The Judgment

by Beverly Lewis

  “Two weeks to two months,” she replied.

  He groaned loudly, looking quite pathetic there in the passenger seat. “I hope you’re driving carefully,” he said. “I’m a little gun-shy about getting into a car. I’d prefer not to get creamed again.”

  “Sounds like you might actually prefer some slower travel in a horse and buggy.”

  He blanched. “No, Hen. I refuse to rot away in Amishville.”

  “Why not think on the bright side? You might actually enjoy yourself and soak up the peace of the place. Besides, it’s almost Christmas, and Mattie Sue will be thrilled to spend it with you.”

  The three of us.

  Hen sighed, her heart in her throat. “And if you still want to divorce me when you’re well again, that’ll be up to you.”

  Rose held her breath and watched Hen lead Brandon carefully across the driveway after helping him out of the car. Wiggles was nestled in Hen’s free arm as Brandon stepped gingerly across the driveway. Rose’s heart sang, seeing her sister and husband make their way toward the backyard together. “Mattie Sue, come welcome your daddy home!” she quickly called up the stairs.

  Mattie’s footsteps were on the stairs in an instant, and Rose went to look in on her mother. “Hen’s brought Brandon home from the hospital,” she said softly. “Isn’t that wonderful-gut?”

  Mamm’s eyes were suddenly alert. “You don’t mean it!”

  “Jah, it’s just amazing.”

  Mamm looked at the ceiling, exhibiting her gratitude to God.

  Rose excused herself to put on an old coat. Then she hurried to the back porch to welcome her brother-in-law. Mattie Sue was already chattering about the big cast on his arm and his bandaged forehead. Meanwhile, Beth peered out the back door, shaking her head no when Rose asked if she wanted to come meet Mattie Sue’s father.

  “That’s all right,” Rose assured her. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  Rose slipped her arm around Hen as Mattie Sue clung to Brandon’s uninjured arm. “I’m glad you’re both here,” said Rose softly. At last . . .

  Dat opened the door of his woodshop and came across the backyard, calling his greetings, as well. “Willkumm, son!”

  Rose’s breath caught and she had to look away. Her father’s warmhearted greeting touched her so deeply. With all of her heart, she hoped Brandon understood just how truly it was meant.

  Later in the afternoon, when Beth had finished eating an ice cream cone, Rose wiped off the table. Dat came into the kitchen from the sitting room where he’d been attending Mamm and glanced at the money jar. “Rosie, do ya know anything ’bout the extra money in there?” he asked. “A gut thirty dollars has just appeared—on the Lord’s Day, yet. More than I counted the other day.”

  Caught, she bowed her head. She’d been naïve to think no one would notice. “Jah, Dat . . . I know about it.”

  He tilted his head, eyeing her. “What’s to be ashamed of? Did ya sell some more of your little dolls?”

  “Not lately.”

  “Well, what then?”

  “You might not remember, but Mamm took thirty dollars’ worth of bills and change to market . . . the day of her accident.”

  His face turned white.

  “Oh, Dat . . . I found the tin box with the money in it, behind a boulder near the crick . . . in the ravine.”

  “You did?”

  She paused. “Well, not exactly me.” Dare she reveal the full truth?

  “Nick happened upon the box first. He took me there later to see it.”

  His eyes locked on hers. “You . . . and Nick?”

  She nodded.

  He chuckled a little, his face still pale. “Well, I’ll be a horse’s knee.”

  She’d never heard him talk so, and she bit her tongue, bracing herself for further questions.

  Just at that moment, Beth came out of the bedroom. “Can you carry Mrs. Kauffman to the bathroom?” she asked shyly.

  Immediately Dat turned without saying more, leaving Rose alone, her heart beating ever so hard. Might’ve been better to leave the money where Nick first found it. She wondered if Dat would also ask why she hadn’t brought the tin box home, as well. But he was occupied now, and Rose dismissed her concern. Actually, she rather liked the notion of a secret hiding place . . . especially because Nick had thought to leave his letter to her there.

  And now mine’s there, too. . . .

  Chapter 34

  Hen’s heart was gladdened at her father and sister’s welcome of Brandon, but seeing Mattie Sue’s response earlier had been best of all.

