. “We want all of you to feel at home until you move into your new place. No matter where you are, several other ladies have offered to provide extra food—and some of them are bringing clothes and supplies for the boys, too.”

  Pete’s thoughts whirled in circles, like dry leaves caught in a windy corner. “Whose idea was it for Glenn to move in over there? Marietta’s or Molly’s?” he blurted.

  Uncle Jeremiah’s eyebrows rose. “Molly made the offer, and her sister went along with it. Why do you ask?”

  There it was again: Why do you ask? Pete realized that his answer would reveal more than he intended about his feelings for Molly—the hopes and dreams he secretly cherished whenever he thought about her.

  “Just curious,” he replied with a shrug. “Now that the twins have doubled their work space to focus on more noodle production, I’m surprised they’d want guests. But what do I know?”