The More the Merrier

by Linda Byler

  After the milk was drained from eleven tumblers, the last cookie crumb eaten, they were all dispatched to their various chores, leaving little Rebecca and Joel to amuse themselves with the wooden blocks till suppertime.

  Annie made a big pot of beef stew, hastily cutting up potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and onion, with chunks of beef and the soup bone to flavor it all, then added the savory dumplings. This was served with applesauce and small green pickles, slabs of bread and molasses.

  As she ladled the thick, rich stew on to the children’s plates, she couldn’t imagine how they could possibly be hungry after all those cookies, but they spooned up the thick stew, crunched the small pickles, and asked for seconds. The cold had turned their cheeks red, and now, by the warmth from the kitchen range, the faces turned even brighter, the many pairs of eyes glistening with the beginning of nightly fatigue.

  Dishes were washed and the chilled sand tart dough brought in from the back porch, amid cries of appreciation and rolling pins held aloft like weapons. The older boys helped Dan with the milking, saying they wanted no part of cookie making, which was for girls and sissies, which brought Ida’s hands to her narrow hips and a glare to her eyes that could have felled a cat.

  Hannah told the boys they were just jealous, that they wished they were allowed to help with the ­baking. Annie watched the boys’ eyes open wide in disbelief at this bit of truthful insight from the bashful Hannah, then clunk out to the washhouse where they pulled on their boots, asking each other what had come over Hannah to make her so bold all of a sudden.

  Ida gave Hannah a gleeful smile, and Hannah batted her eyelashes and stepped up to the table, grabbed a rolling pin, and prepared to roll out the dough, which turned out to be trickier than it appeared. She leaned over the table with all her weight, flattening the cold dough as far as much as she could. When she had practically broken a sweat, Suvilla stepped in and rolled until the dough was thin enough for the cookie cutters to be put to use. The colored sugar was an endless source of wonder for the two Emmas, who did all the decorating, except for the raisin eyes and buttons on the gingerbread men. That job went to Lydia, while Ida took it on herself to supervise everyone . . . which did not go over well.

  Suvilla told her mildly to go away and mind her own business, clearly exercising great restraint in her choice of words.

  Ida puffed up her chest, drew down her eyebrows, and snorted.

  “Ida,” Annie warned, lifting a Christmas tree with a metal spatula.

  “Mam, Suvilla isn’t using enough flour. Her dough is sticking to the tabletop. Tell her.”

  “You know, Ida, your chance of becoming an old maid keeps getting better each year,” Suvilla said forcefully.

  “You have no idea. What if I choose to stay single? Huh? Then what? You don’t have anything to say to that, now, do you?”

  “I don’t care if you marry someone or not.”

  For once, Ida didn’t have a reply to that. And then, because it was Christmastime, and everyone felt the spirit of happiness and goodwill, the tiff blew over before it became serious, though Annie suspected Ida would pursue it again the minute she was safely out of her hearing.

  Between the long hours on her feet, the mixing and rolling and feeding the fire, and the noise and commotion of all the children, Annie had developed a pounding headache above her right eye. She had just finished the dishes and swept the floor and was about to put away the last ingredients when Joel, trying to be helpful, dumped green sugar all over the floor, then turned and walked through it.

  It was an accident, it was an accident, she thought, over and over. But she could not bring herself to smile at him or tell him it was all right. He needs to learn to be more careful. And all that sugar wasted!

  When he sat on the couch with his thumb in his mouth, his bright eyes watching every move she made, she still didn’t feel the need to comfort him. When Dan came in to wash up he asked her where there was another cake of soap. She was short with him, telling him to look for it in the washhouse somewhere, instead of offering to help.

  No, she was not perfect. But she no longer spiraled into the depths of guilt and despair. Instead, she asked God for forgiveness for her shortcomings and went to bed.

  In the morning, breakfast over and the eleven off to school, her strength and good humor returned. She’d had a good night of sleep and an extra cup of coffee laced with the cream that lay thick and rich on top of a gallon of milk.