  Mattie was far less concerned that her daddy could not see than Hen expected. Without prompting her, Hen noticed Mattie was eager to help Brandon as he tentatively walked about the house.

  Presently, her husband and daughter were seated side by side at the table. Mattie talked happily as she “showed” him the coloring book page she’d made for him, describing the picture of butterflies in pinks, reds, and yellows. Brandon sat stiff and straight due to his bandaged ribs, his cast resting on the table.

  So far, so good. Hen filled Wiggles’s doggie dishes with kibble and water, reveling in the fact that her husband was actually here with them. Here, on Salem Road!

  She wanted to pinch herself, though she wouldn’t be hasty with excitement, given the reason for his stay. Any moment his sight could return, and he’d want to head right back to town.

  A few minutes later, when Mattie Sue ran upstairs to get several of her faceless dolls, Brandon mentioned how drafty the house was. “And I sure miss my La-Z-Boy.”

  “Sit closer to the fire if you’re cold,” she encouraged him, slipping several more logs into the cookstove. “I can drape the rocking chair with a soft afghan to make it a little more comfortable for you.” She offered to help move him to the rocking chair near the stove, but Brandon shook his head. He looked downright pitiful.

  “Would you like some hot coffee?” she asked cheerfully. “I’d be happy to make some. Or would you prefer cocoa?”

  “Coffee’s fine.” He got up and inched across the room, waving his left arm in front of him so as not to bump into something.

  But seeing he was heading straight for the opposite wall, Hen hurried to clasp his arm and redirect his steps toward the stove. “Do you want to stand here to warm up?” she asked.

  Brandon faced her. “Well, I guess what I want and what I’m stuck with are two different things.”

  Wishing she could make him feel more at ease, Hen paused a moment. Then, realizing she was staring at her wounded husband, she headed back to the kitchen. Happiness isn’t wanting what you can get, but wanting what you have, she thought, hoping Brandon wouldn’t continue to let his frustration spill out when Mattie Sue returned.

  But he was already so sunk into despair that even Mattie’s attempts to “show” him a few Amish dolls fell on deaf ears.

  He can’t see with his eyes . . . or with his heart, Hen thought sadly.

  As the supper hour neared, she made chicken salad sandwiches and warmed up some homemade tomato soup. When she set the plate before him she told him, “The sandwich is at nine o’clock, near your left hand.” He didn’t wait for the table blessing. He reached for it and began eating.

  Hen and Mattie Sue raised their heads from the silent prayer—Brandon was struggling to eat his soup. Quickly, Hen realized she’d made a mistake in offering it, seeing Brandon fumble to spoon it up using his left hand, the hot soup dripping down his shirt. He huffed and shook his head.

  “Oh, Brandon, I’m awful sorry,” she apologized. “Obviously I didn’t think this meal through very well.”

  “I can help you, Daddy,” Mattie Sue offered, going around the table to stand beside him.

  “I don’t need your help!” he protested.

  “But, Daddy—”

  “Go back and sit down.”

  Mattie Sue began to cry. Hen opened her arms and held her for a moment, then led her into the sitting area, away from the kitchen.

/>   “Why’s Daddy mad at me?”

  “No, no, darling . . . he’s not mad at you. He’s in pain, and it’s hard to do things when you can’t see.”

  As if struck by an inspiration, Mattie Sue closed her eyes and tried to find her way back to the table. She stumbled and ended up peeking, but finally sat back down at the table. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “It’s just like the faceless dolls.”

  “No, Mattie, it’s not the same.” Brandon pushed aside his soup bowl. “Not even close.”

  Hen cringed and held her breath, hoping Mattie Sue would pipe down. She realized she should have encouraged Brandon to lie down for a while after arriving. He seemed so taxed now.

  Once supper was done, she and Brandon and Mattie Sue sat together on the settee, covered up with an old afghan as Hen read from the Psalms. Despite his glum expression, Brandon did not protest the Bible reading. And she was relieved that none of her family had stopped by this evening, perhaps recognizing Brandon’s need for time to rest and acclimate.

