A Simple Christmas

by Charlotte Hubbard

  A little thrill went through her when she recalled their kisses, but she kept them private. “I think he would’ve asked me out again, if Dat hadn’t lit into him,” she said sadly, “but now I couldn’t blame him if he wanted nothing more to do with me.”

  “I don’t think Marcus will give up on you, Roz,” Loretta teased lightly. “He seemed genuinely glad that he’d spent the evening with you.”

  Rosalyn absently broke apart her coffeecake with the tines of her fork, pleased that her sister saw some hope for her future with Marcus. “We’ll see,” she murmured.

  * * *

  Edith and Asa arrived just before noon with a pot roast and a big pan of the mac and cheese the little twins loved so much. Leroy and Louisa toddled around the kitchen babbling to each other while Rosalyn and her sisters set the table. Drew and his brother went to the front room to chat.

  Edith pointed to Dat’s place, looking around with a question in her eyes.

  Loretta and Rosalyn silently gestured toward the basement door.

  As Edith’s expressive eyebrows rose in surprise, Dat emerged from his hideout as though nothing out of the ordinary had been going on. He checked the kitchen counter to see what desserts they’d be having, and then looked at the platter of pot roast and the two glass casserole dishes on the table.

  “Well, I see my dinner,” he teased. “Maybe there’ll be some left for the rest of you after I fill my plate.”

  Rosalyn and Loretta watched him carefully, unsure of how to respond. Edith, however, spoke right up. “Has working on Sunday morning made you especially hungry, Dat?” she asked, matching his light tone. She pulled two white envelopes from her apron pocket. “The mailman put these in our box yesterday by mistake. What with all the overtime you’ve been working lately, it’s surely another mistake that they’re marked past due, jah?”

  Anger flashed in Dat’s eyes as he snatched the envelopes from Edith’s hand. “We have more pertinent things to discuss today,” he snapped. “Your sister defied me by spending the evening with Marcus Hooley—”

  “Oh, but he’s cute!” Edith exclaimed, grinning at Rosalyn. “When Asa told me he’d bought that old sleigh, I was hoping he’d take you out—”

  “He took her for a ride, all right,” Dat interrupted. He went to the doorway of the front room. “Are you men going to yack all day, or can we eat already?”

  Rosalyn’s heart thudded dully. Dat only called family meetings when he wanted to grill someone, and she dreaded whatever he’d dreamed up to say about her and Marcus. If Mamm were still alive, she’d find a way to buffer his confrontational attitude—and to turn the conversation to something more constructive.

  Rosalyn sighed. It was useless to wish for her mother’s intervention.

  I’d be grateful if you’d watch over our dinner anyway, Mamm, she thought as they all bowed in silent prayer before the meal. Guide our hearts and minds and our talk, Lord, because without Your grace, not a one of us stands a chance.

  Dat cleared his throat to end the prayer. He looked ominously at each adult seated at the table, and when his gaze lingered on Rosalyn, her heart shriveled. She didn’t dare pass the casserole in front of her to break the tension that hung like an invisible noose over the table.

  “We must not only keep watch over Rosalyn to prevent her soul from sinking further into depravity after her evening with Hooley,” he said gravely, “but we must also see to it that she’s on her knees confessing her sins next Sunday—to insure that her chances for our Lord’s salvation have not been lost.”

  Across the table from Edith, Asa crossed his arms. “How’d you happen to be depositing bundled money at the bank, Cornelius?” he asked calmly. “Wrapped money has been counted, and each bundle is fifty or a hundred or a thousand dollars—or more—depending on the denominations of the bills.”

  “And bundled money is generally taken out of a bank rather than deposited,” Drew said, continuing the thread of his twin’s inquiry. “Merchants and business owners bring in their loose checks and cash deposits, and the bank later bundles the paper money by denomination to insure that it’s counted accurately. They keep it in the vault.”

  “So where’d you get bundled money to take to the bank?” Asa asked again, in a tighter voice.

