by Sarah Price
Once again, she rubbed her eyes and looked out the window, scolding herself for giving herself such a fright. Certainly she hadn’t seen a face in the birdfeeder. It simply could not be, she told herself. This time, the birdfeeder was just that: a birdfeeder. No face. No vapor. No Stephen.
“I best be sitting down,” she whispered. Forgetting about her tea or preparing her supper, she hurried back into the sitting room and quickly drew the curtains shut around the windows. Then, in the darkness, she sat down in her chair. She clasped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth as she tried to make sense of what she thought she had just seen.
But it didn’t make sense.
Everyone knew that once someone died, their earthly body went into the ground while their spiritual body lifted to the heavens. At least, if they were a godly person. Stephen had certainly been that. He had always been the first person willing to help others. He assisted the elderly, helped those with financial struggles, and went out of his way to support those in emotional need. He was in heaven, Elsie told herself. Not in my backyard.
A few minutes passed and she was beginning to calm down. My nerves, she thought. It’s just my nerves, still raw from his death and on edge about my first Christmas alone. Truth was that she missed her bruder. They had a special relationship, especially since they were so close in age. He was much more than just a bruder. He was also her friend. A piece of her had died with him.
It was growing darker out and Elsie felt a wave of sorrow wash over herself. She shut her eyes, trying to push the sadness from her heart. Her rocking slowed and she began to feel herself drifting away. A small nap, she told herself. That’s all she needed. Just half an hour and then should be make supper. Nothing fancy. Mayhaps just a sandwich and reheated soup.
Her breathing slowed down and her head dipped to the side. And the sky continued to grow darker outside the windows in the sitting room.
Chapter Two
She awoke with a start. The clock had just chimed five times. For a moment, she tried to understand why she had awoken. The final chime of the clock was still reverberating. Yet, she knew that it wasn’t the noise of the elegant timepiece on the bookcase that had startled her from her nap. It was a feeling. A feeling that she wasn’t alone in the house. It was dark in the room and she reached on the table by her chair for the flashlight. She regretted now that she hadn’t turned on the kerosene lantern in the kitchen earlier. The glow from that would reach into the sitting room.
“Hello?” she called out, forcing herself to stand and slowly approach the doorway into the kitchen. “Who’s there?”
No answer.
Her heart pounded inside of her chest and, for the briefest of moments, she wondered if she was either dreaming or dying. Certainly it was one of the two, she thought. There was no noise in the house, not even the ticking from the clock that had just chimed. The air felt thick and heavy, a gentle pressure around herself.
“Elsie,” a voice said softly behind her.
She spun around and almost dropped the flashlight.
“Elsie,” the voice repeated. “Be not afraid.”
Surprisingly, with the words, her fear vanished. Instead, she felt a calmness wash over her. Furthermore, with the sense of calmness that she experiences, another sensation followed: happiness. For the first time in such a while, she felt happy. And by feeling happy, she knew that she hadn’t been for a very long time.
“Stephen?” she asked, her voice sounding far too normal and at ease with talking to someone who had passed away seven weeks ago. “Are you there?”
“Come walk with me,” the voice said.
Elsie wasn’t certain what was happening. Surely she was dreaming. Or dying, she thought. Was this how her life was to end? On Christmas Eve and alone with a voice that sounded strangely like her beloved brother, Stephen?
Still, as before, she was at peace and, without knowing how or why, she found herself standing beside the vaporous image of her brother at the family farm from years ago. It wasn’t winter anymore but summertime. Elsie smiled as she stared at the image of her mamm hanging the laundry on the line while the kinner ran about the yard in the late morning sun.
“It’s Mamm!” Elsie whispered.
“Keep looking,” said the gentle voice of her bruder.
The black and white Holstein cows wandered through the back meadow. Beyond that, the growing crop of sweet corn blessed the horizon. A gentle breeze caused the green stalks to sway, just a little, and it created a musical melody that was oh so familiar.
