The Christmas Cradle

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “I’m real sorry to hear that,” Ben replied.

  “Travel safely. We’ll send our prayers along with ya,” Bishop Tom added as he clasped Reuben’s shoulder. “Let us know what all we can do while ya need to be gone.”

  Tom looked at Ben with an odd expression on his face, then pulled a quarter from his pocket. “Unless you’re sayin’ straight out that ya want to preach the main sermon today—”

  “Nope, ya didn’t hear that from me,” Ben insisted.

  “—maybe we should flip for it,” the bishop continued. “We can say that God determines how the coin’ll land, just as He selected us to be preachers by the fallin’ of the lot. Or is my theology too far outside the lines?”

  Ben chuckled. It was a relief to see that even after years of experience, Tom was no more eager to preach Hiram’s funeral sermon than he was. “Heads.”

  The coin spun in the air between them. When Tom caught it and slapped it onto the back of his hand, George Washington was looking away from them, as though he wanted no part of the proceedings, either.

  “There ya have it,” the bishop murmured, tapping the coin with his finger. “‘In God we trust,’ it says. Can’t go wrong believin’ that—but if ya don’t have the heart to preach the longer sermon about a fella who caused ya so much trouble, it’s my job to assume that responsibility. Your call.”

  A smile found its way to Ben’s face. “In for a dime, in for a dollar,” he quipped. “I’d better take the talent my Master’s entrusted to me and make it pay, jah?”

  “You’re a gut man, Hooley. I’ll keep the first sermon short, followin’ the Twenty-Third Psalm, and leave ya plenty to say about Paul’s passage from Romans.” Tom marked a few hymns in his copy of the Ausbund and then looked at Ben and Reuben. “Let’s go. Folks need to hear what God tells us to say today.”

  From there, Ben allowed ritual to carry him. He and Tom and Reuben reentered the main downstairs room to walk down the aisle between the folks who’d taken their seats and sat in solemn silence. After the bishop said a few opening words, everyone bowed in prayer and then—because singing had no part in a Plain funeral—Tom read the words of one of the hymns he’d chosen. After Reuben read the Twenty-Third Psalm and the passages Ben had chosen from the Book of Romans, the bishop began the shorter of the morning’s two sermons.

  Ben listened, yet he drifted . . . not planning out what he would say exactly, but allowing the familiar cadence of Tom Hostetler’s homespun speech pattern to soothe him. It was a balm to his soul to recognize every solemn face in the congregation, friends who were trying to make sense of a disaster such as they’d not experienced before. Although each family had its own concerns, they’d set aside their individual cares to give the Knepp kids their support.

  In the back row, Ben spotted Derek Shotwell from the bank sitting beside Bob Oliveri. While it was unusual for English folks to attend Amish funerals, these two men felt a close kinship with the people of Willow Ridge—and they’d been directly affected by Hiram’s wrongdoings, too. They were listening attentively to Tom’s message, words of comfort and assurance from a psalm that had served as the basis for many a funeral, Plain and English.

  After Tom read the words of another hymn and led a prayer, Ben stood up. He had no notes, and his only instruction for becoming a preacher had come from studying the Bible with Tom and Vernon’s guidance. He gazed around the crowded room. From Your lips to my ears, Lord, he prayed as he clasped his hands. Help me to be a blessing and to make a positive difference in the lives of Your people.

  “We’re familiar with the first chapter of Genesis, where God created the world and called it gut,” he began quietly. “But right now we’re caught up in a dilemma, in which a church leader we’ve known and trusted has caused trouble like we’ve not had to fathom before. And even if we’re not sayin’ them out loud, we’re probably askin’ some mighty tough questions. If God made the world to be gut, how can He allow such evil as we’ve seen this week to exist? Or does God sometimes turn a blind eye when we need Him most?”

  Ben swallowed so hard his parched throat clicked. Within a few short sentences he’d strayed from the comforting tone Bishop Tom had set and had painted himself into a very tight theological corner. Had he been wrong to speak of evil when the Knepp kids needed peace that would allow them to forgive their errant father?

