An Amish Baby for Christmas

by Vannetta Chapman

It was Naomi who prodded the conversation forward. “You’ll need money to live on until this is settled.”

  Abigail nodded, the lump in her throat blocking any words.

  “And how are you set for the boppli?”

  She shook her head.

  “Let me grab some paper and a pencil.”

  Abigail almost laughed at that, remembering the night before as well as the list in her purse. She didn’t need to look at the list. The words, the horror of her situation, were seared into her brain and lay heavy on her heart.

  “Thomas has taken care of your fields?” Luke asked.

  “The men should be finished with the harvest today. There’s still a lot of work to do, according to him, and he’s offered to help around the place...for free until I can afford to pay him.”

  At this, the bishop’s right eyebrow shot up, but he quickly hid his surprise and nodded. “Excellent. Things are shaping up. Ya?”

  “I guess. It’s all a bit...overwhelming.”

  “Of course it is.” Naomi had sat back down, but when she saw the tears coursing down Abigail’s cheeks, she hopped up and fetched a box of Kleenex.

  Both the bishop and his wife waited until she’d calmed before saying anything else.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  “There is no need to apologize.” Luke placed one hand over the other on the table.

  They were a farmer’s hands. Luke was a farmer like just about every other man in their Plain community. His life, his home, even his family was similar to theirs. He faced the same trials that they did, which caused them to believe that he understood their struggles as well as their joys. All of that helped them to receive the message he preached on Sundays. Now, sitting at his table, Abigail realized that perhaps he did understand the depth of her misery.

  “Gotte has a plan for you, Abigail. A plan for you and your boppli, but the road we must travel can sometimes be difficult.”

  “Or impossible.”

  “No, my child. Never impossible.” He waited until she once again looked at him. “People want to help, Abigail. Do you remember the other times I visited? The times you sent me away?”

  Abigail nodded.

  “I left without insisting because help has to be accepted. It can’t be forced on someone, but Abigail...we would never have gone completely away. I would have continued to visit every week, because you’re a part of our family.”

  Her tears started falling again. Abigail pulled another tissue from the box, wishing she could control her emotions better.

  “It’s a privilege for family members to help one another,” Luke continued. “Paul wrote in Galatians that the entire law can be summed up in a single command—‘love your neighbor as yourself.’ You, Abigail, are giving others an opportunity to do that.”

  Then Luke closed his eyes and began to pray. He asked Gotte to bless Abigail and the baby, to grant wisdom to Gabriela Martinez, to give strength to Thomas Albrecht, and he thanked their Heavenly Father for allowing the congregation to minister to one of their own.

  An hour later, Abigail made her way home, exhausted but also more at peace than she’d been since finding her husband dead in the barn. Thomas hurried from the field to help with Belle, releasing the mare into an adjacent pasture where he’d put his own horse. Apparently, the other men helping with the harvest had walked, so they must be nearby neighbors. How could she not know that? It was as if she’d been living in a bubble, and now that bubble had burst.

  Belle practically pranced toward Thomas’s mare, and then they were nosing one another like the oldest of friends.

  “It’s easy being a horse.” Thomas peered into the back of her buggy. “Let me bring those bags in for you.”

  “Oh, I can handle them myself.”

  “Abigail, are you going to argue every time I try to help you?”

  “I might if I can do it myself.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.” She glowered at him, but Thomas didn’t move. If she’d used such a perturbed tone with Asher, he would have stomped off and then given her the silent treatment for a week.

  Thomas, on the other hand, looked as if he was about to start laughing. “I was the oldest of four. The other three were girls, so I’m pretty good at waiting on a woman.”

  “Are you, now?”

  “Sure.” He grinned, removed his hat and combed his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been well trained.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was stand in the yard and argue with this man. Plus, her feet were starting to swell again. Even in Asher’s shoes, she could feel them growing more tender. “Since you’re trained and stubborn, let’s not waste our time. I’ll take in one of the bags and you can grab the rest.”

  “Gut compromise.”

  There were three bags of clothing and a box of food. Abigail would have been embarrassed if she wasn’t so very excited about having something to wear that would fit her. Since Naomi was the same height as Abigail, but quite a bit heavier, her clothes were about the right size. Apparently, whenever she sewed a new dress, which wasn’t that often in an Amish home, she took the oldest, mended it and saved it for anyone in need.

  Abigail was certainly in need.

  How nice it would be to wear something that she wasn’t afraid of busting at the seams.

  She and Thomas carried everything into the kitchen.

  “Should I...make you and the other men lunch?”

  Thomas stared down into the box, shaking his head. “I think this food is for you, Abigail. Plus, we all brought our own lunch, but it was a nice offer.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, danki.”

  “Gem gschehne.”

  There it was again, the old words passing between them like a bubbling spring flowing over dry, parched land.

  Why wasn’t Thomas Albrecht married? She stood at the kitchen window, watching him join the men in the field, and pondered that question. She supposed she might never know, and did it really matter? She certainly wasn’t in the market for a new spouse. Nein, marriage hadn’t been a gut fit for her.

