An Amish Christmas With the Bontrager Sisters

by Hannah Schrock

  “None taken,” Jarron laughed and clicked his tongue at the horses to start trotting towards home.

  “We could have persuaded him to start treatment without the termination,” Emma said. “I’m sure it’s possible.”

  “Even if it is Emma, I am not for it,” Sarah sighed. “There was a time when I saw this boppli as another curse on my life but I have grown very fond of him. He’s the only link I have left to Jeramiah.”

  “Do you think he will come back if you have this baby?” Jarron asked gently.

  “Ach, I don’t know,” Sarah said. “He’s been excommunicated so even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to, would he? But I believe that this boppli might bring Jeramiah’s faith back to Gott. He doesn’t need to be part of the church but I need him to believe again.”

  “Why does his faith matter more to you than his infidelity?” Emma finally asked. This had bothered her since Jeramiah had left and Sarah had insisted they keep his faithlessness in Gott a secret. It hadn’t done any good because his actions had excommunicated him anyway.

  “Because faith was the only thing keeping him by my side, Emma,” Sarah said a tear rolling down her wasted cheek. “The only difference between me and that young Englischer was the faith. If I hadn’t been Amish I’d probably live in one of these homes,” she pointed at the modern dwellings fit to the teeth with technology, “and have enough time to care for my own appearance. I’d look just as shiny and glossy as any Englischer and he’d be by my side. He didn’t reject me, he rejected who he was, he rejected his entire way of life. I just happened to be a part of it.”

  “Don’t you think Jeramiah would want you well,” Emma gave it one last shot, “if Jeramiah was still with you, wouldn’t he insist you get treatment?”

  “But he isn’t, is he?” Sarah said and Jarron signaled to Emma to drop it. Sarah leaned her head back and sighed deeply.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Courting Scandal

  Martha was lost in the rhythm of her fingers. In the tranquil silence of the shop she sat on the rocking chair and sewed patterns on the midnight blue quilt she was working on. The colors caught her eye immediately and brightened her mood. All alone, far from prying eyes and curious ears, Martha sang an English song she had learned to love in her rumspringa.

  She seldom thought of her fiancé now, her dreams now filled with a blonde young man with blue eyes and a winning smile on his lips. Jacob Lapp had made it clear that he wished to court Martha. He waited for her if she got late, the rest of the people in the wagon showing their displeasure through their silence. Jacob would keep up a merry chatter as they drove to the community, dropping every family off till they were alone and then he would lapse into a companionable silence allowing Martha the time to become familiar with him and to initiate a dialogue.

  Martha had to admit that it was working. Little by little she was growing more comfortable in his presence and the other day he had produced a bottle of lemonade which they had shared surreptitiously.

  The bell above the door jangled and Martha looked up to see Jane King stride into the shop. She looked furious. Martha knew that Jane had been hoping for Jacob to court her and that she would be upset by the new circumstances, but the look of pure venom in Jane’s eyes told Martha she might have underestimated Jane’s bitterness.

  “You must stop,” Jane said in clipped tones. Martha saw her fists clenched by the side of her skirts. “He is a sweet innocent man and you need to stop corrupting him with your sinful ways.”

  “Jane,” Martha set her quilt aside. “I know you are upset,”

  “I am more than upset, Martha Bontrager,” Jane napped, “You have led a wonderful, good man astray with your vile English trappings. Have you no shame? To do this to a gut man after Jeramiah left your sister for an Englischer?”

  “That is nonsense!”

  “You were gone for years!” Jane went on as if she had been keeping these angry words in for far too long. “How are we to know that you didn’t indulge in every sin there is to indulge in? And now you mean to have the cherry on top of your decadent cake and marry a gut plain man? Do you think Gott does not know of your deviousness and will take your deception at face value? He knows and I know that you are corrupt and bad and you do not belong in our community.”

  Martha felt her hands shaking and knew that her face was as white as a sheet. To hear the very words you feared people were thinking thrown in your face was agony beyond compare. Sarah’s diagnosis and her insistence to refuse treatment had left the family crippled with sorrow but this was cutting to the bone.

