by Kelly Long
“Ach, Bishop Umble,” she gasped. “You gave me quite a fright.”
“Sorry,” the auld man said with a smile. “But I simply love making snow angels.” He promptly proved this love by dropping backward into the snow next to Ben, and they all three laughed out loud like children. Kate wished everyone might have the unusual privilege of seeing their aged leader so enjoying flailing about in the snow, but eventually he sat up with care, so as not to disturb his angel’s body.
“Ach.” He smiled. “That does a soul gut! You know, sometimes my life is like making a snow angel—I want everything to be kept neat and perfect with nothing to mar the plans I’ve outlined, but then Gott sweeps in and turns everything upside down.”
“Then what do you do?” Ben asked seriously, struggling to sit up until Kate helped him.
“Why, sohn, that’s when I’ve got a decision to make. Am I going to accept the change Gott has brought, or am I going to fight Him until things look and go the way I expect and want?”
“But isn’t it easier to accept than to fight?” Ben asked as Kate lifted him carefully into her arms. She looked down at the less-than-perfect images in the snow.
“Some prefer the fight, my buwe, but never know the freedom in surrender and acceptance,” Bishop Umble said. He smiled at Kate. “Gotta get home to the missus. A gut day to you both.”
Kate looked down at Ben in her arms, noting a new freckle on the bridge of his nose. She hugged him tight and he wriggled in her arms. “The bishop is funny, isn’t he, Kate?”
She walked with him back to the sled. “Sometimes, but he’s also very wise. Now, let’s go home and have some cookies.”
“Gingerbread and cookies? Ach, boy,” Ben cheered. “What are we celebrating?”
Kate smiled. “Just being alive . . .” And in love!
On Monday morning, Kate squared her shoulders when she entered Sebastian’s cabin and decided to tackle the gloomy and piled-up living area. She first surveyed the vague shapes of furniture buried under clothes and papers. There appeared to be a comfortable cushioned couch and an old chair and a massive desk. She decided to start with the desk and possibly try to organize some of the papers that protruded from drawers and cubbyholes in the beautiful old piece of furniture.
She was an hour into organizing things into piles when she realized she kept bumping her arm on the stuffed middle drawer. She gave it a hesitant pull and realized it was stuck. She sighed and gave one more tug and the wood gave, leaving her on her backside with the drawer full of papers. She had to laugh at herself. She had gotten to her knees to replace things when a crumpled sheet of light blue paper caught her eye in the back of the drawer space. For some strange reason, she felt her heart begin to pound as she reached for the paper, but she felt drawn to it nonetheless.
So far, she’d organized things by brief glances but when she touched the blue paper, she felt the urge to read it and pulled it hesitantly toward her. She reached up and adjusted the lamp, then felt a hesitation in her spirit, a sense that she should leave the crumpled page alone, but she rationalized that one look could not hurt. She unfolded the page and realized that a newspaper clipping was crumpled inside the official-looking print of the paper.
To her great surprise, she realized that it was a parole letter for one Sebastian C. Christner. . . . Her eyes skimmed the document, and she felt a sickening in her stomach when she saw the words “speeding” and “involuntary manslaughter.” Then she turned her attention to the newspaper piece. The faded headline seemed to glare menacingly up at her—“Amish Man Kills Amish Woman.”
“What are you doing?”
Sebastian’s voice was low and confused, and she looked up hastily to see him standing near the desk in his hat and coat, his long dark pants covered with a dusting of snow.
“I—I was cleaning and found this. I’m sorry . . .” She held the papers up to him and swallowed.
He stared down at her outstretched hand, then took the papers from her. “I was just coming in to tell you the truth about this, Kate.”
She rose to her feet and hugged her arms about herself. “I guess I find that hard to believe.”
“Why? Because now you think I’m a murderer?”
She shivered in spite of herself. “Are you?”
He glared at her, his normally light eyes darkened with pent-up emotion. “I need to explain.”
“All right,” she said slowly.
