Christmas Gift for Rose (9780310336822)

by Zondervan Publishing House

  But … she wasn’t ready … not yet. Maybe she’d never be ready.

  “Do you know if Jonathan’s coming back … to see your son?” Rose asked.

  “I’m not sure, dear. I really didn’t ask him, but I hope he thinks of it. Maybe Harold will appreciate being with someone else who understands. He’s asked about some of his other friends—some of his other schoolmates that he was especially fond of. I haven’t the heart to tell him that two of his closest friends lost their lives, and the third is still serving in Europe somewhere with occupational forces.” Mrs. Ault clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Can you imagine that we celebrated victory? We celebrated that the war was over. Little did we know that it would never be over. Not as long as our soldiers carry the memories.”

  “That is true, Mrs. Ault.” Rose tried to be patient. She’d lived next to this woman for as long as she could remember and knew how to carry on a conversation with her. But what Rose really wanted to know about was what Harold had said.

  She fixed her gaze again on the older woman’s eyes. “What Harold said, that part of me being rescued …” She let her voice trail off, unable to ask directly if he meant being rescued by the Yoder family. Because that was another thing she hadn’t thought about—a fresh horror. Not only did her family abandon her, not only was she not Amish, but if Harold knew—if that was what he was talking about—then others from the community had to know too.

  Was she living like a fool, playing the part of an Amish woman and believing it, when everyone else knew the truth?

  “I’m not sure, Rose.” From the quiver in Mrs. Ault’s voice Rose knew she was holding back. “I tell you I’m not certain what will come out of his mouth.”

  “Whatever it is, I bet there’s a bit of truth to it, Mrs. Ault.” Rose stood and motioned to her offerings. “Like I said before, there is an apple pie, Harold’s favorite. I hope he enjoys it. And I hope that your family has a wonderful—gut—day, expressing to God your thankfulness for all the things He has provided.”

  As Rose walked home, she tried to offer prayers of her own thankfulness—for her family, her community, her life—yet the words sounded hollow to her ears. How could she be thankful for a life that was more imagined than real? And what would happen now? Could she really go along playing this part while knowing the truth?

  A tear slid down her cheek. The first of what she assumed would be many on this day.

  How would she be able to trust anything—anyone—again? Jonathan had lied when he’d left. Her mem had hidden the truth. And her family … She’d been just a little girl when they’d left her.

  Trust me. The words came as a gentle whisper to her soul. A glimmer of warmth touched her heart, and she paused for a moment. Was the God of the universe really speaking to her heart and asking her to trust Him?

  Rose prayed that she could.

  Seven

  ROSE KICKED AT THE SNOW AS SHE CONTINUED FORWARD toward home, stirring up white tuffs. “God, I want to be thankful, I really do.” She crossed her arms over her chest, wondering what her real family was doing today. Did they still live in California? Were they gathering together? Had they felt the loss of her presence? Rose’s heart ached thinking about it. But the ache lessened as she neared the house. Her younger siblings were in the middle of a snowball fight.

  “Let’s get Rose!” Martha called.

  Within seconds a dozen snowballs pelted her direction. One hit her leg, another her shoulder. The rest of the snowballs fell painfully short. A smile curled from Rose’s lips, and she bent over.

  “I suppose you do not know, but when I was your age Marcus always chose me for his team in snowball fights!” Rose scooped up snow with her mittened hands and quickly packed a snowball. She let it drop to the ground and made three more. More snowballs flew her direction, and Rose scooped up her snowballs and stood. She threw two at Matthew, hitting him in the stomach, then two more at Elizabeth. She was about to bend over and scoop up more snow when she noticed someone off to the side. A man was there, hunched over and making snowballs for little Louisa. He handed them to her and cheered as she threw them, even though they didn’t go more than a few feet.

  The pounding of Rose’s heart told her who it was before her mind registered his form: Jonathan. What is he doing here? Lord, why today of all days? She was still trying to figure out how to face all of her family, now that she knew the truth. And now this?