  “If you will not stop in your ridiculous mission,” Jane pointed a warning finger at Martha’s face, “I will have to take matters in my own hands. This is a warning.”

  Martha swallowed her rage and bitterness, her nerves jangling at the slam of the front door.

  *

  “Just one more spoonful,” Emma cooed. She ladled the broth on to the spoon and lifted it up to tight resistant lips. “Don’t be stubborn now,” Emma said cheerfully. “You know it’s good for you.”

  Sarah shook her head emphatically.

  “Emma I wish I could,” she moaned. “I know how much you worry but I can not take more in without wanting to retch.”

  “If you don’t eat the boppli will not be strong,” Mamm said. “Do you want that?”

  Sarah reluctantly allowed Emma to feed her three more mouthfuls but then declined. Emma didn’t press, Sarah’s skin had an unhealthy green tinge to it. The calendar said it was the end of summer but the sun had other plans. The heat had drenched their dresses till they stuck to their backs. Done with their chores early in the morning, the Bontrager family sat in Emma’s haus, the windows flung open to allow any stray breeze in.

  “I think I’ll lie down,” Sarah said, grunting as she made to get to her feet. Martha helped her from the chair and supported her to Sarah’s room.

  “Skin and bones,” Mamm sobbed quietly into her handkerchief. “My girl is naught but skin and bones.”

  “She must get help,” Emma said earnestly wringing her hands in her lap. “We must seek treatment for her cancer.”

  “She has refused,” Daed said not lifting his eyes from the Bible in his hands. “You must respect her decision.”

  “Her decision is killing her,” Emma said. “Isaac and Ruth see it, they see their mother wasting away before their eyes and they are scared. They burst into tears the other day when they tried to wake Sarah up from a nap but she was in too deep a sleep to wake up.”

  “Poor kinder,” Mamm dabbed at her eyes. “Ach, but what is she to do Emma? If it weren’t for the baby I am sure she could be persuaded to get treatment, but as things stand,” Mamm spread her hands resignedly.

  “It is Gott’s will that Sarah be plagued with misery,” Daed said quietly, “and it is Gott’s will that I be impotent to do anything to help my duchder.”

  Emma saw his eyes fill with tears that he did not shed. Daed’s faith had always been rock solid. A kind man of titanic conviction in Gott’s will, he had been the pillar for his family and his community. Emma took strength from her father’s unwavering faith but she decided to do more than just trust Gott’s will.

  As Jarron was fond of saying; Gott helps those who help themselves.

  *

  The service was extraordinarily moving as the congregation came together to pray for Sarah Yoder and her plight, for the curing of her sickness and the safe delivery of her boppli. Martha had prayed in earnest, her heart ringing with praise for Gott and a sliver of hope had grown in her breast.

  She was in a bright mood. The sun had finally relented and didn’t shine as mercilessly bright as it had all summer. A stiff breeze was blowing to cool their faces and the leaves were slowly but surely turning mottled yellow and red.

  The congregation were milling about in groups after the service, the youth in their rumspringa still inside the stuffy room, eyeing each other and hoping for someone to ask them for a buggy ride
. Martha smiled as she remembered her own time but the smile quickly froze. She banished the unpleasant memories from her mind.

  People were coming to talk to Mamm and Daed in pairs, enquiring after Sarah’s health. Emma and Jarron were whispering conspiratorially with Bishop Amos under the apple tree next to the Mullet haus. Isaac and Ruth were running around with their schul friends.

  “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” a deep cheerful voice said close to her ear and Martha couldn’t help the huge smile that spread across her face. She tried not to look at Jacob Lapp standing next to her, grinning like a fool. “This is my favorite part about the church, the people gathering afterwards, talking, and laughing. It makes me feel like I’m part of a big family.”

  “You are part of a big family,” Martha said seriously. “You’re the eighth of ten children.”