  Perhaps she was too stubborn. She wasn’t really sure why she’d never felt any real affection for Asher, nor he for her. Her marriage had been woefully missing warmth or kindness of any type. At first, she’d thought it was her fault, that she was somehow wanting in an area that mattered to Asher.

  After six months of marriage, she learned that wasn’t the case. Asher was stiff and distant around everyone—not that they had company often, but they had hosted church service twice. Fortunately, both of those times the weather had been nice enough to hold the service outside. There was no way their whole congregation could fit in their house, though they might have fit in the barn.

  Perhaps Asher was an introvert. He’d been an only child, so it was possible he’d never grown used to being around others. Regardless, she knew six months into her marriage that being detached was simply his personality. It made living with him difficult for them both. Why had he wanted to marry? Asher was never comfortable around her, never relaxed in her presence. And he never, ever spoke kindly to her.

  Neither had her mamm.

  Or even her dat.

  Perhaps she was unlovable.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she scolded herself as she went about setting the food Naomi had sent into her refrigerator and in the pantry. “No thing that Gotte makes is unlovable, and you—Abigail Yutzy—are made by Gotte.”

  She almost laughed out loud. Apparently, the trip to the bishop’s had helped her more than she realized. Or possibly it was the thought of the clothes waiting in the bags. Or the knowledge that women would gather at her house on Monday to help her prepare for the baby.

  She still hadn’t met with the lawyer.

  She still didn’t have any money.
r />   But suddenly the day didn’t seem so hopeless.

  Meet with Gabriela Martinez. Settle Asher’s estate. Pay Thomas and send him on his way. In the meantime, keep her distance.

  That was her plan, and she fully intended to see it through.

  * * *

  Thomas couldn’t decide if Abigail looked bigger in the newer, roomier clothes, but she definitely looked more comfortable. She was sitting on the front porch, her feet up on a small stool that she’d fetched from the barn.

  “We finished with the harvest.” He stood at the bottom of the porch steps, slapping his hat against his pants leg. He was dirty and tired, but he was satisfied with what they’d accomplished. “If you’d like, I can ask in town to see how much money you can get for it.”

  Abigail blinked twice, then sat up straighter. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Selling the crop?”

  “I mean...I know you sell crops. I am Amish, despite what you may think.”

  “Never said you weren’t.”

  “I hadn’t thought about the money. That will come in handy.”

  Thomas cleared his throat, waiting for Abigail to stop staring off into the distance. There were practically thought bubbles above her head of all she planned to purchase with the harvest money.

  “Your horse needs some things for the winter.”

  “Things?”

  “There’s plenty of hay, but you’ll need protein to supplement that.”

  “How much is—”

  “Plus, you’ll need the farrier to come by soon.”

  “I don’t even know who that is.”

  “Can’t say as I’m surprised. It doesn’t seem like Belle’s hooves have been attended to in a while. The last thing you need is a lame mare.”

  Abigail glowered at him, but did he back off? He did not, because although he was a patient person, he wasn’t actually paying attention to the signals that Abigail was throwing his direction. He was tired and dirty and wanted to go home and shower.

  “Then there’s the goats in the back field that will also need winter supplies. And there is the cost of the cover crop, which we talked about on the first day I was here.”

  “Stop.” Abigail slapped her hand against the arm of the rocker. “Do I look like I’m worried about a cover crop? Or goats? The only thing I’m worried about at this minute is this boppli.”

  Her hand rested on her stomach, and Thomas thought maybe he saw the unborn child move.

  He stepped back.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this right now.”

  “Absolutely we’re going to talk about it. Don’t go figuring out how I’m going to spend money from a harvest that I didn’t even know I’d receive.”

  He held up his hands and again stepped back. If she kept glaring at him, he’d end up in the field before she finished venting.

  Abigail didn’t appear to notice that he was retreating.

  She lumbered to her feet and stepped closer. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had even ten dollars in the cash jar?”

  “Abigail...”

  “Over a month. That’s how long. Because Asher died on a Sunday and he would put cash in the jar on Monday, so I could go to the store during the week. Of course, he couldn’t a month ago because he was lying dead in the barn, where I found him.”

  She was now making her way down the steps, so Thomas took yet another step back.

  “And why do you keep backing away from me as if I’m contagious?”

  He held up his hands. “I never said you were contagious, but maybe you should...”

  “Do not tell me to calm down, Thomas Albrecht. If you have any goodness at all in you, do not tell me to calm down. I have a child coming, and I am going to need money for that child.”

  “Your church—”

  “I will not depend on the charity of my church if I can do it on my own.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting—”

  But it was obvious that Abigail wasn’t listening. The goat had appeared and began to munch on her dead plants. Before Thomas could shoo the animal away, Abigail had snatched up the broom and was proceeding to thrust it at the goat, who continued to snatch away pieces of the dead plant, bleating at her between bites.