  The irony of his being here lingered in Hen’s mind and heart as she lay awake in her empty bed while her husband slept in the spare room down the hall.

  Who would’ve thought Brandon would consent to stay here? Hen hoped she had not made an error in judgment. The harmony of the little house had already been altered with his presence.

  After breakfast Monday morning, Rose stood at the kitchen window with Beth, watching the snow fall and waiting for Gilbert Browning to arrive. She thanked Beth for being so caring toward Mamm, and for all she’d shared with them. Smiling sweetly, Beth’s eyes remained fixed on the road, eager for her father’s return.

  When Mr. Browning came, he brought a thank-you gift for Rose, a large fruit basket with a big red bow on top. He opened his wallet, offering to remunerate them for taking care of Beth. Rose refused politely, adamant that having Beth there had been a gift. “Especially for my mother,” she added, smiling at Beth.

  Mr. Browning’s face was drawn with grief. Rose had never seen him look well rested, and he certainly didn’t look so today, either, as he reached down for Beth’s suitcase and carried it out to the trunk.

  When he’d gotten Beth settled inside the car, he hesitantly asked Rose, “I really hate to ask—you’ve already done so much—but would you mind coming over to clean tomorrow morning . . . and do a little cooking, too? I realize it’s Christmas Eve.”

  “Not at all, if I can finish up before the noon meal.” She thought of the Christmas program planned at the one-room schoolhouse. “We always go to the school play over yonder.” She pointed in the direction. “You should come, too . . . and bring Beth along. We ride over in the big two-horse sleigh with the neighbors, our bishop and his wife.”

  Mr. Browning smiled wearily and glanced at Beth.

  “Oh, could we, Daddy?” she pleaded.

  “We might just do that. Thanks for the invitation, Rose.” He looked toward the woodshop. “Would you also extend my thanks to your father and mother, as well?”

  Rose said she would. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, then.” She waved and watched them go, glad to have helped Beth’s father during his time of need, especially so near Christmas.

  After Rose finished her work at the Brownings’ the next morning, she urged the horse quickly back home, wondering if maybe today she’d receive something in the mail from Silas Good. Perhaps a Christmas card? She’d taken time to make a lovely one for him but had ended up simply signing it Yours, Rose Ann.

  The sky had opened in the last hour and was dropping enormous white flakes, some as large as a half-dollar. If this keeps up, we’ll go tobogganing on Christmas Day!

  She hoped all of her seven brothers and their families might attend the school program later this afternoon, and she wondered if even Hen would brave the weather with Mattie Sue. Feeling as though it was a good idea to keep her distance and let Brandon settle in, Rose hadn’t ventured over to their Dawdi Haus at all. And since her father’s arrival and Beth’s departure, Mattie Sue had spent her hours with her parents. Surely the three of them needed this precious time to catch up, given all the weeks apart.

  Back home, Rose checked the mail for a card from Silas but found nothing at all. Concerned, she unhitched Alfalfa from the buggy and Dat came over, offering to give her a hand. He leaned down and waved her off into the house. “Go on in and get warmed up. Your Mammi’s made a big pot of hot apple cider.”

  “Denki, Dat.”

  He nodded. “You don’t think Brandon’s goin’ to make it out to the Christmas play, do ya?”

  “My guess is he’ll stay put.”

  “Prob’ly best,” Dat said.

  Rose could tell by the way his face drooped that her father wished Brandon could see—and be touched by—the wonderful presentation the children put on each year.

  “You mean it? Amish don’t put up Christmas trees?” Brandon said to Hen after awakening from a long nap. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Well, some Plain folk decorate their front doors with holly and greenery,” she replied. “Or string up cards over a doorway.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Sometimes there are candles in the windows on Christmas Eve . . . to welcome the Christ Child.”

  “That’s silly,” he mumbled.

  “We celebrate in ways other than decorating. We make all kinds of cookies and cherry pies, and keep a pot of cinnamon-spiced hot cider simmering all day long,” Hen said, helping to layer Mattie Sue in enough outer clothing for the chilly sleigh ride.

  “And Aendi Rose says there are carolers, too,” Mattie Sue chimed in.