He sighed and took off his hat, running his hand through his hair. “I was nineteen and it was my rumspringa. I had been drinking a bit at an Englisch party . . . wearing Englisch clothes . . . Someone offered to let me take their sports car for a ride. I remember that the roads were icy—but I didn’t care. I thought I could handle the vehicle. I came around a sharp turn too fast and hit an Amisch buggy head-on. . . . I remember hearing a child scream, and then I got out and went to the buggy. The horse was dead, but the buggy . . . the buggy. Well, the mother had been killed instantly by the collision, and the children with her—there were two of them—they’d been bumped around but were all right. I—I knew them. They were from my own community. My family and the church forgave me, but I had to get away and start over. I haven’t seen them since.” He drew a harsh breath. “I spent six years in prison and then was on parole. It was in prison that I learned how to carve toys. . . .”
Kate’s mind telescoped back to the buggy accident that she’d been in when her parents died.... “It was the same,” she said, feeling curiously disembodied from the words.
“What was the same?”
She lifted her head, knowing that tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t care. “A car was going too fast and hit our buggy. I was all right, but my mamm and daed were . . . and Ben was hurt. It was the same as you. . . . It could have been you driving and destroying my family.” Her voice rose, becoming shrill.
“Kate, I . . .” He held out his empty hand in obvious supplication, but she shook her head.
“You tricked Ben and me, and I don’t know why,” she cried.
“Nee,” he ground out, lowering his arm. “I did not.”
“Ben trusted you—he loves you like a father. And I . . . How could you?”
“Kate, I did wrong. I know I did. I can never forget it, but we could build a new life together and . . .”
“Nee,” she sobbed, running forward to push past him blindly and get to the front door. “I quit this job, Sebastian, and you need never pick up Ben again!” She opened the door and ran out into the snow, leaving her cloak and bonnet behind.
Sebastian squeezed the papers in his hand, then slowly stumbled forward to stroke the warmth of her cloak. He swallowed hard as tears burned the backs of his eyes.
“It didn’t go well, boy?” Tim asked softly from somewhere behind him.
“Nee,” he choked, bowing his head.
“ ’Tis sorry I am, Seb. Truly.”
He nodded and half-glanced at his friend. “It’s no more than I deserve.”
Tim shuffled forward and tugged at his coat sleeve. “That ain’t the truth, boy. God wants you to forgive yerself, to have an abundant life.”
Sebastian dragged in a harsh breath. “Gott wants me to pay penance and I will. I’ll keep up with the toys, but after Christmas . . . after Christmas, I’ll move on to some other community—and try to forget her and the buwe.” He turned from the door and laid a weary hand on Tim’s shoulder, then dropped the papers on the neatened desk, walking away and not looking back.
Kate fell facedown in the wet snow halfway home from Sebastian’s cabin, but she didn’t bother to get up. Instead, she turned her cheek to the coldness and let the sobs shake her body. She cried with all of the grief that she had kept pent up for so long, realizing she’d never taken or even had the time to do it before. She’d gone from nurtured child to practically being Ben’s mother, and it was so hard to be a full-time caregiver sometimes.... Then as her tears slowed, she realized that she was crying for Sebastian and the pain he’d endure
d, as well as the pain she’d heaped upon him, denying him any grace, and only being consumed with herself. It was a striking enough thought that she got her hands and knees in the snow, and suddenly, with clarity and insight, she remembered the snow angels and Bishop Umble’s words about fighting Gott. She understood that she’d been fighting for a long time and it was Sebastian’s pain that had finally allowed her the release she needed. And she realized that she was not about to let him suffer any more. Getting to her feet, she hastily swiped her sleeve across her face and knew she had to go back and tell him she’d been wrong. She decided to race home and change first since she was soaking wet and freezing cold, and she slogged through the snow, praying all the while.
