An Unexpected Joy

by Ruth Reid

  Micah’s gaze shifted to Fran, then dropped to the wooden floor. “I’m looking to hire a temporary caregiver for mei grandmother,” he said. “Mei parents went out of town to stay with mei sister until she delivers her boppli, and I recently received some unexpected work.” He looked toward the door. “But I have to go.” Turning quickly, he practically knocked over a display of pine wreaths on his way to the door.

  Abigail looked at Fran. “He’s nett normally clumsy. Wonder why he’s in such a hurry.”

  Fran shrugged. “Maybe it has something to do with his grandmother.” She motioned to the basket Abigail was holding. “Yesterday, I was told that we can’t sell any more of your baked goods.”

  “Why nett?”

  Fran dropped eye contact and shook her head.

  “I’ve been selling mei baked goods here for three years. You’ve even given me several fruitcake orders for next week. Do you still want them?”

  Fran shrugged.

  Abigail had never seen the store owner’s daughter this apprehensive. “Fran, tell me what’s changed?”

  Fran leaned closer. “You’ve been seen at the Lambright farm,” she whispered.

  “Malinda’s mei cousin. You know we’re like sisters.”

  Fran nodded. “She was a gut friend of mine as well.”

  “Was?” Abigail stiffened her back.

  “That’s the way it is.” Fran motioned to her basket. “I’m nett supposed to accept any more of your baked goods until you stop associating with the Lambrights. The family is on the verge of being shunned.”

  “The bishop hasn’t made that official.”

  “But he did say the Lambrights are to be avoided until that decision is reached. Your defiance won’t fare well. You’ll be punished if you don’t obey the rules.” Fran bowed her head. “I’m really sorry, Abigail. I know a lot of our customers will be disappointed.”

  Nowhere near as disappointed as Abigail. She didn’t agree with the bishop and elders’ decision to isolate the entire Lambright family. They hadn’t all disobeyed the Ordnung. But now that her income was cut off, how would she afford Cactus? Mr. Troyer wouldn’t hold on to the horse forever. Clutching her basket close, Abigail chewed the inside of her cheek. Where could she sell her baked goods? The Quilter’s Square? No, they would be under the same restrictions. Then remembering what Micah had said about hiring a caregiver, excitement bubbled within her. She raced to the door.

  CHAPTER 2

  Micah stood in the quilt shop next to the wall display of thread and waited for Elizabeth Kemp to finish helping a customer with her fabric selection. He tapped his boot against the hardwood floor. He should have brought his grandmother into town with him instead of leaving her at home alone. No telling what she might try to cook if she woke from her nap while he was gone.

  The bell above the door jingled, and Abigail entered.

  He stepped behind a bolt of fabric. As a close friend of her older brother, he’d known her for years. She hadn’t changed much since school, still spindly with hair the color of milk chocolate and piercing green eyes. At twenty-three, she was still a sweet girl, but he didn’t have time to get trapped in a long conversation. He peeked around the roll of green cotton material as Abigail breezed farther into the room, carrying a wicker basket.

  She nodded at her sister, then pivoted around to scan the room.

  Don’t look this way. His heart beat faster. He dropped to one knee and retied his boot.

  Footsteps grew closer, then stopped. “Micah, I’m so glad I caught you.”

  He forced a smile and looked up to face Abigail.

  “Have you asked Elizabeth yet?”

  He hesitated a moment. The twinkle in her green eyes was almost enchanting. Micah shook his head. “She’s been busy with a customer.” Unfortunately.

  “I can do it,” she blurted. Her head bobbed up and down like a horse trying to gain more rein.

  His throat dried.

  “You need someone to watch your mammi, jah?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m available.” Her smile widened. “How long do you need someone? Nett that it matters. I don’t have any plans. Will it be past Christmas?”

  He glanced across the room at Elizabeth—the quieter Kemp sister. Another customer had stolen her away. He lost his opportunity and time was slipping away.

  “So, do you need someone?”

  Jah, someone compatible with Mammi. He glanced at the clock hanging on the far wall. He had to get back and he still had one more stop to make. Abigail stood patiently awaiting his answer. Say something. He had an overwhelming feeling he would regret this. Micah let out a breath. “I have an order to fill by Christmas Eve. It might be long hours.”

  “That’s fine. I really want the job.” She took a step closer and lifted her basket. “Do you like apple pie?”

  Her eagerness was a bit daunting—unsuitable for a woman. If he had more time to call on someone else . . . but he didn’t. Even taking time to ponder other possibilities when his grandmother was home alone was risky.

  “Okay,” he said, moving toward the door.

  “Should I start today?”

  He needed time to prepare Mammi and with the way this morning was going, he might never finish his business in town. “Tomorrow morning will be fine. Kumm by around eight.”

  She followed him out of the quilt shop and over to his parked buggy. “You never said if you liked apple pie.”

  “Sure.” He untied Clover from the post and gathered the reins.

  Abigail thrust a pie pan toward his chest. “Do you want one or two? Actually, I have four.”