  He glanced at Annie Mae and Nellie, whose heads remained bowed as they sat with little Sarah between them. Then he saw that Adam and Matthias Wagler, with Timmy between them and Joey and Josh on their laps, were focusing very intently on him. Josiah, too, was sitting tall on the backless bench, appearing hungry for whatever words of wisdom he could impart. Judging from the intense expressions on several faces, folks had indeed questioned God’s presence when part of their town had gone up in smoke.

  Ben took a deep breath and went on, for there was no going back. “I don’t know the answers to those questions,” he admitted. “But when I hear Paul’s letter to the Roman church, which Reuben read for us, a few important points help me to keep believin’ in a God who loves us even when it seems His creation has gone astray. ‘If God be for us, who can be against us?’”

  Ben paused to recall the verses he wanted to lift up. The house was filled with an expectant silence as nearly three hundred people watched and waited for what he would say next. “‘Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?’” he went on in a stronger voice. “‘Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?’ If we say we believe in a God who loves us despite our sins, then we must also believe that nothing comes between us and our Lord, even in times of deepest doubt and grief. When it seems He’s turned His back on us and our troubles, maybe . . .”

  Ben closed his eyes, hoping something brilliant and uplifting would come to him. What would Miriam say? He opened his mouth, hoping that some of her innate faith and goodness would see him through to the end of this difficult sermon.

  “When it seems God has turned His back,” he repeated—and then he reached toward home in his mind, visualizing his dear wife and their newborn child. “Maybe that’s when He’s leadin’ us toward a better life, a future that He alone can see—but we have to follow Him. We must have faith that He knows best, and that He knows what lies ahead for us, even when we’re standin’ in the ashes, shakin’ our heads and thinkin’ all is lost.”

  Ben wasn’t entirely sure what came out of his mouth for the rest of his sermon, but when he saw Josiah’s expression of awe—noticed that Gabe Glick, who’d preached hundreds of sermons before he’d retired, was nodding in agreement—he continued in a voice that rang with confidence. “‘For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels’—nor any of the other things Paul listed,” he paraphrased, “‘shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’”

  Ben looked out over the congregation, smiling solemnly. He knew now how it would end—his sermon, as well as his personal grudge against Hiram Knepp. While he’d been exhorting everyone else to believe, he’d talked himself out of his own faltering faith. “In this season when we celebrate the birth of our Jesus, let us not dwell upon death or destruction,” he said. “Let us renew our faith, believing that God will show us the way we’re to go.”

  “Amen,” Bishop Tom murmured behind him.

  Moments later, when folks were expressing condolences to Annie Mae and her siblings, Tom sidled up to Ben with awry smile. “See there? God knew you’d do a better job preachin’ over Hiram than I would,” he murmured. “I wish Miriam could’ve heard the conviction and inspiration that rang in your words this morning, Ben. You’ve blessed us all on a difficult day.”

  Oh, but Miriam was here in spirit, guiding every word, Ben realized with a smile. Denki for the fine woman You’ve blessed me with, Lord. With Your help we’ll figure out what comes next, as far as how we’ll rebuild our lives and livelihood.

  A few minutes after Ben left for the funeral,
Miriam gently laid Bethlehem in the cradle he’d made for her. She gazed at their dozing daughter with such love in her heart and such hope in her soul, knowing she would need all the love and hope she could muster for what she must do this morning. While everyone else in Willow Ridge gathered at the Wagler home, she would come to terms with the destruction of the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café.

  With her eyes closed, Miriam went to the big picture window. She stood for several moments with her head bowed, praying for strength. When she at last opened her eyes, it took a moment for the devastation to register. Where once had stood a sturdy frame building with signs for the SWEET SEASONS BAKERY CAFÉ on one side and SCHROCK’S QUILTS on the other—and where the white farrier shop had stood behind them—only charred pieces of the smithy’s forge remained recognizable in the rubble. The restaurant where she’d fed so many friends and baked away her troubles alongside Naomi, where she’d reunited with her lost daughter Rebecca and first met Ben on a stormy morning, was gone. In its place, a large, dark scar ravaged the snowy face of Willow Ridge.

