by Mary Ellis
Just then Josie, Emily, and Greta came running out of the house. “James!” they shouted in unison.
James felt a tightening in his chest that left him breathless. Never before in his life had he been greeted with so much enthusiasm. Stephen and Hope stepped onto the porch with baby Faith. They grinned and waved.
“I will be fine,” he repeated, and stepped out into a different world. She tooted the horn and drove away, leaving him surrounded by girls all talking fast—two in English and one in Deutsch. “Ya, ya, gut,” he said to Greta, patting the top of her head. He didn’t have a clue what she said.
“Come inside.” Emily grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the house. “I want to show you the gingerbread men I baked.”
Josie took the position at his side. “I’d like to read you my part in the Christmas skit,” she said. “I need to practice my lines. Maybe you can teach me how to project my voice. The teacher said nobody can hear me past the front row.”
Little blond Greta danced around them, chattering away in her native language. Distracted and eager for attention, she tripped over the bottom step. With one hand, James lifted her to her feet. Greta’s dialogue barely faltered as she climbed the stairs, this time facing forward. James glanced at the elder Bowmans to his left.
“We’ll say our hellos inside,” said Hope as Stephen pulled the bag from his hand.
In the kitchen the wood burner had turned the room cozy, while a simmering pot of herbs scented the air like potpourri. “I smell cinnamon and cloves. Has someone been baking?” James winked at Josie.
“It’s cookies.” Emily clapped her hands. “Josie can’t seem to stop herself—three different kinds, plus the gingerbread men I helped Mamm with.”
Josie reached for his coat to hang on a peg. “You’re probably smelling stuffed chicken and sweet potato casserole. I hope you’re hungry, since Mamm roasted three.”
“I’m starved, actually. I haven’t eaten anything since cereal at breakfast.”
“Come look at the gingerbread.” Emily dragged him to the counter where frosted men cooled on baking trays. “The faceless ones are for us; the ones with faces are for you. Look at that one—he’s frowning because he’ll be eaten.” She burst into giggles.
Doing a quick addition, James calculated that he would have plenty of cookie eating to do. “He’s my favorite,” he said. An odd tremor of emotion clogged his throat.
“All right, girls,” said Hope. “Go to the upstairs bathroom and wash for supper. Take Greta with you. Your daed and I would like to squeeze a word in edgewise.” Frowning but without argument, the three filed from the room as though separation would be unbearable.
Stephen dropped James’s duffel on the floor and took a step toward him. “Welcome back. Maybe after we eat I’ll show you the new filly.”
“I would like that.” James found it hard to focus as Stephen stretched out his hand for a clumsy shake. Then he disappeared up the steps with his bag. James was alone in the room with the woman who’d given birth to him.
“I hope you enjoy spending Christmas here,” Hope said. “But don’t be afraid to tell your sisters to leave you alone. And regarding things between you and me? We’ll take life slow, with you calling the bullets.”
Hope’s incorrect slang took him a moment to decipher. “I believe you mean calling the shots.” When he met her gaze she was smiling. “And I think we’ll do just fine.”
Hope drew the quilt tighter around the baby. Stephen checked the road ahead and behind. It was Christmas Eve—the holiest night of the year. Their buggy rolled down the two-lane road at a brisk pace since the gelding was eager to get to the barn and his bucket of oats. Hope was equally eager to get her family home, safe and warm.
Her whole family.
James Webb had settled easily into the Bowman routine. He stayed in touch with the Hydes and his friends with his cell phone or e-mail whenever near the McDonald’s in town. He said they had free WiFi, which apparently meant he could send e-mail. In the backseat Josie, James, and Emily talked endlessly about the school pageant and the caroling afterward.
“I heard you just fine, Josie. And I was sitting in the second to the last row.” James had been trying to build Josie’s confidence since they left the school.
Josie sighed. “But I stuttered several times and lost my place. If the teacher hadn’t prompted my lines, we’d all still be sitting there.”
“Plus you mispronounced the word myrrh. It sounded like you said ‘murf,’” Emily added.
“Only a minor slipup,” said James. “Everyone makes those. Basically your performance was top-notch. Your voice contained the most emotion.”
“Thanks, James. I’m glad it’s over.” Josie sounded more than relieved; she sounded self-assured.
And Hope? She wished his two-week vacation would never end.
When they arrived home everyone changed clothes and went to do their chores. Even on Christmas Eve, animals still needed to be fed, watered, and milked. Hope served a light supper of beef vegetable soup with homemade bread so they had room for the popcorn, sugar cookies, and cocoa. Later they gathered in the living room around the fireplace—James on the ladderback chair; the girls lined up on the couch, Hope in the rocker with Faith in her arms.
Stephen took his well-worn Bible down from the mantel, settled into the recliner, and cleared his throat. “On Christmas Eve, we like to read the three gospel accounts of Jesus’ birth. I’ll read the first story in the book of Matthew.”
Josie raised her hand. “I’ll take Mark. I won’t be nervous with family like I was in school.”
Hope, the usual reader of the third account, hesitated just a few seconds. Her patience was rewarded.
James lifted and dropped his shoulders. “I’m not great with American novelists or poetry, but I can read pretty well.”
“Then let’s begin.” Stephen began the account in his baritone voice. Greta, with the typical attention span of a four-year-old, dozed off during Josie’s recitation. Bible reading was a new experience for James, and he stumbled over unfamiliar names. But everyone had to start somewhere on their spiritual path.
And between the cookies and snacks and toasted marshmallows, Hope could barely contain her joy.