  “That is true,” Jacob nodded mock seriously, “but then again I was away for a very long time and it got lonely with only my aunt and me.”

  “Was it very much different from here?” Martha asked. “I’m curious because I’ve never been in another Amish community before.”

  “They were more orthodox,” Jacob said, “they had bundling there.”

  “What?” Martha asked perplexed.

  “Bundling,” Jacob grinned. “You don’t know what bundling is?”

  “No,” Martha said.

  Jacob’s grin grew wider but he didn’t answer. His cheeks were stained slightly pink. Her eyes widened as he took her hand and led her to where her parents stood. Daed and Mamm looked surprised to see them, Mamm’s eyes quickly taking in their held hands.

  “Good afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Bontrager,” Jacob said.

  “Good afternoon,” Daed said gruffly.

  “I would like to ask permission to take Martha on a buggy ride,” he said with a winning smile. Daed looked him up and down, his stern eyebrows like thunderclouds over his lightning eyes. Jacob’s smile faltered a little.

  “Of course,” Daed finally shrugged, giving Jacob a rare thin smile. “If Martha would like that.”

  “I would Daed,” Martha said quietly, her heart skipping several beats till she felt faint. She let Jacob lead her away to his eldest brother’s buggy who he had already asked permission for its use.

  Martha climbed up next to Jacob and it was only then that she noticed the shocked glances and the catty whispers and a pair of flint narrow eyes in the face of Jane King following her every movement.

  They had only gone a few feet when Martha blurted her greatest concern.

  “You shouldn’t court me,” she said forcefully. “I’m no good. You will find a much better match in Jane King. She never ran away, she has always been a gut girl,” Martha was shocked to feel her face wet with tears and hear her voice screechy and tearful.

  “Jane King is a foolish girl prone to jealous bouts and petty rages,” Jacob said pleasantly. “She is spoiled and unkind and espouses none of the teachings of our church. Now stop that self-deprecating crying or I won’t tell you what bundling is,” Jacob tried to sound stern but ruined it by smiling wide.

  Martha couldn’t help it. She laughed through her tears and she felt a strange stirring at the very sight of him. It was more than mere fondness, she genuinely loved him.

  “Bundling is practiced by the most orthodox Amish communities,” Jacob said, “the kind my Aunt was a part of. The two people courting spend all night in the girl’s bed, lying side by side but not touching each other.”

  “Because they trust Gott is watching,” Martha said, understanding completely.

  “Exactly,” Jacob looked at her, impressed. “The elders believe that the faith in their children should be so strong that they can lie next to each other in bed, fully clothed, and yet not be tempted by the devil. And of course it is the most comfortable to sit in any orthodox Amish home,” Jacob shrugged and Martha laughed.

  Suddenly Martha didn’t care about Jane King and what the rest of the community thought of her. A wonderful, good man thought the best of her, what more could she ask from Gott?

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Search

  Jarron parked the buggy outside a large house with a tiled roof, a well-manicured garden and a small kennel where a bulldog slept locked to a chain. He checked the address again to make sure it was the right house.

  Jarron had asked the people Jeramiah had worked with if they knew where he was living in the English town. They had all supplied him with this address but no further information. None of them had seen Jeramiah in months. He had given his resignation sometime in February.

  Emma had persisted that finding Jeramiah was the key to helping Sarah get treatment and Bishop Amos had agreed. The Bishop had been of the opinion that if not to help get Sarah treatment, Jeramiah should at least know that his wife was still wedded to him, that she was expecting his child and dying because of it.

  Jarron had a feeling that Bishop Amos felt Jeramiah’s loss of faith just as keenly as Sarah did.

  Jarron straightened his coat and walked up to the front door. The bulldog woke up at the sound of the doorbell and began to bark in earnest lest his owner think he’d been asleep on the job.

  “Shut up, Jupiter,” a shrill voice screamed from inside the house. The door opened and a semi clad young woman stood peering up at Jarron. She had shiny blonde hair that was styled in lose waves and curls, her eyes were heavily made up and her lips pink with gloss. Her well-tanned legs were exposed for the world to see, her shorts barely covering her modesty. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Jarron,” he said swallowing hard and keeping his gaze steadily on her forehead. “Jarron Williams. I’m a relative of Jeramiah’s. May I speak to him?”

