A Christmas Visitor

by Amy Clipston

  “Not true. I love the hymns and the scholars’ performances.” She studied her sneakers. “I was thinking maybe you’d need a helper now that Esther is married.”

  “Get a hit, get a hit, Sally! I have essays to read!” Susan clapped her hands. Her high voice carried over the batter-batter-swing chant of the infield. “I can always use help, but I’m having a hard time imagining you here, inside, every day. At recess, jah, but doing reading with the little ones, nee.”

  “I have to do something.” Frannie fought the urge to stamp her feet. “I can’t stay at Aenti Abigail’s all day long, doing laundry and washing dishes.”

  “That’s what she does. That’s what fraas do.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. She does it for her mann and her kinner.”

  “You don’t think you’ll have your own mann and boplin one day?”

  “It’s not looking that way.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.”

  “Susan!”

  Susan stomped on the base with both sneakers. “You don’t know what Gott’s plan for you is. You don’t. So right now, the best thing to do is wait upon the Lord. Wait and be patient.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You never married. You never had your own boplin.”

  “Nee.” Susan clapped and shouted encouragement to Sally, who took a big swing and missed. Strike two. “Things might not have turned out exactly as I planned, but they turned out as Gott planned. In that I am certain and I’m content. When Mordecai’s first fraa was killed in the van wreck and Phineas nearly died, Mordecai needed me. They needed me. I was there and ready and able to step in when I was needed. I thank Gott for that. I know Mordecai does too.”

  Feeling thoroughly small and chastised, Frannie crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re right.”

  “Jah, I’m right. And Gott’s plan for me is not at an end yet. Who knows what the future will bring? Only Gott. The same is true for you. Be patient. Wait to see what He has in store for you. It’ll be greater than anything you can imagine for yourself.” Susan grinned at her, unaware that Frannie had heard all this before from Aunt Abigail. It bore repeating, no doubt. “Besides, as a teacher, I get to play games every day at recess. Who could ask for more?”

  The crack of bat against ball filled the air. Susan took off, arms and legs pumping. “See you at home plate.”

  Stop being so self-centered. That’s what Susan meant to say, only she was too kind to use those words. Stop thinking of only herself.

  Frannie climbed into the wagon and picked up the reins, still picturing Susan’s cheerful face. Sorry, Gott. Thy will be done. If that means Leroy sends Rocky home and I end up an unmarried aunt to a boatload of nieces and nephews like Susan, so be it.

  “Hey, Frannie.”

  She looked back. Susan scampered across the yard, her hand on her side as if running had given her a stitch. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll talk with Leroy.”

  “You mean it?”

  “If nothing else, you can be my recess monitor.”

  “I’ll do more than that.”

  “No eating their lunches.”

  “Just their cookies.”

  “It’s not forever, Frannie.”

  Maybe not. “Danki.”

  Susan laughed. “You’ll be sorry when I make you practice their times tables with them.”

  “Two times four is nine, right?”

  Susan’s laugh followed her as she drove the buggy from the yard and out onto the dirt road that led to Mordecai’s. It wasn’t forever. Nee, maybe not. But this was her show of faith. She had a job. She would move on with her life if that was what Gott required.

  Thy will be done.

  She repeated the words over and over on the ride home until they sounded like a hymn sung to the clickety-clack of the wagon wheels on the dirt road and the clippity clop-clop of the horse’s hooves.

  Finally, she began to say them aloud, sure she could learn to mean them.

  CHAPTER 11

  Some folks might think hunting was about camaraderie among men more than the sport itself. It might be, but Rocky could see that Mordecai and Caleb were serious about bagging a wild turkey or two. Otherwise, most likely they’d be eating chicken for Thanksgiving. Not that anything was wrong with chicken when a person had an empty belly, but Thanksgiving by all rights should include turkey. Being asked to come along on this hunting trip was an honor. He had to remind himself of that. In the dusk before dawn, the air was soupy with rain that misted on their faces and dampened their coats. His boots made a squelching sound in thick mud that made it difficult to pick up his feet. If only he could help them put a big bird on the table. Today was their last chance. So far they’d seen not a feather nor heard the kerr-kerr of a hen.

  “This land has been picked clean.” Caleb shoved his hat down on his head with one hand and nestled his shotgun against his chest with the other. He sounded like a grown man, not an eleven-year-old. He’d likely been hunting for years. “We might as well head home.”

  Mordecai put a finger to his lips and smiled. “It’s early. They’re still roosting. You know turkeys don’t like getting wet in the rain any more than we do. When it’s raining they can’t hear predators approaching. They’ll head out to the fields to look for insects for breakfast any minute now.”

  As always, Mordecai was a fountain of information delivered in a soft, gruff voice. “Until then, I could use a spot of hot kaffi.” He tugged a thermos from a knapsack on his shoulder. “How about you, Englisch man?”

  Something about the way he said “Englisch man” made it a term of endearment, which surprised Rocky to no end. He accepted the offering, popped the cup from the top of the thermos, and unscrewed the lid. “I was surprised when you asked me to come along.”