  Dat’s face remained a mask of composure, but the color was draining from it. “See there?” he asked in a dramatic whisper. “Hooley has bamboozled you men as surely as he’s insinuated himself into Rosalyn’s hopes and fantasies. That’s how the devil works. He’s slick, like a snake. He plays upon a shred of truth we want to believe, and then he weaves an entire scenario of falsehood around us, like a spider spins her web . . . to catch her innocent prey.”

  Rosalyn sat motionless alongside her sisters, sensing this talk of spiders and snakes was an extension of the smoke screen Drew had spoken of earlier.

  “Are you saying you didn’t make that deposit?” Drew demanded. “If Marcus saw you at the bank—”

  “If Marcus saw me,” Dat repeated in a mocking tone. “Are you saying you believe Hooley’s word over mine? That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  When Louisa and Leroy began to fuss in their high chairs, Edith spooned some macaroni and cheese into their bowls to quiet them. Rosalyn didn’t dare look at her sisters’ expressions to see how they felt about the men’s conversation. She was grateful that their husbands didn’t shrink away from Dat’s confrontational attitude, but it still made for a very uncomfortable time at the table.

  Dat leaned toward Asa and Drew with a deepening scowl. “Answer me!” he demanded. “Who do you believe? Marcus Hooley, or me?”

  “Tell us your version of the story, Cornelius,” Asa replied smoothly.

  Dat raked his hand through his graying wavy hair. “That’s not what we’re talking about!” he declared testily. “Why do you believe a thing Hooley says, knowing what we do about his past? He made up that story about seeing me in the bank to divert my attention from what he and Rosalyn had been doing last night! Why on God’s gut earth would I go to the bank in Morning Star—with bundled bills, no less—when my business account is in the New Haven bank?”

  A foxlike expression overtook Drew’s face as he reached for the platter of pot roast. “Marcus didn’t say you were at the bank in Morning Star,” he replied quietly. “But you did.”

  When Dat’s mouth clapped shut, Rosalyn got a sudden queasy feeling. As she reviewed the previous evening’s confrontation in her mind, she realized Drew was correct: Marcus hadn’t named the bank where he’d seen Dat.

  But why would her father—the man she’d grown up believing and trusting—deny taking money to the bank in Morning Star? Did he have accounts in two different banks? And why would a deacon of the church be untruthful about anything—much less about matters involving money?

  Why would Dat be asking questions and making accusations that cast doubt upon Marcus’s integrity . . . unless he’s trying to divert our attention away from his own lack of integrity?

  The thought made her throat so dry she couldn’t swallow. Rosalyn was grateful that she was no longer the topic of conversation, but deep in her soul she knew that as surely as Dat had a wavy gray beard, he’d just been caught in some bald-faced lies.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As Rebecca stepped into Mamma and Ben’s house Sunday morning with Wyatt, she was keenly aware that although everything appeared the same—the furnishings, the voices coming from the kitchen, the heavenly aroma of the food they’d be eating at noon—a lot had changed. She had changed. Arriving with her fiancé in tow, wearing English clothes, instead of showing up alone in a Plain dress that matched her sisters’, would set the tone for the day—and for the remainder of her life.

  Rebecca gripped her pan of brownies. She felt nearly as nervous as she had on that fateful morning a couple of years ago when she’d entered her Amish mother’s Sweet Seasons Bakery Café to demand answers about who she really was, after her adoptive English mother had died. Discovering her
Plain roots had changed her life dramatically, yet she sensed her upcoming marriage would bring a more profound emotional readjustment. Rebecca quickly prayed that Mamma would be as gracious—and excited—about her engagement as she’d been about the return of the daughter whom she’d believed had drowned in the flood of 1993.

  “Relax, dear heart,” Wyatt whispered near her ear. “You’re bringing your family tidings of great joy. Or I hope you see our announcement that way,” he teased.

  Rebecca smiled at him gratefully. The love in his gray-blue eyes steadied her racing pulse. “I know that, but even though they’re probably expecting—”

  “Expecting?” Ben called out as he came from the kitchen. “Who’s expecting—besides Rachel?”

