Greta gave Marianne a little shake. “That sounds like fun. Go on. You don’t want to sit here and listen to us gossip, do you?”
Marianne slowly rose to her feet and followed the boy. Greta watched them from the living room window for a while. After a few hesitant minutes, Marianne got into the spirit of the adventure. It soon became a contest between the girls and the boys. Marianne and four-year-old Lily were rolling and patting together a ball of snow while Micah and five-year-old Amos tried to roll a bigger one faster.
“It looks like Marianne enjoys the snow,” Clara said.
That brought to mind something Morris had said earlier. Greta returned to the kitchen. “Naomi, I know Morris lived in this area before the family moved to Indiana when I was little. Does the name Miriam mean anything to you?”
“I’ve known a few women with that name, why?”
“Because Morris sometimes calls Toby’s sister by that name. He has such a faraway look in his eyes when he does. It’s like he is talking to someone from the past.” He was napping at the moment and all of them hoped he would stay in his room.
“Miriam. Oh, yes, I believe he had a sister by that name. She was a few years younger than the boys. Your mother told me about her. She died when she was ten I think. If I remember right, your mother said that she was always sickly. My memory isn’t what it used to be, but I’m sure Bishop Zook would know. He has all the records of births and deaths in this community, although that would have been before his time, too, but the previous bishop would have kept those records.”
“Or you could ask Morris.” Clara motioned toward the living room with her head. He was up and moving to his usual chair by the window.
Greta hesitated. “I’m not sure I want to do that.” While he hadn’t been overtly cruel, his sarcasm never let up.
“He is the one person who can tell you for sure,” Lizzie said, always one to get right to the point.
“Maybe he would like to talk about her,” Naomi said. “When we reach the golden years of our lives, our minds are often drawn back into the past. Things were better then. We were younger and stronger. Summers were longer. The snow wasn’t as cold. The people we knew back then gain a new importance to us. Morris might want to reminisce about her. You should ask him.”
Greta saw her uncle watching Marianne and the other children playing in the snow. She gathered her courage and approached him. “Did you like playing in the snow when you were that age, too?”
“What boy doesn’t?”
“What about Miriam?”
“She never liked the snow. It wasn’t good for her. Do you think she should come in? I don’t want her to catch her death.”
“Is that what happened to Miriam?”
He turned and scowled at Greta. He sat in the chair and looked up at her. “Why all these questions?”
“We never knew each other very well. I would like to change that.”
“Because I’m dying?”
Greta sat on the footstool by the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. “You are part of my family. I didn’t even know I had an aunt until I asked Naomi about it. I’ve heard you call Marianne Miriam a number of times. I knew the name meant something to you. Can you tell me about her?”
“She died. What is there to tell?” He stared out the window.
“I’m sorry she died, but she lived, too. That’s important to me. I shall meet her in heaven one day, and it will be good to know something about her. Naomi thought she was a sickly child, is that true?”
“My mother coddled her. It made her weak. My father thought he could make her stronger, but she died, anyway. My mother cried for so long, but father couldn’t stand the sound. He would hit her to make her stop. He said the world was a cruel place and only the strong survived in it. It was his job to make us strong. Sometimes I hated him, but he made me strong. I tried to make you girls strong, but what good did it do? You turned against me.”
For the first time, Greta realized that Morris had been an abused child. In her reading on the subject, she learned it was often a cycle passed from parent to child, but she’d never considered that he might be a victim, too. “I’m sorry.”
He glared at her. “For what?”
“For the loss of your sister and the pain your father caused you. Thank you for telling me about Miriam.” She rose and left the room.
*
Toby returned from town with a good lead on a job and two pretty wooden boxes in a brown paper bag. He had purchased them at a gift shop that catered to Englisch tourists by selling Amish-made products. The boxes were plain walnut, but he had an idea to carve a scene in each lid and give them as Christmas gifts to Marianne and Greta.
“It will take at least three days to get the van fixed,” Arles said with a sad shake of his head at supper that evening. “It won’t be ready until the day after Christmas.”
“All that means is that you will be with us for Christmas,” Naomi said brightly. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.
“I surely do hate to impose at the holidays like this. I plan to move into the inn in town. They have room for me. Nothing against your hospitality, but I would feel better staying there.”
Naomi waved her hand back and forth. “Nonsense. It’s no imposition at all. We are happy to have you. The Lord sent you to us and we will do our best to make up for missing Christmas with your own family.”
“I don’t have any family to speak of. The wife and I got divorced years ago. She took our two girls and moved to California. They are grown now and they lead busy lives. I only see them in the summer.”
“I’m sorry to hear this. Having our family with us is a wonderful gift at Christmastime. You must come with us to the school program tomorrow. Englisch guests are welcome. You will enjoy watching the children put on their plays, sing songs and recite poetry. It will lift your spirits, for that is what God wishes for us at this time of year.”
“That’s mighty nice of you to invite me.”
Naomi turned to Marianne and Toby. “And you must join us, too.”
Marianne pressed her hand to her cheek and shook her head. “I don’t want to go. People will stare at me.”