  Instead of yielding, Abigail raised the broom and landed a good solid slap on the goat’s rump, who looked at her once then darted away.

  Thomas didn’t know who was more surprised—him or the goat. He thought Abigail might start crying again.

  Or perhaps holler at him more.

  Instead, she sank to the porch steps and let out a howl of laughter. It was possibly more frightening than her tears.

  He shuffled from one foot to the other.

  Gingerly, he took the broom away and placed it against the porch railing. Why was he always taking a broom away from her?

  Unsure what else to do, he attempted to stick the now-decimated plant back into the pot.

  Finally, Abigail wiped her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. “Naomi sent a loaf of pumpkin bread. Care for some?”

  “Depends. Do I get to eat it? Or are you going to throw it at me?”

  Instead of replying, she pulled herself up, climbed the steps and disappeared into the house. Thomas had no idea whether he should go in and help, so he swept the steps clean of the dirt caused by the goat’s bad manners. He set the broom at the corner of the porch, looked around for something else to do and found nothing. Finally, he opened the front door and stuck his head inside. “Need help?”

  “Ya. Please.”

  He found her in the kitchen, slicing pumpkin bread onto a plate. The kettle on the stove had begun to whistle, so he poured the hot water into the two mugs she’d set out, happy to see that her tea tin was once again full.

  Abigail met his gaze. A tiny smile was all that remained of her giggling fit. “Outside or in?”

  “It’s nice on the porch.”

  “Outside it is.” She grabbed a sweater from the back of a chair and slipped it around her shoulders. The color was a deep blue, and made her look all the prettier. He wondered if it had come from the bag of clothing. Did pregnant women need bigger sweaters as well as bigger dresses and shoes?

  She picked up the plate of bread. He picked up the mugs and followed her outside.

  He didn’t feel as bad about eating her food or drinking her tea, since the bishop’s wife had obviously sent a good deal of supplies home with her. He’d made it through his second piece of bread when she finally spoke.

  “Have you ever been on an Englisch carnival ride?”

  “Once.” Thomas smiled at the memory. “Unfortunately, I’d had a corn dog, soda and cotton candy beforehand. Lost all of it the minute I stepped off the ride.”

  Abigail’s head bobbed in agreement. “My parents would never allow such a waste of money, but I went with a friend once to a local fair. This was in Monte Vista, where I grew up.”

  “Colorado, right?”

  “Yup. Small community. Anyway, they have this rodeo once a year, and my mamm was off at a relative’s back east and my dat just wanted to be rid of me and my siblings for a few hours. No doubt, we were a handful.”

  He didn’t interrupt. She seemed more relaxed than she had since he’d met her, though her expression was no longer smiling.

  “Anyway. I didn’t eat before the ride, didn’t have any extra money at all, but my best friend purchased two ride tickets. The fair wasn’t big enough to have an actual roller coaster, but there was this teacup thing.”

  “I remember that one.” Thomas swirled his finger. “Round and round.”

  “Exactly. I tried to walk after we got off the ride, and I kept lurching side to side.” She looked at him then, looked directly at him without the wall that normally seemed to separate her. “That’s what my life feels like n
ow. Like I’m lurching from side to side—one moment sad and crying and the next laughing hysterically. It’s not...it’s not proper. I’m sorry.”

  He met her gaze, looked so deeply into those brown eyes that he felt like he was falling. He gulped and glanced away. “You don’t have to apologize, Abigail. You’ve suffered a tragedy with your husband’s death, and now you’re in a precarious situation and pregnant on top of that. It’s hard on a person...I know because my schweschder has had six bopplin in six years.”

  “Oh my.”

  “Lily has a husband and a secure home, and my other schweschdern close by, plus me.” He shook his head. “Still, she has those ups and downs, or side to sides, or whatever you call them. I think it might be the baby hormones coupled with the lack of sleep.”

  “Six bopplin.” She shook her head and rubbed her stomach at the same time. “I know Amish have big families, but I can’t imagine dealing with six children. Honestly, I’m not sure how well I’ll handle one.”

  “My other schweschder Grace has two, and my youngest schweschder, Lydia, is pregnant with her first.” He broke off another piece of the pumpkin bread and popped it in his mouth. “What I’m saying is you don’t have to apologize. I understand. Well, I mean I can’t understand myself since I haven’t experienced it, but I can guess what it’s like.”

  She studied him a minute, and he wondered if she was about to lurch to one side or the other. But instead, she said, “You’re a nice person, Thomas.”

  “Danki.”

  “And I’ll let you know by Monday what I plan to do with the harvest money.” When he smiled, she added quickly, “Don’t spend any of it. This is my decision, and I know those things you mentioned are important, but I need time to think about it.”

  “Fair enough, just don’t—”

  “Wait too long. Ya. I can see you’re anxious to whip things into shape around here.”

  “It’s what you’re paying me to do.”

  That sat between them, the irony of it sharp and shiny. She wasn’t actually paying him anything.

  “I guess I should be going.” He stood, then stopped to pick up the teacup and plate, but she waved him away.