An Amish Second Christmas

by Beth Wiseman

  Anne Marie bit at her nails as she paced the length of Miriam and Seth’s small living room. Her mother had taken their son, Seth Junior, back to their house. Anne Marie thought it a wise decision. She flinched as Miriam’s screams pierced the air.

  She glanced at Onkel Seth standing by the window. He leaned against his cane. He and her aunt were only a few years older than she was. His handsome face and strong body bore the scars of a reckless youth. Now he was a responsible mann and father who deeply loved his family.

  “Miriam will be all right,” she said, crossing the room to stand next to him. She looked outside the window at the pink-and-lavender-tinged clouds streaking across the horizon, signaling the rising sun.

  Another scream. Seth’s knuckles turned white. “It wasn’t this bad with Junior,” he whispered. “I feel so helpless.”

  She grabbed his hand. “Then let’s pray for God’s help.”

  They both stood in front of the window, holding hands, each of them saying their own silent prayer for Miriam. When Miriam screamed again, Seth gripped Anne Marie’s hand. She winced. As his wife’s cries subsided, he loosened his grip.

  “Sorry.” He pulled out of her grasp.

  “It’s okay.” She put her hand behind her and flexed her sore fingers.

  At the sound of a newborn’s cry, they both turned around. Seth’s shoulders slumped. “Thank God.”

  A few moments later, Nathaniel’s mother, Mary, entered the living room, a huge smile on her face. A midwife for years, Mary had delivered Seth and Miriam’s son. “A girl, Seth. You have a maedel.”

  “Can I . . . ?” He glanced at Anne Marie. “I mean, we, geh see her?”

  Mary nodded, her smile widening. “Ya. She’s beautiful, Seth. Both mudder and boppli.”

  Anne Marie followed Seth into the bedroom. Her aunt Miriam was propped up in bed with several pillows behind her, her hair still damp from the strain of childbirth. She smiled wearily.

  Seth hobbled to the bed and sat next to her. He brushed back a lock of Miriam’s hair and glanced down at the newborn. “She’s amazing,” he murmured. “And schee.” He looked back at Miriam, gazing into her eyes. “Just like her mudder.”

  Anne Marie swallowed. For years her aunt had been insecure about her appearance, which was considered plain, even among a plain people. Yet Seth never hesitated to tell her how pretty she was.

  Miriam and Seth looked at their new daughter. She was perfect, with fair skin and a dusting of dark hair on top of her head.

  “We should let them be,” Mary whispered to Anne Marie.

  Anne Marie nodded and they both slipped quietly from the room.

  In the living room, Mary sat down on the hickory rocker near the window, her plump hips wedged between the chair’s curved arms. At the same time, Anne Marie’s mother walked through the front door.

  “Gut timing,” Anne Marie said.

  “Then she’s had the boppli?”

  “Ya,” Anne Marie said. “A beautiful girl.”

  Mamm knelt next to two-year-old Junior and removed his tiny jacket. “Let’s meet yer new schwester.”

  The little boy nodded, letting Mamm take his hand.

  Golden sunlight streamed through the front window. Anne Marie pulled the shade halfway. “Looks like a pretty daag.”

  “Which is needed after such a long night.” Mary took a white handkerchief out of her apron pocket and dabbed her broad forehead. “But Miriam handled it well.” She sighed, smiling at Anne Marie. “The women in yer familye have little trouble birthing boppli. Which is fortunate for you. Whenever you have kinner, that is.”

  Anne Marie glanced away. Mary never hesitated to speak plainly or, in some instances, boldly.

  “Miriam and the kinn are doing fine,” Maam said as she walked into the room. “And of course, Seth is relieved.”

  “He has a wonderful little familye.” Mary rocked in the chair, scrutinizing Anne Marie. “I’ve spent years helping women have boppli. I wonder when I’ll help mei future daughter-in-law have one of her own?” She turned to Mamm. “It’s in the Lord’s hands, I know. But mei Nathaniel isn’t getting any younger. Neither is your Anne Marie.”

  “I’m standing right here,” Anne Marie said, a bit irritated.