  “Sweet Jesus, hold me in Your ever-lovin’ arms,” she rasped.

  Miriam pressed her palms against the cold glass, staring in desperate disbelief. A sob escaped her, and she allowed all her pent-up emotions to boil over. Surely it was acceptable in God’s sight to weep, to grieve over the place He’d led her to in her time of need after Jesse had passed. While she’d recently accepted that her place was now at home with Ben and their baby, pain stabbed her like a meat fork.

  A landmark of her life was gone forever. Not since she’d watched her toddler Rebecca get swept away in the flood-swollen river had Miriam felt such anguish.

  And didn’t I bring Rebecca back to you?

  Miriam sniffled and looked around the front room. She and Bethlehem were the only ones at home, yet she could’ve sworn she’d heard a deep, resonant voice much like Vernon Gingerich’s. And the voice was speaking directly to her. “Jah, Rebecca’s back—and she’s been such a blessing to me, and to everyone else in our little town, too,” Miriam whispered.

  She held her breath, waiting. Were her imagination and her postpartum hormones playing tricks on her?

  And didn’t I lead Ben to Willow Ridge, as well—just in time to keep Hiram at bay?

  Miriam sucked in her breath. Had it happened this way when angels came to visit Mary and Joseph? She wiped her wet cheeks on her sleeve and checked to be sure the baby was all right.

  Bethlehem slept sweetly in the cradle Ben had crafted. Just gazing at her made Miriam feel better.

  “Jah, my Ben’s been a mighty fine blessing, too,” she admitted. “And he’s at the Wagler place right now, talkin’ to folks about havin’ faith and trust—in You, God.”

  There—she’d said it. She’d declared aloud that God was speaking to her, and she was answering back. It was a good thing no one else was home, or they might think she was losing her marbles.

  Fear not, Miriam, your marbles are rolling in the right direction. Forward rather than backward.

  Swallowing hard, Miriam gazed around the front room again. Nothing had changed. She was still standing at the window and Bethlehem was now smiling in her sleep, as though she felt as safe and comfortable as she did when her father held her in his strong, steady arms.

  Miriam relaxed. A sense of serenity filled her as she envisioned herself being held in her Father’s strong, steady arms . . . allowed herself to believe that she and God were conversing, just as Mary had listened to Him and responded long ago. Her gaze shifted to the house where the Knepp kids were at their father’s funeral. They had lost so much more than she had.

  Father, hold those lambs in Your arms—and give Ben Your best guidance. He was scared when he left here, thinkin’ he wouldn’t be gut enough to preach such a tough service. He’s stronger than he knows.

  From Your lips to Ben’s ears.

  Miriam smiled. In her mind, she kissed Ben and held him close. Even so, as she focused on the soot and ashes and destruction across the road, there was no getting around the fact that two of the most vital businesses in Willow Ridge had burned to the ground, and that Hiram Knepp had destroyed them.

  She sighed as recollections of the past year filled her mind . . . Hiram ordering her to marry him, and expecting Rhoda to repent for loving Englishman Andy Leitner . . . leveraging his twins’ sleigh accident to procure the land for Higher Ground . . . boldly displaying his picture on his Web site . . . hiding a black Cadillac in his horse barn. And no one could forget the Sunday mornings when he’d stormed out of church rather than confessing these sins—and when he’d barged in on her and Ben’s wedding ceremony and interrupted another service to snatch his young children away from Annie Mae. Hiram had tried to come between Nora and Luke, too—and had repeatedly threatened Josiah and peered into Lena’s window.

  “What am I missin’, Lord?” Miriam murmured. “I believe You want the best for me—for all of Your children. And yet again and again Hiram tormented us.” She pressed her lips together, hoping she hadn’t sounded petty or ungrateful for the wonderful life God had granted her.

  Again and again Hiram was given opportunities to change his ways and make better choices. I didn’t give up on him.

