The Christmas Cradle

by Charlotte Hubbard

  As Miriam gazed past the white house where she and Jesse had raised their girls and beyond Bishop Tom’s rolling pastures, however, a resonant voice filled her thoughts. I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.

  Miriam stood taller. She felt as though Vernon Gingerich had somehow sensed her desperation and had shared Psalm 121 to comfort her. The passage had brought her peace on many occasions, especially after Jesse had passed, and as she recalled more of the familiar words she began to feel better. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.

  “And why have I forgotten that?” she murmured. Maybe she was a lot wearier than she’d allowed herself to believe—or this was a wake-up call to realign herself with God’s plan. It wasn’t as though the Lord or His Son had forsaken her, after all. She was merely crossing the road to spend her days in the wonderful home Ben had built for her—not entering unfamiliar territory or the valley of the shadow of death.

  I sure do pick silly things to get agitated about.

  When Miriam felt frosty little lines on her face where her tears had frozen, she chuckled at herself. She had a few loose ends to tie up before she walked away from the café, so she sat down on the wooden chair in the phone shanty. She removed her bonnet and dialed the number for Zook’s Market.

  “Jah, it’s Miriam,” she said when the store’s message machine beeped. “I’m stayin’ home from here on out, so I won’t be bakin’ any more pies for your store. Naomi’ll be callin’ with an order real soon, I expect— and denki for that wonderful-gut beef and pork ya furnished for Josiah’s grillin’. Don’t be strangers!”

  In the next several minutes she contacted the places around mid-Missouri where she’d provided baked goods. With each call it became easier to explain why she would no longer be cooking commercially. By the time she hung up and put on her black bonnet again, Miriam felt stronger. Ready to move forward.

  Even so, as she paused at the top of her lane to look at the Sweet Seasons, Miriam knew it wouldn’t be easy to see her café from the picture window without wishing she could be there. How many loaves of bread and pies had she made in that kitchen before anyone else in Willow Ridge was even awake? How many dozens of cinnamon rolls and cookies? How many folks had eaten at her tables, nourishing themselves so they could go on about their work?

  Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.

  Miriam blinked. Once again it seemed that Vernon had shared eloquent, uplifting passages from the Scriptures just for her. She smiled up at the sun, which appeared subdued in the hazy winter sky—yet it was shining faithfully.

  You should do no less, she reminded herself. Then she stepped through the back door of her home, into the kitchen Ben had built for her, to begin a new phase of the life God had blessed her with.

  As Lena finished setting the table on Monday night, she suspected Josiah knew things he wasn’t telling. He was staring out the picture window in the front room, raking his dark, wavy hair back from his face. Had Hiram Knepp confronted him again? Had his day gone so badly that he’d decided not to cook at the Sweet Seasons anymore?

  “Come to supper,” Miriam called as she and Savilla carried food to the table.

  Ben rose from the couch, setting aside his copy of The Budget. He clapped Josiah on the back as they approached the table. “How’s it goin’, workin’ amongst all those hens?” he asked good-naturedly. “I’ve heard several fellas sayin’ how much they enjoy your grilled pork steaks and ribs.”

  “Far as I know, it’s going all right,” Josiah replied cautiously. “Naomi seems glad to have me there—but it’s only been four days.”

  When they’d bowed their heads for the silent prayer, Lena peered at Josiah between her half-closed eyelids. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed repeatedly, as though words were stuck in his throat.

  “I heard from the banker in Bloomfield today,” he said as Ben passed the bowl of macaroni and cheese. “The paperwork’s in order, so the guy who bought the farm takes possession of it next week. After we finish at the café tomorrow, I’m heading up there to sign all the papers.”

  Savilla’s fork clattered to the table. “Who’s going to pack all the stuff in that house?” she demanded. “What’ll we do with the furniture, and Mammi’s things, and—and all those jars of food in the cellar?”

  “The neighbors said they’d be glad to help—I asked them last time I was home,” Josiah responded tersely. “You don’t seem to think so, but I do plan ahead sometimes.”