  Both women looked at Anne Marie. Mary leaned forward. “Do you have something to tell us? Maybe about your Sunday evening ‘game nights’?”

  “What? Nee.”

  Mary leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Oh. Well, nee harm in hoping, is there?”

  Anne Marie looked to her mother. She remained silent but had a sly grin on her face. Why wasn’t she saying anything? This wasn’t the first time Mary had hinted about Anne Marie and Nathaniel dating, and her mother knew that they weren’t. She wished she could tell Mary that Nathaniel had an admirer so his mother would leave her alone. But he wouldn’t appreciate it. “I think we could all use some kaffee,” she said, scrambling out of the room before Mary could say anything else.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nathaniel sat at his bench and repositioned the gas lamp on his worktable, brightening the light and shining it on the watch mechanism he was repairing. As he adjusted the jewels in the pocket watch, he sensed someone looking over his shoulder.

  “Sehr gut, Nathaniel.” His father nodded, peering down at the watch. “That was not an easy repair.”

  Nathaniel snapped the back on the pocket watch and wound it. He brought it to his ear and listened to the steady ticking. It had been dead when the owner brought it into his father’s clock shop earlier last week. “I need to polish it up a bit—”

  “Not too much.” His father straightened, the tip of his iron-gray beard touching the middle of his barrel chest. “We don’t want it too fancy.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Ya.”

  Daed clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll make a fine repairman, mei sohn. Like your grossvatter and mei grossvatter before him.” He walked back to his desk in the small repair shop.

  Nathaniel smiled, looking around at all the clocks on the walls. His favorite was the century-old cuckoo clock from the Black Forest of Germany. The mechanism had been dismantled because, as his father said, it drove him cuckoo. But it was a fine piece of craftsmanship, like so many of the clocks and watches in the shop.

  He pulled out a soft cloth and lightly buffed the outside of the pocket watch. He enjoyed working in the shop, repairing the watches, even trying his hand at carving some of the wood casings containing the clocks. He’d been born into this job, and his father had mentioned how thankful he was for it, Nathaniel being his only child. The business would pass on through the family for one more generation at least.

  Just before five that evening, he and his father began closing up the workshop. While he was putting all the tools away in their specific compartments in his toolboxes, his father walked up beside him. He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his handkerchief. “You were at the Smuckers’ the other day, ya?”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Game night with Anne Marie.”

  “How did their wood supply look? I know Lydia’s got those two buwe to help out, but it won’t do for them to run out of fuel during the cold months.” As a deacon of the church, his father’s responsibility was to make sure the widows of the district were taken care of. Lydia and her family had always been self-sufficient, but his father never took his responsibility lightly.

  “They have a gut pile laid in, enough to last a couple of weeks. I’ll help Jonah and Christopher chop more on Friday after work.”

  “Take that afternoon off. Don’t want you chopping wood in the dark.” He put his glasses back on. “Danki, sohn.”

  “Glad to do it.” He checked the clock on the wall.

  “Mamm probably has supper ready. You know how she gets if we’re late.”

  “Last time I checked she was taking a nap. Spent all night delivering Miriam’s boppli.”

  Nathaniel smiled. “That’s right. Anne Marie has a new little cousin, Leah. Lydia was fi
nishing up a quilt a couple weeks ago when I was visiting. A gift for the boppli.”

  “That reminds me. Wait here.” His father went to the back room. Nathaniel straightened his chair, wondering why a baby quilt would remind his father of anything. A few moments later, he returned carrying a small, old-fashioned clock. He placed it on Nathaniel’s workbench.

  “What’s this?”

  “A familye heirloom. Mei great-grandfather made it. Gave it to his frau for a wedding gift, and mei grossvatter gave it to mei grossmutter when they got engaged. Then she passed it down to me.”

  Nathaniel picked it up. It was fairly ornate for an Amish piece. The elaborate silver overlay on the corners of the slate-blue box containing the clock had tarnished over the years. “How old is it?”

  “A hundred years, at least. It came from Switzerland. Has been in our family a long time.”

  “Needs some restoring,” Nathaniel said.

  “I thought you could handle the job.”