On Christmas morning, Hope rose at first light to say her morning prayers before excitement made concentration difficult. Stephen had kissed her brow and gone to his chores thinking she still slept. But soon after he left she got up and dressed, set out gifts on the kitchen table, and started breakfast. She had barely filled her skillet with strips of bacon when James padded into the room. He wore dark slacks and a solid, long-sleeved shirt.
“Good morning,” he said, but stopped in his tracks before reaching the fridge. “Presents? I thought Amish people didn’t get into the commercialization of Christmas.” He pointed at the array of wrapped packages.
Hope sliced a loaf of bread. “We don’t decorate the house or put up a tree, but we exchange presents—everyone usually gets one. After all, didn’t the wise men come to Bethlehem bearing gifts?”
“But I didn’t get anybody anything.”
Hope shook her head. “Trust me—having you here is all we wanted.”
James opened the cupboard for a glass. “I guess it’ll take awhile to learn the ropes.”
“The Bowmans are nothing if not patient.”
He poured a glass of milk and drank half, then cleared his throat. “While it’s just the two of us, I’ve got something to ask. A favor, kind of.”
Hope turned. “A favor?”
“Yeah, well.” He hesitated. “I’ve been thinking—that is, if it’s all right with you—I thought, well, maybe I could spend next summer on the farm.”
Hope blinked back tears and for a moment couldn’t speak.
“Did I say something stupid?”
She shook her head. “You’re wrong, you know, about not getting us a Christmas gift. This is the best gift ever. Nothing could make me happier.”
James ducked and grinned and gave her a one-armed hug. “It’s settled then.”
Yes, it was settled. Her son was back—her family restored. And no one would separate them again.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” he asked.
Hope turned the burner to low, then wiped her hands on her apron. “We’ll drive to my parents’ for dinner. My sisters and their families will be there. Everyone brings food to share. I’m taking potato and macaroni salads.”
“So I’ll meet your dad—the one who wouldn’t let you bring me home.” James met her gaze and held it.
“Only if you wish to. Otherwise, you could stay here and read or go to Lancaster in a cab. The McDonald’s on Lincoln Highway will be open.” The words stuck in her throat. “Tomorrow will be the second day of Christmas. We’ll head to my brother’s house. Half the district will be there, including Becky Byler and plenty of young people. If the pond freezes, everyone will be ice skating. If we get more snow, there will be sledding, sleigh rides, and a bonfire. I think you’ll enjoy yourself.”
“I don’t own ice skates.”
Hope nodded toward the stacked boxes. “You do now. I believe they’ll fit.”
“Thanks. So you have two days of visiting folks? I think I’ll go to both, if that’s all right. I’m not afraid of your dad. It’s water under the bridge.”
Hope turned back to the stove, exhaling her pent-up breath. “He’s only one man. His opinion cannot hurt us.”
The Klobentz farm was a frenzy of activity when the Bowmans arrived. All the nephews and nieces were building snowmen and snow forts in the front yard, while adults congregated on the porch as if it were a warm summer day.
“Those are our cousins,” announced Emily. “I’ll introduce you to everybody, James, but don’t worry if you can’t remember folks’ names.”
James leaned forward between her and Stephen. “Will everyone speak English?”
“Yes, everyone older than six. Don’t worry.” Hope smiled as young people ran toward their buggy.
“Looks like they found out you were coming.” Josie grasped his hand as they stepped out to a dozen smiling faces . . . and one with an expression like sour milk.
Silas Klobentz marched toward them bundled in his heavy wool coat. He waited until his grandchildren finished introductions, then stepped forward like Pharaoh about to address his subjects. Most of the kinner took a step back.
Except for James Webb. He stood straight and tall, his shoulders back, and met the older man’s eye. “Hi, I’m James Webb. I’m Hope’s son.”
Hope held her breath.
After a moment Silas nodded his graying head. “In that case, I’m your grossvader. Welcum. Come inside to eat before you involve yourself in any snowball fights. You’ll need your strength with your new cousins.”
Side by side, the two headed toward the house, while Hope remained rooted in place.
She had just witnessed another miracle . . . on Christmas Day, no less.
Reading Group Guide
1. Why does Hope still harbor resentment for her father? What kind of difficulties does this create for her mother?
2. James is initially reluctant to feel a part of Hope’s family on any level. What are some of the contributing factors to his emotional isolation?
3. Stephen Bowman would consider himself a happy man. Why would he so readily welcome a fifteen-year-old Englischer into his life?
4. This story is about forgiveness as much as it is about God working miracles in our lives. Describe the four types of forgiveness illustrated in Always in My Heart.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Natalie Hanemann and Becky Philpott at HarperCollins Christian Publishing for helping to bring my story to life. Thanks to my proofreader, Joycelyn Sullivan; my agent, Mary Sue Seymour, for her faith in me; and my husband for his continued patience with very late dinners.
OTHER AMISH NOVELLA COLLECTIONS
An Amish Christmas
An Amish Gathering
An Amish Love
An Amish Wedding
An Amish Kitchen
Also by Mary Ellis
The Miller Family series
A Widow’s Hope
Never Far from Home
The Way to a Man’s Heart
An Amish Family Reunion
The Wayne County series
Abigail’s New Hope
A Marriage for Meghan
The New Beginnings series
Living in Harmony
Love Comes to Paradise
A Little Bit of Charm
About the Author
Photo by Christopher Norris
Mary Ellis grew up close to the eastern Ohio Amish community, Geauga County. Before “retiring” to write full-time, Mary taught middle school and worked as a sales rep for Hershey Chocolate. Mary is a CBA and ECPA best-selling author as well as an ACFW Carol Award finalist and runner-up for the 2010 Holt Medallion Award.