The Christmas Cradle

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “From one morning’s baking,” Josiah pointed out. “So if you divide four hundred fifty by eighty-five . . . you’d come up with five and some left over—about six mornings’ worth of baking at the rate you did yesterday. And if Savilla and I can’t make a lot more than that on our dinner shift, we shouldn’t be in business.”

  Once again Lena glanced at the pages that showed homes for sale, but she still doubted they could ever afford to own one. “So if we start small, paying rent for a while, you’re thinking we could set aside money toward buying a place.”

  Josiah kissed her lightly. “Don’t forget that Savilla and I just sold a farm, honey-girl,” he murmured. “We’ve used some of that money to buy food for the first week of our dinner shift—and we paid off the expenses from the sale of Mammi’s place—but we’ve got a nice chunk left. It’s going toward a home when the right one comes along. Our home.”

  Lena sat absolutely still, absorbing what Josiah had just said. Did she dare believe he was ready to become a homeowner and a church member and a dat and a husband and a partner in the Sweet Seasons, all at once?

  “It’ll be Savilla’s home, too, of course,” Josiah remarked.

  “Of course it will!” Lena blurted out.

  Her outburst startled Isaiah from his nap and his face puckered unhappily. When she reached for the baby, Josiah handed him over, but for a brief moment the baby was supported by their four hands, halfway between them.

  Their son stopped fussing. He glanced at her and then at Josiah, as though deciding what he thought about his position. When he let out a brief “heh!” and wiggled his arms and legs, Lena took it to mean he felt happy. Secure. Loved.

  Maybe her imagination was playing up her newborn’s sounds and gestures, but it felt like a special, timeless moment when her world seemed to be spinning in the right direction at last. Josiah was gazing at the baby as though he, too, had interpreted Isaiah’s actions as something that bound them together as a family. He placed the boy gently against her shoulder.

  “What a picture. Mother and child,” he murmured. “Prettier than the paintings I’ve seen of Mary and Jesus on Christmas cards.”

  Lena swallowed hard. Who could ever have imagined Josiah expressing such a thought? “Well, except for the halos,” she pointed out. “Isaiah and I don’t have those rings of golden light around our heads because we’re not—”

  “Not holy? Not angels?” he asked in a voice she could barely hear. “Far as I can see, God sent the two of you to save me from myself. And if that doesn’t make you saints already, you’ll work your way up to that level if you stick with me.” Josiah smiled, yet he maintained the stirring, solemn mood he’d been setting.

  Lena wondered what sort of special air they were breathing—what was causing the Josiah Witmer she’d known most of her life to wax so poetic. So perfect.

  “Lena, will you marry me?” he breathed. “I—I don’t think I can move out of this chair or function for the rest of the day without knowing you’ll always be here for me.”

  Tears sprang to Lena’s eyes. “Oh, Josiah, of course I’ll marry you,” she replied in a tight voice. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Josiah wrapped his arms around her and Isaiah. He kissed her gently on the lips, once, twice. When Isaiah began to wiggle between them, he placed a tender kiss on his son’s forehead, as well. “I feel so much better knowing that,” he admitted. “I’ve been trying for the longest time to ask you just the right way. Now that the words have rushed out of me of their own accord—”

  “Sometimes it’s best to say something when the spirit moves you,” Lena whispered. “We’ll be fine, Josiah. You and me and Isaiah—and Savilla,” she added quickly. “It’s meant to be if we believe it is.”

  “Well, you’ve made a believer of me, Lena. When the baby became real to me, I saw everything in a whole different light.” Josiah’s lips twitched in a sheepish grin. “I’m glad you’ve stuck by me. I’ll try real hard to be a better man—”

  “I love you just the way you are this minute, Josiah. Don’t go messing with perfection.”

  His dark brows rose and his brown eyes widened, suggesting that she’d amazed him as much as he’d astounded her. “Well, then. I guess I won’t.”

  “Gut. You’re learning to listen and to let me have my say,” she teased as she tweaked his nose. “I think that’s how Ben and Miriam stay so happy. They both speak their minds and each listens to the other—give and take. That’s not how it is between my parents.”

  “Nor in a lot of families we know, I suspect,” Josiah said after he’d thought about it. “I’ll keep that in mind, Lena.”