  Rose stood. Her knees softened slightly as she moved toward Jonathan, despite the flurry of snowballs. She touched her kapp, checking that it was in place, and wished she could still the butterflies dancing in her stomach. She jutted out her chin, telling herself not to be weak—to remember the pain his leaving had caused.

  “Wie gehts!” he called. How are you? As if it had been hours—not days—since they’d seen each other. His smile assaulted her. Didn’t he remember her last words? Her declaration that she did not want to see him again?

  Rose crossed her arms over her chest. What was he doing here? Why had he come now? She didn’t want to talk to him.

  Well, she did, and that was the problem. Unlike anyone else, Jonathan had lived among the Englisch—had been a part of them. Maybe he could answer the questions about why her parents did what they did.

  “Rose.” He moved toward her, his face growing serious. It was only as he paused before her that he released the breath he’d been holding. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I know what you told me, but … I just can’t sit by. More than that—my sister showed up at my house last night. She told me I was a fool if I gave up on you too easily. And my mother made some silly excuse that I needed to return one of your mem’s serving dishes. I knew I wouldn’t be able to pull up my chair to her table until I did. But since I’m here, I … I thought I’d tell you again how sorry I am.”

  “Stop.” Rose raised her hand.

  He rushed on. “Do you know, Rose, that I am truly sorry? I never meant to bring you shame—”

  “Jonathan. Just stop.” She pressed her hand to the front of his jacket, where snow clung in clumps from the impact of snowballs.

  “You’re not going to let me talk?” He raised one eyebrow.

  “Ne.” She lowered her gaze, looking to his lips—lips that had kissed her forehead a dozen times. “I’m not going to let you … apologize. We can talk.” She glanced up at him, keeping her voice firm. “I have more questions than answers, but we can talk.”

  “From the pinched look on yer face, Rose, they must be thorny questions.” He chuckled, but seeing no humor in her face, swallowed once. His Adam’s apple made a slow rise and fall. “All right. Ja, I imagine you want to know if I’m committed to being here, to staying Amish. Or maybe, like the others, you believe this community will no longer be able to hold me.”

  A headache formed in her left temple. “My thoughts aren’t on the future … not yet. I just got back from seeing Harold. Does the Englisch world always cause such pain, Jonathan?”

  A haunted look came into Jonathan’s eyes. “I don’t know what I could tell you.” He cleared his throat. “It’s hard for me to talk about all I faced in the war. There are things you don’t want to hear.”

  Rose believed his words, and she knew she couldn’t force him. “I understand. Today is not the right time to discuss such things. Maybe not for a while.”

  “Not for a while …,” he echoed.

  Rose brushed the snow off her mittens. Confusion built walls of defense inside her. He’d seemed so open in his letters. Maybe it was easier to write the pain than express it in words? Or maybe he was afraid she’d turn him away, like she had last week. If you kicked a puppy away enough times, it would eventually stop coming to you. Is that what she’d done to him? Her chest ached, realizing she had.

  The children continued to play in the snow, and Jonathan turned his attention to their antics.

  At least he was here. At least he’d tried again and had come to see her. It helped her anger subside some. She also appreciated tha
t his sister and mem wanted him to come. Should she allow a bit of their hope to filter into her heart? Maybe she should. It would be a shame—for his family’s sake—to turn him away too quickly.

  Rose rubbed her stomach. “Hungerich?”

  “Ja, a little.”

  “Will you stay … for the meal?” Rose’s voice rose.

  “I’m not sure.” Relief came over his face, as if he was thankful she hadn’t again brought up his leaving the Amish community.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Am I invited?” He cocked one eyebrow.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I mean, of course it will be fine. My parents … uh … they’ve always liked you.” She smiled. It was the most she could offer at the moment.

  “Gut, because my sister told me not to come home until you and I had a chance to talk.”

  “She said that?”

  He nodded and waved a hand. “Got tired of me moping around the house, she did.”

