An Amish Christmas Wedding

by Amy Clipston

  3

  Rachel had meant to close Chloe up in the mudroom, but the dog was so quiet—maybe from exhaustion after her morning romp—that she completely forgot about her.

  The tour arrived promptly at ten. Micah was good about keeping to the schedule, and she appreciated that. The teakettles had just begun to whistle when she heard Micah’s buggy pull up, followed by Paul’s buggy and Bill’s van.

  The Englisch women on the tours—and ninety percent of the tourists in their groups were women—reminded Rachel of the time she’d visited an aviary with her parents. Like the birds, the women represented so many different colors and types, all chattering excitedly to one another. She’d become accustomed to their looks of surprise at seeing a house not so different from their own. She had the same pieces of furniture, the same appliances in the kitchen—though gas powered—and the same sunshine coming through the window on a bright December morning.

  In fact, a glance at the calendar had reminded her that today was the second of December. Perhaps that explained part of her glum mood on waking. This wasn’t the easiest month for someone living alone.

  How do you celebrate Christmas if you’re the only member of your family? More than two years had passed since her parents had died in the buggy accident, but she still didn’t know how to handle holidays. What’s the point in cooking a special meal when there’s no one to share it with? And was she supposed to give herself a Christmas gift?

  She pushed those thoughts aside as she poured boiling water into the teapots. Then she listened to her guests’ comments as she greeted them in her sitting room.

  “Your house is lovely.”

  “It’s so uncluttered. I read a blog post about that last week.”

  “No television either. I ask Earl to turn off that noisy thing every day, but he just sits there flipping through channels.”

  Rachel cleared her throat, and the guests immediately grew quiet. “Welcome to my home. I’m so pleased that you’ve chosen to spend part of your morning with me. We’ll have tea, and then I’ll answer questions about the Amish lifestyle. Finally, I have some quilts you might be interested in.”

  The response was immediate—nods and murmurs of agreement.

  “I have seating for a dozen of you in this room. The other eight will fit around the kitchen table. If someone would like to help me with the trays . . .”

  One or two women always jumped up at the idea of helping. These were the ladies with whom Rachel felt the most kinship. Amish or Englisch, some people immediately lent a hand while others seemed unsure what was expected of them.

  Two of the women followed her into the kitchen—one tall and thin with dark skin and the other shorter with light skin and red hair. Rachel selected a tray from the counter and handed it to the first woman. “I’ll bring in the teapots.”

  She’d just turned to pick up another tray when she heard a squeal. “You have a dog—a Labrador. Do you mind if I pet her?” The redheaded woman was kneeling in front of Chloe even as she asked the question.

  “She isn’t really mine. Micah found her last night and brought her here.”

  “You bandaged her leg?”

  “Yes. We think she injured it on a fence. And it seems she’s not been eating well.”

  “She’s still beautiful.”

  The woman’s squeal had prompted several other guests gathering in the kitchen to turn toward the dog. Three more hustled over to pet and coo over Chloe, who withstood the attention surprisingly well. Then Micah came in, his face wreathed in a smile.

  Standing close enough to Rachel to practically whisper, he said, “Our guests seem to be enjoying Chloe.”

  “Maybe one of them will take her home.”

  “She hasn’t won you over yet?” His eyebrows knit together in mock surprise.

  Another thing she liked about Micah was that he didn’t rattle easily, and she knew in her heart that he wouldn’t judge her regardless what decision she made about the dog.

  “She’s well-behaved, I’ll give you that.”

  “And like I said, it’s unique—having a dog in an Amish house.”

  Unique was one of Micah’s favorite words.

  Leaning closer, he lowered his voice even more. “Helps dispel those with an idea that we all run puppy mills.”

  Rachel tsked at that. The last person she’d known to try to run anything like a puppy mill—which was actually three beagles he’d bred multiple times—had received a prolonged lecture from Bishop Simon about the proper way to care for Gotte’s animals. The next week all the beagles had been adopted, and the man had moved on to keeping bees, which he was much more adept at doing.

  Word spread through their group, and over the next twenty minutes each woman seemed to make her way into the kitchen to see Chloe. The dog certainly did help put people at ease. Everyone was smiling by the time Rachel called them all into the sitting room. Micah and Paul brought in the kitchen chairs so everyone would have a seat.

  Rachel stood next to the woodstove. When everyone quieted, she let her eyes scan the group more thoroughly, most of the women evidently enjoying the tour in pairs or groups of three or four. Though she did notice one woman sitting a bit off by herself. She was gazing around the room as if she needed to drink in the sight of it. When she turned her eyes to Rachel, something in her expression caused Rachel to cock her head and pause.

  But then someone commented on how the tea had really hit the spot and someone else murmured that she couldn’t wait to see the quilts. Those snippets of conversation brought Rachel’s attention back to the matter at hand.

  “Gudemariye. That means good morning in Pennsylvania Dutch, the language Amish folk speak with one another.”

  The ladies attempted to reply in kind, which brought a lot of laughter from the group—from everyone except the solitary woman who smiled as if the word pained her in some way.