  He eyed the sugar granules sprinkled over the golden crust. “One is plenty, danki.”

  She released the pie into his hands. “Tell your mammi I look forward to spending time with her. Maybe I’ll bring a puzzle for us to put together.”

  Micah’s insides wrenched. He still had to figure out a way to tell his grandmother that he hired a sitter to keep her company. Was it too much to hope for his parents to return early?

  Elated to have a job, Abigail headed down the sidewalk with a skip in her step. She stopped at the grocery store and purchased a sack of sugar, then spent time gazing at the different Christmas displays in the store windows. Blinking lights framed the windows and fluffy, snow-like cotton decorated the display ledge. Shiny wrapped packages with big, fancy bows were placed under trees that were adorned with glittering ornaments. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” played as a shopper opened the door of the shoe store. Abigail had heard the song before in the grocery store and found herself humming along. She strolled down the sidewalk to more storefronts bedecked with Santa decorations. No doubt the owners were overlooking the real reason for the season. Three blocks later, she spotted a nativity display. Even then it shared a spot with an ice-skating snowman.

  She lifted her face to the cloudless blue sky. She was thankful for the simple way her people celebrated Christmas. Sharing a large meal, exchanging practical, homemade gifts, and reflecting on our Savior’s birth.

  A woman and toddler exited a clothing store. The small boy stared at Abigail while his mother smiled apologetically, wished Abigail “Happy Holidays,” then nudged the boy’s shoulder to move him along.

  “Merry Christmas,” Abigail called as they walked away. She meandered farther down the sidewalk. It didn’t feel like Christmas yet. Usually by this time in December, she and Malinda would be busy sewing or baking. Malinda had practically lived at their house while they were growing up. It wouldn’t be Christmas if their families couldn’t spend it together. A gust of wind nipped at her fa
ce. Abigail clutched the basket tighter against her chest and lowered her head to block the wind.

  As she neared the old hardware store on the outskirts of town, a man dressed in tattered clothing and leaning against the side of the building stretched out his legs across the sidewalk just as she was about to pass. She stumbled but caught her balance before falling. “I didn’t see you. I’m sorry.”

  He grumbled something about watching where she walked and pulled his knitted hat over his ears.

  She took a few steps and pivoted around. Normally she didn’t talk to strangers, not men anyway. But his face was gaunt and her conscience wouldn’t let her continue without offering him something to eat. She reached into her basket and removed two large containers of cookies. “Would you like some cookies?”

  He grabbed the containers and removed the lids. He consumed a peanut-butter cookie in a matter of seconds and then sank his hand into the tin for another one.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said, filled with the warmth of the season. Abigail waited a moment, then walked away. She hadn’t made it to the next building before she heard footsteps behind her. She increased her pace. This end of town wasn’t populated with shoppers. Her breath caught in her throat when something tugged the shoulder of her wool cloak.

  “Hey, lady.” The man pulled harder on her cloak.

  She stopped and faced the tall stranger.

  He swept the cookie crumbs from the front of his grungy shirt. “Merry Christmas, lady.”

  Abigail smiled, opening her mouth to return the greeting, but a strong hand clamped her arm and whisked her in the opposite direction.

  Micah drew her closer. “Mei buggy is parked behind the hardware store.”

  Before she had a chance to register what was happening, Micah took the basket by the handle and herded her away from the man.

  “You should have said something at the quilt shop about needing a ride home,” he said once they reached his buggy.

  “I didn’t need a ride.” His concern was charming, but his curt reaction to the stranger was rude.

  He opened the buggy door, set the basket on the bench, then nodded for her to get in.

  She stilled herself. A gust of wind swept through the alley, lifting her prayer kapp.

  “Abigail, I’m nett going to leave you with that stranger. Get in.” Her toes had turned numb and she’d lost the feeling in the tip of her nose. A ride would be nice. She climbed onto the buggy bench.

  He untied his horse from a tree branch, then sat beside her.

  “The man wished me a Merry Christmas. He was harmless.”

  “Maybe so.” He clicked his tongue and the horse lurched forward onto East Main Street.

  “I shared some of mei cookies with him.”

  “I saw you.” He reined the horse, turning onto Nottawa Street, then turned to the right once he reached Market Street and headed out of town.

  Abigail crossed her arms. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Even Jesus fed the hungry. Yet he seemed annoyed by her kind gesture. The man on the street might have been unkempt, but Micah didn’t need to shuttle her into the alley as if the man were a leper.

  The rhythmic clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves over the pavement filled the silence between them.

  “The man’s homeless,” he finally said. “I’d feel horrible if something happened to mei best friend’s little sister.”

  “Homeless and hungry. I couldn’t pass by him without offering him something to eat.”

  “Did you walk into town?” Micah slowed the horse at the intersection and looked both ways even though he had the right-of-way.

  “James was taking Elizabeth into town. They let me tag along.” She picked at her nails. Admitting aloud she had to tag along made her sound like an old maid. One day she would have her own transportation. “Five miles isn’t so far. I’ve walked to town plenty of times.” She just hadn’t planned on having to carry the basket loaded with baked goods.