  Oh, she was spoiled. She was becoming used to coffee as a morning necessity instead of a luxury, but it was so good—the thick, rich smell that made her close her eyes as she breathed deeply. She hummed German Christmas carols under her breath as her sturdy arms plied the crumbs for another batch of pie dough.

  Suvilla ran down cellar and brought the canned pumpkin for the filling, then separated eggs and beat the egg whites to a stiff peak.

  Annie mixed the chopped beef, the broth, and many spices that would create the mincemeat pies. They mixed apples and brown sugar, butter and cinnamon for the apple-raisin pies, poured it all into prepared crust, and baked them to a golden-brown perfection.

  Annie showed Suvilla how she could tell when the pumpkin pies were baked hard enough. “Just take them and give them a gentle shake,” she said. “They should shiver a little bit in the middle, but not too much.”

  “That’s not very specific,” Suvilla muttered, but watched carefully as her mother closed the oven door to allow them to bake awhile longer. “Let’s finish all the Christmas baking before they all get home from school.”

  “Why?” Annie laughed.

  “You know why,” Suvilla said dryly.

  “Oh my, what a mess!” Annie laughed. “But it was worth it, every sticky surface and ruined cookie was worth every minute. The children seemed like brothers and sisters, every last one. Did you hear Emma One tell Emma Two how her gingerbread man looked like Elam sie Rachel, and Emma Two laughed so hard she bumped her heard on the corner of the table? He did look like her, the way the raisins were placed close together, low on the face.”

  “Those two Emmas are a team, aren’t they?”

  “Kindred spirits, indeed.”

  Annie straightened, telling Suvilla she would not trade place with anyone else on earth. “This is where God wants me to be, so I guess he’ll supply strength for each new day and all the problems that come with it.”

  “Yes, Mam, but things aren’t quite as hard as it was at first. We all seem to grow together somehow.” Here her eyes narrowed, and her face took on an iron resolve. “But I’ll tell you one thing. I can hardly wait for a home of my own, a tiny house with no one in it except my husband and me.”

  “Your husband being Henry King’s Aquilla, perhaps?”

  Suvilla’s mouth opened, then closed, as her face became infused with color.

  “Mam! I am shocked! You know nothing about Aquilla King.”

  Annie nodded, smiled, and would not meet her daughter’s eyes.

  Chapter Eleven

  ON CHRISTMAS EVE, DAN GATHERED ALL THE children into the living room. In his gentle, deep voice, he read the Christmas story to them all, in English, since the little ones had not yet learned the German. They sat quietly, all fourteen of them, some cross-legged on the floor, some doubled up on a comfortable chair, and the smallest ones on the couch with him. As his voice rose and fell, they seemed spellbound, absorbing every word. Sammy was listening, his face softened by emotion. Suvilla sat with her face showing nothing, her eyes downcast, but the fact that she was there gave Annie a warm feeling.

  When the story was finished, there was a collective sigh, a few swipes of hands across tired eyes, a yawn here and there. But all waited, knowing Christmas Eve would not be over till the evening prayer was read from the German prayer book. They watched as Dan reached to the bookshelf, then all of them turned as one, got on their knees as Dan did, and buried their faces in crooked arms or simply gazed through chair rungs. Their minds churned with everyday things, as happens when
the prayer is long and the singsong monotone keeps rising and falling.

  Then the children straggled off to bed, weary from an afternoon of play. The snow had accumulated to eight or ten inches, so the steep hill in the cow pasture sported an icy track made by hundreds of boot prints, a log, and the use of many sleds. Faces were wind-chapped, lips peeling and blistered from the combination of wind and sun, but a dollop of Vaseline helped them all to sleep without pain. None of them had any idea of the Christmas presents that would be waiting for them in the morning. She had wrapped each package in newspaper and would set them on clean plates at the breakfast table.

  Annie had made fresh shoofly pie, and there would be the luxury of hot chocolate to go with it, all the eggs and home cured ham they could hold, stewed crackers and fresh pancakes with maple syrup.