  Lena’s heart ached for Savilla. Clearing out that big old house would be a daunting job. Stacks of old magazines and catalogs were piled in the corners, and she suspected that their dawdi’s clothing and tools were still around, as well.

  “So you told our friends about this before you told me?” Savilla blurted out. “That’s where I grew up, too, you know! Maybe I’d like to go through Mammi’s things—our parents’ things—and save a few to remember them by!”

  “And I’m thinkin’ your brother would like ya to do that, too,” Miriam said as she rose from her chair. She slipped her arm around Savilla’s shoulders, gazing purposefully at Josiah. “After all, you’ve both been busy at the café, so if your brother got that call from the bank fella today, he’s not had a lot of time to tell ya about it, Savilla.”

  Josiah smiled gratefully at Miriam as he reached across the table for his sister’s hand. “Miriam’s got it right,” he murmured. “I wasn’t leaving you out of this, Savilla. I want you to go—and our friends all want to see you, too. They’ll help us whenever I ask them to come over.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Lena insisted. “I couldn’t carry furniture, but I could pack boxes or—”

  “It’s gettin’ awfully close to your due date for ya to be liftin’ things, or even ridin’ that far in a rig,” Ben reminded her gently. “But I’d be happy to go along, Josiah, and I know fellas who have trailers and Belgians for haulin’ your furniture back to Willow Ridge, if ya need them. Not tryin’ to intrude, understand.”

  Lena sat back. Ben was right about her staying off the roads and close to the clinic. Once again she was amazed at his generosity—his willingness to set aside his own work to help them, especially considering the fact that Josiah had caused the Hooleys so much trouble.

  Savilla let out a long sigh. “I guess the idea that I’ll never be going back home is finally setting in,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you, little brother.”

  Josiah chuckled. He was more than six feet tall, and with his broad shoulders and sturdy build, he dwarfed his sister, so little had always been a joke between them. Lena watched their faces relax. Along with a stubborn streak, the Witmers shared coal-black hair and dazzling blue eyes. Lena often found herself hoping the baby would have their striking features, dreaming of a little boy with Josiah’s handsome face and the winsome grin she wished she saw more often.

  That grin lit up his eyes as he gazed at Lena. “Thanks for offering to help, but I’d feel better if you stayed here where folks can look after you, Lena. You’d probably pick up heavier things than you should if you were packing because you’re always trying to be helpful. Okay?”

  Lena’s heart fluttered and the baby kicked inside her. It seemed Josiah cared about her welfare, after all. “I’ll stay put, then.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Miriam affirmed. “What with a houseful of folks comin’ for Thanksgiving in a couple of days, I’ll be glad for your help with the cookin’—and I’m sorry you and Josiah will miss that day with us, Savilla,” she added kindly. “I can imagine how fast the thoughts are spinnin’ in your heads, considerin’ what all needs to be done at your home place.”

  Miriam sat down again and supper continued on a happier note. Lena savored the ham loaf and the creamy mac and cheese she’d helped prepare. She was secretly relieved that she wouldn’t be returning to Bloomfi
eld for the flurry of packing and cleaning out at the Witmer place. It tired her just thinking about how much work needed to be done there in a short time. Then a different issue occurred to her. “Once you empty out your mammi’s house, where will you put all that stuff?”

  Josiah glanced at Ben. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “We’ve not been in Willow Ridge long enough to look for a place. Do you know where we can store what we bring—or where to rent a house near here?”

  Ben chewed his mouthful of food. “Can’t think of any place right off—”

  “But if Rebecca looks on her computer, she might steer ya toward some rentals,” Miriam chimed in. “There’s one of those store-it-yourself places in New Haven, too. Wouldn’t cost much to keep your boxes and furniture in one of those units until ya find a house.”

  Find a house. As the others continued the conversation, Lena imagined a neatly kept home with trees and a garden, an outbuilding for the horses and rigs . . . rooms where a family could grow and a baby’s laughter would lift their hearts. Was she naïve, dreaming of such a place? Would Josiah ask her to live there with him, as his wife and the mother of his child?