  Hen explained that children and youth particularly liked to go from door to door singing “Joy to the World” and other old carols.

  “So if there’s no tree, then Santa doesn’t come for good little Amish children, does he?”

  “Brandon, please,” Hen whispered. “Are you really sure you’ll be all right here alone?”

  “I’m fine,” he replied.

  “I wish you could come to the program, Daddy. It’s my first time going,” said Mattie Sue.

  Brandon shook his head.

  “Well, we need to leave the house pretty soon,” Hen said, trying to overlook Brandon’s grumpy mood. “It looks like Dawdi Sol has the horses hitched up to the sleigh.”

  Mattie Sue was awfully cute in her black bonnet and warm coat and boots, all marked inside with her name for the occasion. “Who’s stayin’ with Mammi Emma?” she asked.

  “Dawdi Jeremiah and Mammi Sylvia offered to.” Hen shooed her daughter out the door, saying she’d catch up. She went over to Brandon on the sofa and gave him another afghan. “I’m sure you know . . . but Christmas here is really about the Lord Jesus,” she said, hoping he might understand. “The reason for the celebration.”

  He thanked her for the extra afghan. “Are you saying Mattie Sue’s really okay with not getting tons of presents under a Christmas tree?”

  “You’ll know soon enough,” Hen said, pleased with how readily Mattie had taken to the Old Ways. “We’ll be back in about two hours.”

  He nodded, head down.

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “No . . . thanks.”

  She felt sorry to leave him alone. “I’m only going for Mattie’s sake,” she admitted.

  “Go on . . . have a good time.”

  “My grandparents are right next door and can check on you, if you’d like.”

  “Please, Hen. That’s not necessary.”

  He doesn’t want anyone’s help.

  “Well, all right, then.” As Hen stepped out the door, she spotted Gilbert Browning arriving. He and Beth climbed into the sleigh, and Mattie Sue jumped up and moved to sit smack-dab between Beth and Rose. Poor Rose looked unusually solemn, but she brightened when Hen caught her eye.

  What’s going on with Rosie?

  Chapter 35

  Dozens of coats and bonnets were piled up outside on the schoolhouse porch. And becau
se each item of clothing looked similar, Rose was glad they’d taken care to sew colorful name tags inside with special embroidery that glowed in the dark. The sun would be down by the time the Christmas Eve program was over.

  Inside the schoolroom, paper snowflakes decorated each window. So many folk were in attendance, they had to double up at each student’s desk, and the benches set up across the back and side walls were filling quickly.

  When Rose had attended as a girl, she’d volunteered her fourth-grade year to do a chalk drawing of a wintry scene on the blackboard. And now, recalling that particular Christmas, she realized it had been Rebekah Bontrager who’d helped her draw the row of snowmen in the picture.

  Rose dared not look to see if Rebekah had come to the popular program. Could Annie Mast get along without Rebekah more often than once every other Sunday night for Singings?

  Still, Rose felt uncomfortable, knowing the Reuben Goods were present. She’d seen Sarah and Anna Mae and their mother coming up the road in their family buggy. Rose hadn’t been able to see if Silas was indeed scrunched in the back, but she was certain he’d come along, too. Who’d want to miss this?

  A large curtain hung across the front of the open room, allowing the students to line up without being seen. Rose saw no sign of the teacher, who’d planned this occasion for quite some time, hoping her pupils would do well and remember their memorized poems and skits, just as they’d rehearsed.

  All the happy memories of special school days came rushing back as Rose scooted over to share a desk with her newlywed cousin, now Esther Glick. They dared not speak or even whisper, since the place would be in chaos if everyone did so. Accordingly, they merely exchanged smiles.

  When it was time to begin, a tiny first grader came out from behind the curtain and stepped onto the small square box of a platform. Rose could see Mattie Sue clasp Hen’s hand and lean forward where the two of them sat on a bench on the side, over near Silas’s mother and sisters. Rose held her breath, hoping the young pupil would remember every line of his Christmas poem, which he was reciting in English. She let out a relieved breath when he did, and there were many encouraging smiles and even a few little chuckles, perhaps from the boy’s parents or older siblings. But, as was their way, no applause.