  “We strive to live a simple life, a life apart, and yet we welcome you to our community. We understand that in today’s world, life can be hectic, and many are seeking a quieter, calmer place.”

  “It’s certainly calm and quiet here. I don’t miss the traffic noise one bit.”

  “For certain there’s not a lot of traffic on an Amish farm.”

  That brought more laughter. It was obviously a good-natured group—at least most of it.

  “The Amish life isn’t for everyone, but perhaps you’ll see something here to take back to your own world, something that will calm your spirit and bring you into closer fellowship with our Lord.”

  That brought more nods and murmurs of agreement.

  “I’ll tell you a little about our community and faith, and then I’ll answer whatever questions you have.”

  Rachel had been surprised to find that she liked speaking to these groups. She was always impressed by their interest and politeness. To her, the Amish life seemed simple and the things they did on a daily basis—baking bread, hanging out the laundry, planting a garden—uninteresting. Though most of her guests lived in urban areas, she knew many of them had grown up with grandparents who did those same things. Visiting her home was like a trip back to their own childhood.

  She’d become accustomed to the questions, which were usually at least similar.

  “Why do you hate technology?”

  “We don’t hate it. We only strive to limit its intrusion in our lives.”

  “Is it hard living without electricity?”

  “For me, it’s what I’ve always known. It’s no harder than it was for my parents.”

  “Why don’t you own cars?”

  “Automobiles are quite expensive and don’t last as long as a horse. Also, we can grow what the horse needs to eat versus purchasing gasoline, which fluctuates in price with each season and year.”

  “Do most Amish women really have ten children?”

  “Many do. We believe children are a gift from God.” She glanced at Micah. He once mentioned that he and Inez had hoped for more children, as had his s
on and daughter-in-law. But Gotte knew best.

  “Why do the children attend school only through eighth grade?”

  “Because that’s all the education they need to acquire a job in the Amish community. In fact, most teens enter apprenticeships so they can try several different jobs before deciding on their life’s path.”

  “Are women treated equally with men?”

  “The Bible commands us to treat each other with compassion and respect regardless of gender or race. Although Amish women fill more traditional roles in an Amish community, they have an equal say in the running of their homes and schools.”

  “Is the Amish faith a cult?”

  “My understanding is that a cult follows a particular man. While we have a bishop in each community to lead us, when he moves or dies, another is randomly selected.”

  Most of the women listened intently, speaking softly to one another between questions.

  Micah signaled that they had fifteen minutes left.

  “Now I’d like to tell you about our quilting. We still hand-sew each quilt—both the piecing and the quilting itself. We use traditional colors for quilts to use in our own homes, which you’ll see with the quilt on my bed in a moment. However, for quilts we sell, we use all types of colors and patterns.”

  A woman sitting closest to her with reading glasses on a chain around her neck raised her hand as if she were a youngie in school. “I heard Amish women put a mistake in each quilt to help them remain humble.”

  “Trust me, that’s not necessary. Every quilt I’ve made already had a mistake in it. No need for me to put one there.”

  That brought more laughter, and some of the women again nodded in agreement. A few quilters were always among the women who came.

  “Did your mother teach you to quilt?”

  This came from the woman sitting a little apart. Like Rachel, she was around five feet, six inches and a bit thick through the waist and hips. Her hair was also brown—though it was cut short and seemed to curl naturally. Something besides her physical appearance seemed familiar, though. Yet that was impossible. Rachel was sure she’d never met her before.

  “My late mother did teach me, and her mother taught her. If Micah thinks we have time, I’ll tell you a story about my mother and her sister.”

  The lone woman sat up ramrod straight, then proceeded to worry her thumbnail.

  The other women turned as one toward Micah, who raised his hands in a palms-out gesture. This brought more laughter. They were certainly a pleasant group—other than the woman who had asked the question. Her expression was serious. Troubled, even.

  Rachel went on.

  “They were teenagers at the time. Aenti Deborah was pledged to be married, and the two of them decided to make a quilt in the traditional double wedding ring pattern. You may have noticed that Amish don’t wear jewelry, not even a wedding ring. But the quilt pattern is said to symbolize a never-ending bond between the bride and groom. My mother and aunt misjudged how long it would take to make a queen-sized quilt, though. In the months and then weeks before my aunt’s wedding, they found themselves often staying up late at night, sewing by lamplight. Perhaps that’s why they didn’t see the mistake until they placed it on the bed in my aunt’s new home.”

  Now the strange woman was staring at the floor, but the others were leaning forward, completely caught up in the story. It was a bittersweet memory for Rachel, as many memories of her parents were. She still hadn’t quite recovered from their sudden passing.

  “Can any of you guess what mistake they found?”

  No one ever answered that question. In fact, Rachel barely paused before giving the answer. Today was different. The woman sitting alone tentatively raised a hand and said, “One of the panels was upside down.”

  Everyone turned to stare at her, but the woman kept her eyes on Rachel.

  Rachel was completely taken aback. The answer was a statement, not a question as if the woman was guessing. How was that possible?

