A Simple Christmas

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Drew rose from the table with his dirty dishes. “On that note, I’ll go help Asa hook up the—”

  A loud pounding on the door made them all look toward the front room.

  “I’m on it,” Drew said. “It’s probably Asa, a couple steps ahead of me.”

  When he opened the front door, however, Bishop Tom’s urgent voice made Rosalyn stop washing dishes to listen. “Cornelius is at home, I hope?” he asked loudly. “We’ve got a crisis on our hands.”

  “There’s been a terrible accident on the road,” Preacher Ben explained as they entered the kitchen. The church leaders nodded quickly at Loretta and Rosalyn before focusing on their father. “Miriam’s kin were on their way to Willow Ridge and a delivery truck came up behind their driver’s van too fast,” he continued quickly. “The truck skidded into them, and the van flipped into the ditch. They’ve been taken to the hospital in New Haven—”

  “Why on God’s earth were they on the road in this weather?” Dat demanded. “Weren’t they coming from Bowling Green? They must’ve left in the middle of the night!”

  Ben sighed glumly. “They were to stay with cousins in Boonville over the weekend—”

  “We haven’t heard the whole story yet—just got word about the accident from Miriam’s uncle, calling from the hospital,” Bishop Tom put in quickly. “The eight Amish folks and their English driver are going to need quite a chunk of change to cover their time in the emergency room—or maybe a stay in the hospital for some of them—so we’ve come to get money from our aid fund, Cornelius.”

  “Why would we cover folks who’ve never paid into our district’s fund?” Dat challenged. “Our bishop in Roseville wouldn’t have even considered covering hospital expenses for out-of-town guests.”

  Bishop Tom frowned. “That might be so—every bishop has the prerogative to decide whom his district’s aid fund will cover,” he replied in a tight voice. “Far as I’m concerned, however, Miriam’s kin are more than mere guests and we’re going to help them. Why are you asking me these questions, Cornelius?”

  When Dat’s face turned chalky white, Rosalyn’s stomach sank like a rock. Her father appeared unable to speak, and for the longest time he just stood in front of the stove. The way his hand was shaking, it was a wonder he didn’t drop his coffee mug.

  Ben and the bishop’s eyebrows rose in suspicion. “Shall we go on downstairs?” the preacher prompted. “You lead the way, Deacon.”

  Dat slowly set his mug on the counter. He moved toward the basement door like a man being marched at gunpoint—as though he feared he might never come upstairs again. Tight-lipped and somber, Bishop Tom and Preacher Ben followed him, leaving the door open behind them.

  Rosalyn didn’t close it, even though Dat always insisted the colder air from the basement would make the main floor feel chilly—and would be a waste of their propane heat. Her heart was pounding double-time as the men’s footsteps echoed on the wooden stairs.

  “This doesn’t look gut,” Loretta murmured beside her. “What an awful accident—but why is Dat so pale and nervous?”

  Rosalyn glanced at Drew. He and Nora had followed Dat to Kansas City several weeks ago—and had seen something they’d only shared with the bishop and Ben. “What’s going on? Why is Dat so upset about getting money from the aid fund?” she demanded in a loud whisper. “We have a right to know—”

  “I suspect it’s going to hit the fan any minute now,” Drew replied softly. “It’s just a matter of how deep a hole your dat’s dug.”

  Rosalyn listened intently. She heard a muffled conversation coming from Dat’s workshop but couldn’t understand the words. Unable to stand still, she cleared Dat’s breakfast dishes. Drew sat down, silent and alert. Loretta wiped the table, remaining quiet so they could catch any clues of the conversation downstairs.

  Several minutes later, the men’s boots beat a tattoo on the stairs. Was it her imagination, or did their footsteps sound louder, heavier, than when they’d followed Dat down to his shop?

  Bishop Tom entered the kitchen first, his eyes wide with stress and disbelief. Preacher Ben came next, clutching something that resembled Rebecca’s laptop computer. Dat stumbled to his chair as though he could walk no farther. He clasped his hands on the table and stared straight ahead, as though he anticipated a scathing lecture.