  “And I’ll remind you when you forget.”

  Josiah’s laughter filled the kitchen, and Isaiah began to flap his arms happily. It was a moment Lena knew she would remember forever, the way Mary had pondered so many wondrous things in her heart at the birth of Jesus.

  For the twinkling of an eye, a little ring of sunlight from the window glowed above Josiah’s head. Lena knew her imagination was playing with her, but it was an image worth remembering—for weren’t all of God’s children holy? Didn’t He love every single one of them, even as He taught them difficult life lessons and led them where He intended for them to go?

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Bishop Tom, we really appreciate you and Ben being willing to work with us this morning, giving us our church instruction,” Josiah said as he extended his hand. “The preachers in Bloomfield wouldn’t be so flexible.”

  As Ben took Tom’s wraps, he was pleased with Josiah’s attitude of gratitude. He’d never heard of a district’s leaders bending the rules about young adults taking their classes, either—they met every other week, before the service on church Sundays. But he agreed with Tom’s reasoning and was willing to devote some weekday mornings to this endeavor, as well. Preacher Henry had decided to join them only for the normal prechurch sessions because he made out orders and did the bookwork for Zook’s Market at this hour of the morning.

  “I’ve never known a district’s leaders to speed up the instruction process, either,” Bishop Tom remarked as they all entered the kitchen. “But in the interest of you kids becomin’ a family—givin’ Isaiah his parents—I want to help ya out,” he explained. “And look who we’ve got here!”

  Tom walked toward the cradle Lena had set on the table near her seat, smiling as he studied the baby. “Isaiah’s a keeper, I’d say. Got his dat’s long lashes and his mamm’s sweet face,” he remarked as he gently stroked the baby’s cheek. “And what a beautiful bed he’s got, too.”

  Lena’s cheeks flushed as she set warm syrup on the table. “Ben made that cradle for Miriam, and she was kind enough to loan it to us,” she replied. “It’s just one more way they’ve helped us that we can’t possibly repay.”

  The bishop ran a fingertip over the pewter hummingbird on the cradle’s headboard. “Never figure anything for bein’ impossible,” he said. “If ya believe the engineers that’ve studied how a hummingbird flies, sayin’ its body is way too heavy for its wings, then by all logic the species couldn’t survive. But God’s in charge,” Tom continued in a rising voice, “and with Him all things are possible. So if ya look for ways to return the favors these folks have done for ya, you’ll find them.”

  Ben stood with his hands on the back of his chair. How did a simple dairy farmer so effortlessly deliver a sermon in a sentence or two? “We’re glad you’ve come to our home to teach, Tom,” he remarked. “You’re a busy man, and Miriam and I feel blessed to have ya here.”

  Bishop Tom chuckled as he sat in the chair Ben had pulled out for him. “It doesn’t hurt that eatin’ breakfast in Miriam’s kitchen is part of the deal.”

  Laughter filled the room, which glowed in the light of the lamps Miriam had set around. It was still dark outside at six in the morning, but she’d made their pale yellow kitchen shine with love and light. “You’ve already milked your herd, I take it?” Josiah asked as he and Ben to
ok their seats.

  “Jah, and Naz has milked the goats and plans to spend her day makin’ cheese,” Tom replied. “I’m amazed at how many containers of my butter and her cheese get snapped up in Luke and Ira’s mill store. Keeps us busier in the winter than we used to be—and I’m thankful for that.”

  Aromas of sweet cinnamon, coffee, and savory meat wafted around the kitchen. Lena and Miriam carried platters of French toast, large sausage links, and fried eggs to the table, where a bowl of fried apples and a pitcher of milk awaited them. Ben suspected his wife was also pleased about having Tom here because it gave her a chance to catch up on the goings-on around Willow Ridge.

  “Are ya still carvin’ and paintin’ your Nativity sets?” Miriam asked. “This time of year, I can imagine ya have trouble keepin’ up with the orders for those.”

  “I stopped takin’ orders a couple of months ago,” the bishop replied with a chuckle. “Nora’s sellin’ those sets in her store faster than I can keep up with them.”