  Mordecai eased onto a fallen tree trunk, seemingly unaware or uncaring that it was damp from end to end. “Would you be surprised if I invited you to Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” Might as well be honest. If a man couldn’t be honest on a hunting trip, then there wasn’t much left to do on this earth. “Why would you put me in close proximity to—”

  “To my family.” Mordecai shook his finger at him, his gaze on Caleb, who squatted nearby drinking hot chocolate from his own small thermos. “First, it’s a way of thanking you again for the kindness you showed my fraa. When I think of her alone there on the side of the road, hurt, well, I . . .”

  His voice had grown hoarse, as it had the first time he thanked Rocky for stopping to help Abigail when the buggy overturned. Who wouldn’t have stopped? Anyone with a heart surely would help a woman on the side of the road. “No need to thank me for being a decent human being—”

  “I also have been following your progress with Leroy and in general,” Mordecai interrupted, also surprising as it wasn’t something Plain folks generally did. The man had something to say, it seemed. “You’ve worked hard and walked quietly among us, following the lead of the other men. You seem earnest in your endeavor.”

  “I am earnest.”

  “It’s a hard row.”

  “It is.”

  “Are you prepared to learn German?”

  “I am.”

  “Not just Deutsch, but High German as you’ve heard in the services?”

  “I am.”

  “Is your heart prepared?”

  Rocky contemplated the question, trying to follow Mordecai’s thinking. “If you mean do I understand the calling to faith and how it’s practiced in this community, yes, my heart is prepared. M
ore than prepared. I feel as if I’ve waited my whole life for this.”

  “No more competitive sports. No more boxing matches.”

  “I wouldn’t be here now if those were more important to me than my walk in faith.”

  Rocky paused, the images from his past life painting a montage in his mind. Parent-pitch and T-ball with his dad, Pony league with his uncle, flag football, tackle football, YMCA basketball, competitive basketball, tryouts, making the teams in multiple sports in junior high, high school, college. Championships and trophies. Cheerleaders, bonfires, and pep rallies. His life had revolved around something Mordecai would never understand. But if Rocky knew anything, it was that sports were simply games. Games that taught children leadership, teamwork, loyalty, and social skills, but still games. They didn’t make a life, but they helped hone character. Sports crafted leaders, but they did nothing to fill the void in his chest where his faith should reside.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t apologize for my previous life choices,” he said finally. “I believe in sports. As a teaching tool for good values, but also for health and physical fitness. For helping kids blow off steam at recess so they can sit still and learn in class. I’m sure you’ve seen this at your school and with your kinner, so you know what I’m saying is true.”

  “I don’t question your past choices. I’m only trying to understand your current choices.” Mordecai took a swallow of coffee that steamed in the chill of the early morning. “And to make sure you won’t regret them.”

  “Nee, I won’t.” Rocky elbowed Caleb, who grunted and nearly spilled his hot chocolate. “I fully expect to play a lot more basketball and softball in these parts, given the chance. I’ll even play volleyball if nothing else presents itself.”

  Caleb stood. “Yeah, after we eat tomorrow we can play ball.”

  “Sure. We’ll work off all those carbs.”

  “Carbs?”

  “Wait.” Mordecai held up a hand. “Hear that?”

  His voice had dropped to a whisper. A sound like yelps and then the kerr-kerr sound of hens talking to one another. “Kerr-kerr. Yamp, yamp, kerr, yamp,” Mordecai called back, mimicking the sounds perfectly. “Kerr, kerr, yamp, kerr, yamp.”

  Rocky reached for the thermos. Caleb tucked his in the knapsack and stood, his Winchester at the ready. With luck the calls would bring the birds their direction. Time to hunt.

  A crack broke the silence. Like a firecracker or . . . a gunshot.

  Something whizzed over Rocky’s head, so close he felt the cool breeze. A pinging sound echoed from behind him.

  A shot.

  A second bullet thunked as it dug into the trunk of a mesquite tree behind them.

  His cup hit the mud near his boot.

  Feeling as if he moved in slow motion, Rocky hurled himself at Caleb. The boy let out a humpft as they hit the ground face-first in the mud.

  Another shot pinged over their heads.

  “Cease fire!” he hollered, aware of Mordecai flat on his stomach next to them. “Cease fire.”

  Mordecai yelled something in Deutsch.

  Adrenaline pumping through him like an out-of-control geyser, Rocky inched up his head and waved his cap. “Stop shooting now!”

  Voices clamored. A few seconds later two Englisch men in drab brown-and-gray camo tramped toward them, their shotguns pointed at the ground. Both looked stricken. “Hey, are you guys okay?” The shorter man with a full Duck Dynasty beard and thick glasses had a cigarette-roughened voice. “So sorry, man, I thought I saw a tom fly out of the trees in this direction.”

  Rocky scrambled to his feet. Mordecai and Caleb did the same. For a few seconds, the only sound was their heavy breathing.