  Nathaniel set the clock down. “Who’s it for?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yer mother said it was past time I gave it to you.”

  Nathaniel looked at the clock again. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t need a fancy clock like this.”

  “Eventually you’ll give it to someone special. I’d better check on yer mamm. Maybe heat up some leftover soup for her so she doesn’t have to worry about supper.” He left the workshop, a small bell tinkling as the door shut behind him.

  Nathaniel looked at the clock again. Picked it up. Ran his fingers over the slate body, the tarnished embellishments. It was a fine clock, and with a little elbow grease, he could make it as beautiful as it originally had been.

  He set the clock down, his hand lingering on the smooth case. It would be a great gift for someone . . . someday. But not anytime soon.

  That Friday, Anne Marie sat at the kitchen table and cut candle wicking. She measured each strand at nine and a half inches, cut it with sharp scissors, then tied a small metal washer at one end to weight it. These would be used for simple white taper candles, which she would dip this afternoon in her candle workshop behind the house. She had three dozen to make today if she was to stay on track with her Christmas orders.

  After she weighted the last wick, she went to the kitchen sink for a glass of water. She looked out the window as she drank. Dried, crunchy, brown leaves, the remnants of fall, swirled around the gravel driveway. Although it was December, it still hadn’t snowed yet. But each day snow threatened, bringing with it dense, overcast skies and brittle wind.

  Anne Marie watched her mother stroll across the yard, the strings of her white kapp flying out behind her as she made her way to the mailbox. Mamm pulled out a few pieces of mail. She thumbed through them quickly, then stopped. Pulled one out. And smiled.

  Anne Marie set her glass on the counter and watched as Mamm pocketed the letter in her dark-blue jacket and headed for the house. At the same time, Nathaniel’s buggy pulled into the driveway. He paused next to her mother, who said a few words to him before he drove toward the barn.

  The kitchen door creaked open and her mother walked into the room. “Nathaniel stopped by to help the buwe chop firewood.”

  The gesture didn’t surprise her. He was always thoughtful. But Anne Marie was more curious about what her mother had in her pocket. “Anything interesting in the mail?” she asked, leaning against the counter.

  Mamm dropped a stack of letters on the table. “Just the usual. A couple of bills. Those never seem to stop coming.” But instead of frowning, her mother seemed happy. She looked past Anne Marie for a moment before she started to leave. She made a sudden stop at the doorway and turned around. “Anne Marie, could you do me a favor?” Mamm reached into her pocket.

  Anne Marie leaned forward, dying to know what was in the letter. “Sure.”

  Her mother pulled out an index card and handed it to her. “This is a new recipe I planned to try today. Would you mind preparing it for me?”

  Anne Marie took the card, trying to mask her disappointment. Chicken and corn soup. “I’ve never made this before.”

  “It’s a simple recipe. I have all the ingredients in the pantry and the stewing hen is in the cooler on the back porch.”

  “All right, but—”

  “Danki, Anne Marie.” Before she could say anything else, her mother left.

  Anne Marie frowned. What did her mother have to do that was so important she couldn’t test a recipe? Anne Marie had always helped her mother cook, but she wasn’t as skilled in the kitchen, which was why she took over the candlemaking part of the business.

  Anne Marie picked up the pile of mail, shuffled through it, and cast it aside. Why had her mother lied to her? Well, not lied, exactly, but she wasn’t being completely truthful either. Something was going on . . . something her mother didn’t want her to know.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After spending a couple of hours outside with Jonah and Christopher chopping, splitting, and stacking wood, Nathaniel was dripping with sweat, despite the cold temperature. “I think we have enough wood laid to last until next Christmas.”

  Jonah dropped his stack on top of a neat, towering pile. “We need more. Just to be sure.”

  “Aw, Jonah. Nathaniel’s right,” Christopher said. “We got enough.”

  “I think Jonah’s the wise one, Christopher.” Nathaniel leaned his axe against the woodpile. “Nothing wrong with laying in a little extra. How about I geh inside and get some drinks?”

  “I’ll geh with you.” Christopher started toward the house.

  Jonah reached out and grabbed his brother by the arm of his jacket. “Nee, you’re not getting out of work that easy.”