In the distance, Elsie could make out the faint image of a man. He was working the team of mules as they pulled a cutter along the field of growing hay. His battered straw hat was pushed back on his head as he turned to say something to someone on the other side of the cutter.
Within seconds, Elsie saw her two older brothers run to catch up with him. She caught her breath and clapped her hands in delight. It had been years since Jonah and John David had taken their own lives, both struggling with illnesses that had deteriorated their quality of life. Such sorrow and shame their deaths had brought to the community and family. Yet, Elsie had understood that they had made the decision after much consideration. It would be too expensive to spend the remainder of their lives under medical care in a facility and their families would be hard pressed to tend to their needs. Both had gone quietly in the night, their own choice and at their own time. No one had ever spoken about it again.
“Daed and the boys!” she whispered, fighting the urge to cry.
She missed her daed. He had been a right gut man with a quick smile and twinkling eyes that were always bright and cheerful. He laughed a lot, even at the small things such as a kitten playing with a leaf in the yard or a naughty mule that broke through the fencing of its paddock. His gut sense of humor had been contagious, a trait that made him a very well-liked member of the community.
When he had passed, Elsie had been holding his hand. She had felt the peace descend from above and cover his body as his spirit lifted. Without anyone telling her, she knew that he was gone. For a long moment, she had sat by his side, the warmth of his hand slowly ebbing from hers. She just wanted to remember him for a moment without interference from her mamm or the bishop or siblings. He had been a special part of Elsie’s life and she had would miss him, despite knowing that he now walked with the Lord and Jesus.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Stephen prodded her with a simple, “And whom else do you see?”
“Why, I don’t know,” Elsie responded. Wasn’t it enough that she had just seen her mamm, daed, and bruders? The warm memories filled her with a joy that she knew she would treasure forever. She couldn’t imagine why she was having this dream but she knew that it was quite special, indeed. The Lord had seen fit to give her this dream on Christmas Eve and what a magical present that was!
However, at Stephen’s urging, she squinted and looked as hard as she could, trying to find the answer that Stephen sought.
It only took a minute. There was a movement away from the house. Indeed, once she saw that flash of dark green, she spotted it easily: a young girl standing alone by the side of the barn, comforting an even smaller boy. The girl wore a dark green dress with a black apron and a white handkerchief was tied over her head. During chore time, she was less inclined to wear her prayer kapp so that she didn’t have to bleach it for Sunday service. Her feet were bare and dirty as only Amish children can have and still make parents’ smile.
She was leaning over the little boy who wore a blue shirt and black pants with suspenders. His straw hat was on the ground beside him. One of his pant legs was rolled up and he was crying as the little girl inspected a large wound on his leg.
“Why, that’s me!” Elsie gasped. Had she ever been that young, she wondered. This time, the tears came to her eyes and she brushed them aside as she watched. Her dark hair was pulled back and she was so thin. Her waist had not yet thickened with age, following years of pecan pies, homemade bread and
mashed potatoes.
“And me,” said Stephen gently pointed out. “I remember this day so vividly, Sister Elsie. You stopped playing when the others wouldn’t, just to tend to my injury. You even carried me from the side of the barn to Mamm so that I wouldn’t have to put pressure on my leg.” He paused. “I never forgot that moment nor the many other sacrifices that you made during your life. You always seemed to be tending to others, especially me, and missing the brighter moments in life.”
Elsie watched as the little girl scooped the boy into her arms and, just as Stephen had said, carried her over the driveway and the yard to the house so that Mamm could tend to his wound. She had forgotten about that day and, even now as she watched her memory replay it, she had a hard time placing exactly when that happened. As Stephen had pointed out, it was just one of many incidents in her lifetime where she had stopped whatever she was doing to tend the needs of others.
“I have come to visit you, Elsie,” Stephen said, his voice smooth and pleasant. “You need to be reminded of the good that you have done in your life, the sacrifices that you have made on behalf of others. A decision will come your way and I know that you will have a struggle with it. But I also know that you will choose the right way.”