  “I know.”

  Of course he did. She had seen him outside many times either working in the fields or chopping wood when she passed his parents’ home on her way into town.

  He was silent over the next mile. Abigail studied his profile. Strong jaw, thick neck, wide shoulders, she liked how his dark hair flipped up at his ears.

  He glanced at her briefly, but said nothing.

  “Is there something wrong? You’re awfully quiet,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Worried about Mammi.”

  “You should have brought your grandmother to town.”

  He nodded.

  She pointed to the intersection up the road. “Drop me off at the corner, and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  His forehead creased. “Abigail, it isn’t that far out of mei way. I can take you home.”

  “I know. But I thought you were worried about your mammi.”

  He stared at her a moment before nodding. “Jah. She’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

  “Then drop me off. I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His thoughtfulness was sweet. Why he wasn’t married puzzled her, but she reined in those thoughts. “I’m sure.”

  A few moments later, the buggy rolled to a stop. Abigail collected her basket. “I have more pies. They’re all apple, but would you like another one to take home?”

  “Nay, danki. The one you already gave me is plenty.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, stepping out of the buggy. “Danki for the ride.”

  “Any time.”

  She waited for him to pull away, then went the opposite direction. Malinda’s house wasn’t too far down the road. She hadn’t seen her friend in almost a week and a short visit wouldn’t hurt. She would still be home in time to help Mamm start supper.

  Abigail hiked along the gravel road. The Lambright farm sat at the top of a hill surrounded by large oaks and maples. The bare tree limbs cast eerie shadows on the snow-covered lawn. Halfway up the driveway, she spotted an Englischer dressed in an olive-green T-shirt and jeans, tossing ashes from the woodstove over the garden area. He wore a baseball cap over a shaved head.

  Abigail sucked in a deep breath when her cousin, Thomas, waved. No wonder the bishop and elders didn’t approve of Onkel Titus allowing his son to return home. Anyone could see Thomas hadn’t given up his worldly ways.

  He set the ash pail on the ground and walked toward her.

  “You’ll be punished if you don’t obey the rules.” Fran’s warning from earlier this morning returned. It was one thing to be seen with Malinda—she hadn’t done anything wrong—but Thomas was different. She lowered her head. “Is Malinda home?”

  “No. What’s in the basket?”

  “Pies.” She glanced at the house. “I’ll stop by another time to see her.”

  “What’s your name?”

  She eyed him closer. Did he really not remember her? “I’m Abigail Kemp . . . your cousin.” His face held the same puzzled expression. “Our mothers are sisters.” This was awkward. “Nice seeing you again, Thomas.” Abigail turned.

  “I like pie.”

  “Yes,” she said over her shoulder. “I recall apple was your favorite.”

  “It was?”

  She faced him again. This time, she took a hard look at him. His frame was as rugged as ever, but something was different about his eyes. They held a vacancy she hadn’t seen before. “Yes, Thomas. I seem to remember you were always going back for seconds of apple pie.”

 
He removed his hat and scratched his shaved head.

  “You haven’t been home in a long time.” She wanted to ask why—why he hadn’t written to his family, but she held her tongue. “Aren’t you kalt dressed like that—I mean nett wearing a coat?”

  Thomas glanced at his shirt, then pushed his sleeve up, exposing his tattooed arm. “See my tank?”

  She gasped and looked away.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Thomas Lambright, why would I like that? Why would anyone like tattoos?”

  “It’s a tank—” He puffed out his chest and patted it. “I’m tank.” He pointed to her basket. “I like pies.”

  He wasn’t the shy Thomas who spent most of his days driving a team of mules. She removed the sack of sugar, then handed him the basket. “I’ll pick it up another day.” She walked away while he was still searching the basket contents. Her heart weighed heavy in her chest, wondering what exactly had happened to him. She and Malinda might never be able to resume their friendship if her family continued to harbor this lost soul.

  CHAPTER 3

  A bigail Kemp wasn’t my first choice.” Micah pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have another option. Everyone, with the exception of Abigail, was busy this time of year with Christmas only three weeks away. Besides, Abigail Kemp was hard to say no to. She practically pounced on him yesterday at the fabric store, insisting she would do a good job.

  His grandmother stopped knitting and glanced at him over her reading glasses. “I’ve never needed a caretaker before, and I don’t know why you think I need one nau. Besides, I don’t know anyone from this side of the district.”

  True, she hadn’t attended any sewing get-togethers since she moved in with them last month, but had she forgotten about the grease fire two days ago or that she let the water overflow in the sink just this morning? At eighty-five, she was filled with vinegar, had a bounty of energy, and unfortunately, a mind that was slipping. A lethal combination if left alone. Despite what she believed, she did require more help than he could provide. Besides, how bad could it be to spend three weeks with Abigail—in a closed-up house? Micah cringed. His best friend’s sister was a bit overwhelming to say the least. But she was essential and her chatter would keep his grandmother busy.