  Nathaniel headed toward the house, chuckling at Christopher’s grumbling. He neared the kitchen, recognizing the scent of chicken and onions stewing. Lydia must be trying a new recipe.

  But when he walked in, he saw Anne Marie standing over the stove. She was staring at the pot, absently stirring the contents.

  “Anne Marie?” He walked toward her, then tapped her on the shoulder.

  She jumped, turning toward him. The wooden spoon flipped out of her hand, hit her forearm, and landed on the floor.

  “I’m sorry.” Nathaniel grabbed the spoon and set it near the sink. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Anne Marie snatched a dish towel off the counter and wiped the hot food from her arm. “It’s all right. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  He watched as a welt formed on her arm. “Here,” he said, taking the rag from her and running it under cold water. He pressed it against her arm.

  “Really, Nathaniel, I’m okay.”

  “Just making sure.” He pulled the rag away. The redness had calmed. Without thinking, he blew a breath lightly across the burn. He froze, still holding her hand. What made him do that?

  Her eyes widened and she pulled away from him. “Uh, see? I’m fine.”

  She yanked open the drawer and retrieved a clean spoon. “My fault for not paying attention.” She focused on stirring what was in the pot. “Did you need something?”

  If she could ignore the weird moment between them, he could too. And it really wasn’t that strange. He’d tried to cool off the burn, that’s all. He forced a casual tone. “I came in to get some water for me and your bruders.”

  “You know where the glasses are.” She glanced at him and smiled.

  Now things were back to normal. Relieved, he opened the cabinet door. “I’m surprised to see you cooking,” he said, turning on the tap. “Smells gut.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose. It’s a new recipe, so it will probably taste awful.”

  “Let me try it.” He took the spoon and scooped out a small bite of what looked like a thick soup. After he’d tasted it, he said, “Not bad. Needs a little salt.”

  She grabbed the saltshaker and shook it vigorously. He took it from her. “Not that much.”

  A
nne Marie sighed. “Mamm should be making this, not me. But nee, she’s too busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I don’t know.” She went back to stirring the soup.

  Nathaniel knew better than to pry, especially when Anne Marie was in one of her moods. He retrieved two more glasses and filled them with water. “Better get back to chopping.”

  She didn’t respond. He resumed his work, but his thoughts were still on Anne Marie, wondering why she was irritated with her mother.

  He had finished stacking another batch of logs when Jonah approached and said, “Nathaniel, can I talk to you for a minute?” Jonah took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his damp bangs. “I wanted you to know how much I appreciate your help with the wood.”

  “Anytime your familye needs something, just let me or mei daed know and we’ll take care of it.”

  “I know.” Jonah shoved his hat back on his head. “It’s just . . .”

  “What?”

  Jonah looked into the distance. “I’m seventeen, ya know. Christopher is fifteen. We’re not kinner anymore.”

  Nathaniel rubbed his cold hands together, seeing where this conversation was going. Jonah had always been serious-minded and mature for his age. “Yer doing a gut job taking care of yer familye, Jonah.”

  He looked at Nathaniel, his mouth twitching slightly. “You think so?”

  “Ya. But it doesn’t make you any less of a mann to accept help.”

  Jonah nodded. “When we need it.”

  “Right. And I trust you’ll let me know if you do.”

  “I will. I just didn’t want you to think we were helpless.”

  “I’ve never thought that.” He picked up his axe. “But mei mamm says many hands make quick work, so let’s get this done already.”

  Jonah nodded, the sharp wind lifting up the ends of his dark-blond hair. “Danki. For understanding.”

  Nathaniel tipped his head in Jonah’s direction. He was glad to see him taking responsibility for his mother, sister, and younger brother. But it also proved that he wouldn’t need Nathaniel’s help as much.

  Even as he continued splitting the wood, Nathaniel’s thoughts drifted back to Anne Marie. He hadn’t thought about it much before, but eventually she’d find a boyfriend and a husband. She was already encouraging him to date Ruth. What would happen when they didn’t need each other anymore? It was something he couldn’t—and didn’t—want to imagine.