  “And tired of you driving by?”

  His dark eyes widened. “You know?”

  “My little sister squealed. Mrs. Ault told me too. I … was there just now.”

  Reading the unspoken thoughts on her face, Jonathan sighed. “I feel so bad for her … for Harold.”

  “I’m just starting to understand, starting to realize, how bad it must have been. And the sacrifice.” A shiver ran down her spine. “I thought for so long that there was a right way and a wrong way. I thought …” She stopped. How could she explain that although, according to the bishop, she’d been the one in the right, it did not matter now. Her good living and good choices couldn’t change who she really was. Her works couldn’t make up for her heritage.

  The sun above seemed to fade a little. What will Jonathan do when he knows the truth?

  Jonathan looked back at the house. “We need to get inside. You look like you’re getting a chill.”

  “Ja, of course.” Rose led the way to the house, her heart torn. A warm kitchen, a happy family, Jonathan by her side—nothing could change what was at her core, how she felt.

  Abandoned. Lost. Afraid.

  She had everything—more than everything—right here in this home, but it didn’t belong to her. Not really.

  Trust Me. The stirring came from within again.

  “I wish I could.” The words were less than a whisper. “I wish I could.” She reached her hand for the door.

  “Listen.” Jonathan’s voice from behind startled her. Rose paused and turned. “I know I told you the same thing last week, but I want you to be assured. Rose, I won’t be walking in the way of the world. I saw a lot, but … but I like what this world—our world—has to offer better.”

  She’d heard those words, but most in the community doubted them. She doubted them.

  She also doubted that either of them would be fully welcomed into this community when the others found out the truth of who she really was.

  “I want to believe you, I really do, but you didn’t tell the truth when you left, did you?” Rose lowered her voice. “Besides, what if it never works? What if the community doesn’t forget? What if leaving the Amish is the best answer after all?”

  Eight

  THERE WASN’T A FREE PLACE TO SIT IN THE YODERS’ house. After a quiet morning of fasting and contemplation, Rose’s stomach rumbled as she mashed potatoes for their Thanksgiving meal. A group of children watched her—their eyes wide, hungry. Jonathan watched her too. Questions, so many questions, filled his gaze.

  She checked the green beans simmering in a large pot, a gust of steam rising as she lifted the lid.

  In addition to her siblings, her aunt Bertha and uncle Eli were there with their nine children, and their oldest daughter, Rebekah, with her husband and new boppli. Vera and LeRoy had slipped in right before it was time to serve the food. Little Ira had a tummy ache, and they’d had a rough morning.

  Rose’s aunt and uncle and cousins seemed uncomfortable to see Jonathan there. There had been so much talk about him around the community that it almost seemed they’d forgotten he was a real person—and someone Rose cared about.

  Once they were all seated, Dat spoke. “Before we eat, let’s all share one thing we are thankful for.” He looked around. “Aenti Bertha, since it’s your birthday, why don’t you start?”

  “I’m thankful for our ancestors who stood up to persecution so we could know the truth. They died so we could live for our Lord.” Tears filled the corners of her eyes and her voice quivered.

  “I’m thankful for a good harvest this year,” Uncle Eli spoke next. “The barns are full. The shelves are too.”

  They continued around the room, her cousins and siblings thankful for health, for family, and for their community.

  “Mary, what about you?” Dat turned to Mem.

  She folded her hands on her lap. “I’m thankful for the children God granted me to raise … all eight of them. They are a gift to me, each and every one. I don’t love one more than any other. I carry them close to my heart.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, and the house grew quiet. She wiped a tear and then glanced up, looking at Rose.

  “Rose, I believe yer the last one.” Dat’s gaze was intense, and she was certain Mem had told him about their conversation—and how she knew the truth.

  “Ne. I’m not the only one left.” Rose glanced over to Jonathan, who sat beside her. “Jonathan still has to go yet.”

  “You first, Rose.” He nodded his chin in her direction.