  As they bowed in silent prayer, Ben thanked God for the prosperity He’d brought to their family and friends, as well as for prompting Josiah and Lena to join the church. When everyone had opened their eyes, he passed the sausage platter to Tom. “What with all the business the mill store and Nora’s place is bringin’ into town, I’m thinkin’ Josiah and Savilla can make a new evening shift profitable even in January.”

  “Jah, Willow Ridge used to fold in on itself during the winter,” Bishop Tom remarked. “Miriam and Naomi started a real surge of interest in our little town when they opened their café, though. And the Schrocks’ quilt shop is goin’ full tilt, and so’s the Brennemans’ carpentry business and Matthias Wagler’s harness shop. Every new business we add boosts everyone else’s, it seems.”

  Josiah smiled at Lena as he stabbed two thick slices of French toast. “I’m glad to hear you fellows say that, because we’d like to find a house as soon as we can. If you know of any place that’s for sale or rent, Savilla and I could move in and get out of Ben and Miriam’s hair,” he added with an appreciative nod in their direction. “Then we’d have the place all set for when Lena and I tie the knot.”

  “And congratulations to ya on that,” Bishop Tom responded. “I’m pleased ya want Willow Ridge to be your new home. A lot of our young people are startin’ families now, and that’ll keep our community goin’ strong.”

  “It does my heart gut to see so many little ones sittin’ with their mamms during church, too,” Miriam chimed in. “What with all that wigglin’ and keepin’ the kids quiet, there’s not much chance for anybody to snooze during your sermons, Tom.”

  “I need all the help I can get with that, too,” the bishop agreed good-naturedly. He smiled at Isaiah, who seemed to be following their chatter from his cradle. “Won’t be long before your boy’ll be out runnin’ and hollerin’ with the others. They grow up faster than any of us can keep track of, it seems.”

  “He’s got the lungs for the hollering part,” Josiah agreed.

  As they all enjoyed their breakfast, Ben felt blessed to be surrounded by folks who were of one mind, and who had the best intentions. When he and Tom took Lena and Josiah into the front room to begin their instruction, Ben was also grateful for Tom’s humble leadership, his patient kindness. Had he been serving as a preacher under Hiram Knepp, the relationship would’ve been difficult indeed, considering the way their former bishop had harassed Miriam about so many different issues. Ben wished he didn’t feel so antsy about Hiram’s recent behavior—and then reminded himself to focus on Josiah and Lena as they discussed the basic tenets of the Old Order faith.

  In the back of his mind, however, Ben still pictured a face with a devilish black beard peering through the window, terrifying Lena. No one had heard anything from Hiram since the incident last week, but Ben sensed their banished bishop wasn’t finished toying with them. As long as Hiram felt cheated out of Josiah’s cooking—or anything else he wanted—he would find ways to wreak his revenge.

  “Do ya have any questions?” Tom asked the young couple seated on the couch. “In a nutshell, we believe the Bible’s the word of God, and that He directly inspired all the prophets, apostles, and the other fellas who wrote the individual books in it.”

  Josiah and Lena glanced at each other, and then she spoke up. She looked alert and lovely, despite tending to Isaiah’s needs in the night. “What are your thoughts about having Bible studies and devotional readings at home?” she asked. “Ben often reads to us from the Scriptures in the evening, but my dat says that should be left to the preachers and the bishop on Sunday mornings.”

  “That’s an astute question,” Tom replied as he smiled at Ben. “A lot of church leaders believe more harm than gut comes from members tryin’ to interpret passages of Scripture because we have a tendency to twist those ancient words into arguments for provin’ our own opinions,” he said with a rise of his eyebrows. “And because we folks today don’t fully understand how Jesus’s actions and parables were shaped by the situations of His time, Bible stories can take on a completely different meaning.”

  The bishop stroked his gray-shot beard as he glanced at Ben. “I believe that when Ben reads the Bible aloud, and when he preaches on a passage during a sermon, we’re gettin’ the benefit of a truly devout Christian heart and mind because God speaks through him. You kids are blessed to be stayin’ in the home of a fella who—along with Vernon Gingerich, the bishop his Aunt Jerusalem’s married to—is one of the godliest men I know. And I don’t say that lightly.”