CHAPTER 10
Kate hurriedly changed her dress and underclothing and bundled up in her Sunday cloak to head back to Sebastian’s. She had just tied her bonnet strings when a knock sounded at the door and her heart leapt. Maybe it’s Sebastian—though why he should come after the way I behaved is beyond me. . . . All of this went through her mind in a flash as she hastened to open the door. To her surprise, Fran stood there, looking radiantly happy.
“Kate, do you have a few minutes? I’m sorry you’re going out, but I simply have to talk to you.”
Kate caught the suppressed excitement of her cousin’s posture and reluctantly widened the door. “All right. Kumme in.”
She chafed at the delay but tried to focus on Fran all the same. She didn’t remove her cloak or bonnet, though, hoping it might be a clue that her leaving was urgent.
But Fran sank down onto the living room couch as if she had all the time in the world. “Ach, Kate—it’s so wunderbaar.”
“What is it?” Kate asked, trying to conceal the impatience in her voice.
“I’m pregnant. We went to see Dr. McCully to double-check, but I’m about two months along.”
Kate felt her anxiousness slip away as genuine happiness filled her heart for the other woman. She rose and then bent to catch Fran close in a gentle embrace.
“Fran, that’s such gut news. I have prayed for you.”
Fran pulled back and looked up into Kate’s face. “I know. Danki. And now I’ll let you go, but is everything all right? You seem a bit upset.”
Kate straightened and smiled. “Everything will be fine.” I hope and pray . . . “But I do need to geh.”
Fran got to her feet and Kate saw her to the door, deciding at the last moment that she might bring the tin of peanut butter kiss cookies she’d baked as a love offering to Sebastian. She raced back to the cupboard, grabbed the tin, and was two steps from the door when she heard another knock.
She groaned silently. It must be Fran again. . . . She flung open the door in mute exasperation to stare blankly at Bishop Umble.
“Kate, I heard you’re not working at Sebastian Christner’s anymore. Martha had a bad fall this morning and sprained her ankle. I hoped you would kumme and work for us for a bit to give her an extra hand.”
“I would love to, Bishop, but I . . .”
“I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer. I’ve got my sled right here, and I’ll pick Ben up after school and send word to Fran and Daniel. We really need your help.”
Kate was quelled by the semi-stern eye the auld leader cast upon her and knew she had to give in for the moment. A body just doesn’t tell Bishop Umble nee . . . and I can always go to Sebastian’s later on in the day once I get Martha Umble settled....
She held the door open and drew in a deep breath. “Sei se gut, kumme in. I—I’ll go pack a light bag. . . .”
“Danki, Kate.” The bishop smiled and she had to blink twice to make sure she was wrong about the twinkle that seemed to shine in his eyes.
She turned back to the bedroom and decided that loving Sebastian was making her narrisch. . . .
Sebastian bent over the workbench and tried to scrape a dull edge into precision; the tool slipped in his usually capable hands and he cut his thumb.
“Here’s a hankie, boy.” Tim offered a red checkered cloth and Sebastian gave it a doubtful glance, then took it anyway, using it to staunch the flow of blood.
“Thanks,” he muttered to his friend.
“Look, Seb, I knows yer torn up inside, but are ya really gonna let that woman go so easy like?” Tim questioned.
“Don’t pick your nose,” Sebastian said absently, thinking about Tim’s query. What am I really going to do about Kate . . . and Ben? Can I let go of this shame and regret and try to face her again?
“If ya were up fer another try, I gots an idea,” Tim offered.
“What is it?”
Tim leaned close and began detailing a plan that would involve plenty of labor but might well be the way to win Kate’s heart. Sebastian knew he had to try—he couldn’t stand the thought of Kate believing he was like the man who’d killed her parents and hurt Ben.
“All right,” he said after a bleak moment’s reflection. “I’ll try.”
Tim whooped and clapped his hands, but Sebastian remained sober, praying that Kate would give him a chance and let go of the past.
“There’s an elephant in my shoe,” Martha Umble declared upon seeing Kate.
Kate paused in undoing her cloak and stared at the older woman. “Did she hit her head when she fell?” Kate asked in an undertone to the bishop.