  Clearing her throat, she glanced at Micah, who shrugged his shoulders in surprise.

  “Exactly.” She needed to wind up the speech quickly so the women would still have time to visit what had been her parents’ room and view the quilts she’d placed on the bed. “And the quilt remained as it was, a reminder that no person and certainly no relationship is perfect.”

  The mysterious woman followed Rachel and the rest of the women into the bedroom, staying just long enough to stare at the quilts and then glance around. Rachel had removed her parents’ personal effects, so there wasn’t much to see.

  By the time Micah had herded everyone outside, she’d sold three quilts. But she was less interested in the money than in the woman who’d known her mamm’s story. She hurried outside to search for her, but she wasn’t among the guests in the buggies. She must have come with Bill, whose van was already driving away.

  Rachel supposed how the woman had known about the quilt would remain a mystery.

  4

  Micah had been looking directly at Rachel when the Englisch woman answered her question. He’d seen the look of shock, which she’d tried to cover with a smile. It was as plain as the sunshine melting the snow on the side of the road that the response had upset her. He’d thought it was strange too.

  So after lunch, though he’d already unloaded the dog supplies, he decided to swing by to check on her, maybe tell her what he’d learned about the woman. But only if she brought her up.

  “Come to retrieve your dog?” Rachel was outside sweeping the already clean porch when he pulled up. Chloe was curled up in a corner watching. Her tail beat a pattern against the wooden floor as he bent to pet her.

  “Nein. I haven’t had time to ask around about her.”

  Standing on her porch steps, he turned and glanced out over the fields she leased to the Troyer boy. Though he was hardly a boy, and he had a family of his own. Josiah had made Rachel an offer for both her fields and the house last summer. Micah had been there the day he’d suggested buying the place. That had been one of the first times Rachel invited him to stay for tea when he’d brought her some news about the business. She’d turned Josiah down with a tight smile. When Micah asked her why, she simply replied, “And where would I go? This is the only home I’ve known since my family moved to Shipshe years ago.”

  He thought of that now as she swept the clean porch.

  It was a beautiful winter’s day, and something told him Rachel was feeling a bit restless.

  “Care to go to town for a pretzel?”

  She leaned the broom against the wall, crossed her arms, and gave him a pointed look. “Micah Miller, when do you take off in the middle of the day to eat pretzels?”

  He glanced at Chloe, who simply stared at him with her large brown eyes, then looked back at Rachel. Apparently Rachel hadn’t caught on to the fact that they were semiretired and could pretty much do whatever they wanted in the middle of the day. He needed a valid excuse for getting her out of the house, and Chloe looked like a good candidate.

  “We could take Chloe by the vet and the shelter—see if anyone is missing a dog.”

  “Now that’s a gut idea. Let me grab my coat.”

  Ten minutes later, Chloe was in the back of the buggy, curled on a blanket on the floor, and Rachel was riding by Micah’s side. That seemed good and right to him, and in that moment he realized he was lonely too. Yes, it was possible to be lonely even when you lived in a house full of people. He would always miss Inez. They’d had a long and happy life together, but she’d been gone five years. Perhaps he was ready to move on with his life. Perhaps he was tired of being alone.

  He and Rachel had ridden together half a dozen times in the past year. After she’d invited him in for tea that day, occasionally he’d offered to pick her up for church, especially if the weather was bad. It wasn’t courting, and they certainly didn’t need a chaperone at their age. Still, she often seemed a bit tense the first few miles. This time Rachel seemed to relax as soon as she
settled in the buggy. Her posture was less rigid, and she’d stopped worrying her kapp string.

  “Your buggy horse seems to enjoy this weather.”

  “Ya, Samson is good-natured enough.”

  “Had him long?”

  “Let’s see. Tom was twentysomething when I purchased Samson from an Englischer.”

  “And now Tom is forty?”

  “He is.”

  “So Samson is probably fifteen years old.”

  “A gut guess.”

  “It always makes me laugh when Englischers ask why we don’t drive cars. I imagine most of them haven’t kept their vehicles more than the four years it takes to pay them off.”

  “The other night Tom told me many car loans are for six years now.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Cars have computers in them, backup cameras, all sorts of fancy technology. The cost has nearly doubled in the last twenty years.”

  “Horses haven’t changed much.”

  “Indeed.”

  Rachel smiled, and Micah wondered at how comfortable he felt with her. The rest of the ride passed in silence as they enjoyed the bright sunshine.

  Their first stop was the animal shelter. No one had reported a Labrador missing, though the girl who worked the front desk took a photo of Chloe and promised to post it on the board in their waiting area as well as on their website. “She looks like a real sweetheart.”

  “Do you have space to keep her?” Micah hated asking the question. He could feel Chloe’s accusatory eyes on him, but at the same time, he had rather sprung the dog on Rachel with no fair warning.

  The girl was already shaking her head. “We’re full at the moment, but we can send her to the shelter in Middlebury.”

  “No need to go to all that trouble.” Rachel wrote the number for the phone shack closest to her home on a piece of note paper. “Call me if anyone shows up looking for her.”