  She had a hard time falling asleep that night, thinking of the two dolls, more than anything else. She had never imagined one of her children owning a store-bought doll, an item she had longed for with secret intensity when she was a child. She hoped they were not damaging the little girls by spoiling them with such a large Christmas gift.

  The alarm jangled at five o’clock on Christmas Day, the same time Dan and Annie arose every morning. There were chores to do, water pipes to thaw, fires to stoke with chunks of wood. Annie had to put the two geese in the oven that she would be using to make the roasht, and beat the cream with the egg beaters to mix with the cornstarch pudding.

  She dressed eagerly, then called the oldest children to go get the milking started. Then she tiptoed to the bedroom closet and carefully brought out each package and laid them tenderly on every child’s plate, then stood back and surveyed the wonder of it. What would they say?

  She turned to find Sammy sitting on the couch, pulling on his cotton socks. Then Suvilla stumbled into the kitchen, stopped, and stared.

  Her eyes went to Annie’s beaming face.

  “We have gifts?”

  “We do!”

  “What is it?”

  “Well Suvilla, it’s Christmas, so I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

  Suvilla raised her eyebrows, then smiled genuinely. “Huh,” was all she said.

  Sammy smiled at his mother, then followed Suvilla to the washhouse to dress in warm clothes.

  Enos, Ephraim, and Amos clomped down the stairs, in various forms of wakening, wiping eyes, yawning, their hair in a mess of tangles.

  “It’s cold,” Enos complained.

  Annie smiled. “Good morning, boys.”

  Amos spied the wrapped gifts. His eyes shot open, wide, then wider, “Gifts!”

  Ephraim and Enos snapped to attention.

  “We have Christmas gifts!” they said, their voices barely above a shocked whisper.

  “Can we open them?”

  “Not till breakfast. Now hurry and get your chores done.”

  They fell over each other getting to the washhouse and out the door to the barn, pulling wool hats down over their ears as they ran. The dark and the cold was ablaze with excitement for all of them.

  At six, Annie woke the rest of the children, helping them to dress and comb their hair. She brushed out snarls, wet the top of six little girls’ heads, her fingers flying as she used a fine-toothed comb to flatten the hair before deftly rolling along the sides to two coils in the back. Those coils were then wound around and around to form a perfect circular bob, pinned tightly with steel hairpins. There were no barrettes or rubber ponytail holders, simply the coils of hair rolled and pinned into place by years of practice.

  Once downstairs, Ida caught sight of the wrapped presents, and for once in her life she was speechless. Lavina stood beside her, gaping, followed by Hannah, Lydia, and the two Emmas.

  Annie could not stop smiling.

  She fried slices of ham, set the milk to heat, then mixed the batter for the pancakes with a song in her head. Today was the day of the Christ child’s birth, so why wouldn’t she rejoice with the heavenly host of angels, the very same ones who sang over the hills of Judea where the shepherd watched their flocks, or the ones who hovered over the stable in Bethlehem? Here was cause for a deep and abiding joy, a spiritual renewal for mankind.

  Oh, that He had been born and died for her! The fact of it lent wings to her feet, sent the song to her lips.

  She was singing “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” softly when she heard Ida joining in, her sweet voice soon overtaking her own as the song grew louder and faster, until she was up off the couch, head bobbing, feet skipping, then arms out as she twirled around the living room.

  “Now, Ida, we don’t approve of dancing. Especially not to a Christmas hymn.”

  “Why not? It’s the happiest day of my life!”

  Annie laughed outright.

  “Why of course it is.”

  Ida’s brows compressed into a serious wrinkle.

  “So far, at least.”

  She looked thoughtful for a few moments, before saying, “But I plan on having many more happy days, Mam.”

  “You will, Ida. You certainly will.”

  A clattering in the washhouse heralded the arrival of the herd of workers from the barn. After that, it was undisguised chaos, the children cheering when Dan caught Annie by the waist for a great Christmas bear hug. The din was irreparable, with Dan’s wide smile, Annie’s blushing face, especially when she announced it was time to fry the eggs and Dan would not let her go.