“Nee, I forgot to tell you that the tea Sarah King brewed her for pain seemed a mite potent and didn’t really agree with the missus. Sarah said the oddities would wear off in a few hours.”
“Okaay,” Kate said, hanging up her cloak and slipping off her boots. At least it should be an entertaining few hours.... Maybe it will make the time pass more quickly.
“I’ve got several sick calls to make,” Bishop Umble announced. “A few of the community are down with the flu. I’ll leave you here, Kate, and I’ll make sure to be back in time to swing past the school and get Ben.”
He was gone before Kate could reply, so she went over to Martha Umble, who was sitting in a cozy kitchen chair with her right foot elevated on a square stool.
“Can I get you anything, Martha?” Kate asked.
“The Christmas tree needs decorating, and there’s a beaver in the closet. Move the beaver first.” Martha indicated the kitchen pantry with a wrinkled finger, and Kate sighed to herself as she went to remove the imaginary pest. “Now, that’s not the way,” Martha chirped as Kate bent and tried to judge how big a beaver would be with the span of her empty arms. “You left his tail there. Pick it up!”
Kate obeyed, thinking that surely Der Herr must have a sense of humor. She disposed of the invisible pest outside, then came back to the kitchen, wondering where the bread dough decorations were for the nice little fir that had been set up on a living room side table. The Mountain Amisch usually kept the same simple ornaments made of bread or applesauce and cinnamon dough from year to year. The women would form simple shapes or twists with the dough and then apply several layers of shellac to the finished pieces to keep the mice away and to put a sheen on the ornament.
She found herself realizing that Christmas was not that far away, and though her community didn’t usually exchange gifts until Second Christmas, she always wrote a special card out for Ben for First Christmas. Now I might be able to write one out for Sebastian, as well, if . . .
“Stampede!” Martha bellowed and Kate glanced over in time to discover where the Umbles’ ornaments were; Martha had the tin open and was apparently shattering the simple ornaments in an effort to combat oncoming cows. Kate rushed to her side and tried to take the tin from her without getting hit in the head by the fast-disappearing flying dough.
“Martha, please! We’ll have to make all new ornaments. . . .” A pretzel-shaped piece of hardened dough klonked Kate in the forehead and she gave up, moving out of the line of fire to take a look in the kitchen cabinets for dough ingredients. The Umbles seemed to have only a little of the glue that was usually mixed with the applesauce and cinnamon, and Kate wondered if she dared
to run over to Ben Kauffman’s store for some, but one look at Martha’s wild eyes convinced her otherwise.
The bishop returned with Ben around three o’clock, but not before Martha Umble had lived through a zoo breakout and an attacking flock of seagulls. It was enough to have emotionally exhausted Kate, except for the fact that she was too keyed up at the thought of seeing Sebastian as soon as possible.
But Ben seemed to have other ideas. “Kate, can I talk to you in the other room?” he asked as soon as he’d crossed the floor with his crutches.
Kate put a finger to her lips, indicating they should whisper as Martha was finally resting comfortably in the chair. She walked with Ben to the guest bedroom once the bishop had waved them off.
“Ben, what is it? I’ve got to go to the store to get some glue and I have to . . .”
“Bishop Umble told me you aren’t working for Sebastian anymore. Does that mean that I can’t go to the workshop?” His wide brown eyes were serious, and Kate swallowed hard, remembering her cruel words to Sebastian about his not needing to see Ben again.
“Nee, Ben . . . I mean, maybe for today you shouldn’t go over. I have to talk to Sebastian. You see, I owe him an apology, and I haven’t yet had the chance to offer it because of Frau Umble’s ankle.”
“I’m going over anyway, even if I have to take the sled myself,” he announced.
“Ben,” Kate exclaimed in shock. It was completely unlike her bruder to ever be disagreeable, let alone outright defiant. “What are you saying?”
His gaze was stormy for a moment and then it seemed to pass. “Kate, I’m sorry. I guess I was disappointed about what the bishop said, that’s all.”