  When she glanced up, Josiah met her gaze. In that moment, as his eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look, Lena could believe his thoughts were in step with hers.

  I won’t go hungry or homeless after the wee one’s born, Lord, she prayed gratefully. But if You could arrange it—if You could help him understand—I’d really like to spend my life with Josiah. We push each other’s buttons, but he’s the right man for me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As Miriam gazed down the length of her crowded extended kitchen table on Thanksgiving, she had many blessings to be grateful for. She spooned some stuffing onto her plate, smiling at Ben. “When ya built this home, how’d ya know we’d be needin’ such a big kitchen and a table with so many leaves?” she asked. “Twenty people we’ve got here today, and they all fit in this one room.”

  Ben held her gaze for a lovely moment. “From the first, I knew your mission was to feed people, honey-girl,” he replied beneath the chatter going on around them. “I’m happy I could help ya make that happen. Glad our family and extended family have blessed us with their presence today.”

  Miriam nodded. Except for Rachel, who was eating dinner with the Brennemans this noon, and Ben’s Aunt Jerusalem, who was celebrating with Vernon’s family in Cedar Creek, all of her girls and the Hooleys were here. She smiled as she watched newlywed Nora chatting with her daughter Millie Glick, and she was pleased that Gabe and Wilma, Atlee, Lizzie, and little Ella Glick had come, too, so Wilma didn’t have to cook. Ben’s Aunt Nazareth and Bishop Tom sat at the far end of the table with Rhoda, Andy, and their kids—as well as Andy’s mother, Betty. All of these folks had come through times of trial to find new lives this past year, and Miriam felt honored to have been part of their journeys.

  Beside Miriam, Lena was tucking away a plateful of corn casserole, turkey that Josiah had roasted before he left, mashed potatoes and gravy—and she was taking a second helping of cranberry sauce. “Sure do appreciate your helpin’ me make all this food,” Miriam told her. “Your glazed carrots are a big hit! Rhoda’s kids love them, so that bowl’s nearly empty.”

  “Mamm always fixed those for our Thanksgiving dinners,” she replied wistfully. “I can’t help but wonder who might be at home eating dinner right now—”

  “Why not call them?” Miriam encouraged her. “I’m sure your mamm would be glad to hear your voice, even if ya just leave a message.”

  Lena sighed. “When I was leaving with Josiah, Dat made it clear I wasn’t to bother them anymore,” she replied. “But if it’s all right with you, I might call Josiah this afternoon. I bet he and Savilla are way too busy packing to enjoy a nice meal today.”

  “Fine idea. Give them our best,” Miriam said. It bothered her that Lena’s family had cast her out so coldly—although Nora had lived through that same situation when she’d been carrying Millie. As Miriam watched the two redheads laughing together, mother and daughter, she asked the Lord for a similar reconciliation in Lena’s family. God already knew whether their relationship would heal, but it never hurt to request His special attention when a baby was involved.

  “I’m proud of ya, Lena,” Miriam insisted as she passed the crescent rolls. “You’re handlin’ this situation better than I would’ve at your age. Keep on believin’ your life’ll work out for the best and that’s what’ll happen.”

  When Lena focused on her dinner again, Miriam noticed how her arm remained wrapped around her unborn child—and how a grimace flickered across Lena’s face. As a blue-eyed blonde, Lena often looked pale, but today she appeared very fragile. Lost in her own little world.

  Feed my lambs.

  Miriam gripped her forkful of corn casserole. Once again that voice that resembled Vernon’s had spoken to her. The words came from a story about Jesus telling Simon Peter that caring for those around him was the earthly work he’d been commissioned to do.

  Feed my lambs. Feed my sheep.

  As Miriam contemplated what these words might mean to her, her crowded kitchen rang with conversation and laughter while the people she loved most were stuffing themselves silly with too much food. So why was she being reminded to feed Jesus’s sheep?