  The gas lights hissed, casting a yellowish glow over the warm kitchen and the steaming platters and bowls of food. The coffeepot boiled, sending the rich aroma through the house, the salty odor of frying ham mingled with the browned butter in the cast iron pan, waiting for the dropped eggs.

  On Christmas Eve, there had been the solemn story of Christ’s birth, but today was the celebration. Each child could feel the joy of the Christmas spirit as they slid into their respective seats, each one touching the wrapped present with hands that hesitated, allowing only the tips of their fingers to come into contact with the layers of newspaper.

  The food was brought to the table, presents set on the floor beside them, till the plates could be taken away.

  Was ever a Christmas morning quite like this one?

  The eggs slid from the plate, nestled beside a thick slice of ham, a serving of stewed crackers, rich and milky, dotted with browned butter. Spoons and forks clattered against plates till every morsel was scraped clean. It was almost unimaginable to have a pancake afterward, soaked in butter and drizzled with maple syrup, followed by all the shoofly pie they could hold. A steaming cup of hot chocolate brought more cheers, which Ida led, her voice rising above everyone else’s.

  Dan lifted a spoonful of shoofly pie, dipped it below the surface of the hot cocoa, put it in his mouth, and closed his eyes.

  “Mmm . . . Mmm . . .”

  Annie smiled. “You like my shoofly pie?”

  “You know I do. They’re the best. Along with the prettiest wife in Lancaster County, I get shoofly pies that are unbelievable.”

  “Hurry up, Dat,” said Ida. “We’re finished. Time for presents.”

  Dan looked up, his eyes softened, and for one moment Annie was afraid he would shed real tears.

  “You called me Dat,” he said.

  Ida smiled at him, flashing her mischievous dimple to its full extent.

  “You are my dat, the only one I have.”

  Was that a nodding from Sammy and Suvilla?

  They allowed the youngest to open her package first, with Dan and Annie’s help. As the face of the doll emerged, Rebecca’s eyes became round with surprise, then her face crumpled and she began to cry.

  “What? What is this?” Annie asked, quickly gathering her for a close embrace on her lap.

  “Don’t cry, Rebecca.”

  Little Rebecca had never seen a store-bought doll, and was frightened by the eyes that opened and closed. So they had Lydia open her gift, who was so thrilled she simply let out a high shriek of delight, then turned to say quite solemn
ly, “Denke, Mam und Dat.”

  Everyone was on their feet, crowding around, helping Rebecca unwrap the doll, smoothing the tiny gathers in the dress, opening and closing the doll’s eyes, moving the arms and legs. The boys pulled on the thin socks, and when one fell on the floor, they were faced with Lavina’s outrage, Ida’s yanking on their shoulders, and a frown of disapproval from Suvilla.

  Rebecca held the doll then, but carefully, afraid to touch the pretty face or the glistening fabric of the dress.

  Dan got up from his chair, asked Joel and John if they had not noticed their plates were empty.

  “Yes, we did. But you have something for us,” they said, almost as one person. Annie was touched to see the faith they had, trusting Dan would bring them their gift.

  The wooden wagon was painted green, with yellow wheels and fine black pinstriping for the spokes and the rim. The attached horse was painted brown with a black harness. Annie had made small cloth bags filled with rice, to load on the wagons—little bags of feed for the horse to take to town.

  It was all bedlam after that. Even Sammy was on the floor, delighted with the ease of the wheels’ motion.

  Enos, Amos, and Ephraim thought they should be next, until the girls reminded them they were younger, and opened their package to find the most remarkable thing they had ever seen. Awed by the delicacy of this fine china, they carried it to the dressers in their room to be handled and admired every day. They were now the owners of genuine china dishes, and they carried themselves with a new lift of their shoulders.

  When the boys opened their present to find a slingshot, Annie detected a note of envy in Ida’s voice. Amid the howls of glee, Ida told them they’d never be able to hit the side of a barn with those things.

  As Annie suspected, she had the slingshots in her hands almost as much as the boys, and became a dead shot with it before the winter was over.

  The wool socks were drawn over their feet, proclaimed the warmest things they’d ever worn, followed by heartfelt, effusive “Denke Denke.”