Elsie forced herself to turn her eyes away from the mesmerizing scene that was unfolding on the porch before her. She longed to keep watching, to see her sweet Mamm tend to young Stephen’s wounds, wiping away the blood and rewarding his tears with a homemade cookie. But the words that Stephen had just spoken confused her.
“A decision?” she asked, her voice high pitched and incredulous. “Why, what kind of decision would I possibly have?” She almost laughed at the thought. These days, her decisions were focused on what to eat for meals, the colors to crochet her afghans, or what time to walk to the mailbox for the day’s correspondence.
“A life changing decision,” he said.
Life changing? At 75 years of age? She laughed out loud. Truly, she couldn’t help herself. “Stephen,” she began. “I’m at the end of my life. I can feel that I only have a few years left. There are no decisions left that could change my life at this point.” After all, she thought to herself, there is no one left to help except herself.
“You will see,” he said, his voice barely a whispered. “Just remember, when it comes, that this vision is more than just a dream.”
She gasped. How had he known that she thought it was a dream?
“Yes, Elsie,” he soothed. “I know what you are thinking. And this is not a dream but a gift, a gift to a woman who spent her life putting others first.” He paused. “Now it is your time.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, turning to look at Stephen. But he was gone. She turned back to look at the farm and that, too, was gone. Everything was dark and black, blacker than the dead of night. She felt nothing, saw nothing, smelled nothing. She was alone once again and her head felt a bit fuzzy.
Had she really just visited with her bruder? Or was she, too, experiencing the onset of dementia?
Chapter Three
The sharp knock at the kitchen door startled her from her sleep. She looked around the dark sitting room, relieved to know that she had, indeed, been dreaming. Stephen had not visited her and spoken to her. The dream had seemed so real that the feeling of peace and happiness was still swelling inside of her chest. He had seemed so…there.
There was another knock at the door. The glass rattled and she could see that the sensor light was on, eliminated the front porch.
Elsie reached for her flashlight and clicked it on as she stood up and made her way to the kitchen. Her battery-operated motion sensor outside of the door was one, illuminating the front porch. She could see the outline of a man, his back to the door, through the glass. From the black hat upon his head and the dark suit, she could tell right away that it was an Amish man.
She unlocked the door and opened it, peering outside to see who had come visiting on Christmas Eve.
“Elsie,” the man said. “How are you this evening?”
“Why Bishop Beiler!” She took a step back, smiling at her old friend. “Come in, come in!”
“It’s just Jacob, Elsie. We go back far too long to be anything other than Jacob and Elsie,” he said gently.
She felt her heart catch in her throat. At one point in time, she had hoped to be Jacob’s Elsie. Her bitterness over his marriage to Mary King had faded many decades ago. But she still thought back to that one question that haunted her: What if?
“What brings you here, Bis…Jacob?” she asked.
He glanced around the kitchen and frowned. “It’s so dark in here, Elsie. Let me light the lantern, ja?” He didn’t wait for her answer as he hurried to the table where the kerosene lantern hung. He looked around for a moment until he spied the black metal box on the wall where she kept her matches. Within a few seconds, he had struck the match against the strike plate and lit the lantern. The hiss was first and then the warm glow that filled the room.
With a quick movement, he shook out the match and turned to look for the garbage. It was by the kitchen sink. As he tossed it inside the bin, he noticed the water bubbling on the stove. “Were you expecting someone, then?” he asked, glancing at the kettle.
“Nee, nee,” she gushed. “Not at all. I was making myself some tea. Chamomile tea.” She hurried over to the cabinet to pull out a mug and her tea bags. “It helps me sleep, you know. Would you care for some?”
“Ja,” he said. “Sounds right gut. Don’t mind if I do.”
Elsie gestured toward the table. “Have a seat, Jacob. Won’t take me but a minute,” she said as she hustled to set up the mugs and the tea bags before pouring the water over them. She was quiet while she worked, anxious to make the tea just right…not too weak and certainly not too bitter.