  These words were your mission statement when ya opened the café with Naomi. Miriam blinked. She’d begun baking full-time because she believed that feeding people was a special talent God had blessed her with. Yet last week, He’d told her to leave her restaurant and live according to the Ordnung, and to take up a different life purpose.

  We are His people and the sheep of His pasture. Enter into His gates with thanksgiving and into His courts with praise. And feed my sheep.

  Miriam let the words of Psalm 100 seep into her soul. Why was she so focused on this still, small voice while nineteen other people conversed in her kitchen? Although no one else seemed to notice, she felt as if a special messenger had taken her aside.

  When she glanced at Lena again, Miriam felt a jolt of understanding. Lena and Josiah were vulnerable lambs who’d lost their way. And even though Savilla was more mature, she was leaving the only home she’d ever known, boxing up memories of her grandparents and the parents who’d died when she was so young. It was no mistake that Josiah and Lena had gotten lost in a snowstorm and had found their way to her door because the Lord never left anything to chance. He worked out His purpose even during the least notable moments, whether or not His sheep listened or obeyed His commands.

  As this concept sank in, Miriam accepted it. Sometimes God made it rain for forty days and nights, and sometimes He whispered hints into His followers’ ears. There was no mistaking His message now, however. If He intended for Miriam to shepherd the young sheep He’d herded into her life, wasn’t that more worthwhile—much more important—than running a café? Considering that Lena’s baby might be born any day now, Miriam knew she had no time to waste.

  As her own unborn child shifted in her swollen belly, Miriam was filled with gratitude. She emerged from her soul searching to participate in Thanksgiving dinner again, knowing why it was so important to remain at home. Three precious lambs—and a new baby—would depend upon her love for the next several weeks.

  When Ben caught her eye, Miriam smiled. I love you, Bennie-bug, she mouthed.

  Her husband reached beneath the table to caress her protruding belly. I’m so glad I’m yours, he replied silently. His beard rippled with a smile that made his hazel eyes shine. You and me—and baby makes three.

  Miriam felt her face turning pink. God had guided this fine younger man to her doorstep a year ago—and who could have foreseen the wondrous love they had shared ever since?

  God saw it coming! What further proof do ya need of His will for your life?

  Miriam pressed her hand on top of Ben’s and held it against their shifting baby. She knew her time at the Sweet Seasons had been well spent, just as she now believed a more importa
nt purpose awaited her.

  And she was finally ready to accept it.

  As Josiah opened the box of delivery pizza, he was so tired he almost didn’t care that the turkey he’d roasted Tuesday morning wasn’t on his own table. Almost.

  “Good thing the pizza place isn’t closed today,” Savilla said as she took a steaming slice. “With all these boxes piled around us, we won’t be fixing any more food in this kitchen. That’s kind of sad.”

  “Miriam’s kitchen is full of people right now and her table’s loaded with all sorts of great food,” Josiah murmured. He didn’t have the heart to mention how much cheerier the Hooley kitchen was, either, because the house they’d grown up in had faded into a shabby state of disrepair. “It’s a little late to ask, but do you think we’ve done the right thing? I never dreamed it would take so much work to clear this place out.”

  Savilla’s weary shrug told him she was feeling as wistful—and worn out—as he was.

  For a moment, Josiah flashed back to Thanksgiving dinners of his childhood, when this house had rung with the stories and laughter of aunts, uncles, and their grandparents. It made him very sad that except for Savilla, everyone in his family had either moved or passed away. It bothered him, as well, that he couldn’t remember what his mamm and dat looked like, and couldn’t recall their voices.

  He studied his sister’s face, trusting Mammi’s remarks about how Savilla was the image of their mother. “I’m sorry I’ve overturned your life, sis,” he murmured. “I’ve made a lot of major decisions lately without considering your feelings.”

  Savilla’s blue eyes widened. “Is this the voice of reason and responsibility I’m hearing?” she asked softly. “Or are you so exhausted you’re out of your head?”