  Rebecca’s cheeks burned. “Not me!” she blurted out before she realized Ben was teasing. “But I—we—”

  “Well, here’s the happy couple now!” Mamma declared as she, too, emerged from the kitchen with little Bethlehem toddling behind her. Her eyes sparkled as she looked expectantly from Rebecca to Wyatt. “I see a new glow on your faces, as though you’re bursting with your own gut news—ain’t so?”

  Rebecca laughed loudly. Why had she imagined she could keep a secret from her perceptive mother?

  “Matter of fact, we are,” Wyatt replied as he slipped his arm around her. “Rebecca has agreed to be my wife, and I couldn’t be happier.”

  “Glory be to God!” Mamma cried as she embraced them both.

  “What a happy day! First Rachel’s announcement and now yours!” Ben chimed in as he joined them. “Congratulations, you two.”

  Other family members poured out of the kitchen and Rebecca was engulfed by hugs from her sisters, Rachel and Rhoda, while Nora and her daughter, Millie, crowded in to express their joy, as well. After Luke and Ira pumped Wyatt’s hand, Rhoda’s husband, Andy, and Rachel’s husband, Micah, took their turns—and even Marcus greeted them with his congratulations. The front room echoed with their combined voices, and for the next several moments Rebecca was surrounded by delighted smiles.

  See how much love you would’ve missed had you limited yourself to your English parents’ world?

  Rebecca’s heart swelled when Bethlehem reached for her. She scooped the little blonde to her hip, sharing a noisy kiss as her family ushered her and Wyatt into the kitchen. Her English dad would be delighted to hear of her engagement when they visited him in the afternoon, but his reaction couldn’t compare to her Amish family’s outpouring of love and excitement. The large table in Mamma’s kitchen, set with more than a dozen plates, was the ultimate symbol of Plain life and hospitality—and Rebecca suddenly realized how blessed she was that she and Wyatt would always have places at this table.

  When the men headed for the front room, Rebecca turned to her sisters. Rhoda was lifting her little son, Aden, into one of the high chairs positioned at the table while Rachel playfully summoned her toddler, Amelia, from playing hide-and-seek in Mamma’s pantry. “Congratulations on your gut news, sister,” Rebecca said. “How are you feeling? When’s your due date?”

  Rachel and Rhoda flashed her identical smiles. “Late summer, early fall, best we can tell,” Rachel replied. “I’m feeling better this time around, thank gutness.”

  After casting a glance over her shoulder, Rhoda leaned closer. “Could be another wee one showing up about a month after that—but that’s not for anyone else to know just yet,” she whispered happily. She squeezed Rebecca’s hand excitedly. “And before we know it, you’ll be setting up a nursery—”

  “Probably in a new house at Wyatt’s farm,” Rachel put in with a knowing nod.

  Rebecca shrugged, keeping a smile on her face. Having a career and a future husband who was nearly forty-one had put an English spin on her expectations, so having kids would be a conscious choice rather than letting nature take its course, as her Amish sisters did. “We’ll be living at my place after the wedding, which will give us time this winter to draw up plans for a house on Wyatt’s property,” she hedged.

  When Mamma took a blue enamel roaster from the oven, Rebecca placed a couple of thick kitchen towels on the counter for the hot pan. As her mother lifted the lid, salty-sweet-smelling steam rose from a ham that was baked to perfection. Pineapple slices and bright red cherries added a festive touch, and Rebecca realized how ravenous she was.

  “This looks fabulous, Mamma,” she remarked as she snatched a sliver of ham that had fallen back into the roaster. “You went to a lot of trouble.”

  “After Preacher Henry’s lecture last Sunday about ladies bringing hot food for the common meal, Preacher Bennie might put up a flap about the work that went into this dinner,” Mamma confided as she began carving. “But I decorated this ham yesterday, so I figure that getting it out of the fridge and turning the knob on the oven isn’t any more work than Rhoda or Rachel put into carrying their food across the road.”

  Rebecca chuckled. Mamma’s remark came as no surprise, for Henry Zook kept a tight rein on his kids and his wife when they were working in the local market. “I doubt that Ben will refuse to eat this meal—or any other food you fix for him,” she teased, placing the slices of ham on a platter.