  Ben’s face went hot. “My understanding of the Scriptures isn’t anything out of the ordinary—”

  “I beg to differ, Preacher Ben,” came a voice from the doorway.

  Ben turned to see Miriam drying her hands on a kitchen towel. Her sweet smile appeared so sincere that his heart swelled a couple of sizes, but it seemed prideful to accept such praise from his friend and his wife—especially when they were instructing Josiah and Lena in the ways of their faith.

  “Bishop Tom’s got it right,” Miriam continued with a solemn nod. “Every time I listen to your Bible readin’ and your sermons in church, I come away with a new perspective on how God wants me to live. You’ve got a genuine gift, Ben. God knew exactly what He was doin’ when He chose ya to be our preacher—and my husband.”

  Ben sat speechless. If he insisted that Tom and his wife were mistaken, he would appear argumentative, which went against the basic grain of the Amish faith. Yet their compliments felt overblown to him. He didn’t want to puff himself up with their praise because that would be wrong in God’s eyes, too. When he noticed how intently Josiah and Lena were watching him, awaiting his response, Ben let out the breath he’d been holding.

  “I appreciate those kind words,” he replied softly. “But we can’t forget that we’re all sinners, fallin’ short of God’s vision for us. Without His grace, I couldn’t make it through one single day.”

  “And on that note, let’s close with a prayer and call this a gut morning’s work,” Bishop Tom said.

  Ben bowed his head. Make me aware of things I could be doin’ better, Lord—all the ways I don’t measure up to what You’d have me be. I ask Your blessing and protection for these two lambs seekin’ a home in Your fold . . . even as we know You also created wolves and You love them, too.

  As Josiah tacked one end of his yellow banner inside the big front window of the Sweet Seasons, his fingers trembled. BARBEQUE BUFFET TONIGHT! 5–8 P.M. it said in large red letters. In just a few hours, he and Savilla would be making their dream come true. When he tacked the end his sister had been holding up, she clasped her hands.

  “I’m going outside to see how it looks!” she said as she jogged toward the door. “This is so exciting, Josiah. I hope lots of people come to eat all this food we’ve been making.”

  “I told Rebecca her meal was free tonight and to bring her dat along,” he replied, chuckling at Savilla’s little-girl eagerness. “The ads she’s put up on the In
ternet will be the reason folks outside of Willow Ridge find us.”

  “And don’t forget the signs she’s posted in the local stores, and in New Haven and Morning Star,” his sister replied. “Lots of shoppers have seen those this week.”

  Josiah went to another window to watch his sister’s reaction from the roadside. He was amazed at the amount of baked beans, slaw, mac and cheese, fresh rolls, corn bread, and other side dishes she’d been cooking, and he hoped they had a good turnout so a lot of leftovers didn’t sit in the fridge. He firmly believed that food should be served fresh—but until they’d been open for several evenings, they would have no idea how much to prepare.

  “Are ya ready for your big night?” Naomi asked as she came up beside him. “The whole Brenneman tribe’s comin’ because after Nora and Luke’s wedding, my boys have all been lookin’ forward to more of your grillin’. And me,” she added with a grin, “I’m lookin’ forward to sittin’ at one of these tables they built and enjoyin’ a meal I didn’t cook myself.”

  Josiah’s eyes widened. “You’ve never eaten here in the dining room?”

  “Nope. Couldn’t take the time out from cookin’ most days—but I’m glad for that,” Naomi added pertly. “If Miriam and I had time to lollygag over a sit-down meal, it would mean nobody else was eatin’ here.”

  As Josiah watched his sister flash him a big thumbs-up from the roadside, he thought about what Naomi had said. If the café’s two proprietors were too busy to sit down for a meal, maybe he hadn’t lined up enough help. “Lena’s coming over soon and she’ll be in the kitchen this evening—and Rebecca, your Hannah, Nellie Knepp, and Katie Zook will be seating people and pouring drinks tonight,” he said. “Do you think that’s enough of us to handle a crowd? It’s not like we’re taking orders from a menu.”

  Naomi’s brown eyes sparkled. “You’ll soon find out. But if ya get behind, ask some of our women for help,” she suggested. “Tendin’ to full tables here won’t be any different from takin’ care of folks at a common meal after church.”