“What will they see when they look at you?” Greta asked. She cocked one eyebrow at the girl as she waited for her to answer.
“Someone who is ugly.”
Greta nodded. “I reckon you’re right if you think that.”
“Greta!” Toby chided. “My sister is not ugly.”
“I did not say she was. Does anyone here think Marianne is an ugly child? Speak up. I don’t hear anyone agreeing with her.”
Marianne turned a fierce scowl at Greta. “They don’t have to say it. I know it.”
“You do look different, Marianne. Different, not ugly. People may stare at you because they are surprised or because they feel sorry that something bad happened to you. Not because they think you’re ugly. If you don’t want to go, we understand. We don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. We want you to come with us because we enjoy being with you. You—exactly the way you are. And we want you to have fun, too. We won’t be mad at you if you decide to stay home. We appreciate your being honest about it.” Greta waited for his sister to speak.
Marianne looked to Toby. “Do you think I should go?”
“I do. You are a strong person inside. If we were in Pennsylvania, you would go to your cousins’ program, wouldn’t you?”
“I guess.” She touched her large black bonnet and looked at Greta. “Could you make me a kapp like yours? One they can’t see through.”
“Of course,” Greta agreed. “I can even make it black.”
Toby shared a warm glance with Greta. Thanks to her, his sister was making wonderful strides. He didn’t know what her family would think of his change of plans. He wanted to have a job lined up and an idea of where he could live before he made that announcement. For now, it was enough to see Marianne opening up, showing her what life here could be like. He would have to tell Marianne a
nd his family about his decision soon, though. What would her reaction be?
*
Early in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, Greta’s family gathered outside on the porch and waited for Carl and her grandfather to arrange blankets and warm bricks in the large sleigh. Naomi fairly danced with anticipation. Greta only had eyes for Toby. She could hardly wait to ride to school, snuggled at his side in the sleigh. Joe waved them to come on when he had things arranged to his satisfaction.
Betsy and Lizzie were chatting happily. Toby and Carl helped everyone in. Naomi settled up front with Joe. They let Marianne sit between them. Greta found herself squeezed between Betsy and Toby while Lizzie and Carl shared the backseat.
Joe turned around to look at everyone. “Are we ready?”
Marianne grabbed his arm. “Wait, where is Morris?”
“He has decided to stay at home. We should get going. We don’t want to be late. I haven’t been to school in fifty years.”
It was well-known in the community that Joseph Shetler was something of a hermit. It wasn’t until Carl King showed up and started working for him that Joe opened up even a little. It took the arrival of his granddaughters and the persistent courting of Naomi to finally break through the shell around his heart. Once that wall came down, he became a new man.
The ride to the school took less than half an hour. Toby held Greta’s hand beneath the quilt that covered them. She couldn’t remember ever being happier.
By the time they arrived, there were already a dozen buggies and sleighs lined up alongside the building. They piled out with the feeling of excitement. Lizzie was the first to spot Clara and her family.
Together, they all entered the school. A hum of voices filled the building. The floor was the simple wide planking, scuffed and covered with puddles of melting snow from the shoes of the visitors. The student desks had all been pushed to line the walls while rows of backless benches had been arranged down the center of the room to accommodate the family and friends of the scholars who would be performing. Light poured in from the windows along both sides of the single room inside. A large blackboard covered two-thirds of the front wall. Above it, student artwork depicting the nativity had been hung. The childish drawings ranged from simple stick figures done by the first graders to detailed scenes drawn by some of the older students.
Squarely in the middle of the front sat a large stove radiating heat from the coal fire. Slightly off to one side sat the teacher’s desk. Books and stacks of papers were arranged neatly on the shelves behind it. To the other side was a small elevated platform that served as a stage. Blankets hung over a wire served as the curtain. Excited children’s voices could be heard from behind it. Greta and her family found their places on the wooden benches that had been set up for the spectators.
When the teacher stepped out from behind the makeshift curtain, a hush soon fell over the room. “Good afternoon, and welcome to our Christmas program. I am Melinda Miller. This is my first year teaching at Walnut Valley School. It has been a wonderful experience. My scholars have worked hard on a program for you this evening. To get us started, Joy Mast will recite a poem that she wrote herself.”
Joy, a young girl with Down syndrome, came out from behind the curtain. She was dressed as a shepherdess, complete with shepherd’s crook. She waved to everyone, came down off the stage to give someone in the front row a hug and then went back to her spot. In a booming voice she read a poem about the shepherds waiting in the fields on Christmas Eve. It didn’t all rhyme, but the message was clearly one from her heart.
Marianne leaned toward Greta and whispered, “Why does she look so funny?”
Greta smiled and whispered back, “Because God made her a very special person.”
During the next hour, they were entertained by scholars who recited poetry, performed two small plays and sang a dozen Christmas carols, some in English, and some in the traditional German.
As she watched the children, the peace of the season began to seep into Greta’s heart. She was actually sorry her uncle wasn’t here to enjoy the program. If she had only one Christmas left on earth, this was the way she would want to celebrate it. Surrounded by friends and family and watching the next generation of her community show their love of God in their joyful voices.