  Miriam sucked in her breath. While she’d agreed with everyone’s remarks about Hiram’s wicked intentions and unthinkable sins, no one had ever considered the possibility that God was showing Hiram the patience of a Father’s love . . . the same great patience He displayed to each and every one of them despite the many ways they displeased and disobeyed Him every single day.

  “Oh, my,” she whispered. “Please Father, don’t ever give up on me. I’m doin’ the best I can, and—”

  When folks in black coats, hats, and bonnets began to stream out of the Wagler place, Miriam watched the six men who bore Hiram’s plain wooden coffin to the horse-drawn hearse that waited near the house. Everyone would walk down the hill to the small cemetery, where her Jesse, her stillborn child, and others had been laid to rest over the years. After Bishop Tom said the final words over Hiram’s grave, everyone would eat lunch at Nora and Luke’s large home—a meal that Josiah, Savilla, and Lena had prepared.

  Miriam watched respectfully, praying that God would look after Hiram’s soul in the hereafter even as He nurtured the souls of His living children. Then she stood up straighter. Three identical young women, one of them carrying a baby basket, began walking toward town rather than following the funeral procession. Two other women joined them, along with a couple of hatless fellows who wore English-cut topcoats.

  Miriam watched these people, who talked and nodded their heads as they passed Nora’s big white house and reached the county highway. When they turned, approaching her house, Miriam carried Bethlehem’s cradle to the kitchen to splash cool water on her face. She had a feeling she was about to have company—and that this group who were skipping the graveside service and the lunch had a very important reason to be visiting her instead.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Mamma, how’re ya feelin’ today? We missed ya!” Rhoda said as she burst through the back kitchen door.

  “Everyone says hello and sends their congratulations about Bethlehem, too,” Rebecca joined in.

  “And oh, but ya should’ve heard Ben’s preachin’!” Rachel exclaimed as she set baby Amelia’s basket on the table near Bethlehem’s cradle. “He closed his eyes and then it was like God was whisperin’ in his ear. We were all sittin’ on the edge of the benches, wonderin’ what he’d say next.”

  Miriam smiled to herself as she lit the stove burner under a percolator of fresh water and coffee. She was tickled to see Rebecca wearing a Plain black dress—probably one of Rachel’s, because she’d been staying with Rachel and Micah since she’d lost her apartment. “And what did he say about Hiram?” she asked. “He was nervous when he left home.”

  “I stand in awe, Miriam,” Bob Oliveri remarked as he and Derek Shotwell came inside, along with Mary Schrock and Naomi. “Here w
as a fellow who’d just had his business—and his wife’s—burned down by the man he was preaching over, yet Ben talked of forgiving those who do us harm and following God to a new life. You Amish amaze me.”

  As Miriam shared a hug with her triplets, she looked between their black bonnets to meet Bob’s gaze. “Well, now. I’m sorry I missed that.”

  “Oh, it was something,” Naomi agreed as she removed her wraps. “He started out by talkin’ about how it sometimes seems that God turns His back and looks the other way while people get away with all manner of evil—”

  “But that’s when God’s already leadin’ us toward something new and better, and we’re supposed to follow Him,” Rhoda murmured. “It was awesome. Even Bishop Tom was wipin’ his eyes.”

  Miriam thanked the Lord for providing Ben with such an uplifting message. “To God be the glory,” she murmured as she gave her girls a final squeeze. She was pleased that her guests were hanging up their coats, as though they felt right at home and planned to visit for awhile. “When I saw ya comin’, I was glad Lena left some of her cookies. It seems you’re skippin’ the funeral lunch and I’m sure it’ll be tasty, what with Josiah and Savilla fixin’ the food.”

  Bob and Derek shared a glance and then took seats at the table, while Naomi grabbed the cookie tins. “We thought this would be a good opportunity to discuss your options, while Josiah’s busy cooking,” Bob began in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Not that we want to exclude him,” Derek assured her. He chose a frosted star cookie covered with sprinkles. “But the Sweet Seasons and the quilt shop belonged to you three women, and we want you to know where things stand so you can make some informed decisions.”