  “This is private property.” Rocky spoke first. Mordecai was busy inspecting every inch of Caleb as if he couldn’t believe his stepson hadn’t been hit. “You must’ve wandered through a gate without realizing.”

  The taller man shoved back a hat with GUARD YOUR SECOND AMENDMENT RIGHTS embroidered on it. “Sorry, man, we might have gotten a little off track, what with following the droppings and the molting.” Curiosity etched across his face, his gaze fluttered to Mordecai and Caleb. “You’re Amish folks? I didn’t know you hunted. I thought you were pacifists.”

  The shaking in his legs made it hard for Rocky to stand. He eased onto the tree trunk Mordecai had vacated. “We only hunt what we eat.” The we came out like the most natural thing in the world. “You’ll find the road off this property up there to your left. Follow the path.”

  “Sorry about that. We’d didn’t see y’all.”

  “Like I said, no harm done.”

  He watched them trudge away until they were out of sight, somehow not convinced they would actually leave if he didn’t.

  “We’re fine.” Mordecai squatted next to him. Caleb flopped down on his knees, seemingly oblivious to the mud, bits of weeds, and grass that covered his clothes. “Like you said, no harm done.”

  “Way too close for comfort.”

  “It’s one of the risks of hunting season. Too many folks, too little territory. Some of them are weekend warriors who don’t give a hoot about safety or don’t know any better.” The pallor on his usually brown face reflected more concern than Mordecai seemed to want to admit. “You handled it right.”

  “How so?”

  “You thought quickly and moved quickly under fire, however shaken. Then you were firm but calm with those fellows.” Mordecai brushed leaves and dirt from his black jacket and pants. “Just as you should have been. Oftentimes a scare like that will cause a person to react with anger.”

  Rocky examined the last few minutes in his mind’s eye. Anger had been there, but also the understanding that it was an accident. They didn’t seek out fellow hunters at whom they could shoot. It could have been tragic. Thanks be to God, it wasn’t. “I think the time I spent over the years coaching kids has a lot to do with the way I react to things. Usually calm works best.”

  “Agreed. It’s good to know you’re not one to fly off the handle under duress. Plain folks don’t abide by that much.” Mordecai gave Caleb’s shoulder another squeeze. The boy’s face still looked pasty. “You good?”

  Caleb nodded. “We’re still hunting, aren’t we?”

  “Jah.” Mordecai clapped Rocky on the back. “My fraa will be very disappointed if we come home without a bird for the table tomorrow.”

  Rocky blew out air. One thing was for certain. He couldn’t afford to disappoint Abigail.

  CHAPTER 12

  The once heady aroma of Thanksgiving turkey now made Frannie want to open a window. The food had been wonderful. She’d eaten too much of it, in fact. Like the others, she wasn’t used to such a bounty of rich foods. That second piece of pecan pie had been the breaking point. Or maybe it was the second yeast roll slathered with fresh butter. Wishing she could loosen her dress somehow, she placed the last of the clean plates on the shelf above her head. Since she’d chosen to dry, she was the last one in the kitchen. Rebekah had dragged Hazel off for a much-needed nap. Frannie could use one herself. Hours to prepare, minutes to eat, hours to clean up afterward. That’s what her mudder always said with a certain air of satisfaction. Men might bring home the turkey, but womenfolk did the lion’s share of the work when it came to this holiday and most others.

  A wave of sadness swept over her. This was her first Thanksgiving away from her parents and silly little Hannah and baby Rachel, who wasn’t a baby anymore. Her brother Obadiah would be there with his fraa and kinner, as would Rufus. Joshua was courting, according to Hannah, but they weren’t sure with whom. If Frannie were there, she’d figure it out. She had a way of doi
ng that.

  Someone else was spending the holiday away from his family. Rocky. It hadn’t hurt his appetite. He’d put away two helpings of turkey, exclaiming over how much better the darker meat was than a store-bought bird, cornbread stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, gravy, cranberries, and two pieces of pie—one pumpkin, one pecan. Not that she was watching or counting.

  They hadn’t spoken since the auction. Since his declaration. He hadn’t shone his flashlight in her window. Or sent her a note. Nothing. Right now he was out in the front room by the fireplace playing card games with Caleb and her other cousins.

  Which was why she would head out the kitchen door for a nice, long walk far from temptation. She needed to work off the food anyway. Grabbing her shawl from the hook by the back door, she bundled up and put her hand on the doorknob.

  “Where are you going?”

  She bowed her head. Almost made it. Her heart began to thump like Butch’s tail against the porch railing when she petted him. “You have to stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Popping up everywhere.”

  “I didn’t pop up. I came for another glass of lemonade. Is that a crime?”

  Crime? So often he talked nonsense. Still, Frannie wanted to smile. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Are you going for a walk?”

  What was his first hint? “Jah.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “Nee.”

  “Don’t be that way.”

  “My aenti is out there.”

  “She went to her room for a nap. Onkel Mordecai is passed out in the rocking chair. The boys are going to play kick the can or some such game I’ve never heard of.”

  “I thought you promised Caleb a game of basketball.”