  “No,” the woman said, shaking her head so her hair danced in silky waves.

  “And why is that?” Jarron was taken aback by her curt answer.

  “Because he’s dead,” she said simply. She turned on her heels and walked inside, leaving the door open for Jarron to follow.

  Jarron stood at the door, his hat in his hands, too shocked for words. Jeramiah dead… But how?

  He walked in a daze and found himself in a neat living room, not unlike the one his own mother kept in his childhood home, a TV in one corner, a bookshelf full of knickknacks and a coffee table devoid of any decoration and all centered around a comfortable sofa.

  The woman was pouring out large glasses of lemonade. She brought one of them over to Jarron and sat down on the sofa, tucking her feet up and patting at the space left for him to take. Jarron did.

  “I’m Suzie by the way,” she said. “Suzie Otego. I was his girlfriend.”

  “I know,” Jarron said.

  “I expect you do,” she said narrowing her eyes as she regarded Jarron from the rim of her glass. “Did she send you? His wife?”

  “No,” Jarron said truthfully and took a sip of lemonade. It was too sweet and grainy from the powder mix Suzie had used. Not like Emma’s freshly squeezed lemonade.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “How did Jeramiah die?” Jarron asked, finding the woman distasteful like her lemonade.

  “It was a car accident early March,” she said placing the lemonade glass on the coffee table. “We were driving down from Erie and the weather had let up but there was still some ice on the road. We’d had a bit too much to drink and, well, there was a patch of ice and I lost control of the car,” Suzie shrugged.

  “He died in a car accident,” Jarron said tonelessly.

  “I broke my arm,” Suzie pointed to her left arm. “And I got stitches,” she pointed to her forehead.

  “Jeramiah died,” Jarron said fiercely, “eight months ago and you didn’t think to inform his family?”

  “As far as Jeramiah was concerned, he didn’t have one,” Suzie snapped. She looked at Jarron with the bitter hate of a five year old. “He didn’t give me any addresses or numbers to contact them with.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” Jarron said through gritted teeth, knowing that S
uzie was lying. If she had been bothered she would have gotten a message through any of the many Amish people who worked in the town. She was a lazy, selfish human being and Jarron couldn’t see what Jeramiah had seen in her.

  “He’s buried in the cemetery behind the church,” Suzie said finally and followed Jarron to the door. She looked like she was fighting with an idea and she’d finally made a decision. “His last words were ‘Sarah.’ If it’s any consolation to his wife,” Suzie shrugged, “he died calling her name.”

  Jarron didn’t know if it would be any comfort at all but he tipped his hat to Suzie Otego and walked briskly back to his horse and buggy. He stroked the horse’s nose to calm the animal. The bulldog’s incessant barking had doubled since Suzie had come out to watch Jarron leave.

  Jarron turned his buggy around and returned to the community, thanking Gott in His infinite wisdom for choosing him for the plain Amish life with a wife who deeply cared for him and his happiness.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Departed Souls

  Jarron’s heart was heavy with grief. He had known Jeramiah for years, first as a friend of Eli’s and then as a brother-in-law. He had been a fount of wisdom and good humor and had been the only witness when Jarron had proposed marriage to Emma.

  For all his good deeds, Jeramiah was still human and prone to human error. It was a shame that his choices had led to this: the destruction of a happy family and a wife brought to the door of death.

  How was he going to tell Sarah? It would kill her and she would doubly refuse to take treatment. This news held their families’ lives in the balance and he didn’t think he was the man for such a big responsibility.

  Faced with a decision he felt inadequate to make, he went immediately to Emma who was in the kitchen basting the roasted chicken. Jarron held her arm and pulled her out on the back porch. Emma was about to protest but when she saw the urgency in his face and the stricken look in his eyes she stooped.