  Rose glanced from Jonathan to Dat to Mem. “I’m—I—” She blew out a soft breath. “I’m thankful that my Lord knows me better than even I know myself. I’m thankful He watches over me, even on the coldest nights.”

  There were a few nods in the room, but puzzled looks from the younger ones. She breathed a little easier because of that. They didn’t understand—not yet—but she knew that someday, most likely soon, the truth would be known to all.

  “I am thankful too.” Jonathan leaned forward slightly in his seat. “That because of our Lord, good wins over evil. Because of our Lord we can have hope in this life.” He glanced at Rose. “With God we can always cling to hope.”

  DINNER HAD BEEN EATEN IN ONE QUARTER OF THE TIME it took to make it. Telling her that he had to get back to visit with family, Jonathan left with a promise that they’d talk sometime in the next few days. After the meal, the rest of the family—except for Rose, Vera, and baby Ira—left to travel just a mile down the road to visit with Mem’s youngest sister, who’d given birth to a baby girl two weeks ago.

  Rose stoked the fire. Vera’s hands were up to her elbows in dishwater when baby Ira began to cry from the cradle. “Would you mind holding him?” Vera asked. “He’s getting hungry, but I just need five more minutes.”

  “Ja, of course.” Rose put down the poker and hurried over to the cradle that rocked ever so slightly with the flailing of Ira’s small arms. “There, now.”

  Ira’s cries softened at her voice. She wrapped the blanket tighter around him and scooped him up. His cry turned into a whimper, and she moved to the rocking chair. She tucked him in the crook of one arm and leaned down so her nose nearly touched his. His blond eyebrows were a feathery arch. Rose nuzzled her nose against his cheek, and he grunted, opened his mouth, and turned.

  “He’s hungry, all right.” She chuckled, sticking the tip of her finger into his mouth. He sucked vigorously.

  Vera finished the last of the dishes, setting the final tin cup on a white dish towel to dry. Then she wiped her hands.

  “Don’t worry about the water. I’ll dump it. Come feed your son.” Rose lifted from the chair and handed the baby over. Vera settled down and within a minute the baby was contentedly nursing. Vera looked over at Rose with questions in her eyes. Did Vera wonder why Jonathan was here today—what had changed?

  “Jest think.” Vera ran her finger down Ira’s cheek. “Maybe before long you’ll have one of these.”

  Rose pressed her fists into her hips. “Vell, Jonatha
n and I need time to talk. I was angry with him when he returned from the war, and I’m only slightly less angry now. This is only the second time I’ve seen him since he’s been back. I’m not sure what he thinks about things—about me.” Rose studied her sister, gauging her response, wondering if she had the guts to ask her outright if she knew the truth.

  Vera shook her head. “Oh, Rose. How could you say that? Did you not see the way he looked at you? He was so spit shined today I could see my reflection in his cheeks!”

  Rose moved to Mem’s rocker and pulled white thread and a needle from the basket on the floor. Like Mem, she always had to be doing something. One opened oneself to the devil’s work when hands grew idle—or at least that’s what Mem had always said.

  “I’d say he has a wedding on his mind,” Vera continued. “And I’d tell you that, by the look in his eye, he doesn’t want to wait until next fall. Of course nobody asked me,” she added with a wink.

  Rose had noticed the difference too. Jonathan had always been more comfortable in the fields, tending to his dat’s dairy cows. As a boy, he was teased for the stench he often carried in on his boots—if he wore any. A grade older than him, Rose hadn’t thought much of Jonathan then, but when she approached her seventeenth year, Jonathan made his interest clear.

  Now he’d seen the world. He’d cared for soldiers. He’d used his skill to tend the wounded. And even though there was uncertainty in his gaze concerning her, Jonathan walked with sure steps. She couldn’t call it pride—Jonathan was anything but prideful. But she could tell by his walk he’d done a great work. She could also see pain in his gaze. Was there something else too? True love for her? Not the giddy love they’d felt before he left, but the solid love that could overcome trials?