She shared a glance with Toby as a new thought sent a surge of heat to her cheeks. Would they one day watch their own children preform in a Christmas pageant?
Chapter Twenty-Six
When the presentation drew to a close, Greta followed the crowd outside where it divided into groups of family and friends happy to see each other and visit for a while before heading home.
Joy Mast came running up to Marianne. “Hi. I’m Joy. Merry Christmas. Did you like my poem? My new mom helped me write it. What’s your name?”
“Marianne.”
“We can be friends now.” Joy threw her arms around Marianne and hugged her.
Stepping back, she pointed to Marianne’s neck. “You got hurt. I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”
Marianne covered it with her hand. “Not much anymore.”
“That’s good. I mean goot. Come meet my other friends. Oh, look, there is Dr. White. He says I have Up syndrome, not Down syndrome, because I am always happy and not sad. I like him.”
She waved. Dr. White, who was standing with his grandson Philip and Philip’s wife, Amber, waved back. Joy’s father, Caleb Mast, was standing with them. The group came toward Greta and her family.
Caleb held out his hand to Toby. “I hope my daughter didn’t upset your sister. Joy can be a little overwhelming, but she means well.”
Greta could tell Toby was keeping a watchful eye on Marianne, but he seemed content to let her find her way with the other children. As Greta had suspected, they were welcoming and ignored her self-conscious efforts to hide her scars.
Amber, who was the local nurse-midwife, gave Lizzie a hug. “You look good. I think pregnancy has finally started to agree with you.”
“That’s because I can eat like a horse now without morning sickness. Amber, this is Toby Yoder and the little girl with him is his sister, Marianne. They were on their way to Pennsylvania and got stuck at our place during the storm.”
“How fortunate for you,” Philip said. “Naomi is one of the best cooks in the county. It was a sad day for the Wadler Inn and the Shoofly Pie Café when she gave up her spatula and married Woolly Joe. Naomi, you are going to teach your daughter how to make your special scrumptious shoofly pie, aren’t you?”
“Maybe someday. For now, I just like hearing how much folks miss my cooking.”
Amber turned to Greta. “Lizzie told me that you were bringing your uncle back from Fort Wayne, Indiana, to stay with you because he had open heart surgery. How is he doing?”
“I’m not sure. He has severe attacks of chest pain.”
“Angina?” Philip said.
“The discharge nurse called it unstable angina. The pills they gave him seem to help. He puts one under his tongue. If it doesn’t help right away, he takes a second one. I’ve never seen him take more than two, but I’m worried that I will find him unconscious. Then what do I do?”
“They teach us to think ABC,” Amber said. “Check A, is his airway open? Then B, is he breathing, and C for cardiac, which means to check if he has a pulse.”
“How do I check that?”
“The easiest way is to press your fingers to the side of his throat. You should feel a steady beat under your fingertips. Check mine.” Amber lifted her chin.
Feeling a little foolish, Greta did. Amber was right. It was easy to feel the beat. “If I find A, B and C, then what?”
“If he is still unconscious, you can call for an ambulance,” Philip said.
Greta folded her arms over her chest. “He does not wish to go back to the hospital.”
“Then you honor his wishes,” Dr. White said.
“Danki. That is what I will do.” Greta smiled at the older man’s understanding.
&
nbsp; Amber laid a hand on Greta’s arm and tugged her away from the group. When they were out of earshot, she said, “I was wondering if you could help me with something, Greta?”
“Anything that’s within my power. What do you need?”
“The other day, I saw a young Amish woman in the clinic. She thought that her husband might be abusive. She wasn’t sure. She grew up in a very strict family. She wasn’t sure if her husband’s actions were abusive or simply discipline. I have worked among the Amish for many years as a midwife and I have rarely seen outright abuse. But one case is one too many. Clara has told me about the way your uncle treated all of you. She mentioned that you are interested in pursuing a career in counseling.”
“I am.” Or she had been until Toby arrived in her life. She couldn’t possibly go on with her education if she had plans to become an Amish wife. Although she knew she was getting the cart before the horse, she couldn’t help but dream about the possibility.
“My husband and I have talked it over, and we want to start an abuse education campaign among the Amish,” Amber said.
Intrigued, Greta asked, “How would you do this?”
Amber’s face grew animated. “We want to run informational articles in the newspaper and in the Amish monthly magazine. We already have a column called ‘Asked the Doctor,’ so that won’t be hard. What will be hard is getting the women to talk to us.”
“So how can I help?”
“We need someone who is Amish, someone who understands what abuse is, to be available to talk to these women, or children, if they come forward with questions.”
It made sense. Few women would openly admit such a thing. “Have you talked to the bishops in this area about this?”
“I have talked to Bishop Zook and several of the bishops from other congregations. Some are on board with this. Some are not. I truly think it’s a lack of education about the issue that prevents them from making a decision in our favor. Hence the articles in the newspaper.”
The Amish newspaper and magazine were read by Amish people all across the nation. Greta began to share some of Amber’s excitement. “I think you are onto something.”
Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for ChristmasHer Montana ChristmasAn Amish Christmas JourneyYuletide Baby Page 54