  “This time of year, we all crave something more substantial than the cold sandwiches some church districts eat on the Sabbath,” Mamma said. “And when the aunts, uncles, and cousins from Bowling Green get here for their Christmas visit, we’re going to pull out all of our favorite recipes! I hope you and Wyatt will join us whenever you can.”

  “We’ll be glad to, Mamma. I still have lot of catching up to do with those folks, considering all the years I wasn’t around them.” Rebecca’s heart swelled as she placed the platter of ham on the table. Once again she was aware of how blessed she was to belong to such a wonderful Amish family.

  Nora and Millie were setting the side dishes on the table—a cheesy hash-brown casserole, a huge bowl of four-bean salad, baskets of dinner rolls, a fruity gelatin salad, and a relish tray—while her sisters filled the water glasses. When the food was all in place, Millie called the men. Everyone took a seat and bowed their heads to pray.

  “As we say our grace, let’s remember my mom, who stayed home today with a nasty cold,” Andy requested.

  “And we’re grateful that Taylor and Brett wanted to be with her,” Rhoda put in, pleased that their children were so devoted to their grandmother.

  Rebecca had wondered where Betty and the Leitner kids were. When she closed her eyes, she asked for God to be a healing presence with Betty—and then she sensed that Wyatt was peering at her. Sure enough, he was watching her from across the table with one eye open even as his head remained reverently bowed. When he smiled boyishly, it was all Rebecca could do to keep from giggling.

  After a few moments, Ben reached for the ham platter. “By the looks of this food, you must’ve known we’d have plenty to celebrate today, Miriam,” he said with a wink.

  Rebecca smiled as a girlish bloom rose to Mamma’s cheeks. Would she and Wyatt still be flirting after they’d been married for a while? She snatched a soft, warm dinner roll from the basket Mamma passed her and couldn’t resist taking a big bite of it.

  “God is gut—all the time,” Mamma added with a nod. “Every day He gives us is cause for celebration—but jah, some days are more joyous than others.”

  “So when’s the big day?” Nora asked. From her place a few seats down, she smiled at Rebecca.

  “And where will the ceremony be held?” Mamma asked as she accepted the bowl of bean salad from Ben. “I haven’t heard you mention which church you’ve been attending.”

  Rebecca’s bite of roll formed a lump and sank into her stomach. She glanced nervously at Wyatt, knowing he didn’t have an answer, either. Although Mamma had asked the question in a nonchalant tone, she probably realized that Rebecca spent Sunday mornings in her pajamas—or with Wyatt, until they came to this table on Sundays when Mamma’s family didn’t have a church service. As an incriminating silence passed with each tick of
the battery wall clock, guilt burned in Rebecca’s cheeks.

  “We haven’t talked about that yet,” Wyatt finally replied. “But we will.”

  Mamma and Ben’s unspoken disappointment made Rebecca feel like a little girl who’d been told to stand in the corner with her nose to the wall. “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you want me to get married in a church, even if it’s not your church—”

  Mamma grasped her hand under the table, waiting for her to go on.

  “At least you’re not making excuses or promises you don’t intend to keep,” Ben said. “But your mamm and I are concerned about the state of your faith in God—about your souls’ salvation—”

  “And we worry about a marriage that’s not built on a firm foundation of trust in our Lord Jesus,” Mamma said softly. “Without faith, what will you have to fall back on when you face difficulties or disaster? How will you raise your children without the support of a church family?”

  Rebecca swallowed hard. She should’ve anticipated these questions—should’ve kept attending church with her English dad after her adoptive mom died. It would’ve been easier to bear Mamma’s probing questions if she’d asked them in a sharp, lecturing tone of voice.

  Mamma, however, was gazing at her with eyes the color of strong coffee and a face that radiated patience and love. She wasn’t asking these questions to shame Rebecca. Mamma was asking them because a life without faith in God as its highest priority seemed totally foreign—and frightening—to her.

  “You’ll have the support of our family,” Rachel insisted from the other end of the table.