“Saw your house was dark as I was passing,” Jacob explained as he reached up to take off his hat. He placed it on the bench next to where he sat. “Wanted to check on you, seeing that you are alone this Christmas.”
“That was right kind of you,” she said in response, trying to ignore the way her stomach dropped at the reminder that she was alone for the holiday.
“Saw your nephew Menno here the other day, no?”
Carefully, so that she wouldn’t spill any of the tea (for then she’d have to wash the floor and working on Christmas was not something she wanted to do), she carried the two mugs to the table then returned to the kitchen area for the milk, sugar, and two spoons. “Oh ja, he came by to put my storm windows in,” she replied. Setting the two mugs of coffee on the table, she finally sat down to join the bishop, curious as to why he was visiting her, indeed. “He’s a right gut man, that Menno.”
“Danke,” he said as he took the mug. “That he is. Seems to be over here often to tend to things around your house.” Jacob reached for the pretty china sugar bowl and lifted the lid. “Was this your mamm’s?” he asked as he dipped his spoon into it for a generous helping of sweetener.
“Ja, it was,” she asked. “She left me the china when she passed but requested I pass it along to one of my nieces or nephews when I die.”
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It wasn’t uncommon for gifts to be bequeathed to others with a request for its next owner afterwards. Quite often, items were found in cupboards or shelves with a piece of paper inside or underneath, usually a yellowed piece of paper, with a name scribbled on it. That was the only will that Amish had for the little things.
“How’s his boy?”
Elsie looked up, surprised by the question. “You mean Timothy?”
“Ja,” the bishop said, nodding his head. “Haven’t seen the boy since the accident last year.”
Elsie stared into her cup and tried not to think of the accident with the hay cutter. Had it really been almost eighteen months since small Timothy, only seven at the time, had run in front of the mules, spooking them and getting trampled? It was his left foot that had gotten cut up so badly that the doctors had
to amputate it just above the ankle. “They are making due,” Elsie said simply. “Melinda sure is gut with that boy,” she added. “They all are.”
The bishop nodded.
Farming accidents happened too frequently in their community. Children got kicked by horses, farmers got injured in the fields, barns burned down due to smoldering hay that was baled too quickly and weren’t dried properly. Sometimes the outcome was worse than losing a limb. Sometimes lives were lost. It was a tragic reality in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, but it never got any easier to accept.
“How you getting on, Elsie?” he asked, setting the spoon on the table and lifting the mug to his lips. He blew once on the liquid, squinting as the hot steam created a fog on his glasses.
“Getting on?” she repeated but she knew what he meant. It was a question that many people asked her. It was the preferred way to address an uncomfortable situation, she often thought. People didn’t know what to say to her. They felt awkward knowing that she was a maedel, living alone and with no more immediate family to help tend her needs. The awkwardness of that situation left people with only one question: to inquire how she was getting on.
“Why, I’m right gut, I reckon,” Elsie answered truthfully. “As gut as one can be at my age,” she added.
“Your age is my age, not?”
She laughed. “Oh ja, we sure do go back many years, don’t we, Bis…Jacob,” she corrected herself.
He took a short sip of the tea then set the mug down. “Do you remember that teacher we had when we were…” He glanced to the floor, trying to remember. “Thirteen, I reckon, ja? Well, at least I was. You would have been a bit younger, not? It was that teacher that came from Ohio.”
Elsie frowned. Ohio? She couldn’t remember a teacher from...A smile broke on to her face. “Oh ja! That Linda Zook! Why, I had forgotten all about that woman! She sure had it in for you, didn’t she, now?”
Jacob laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling with deep wrinkles. “That she did! But I seem to remember that you could do no wrong her eyes. The best in spelling, the best in geometry, the best in English.” The way he said it told her that he bore her no grudge. Instead, there was a hint of pride in his voice. “You were a right gut student,” he said softly.