  “You—you have some tall explaining to do, Cornelius!” Bishop Tom cried out. He slapped the edge of the table with the bundles of money in his hand—four of them, Rosalyn counted. “When Reuben moved to Roseville—traded houses and deacon positions with you—our fund was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars that our members had contributed over the years, and now we have only this! What am I supposed to tell our congregation?”

  When the bishop’s outcry filled the kitchen, the ringing of his voice apparently made him realize where he was. He exhaled loudly, glancing at Rosalyn and Loretta. “I’m sorry about this, girls,” he said in a thin voice. “I must ask you not to say a word about what you’ve just seen and heard. Drew, your continued silence will be appreciated. We have to handle this matter appropriately. Prayerfully.”

  Drew nodded solemnly. Rosalyn clutched Loretta’s hand, too startled to do anything but nod and nip her lip.

  Preacher Ben’s face was flushed as he glared at Dat. “You are not to leave this house, Deacon,” he said in a low voice. “When Tom and I get back from the hospital, we’re going to get to the bottom of this, understand me?”

  Dat’s head dropped and a sob escaped him.

  “I should’ve heeded Ben’s advice the first time we counseled you, Cornelius—should’ve called for your confession,” the bishop muttered. “But I gave you the benefit of the doubt, so now I’m as much to blame for this unthinkable situation as you are. But we’ll deal with that after we help Miriam’s family.”

  The agony on Bishop Tom’s face tore at Rosalyn’s heart. The two church leaders departed quickly, leaving the atmosphere in the kitchen even more strained than it had been before they’d arrived.

  Rosalyn knew better than to ask Dat about what Ben and Tom had said—hundreds of thousands of dollars that had apparently disappeared? The amount boggled her mind. Dat was resting his head against his hands on the tabletop, breathing very shallowly. He appeared even more forlorn than he had after they’d returned home from Mamm’s funeral.

  Baking Christmas cookies is out of the question now. Does Bishop Tom expect us to stay here with Dat, to be sure he doesn’t run off?

  “After we get the dishes washed,” Loretta said, “I’m going to shovel the sidewalk out front—”

  “I’ll help you,” Rosalyn put in, eager for something to do. “We can go over and clear Bishop Tom’s sidewalks, too. He probably got the call from the hospital on the phone in his barn, while he was doing his milking.”

  “Asa and I will get started on the plowing,” Drew said as he rose from his chair. “Hearing about that accident makes me even more inclined to keep our road cleared off.”

  Dat grunted, keeping his head on the table. “Fine. Just leave me here to suffer alone,” he whimpered.

  Loretta scowled at him in disbelief. “Jah, I believe I will,” she muttered as she threw down her dishcloth. “Sounds like you have plenty to think about, Dat, and I wouldn’t want our presence to distract you. Feel free to wash the dishes and redd up before Ben and the bishop come back. Come on, Rosalyn. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Marcus jogged alongside the dapple-gray Percheron, loosely holding the leather harness lines as the young horse pulled a large, heavy tree trunk behind him. The gelding was feeling frisky, wanting to play in the snow—which was the perfect opportunity for teaching him to focus on the work at hand.

  “Easy, boy,” he encouraged the horse. “Let’s head for the barn, Herc.”

  Hercules, aptly named, perked his ears up at the word barn and broke into a canter as though the ten-foot tree trunk attached to his harness was merely a twig. He was figuring on being fed when h
e got to his stall.

  “Whoa! Stop!” Marcus called out, tugging on the lines. He’d been debating about walking the Percheron along the highway—a chance to accustom the horse to traffic—and then asking the Detweilers if he could hitch Hercules to their V-shaped snowplow, but he decided against it. The horse was progressing nicely, but he wasn’t yet ready to handle the distractions that might take him by surprise when they left the paddock. His attention span would improve as Marcus kept working him every day.

  “Gut boy, stand steady,” he said, reaching up to brush snow from the horse’s broad, muscled neck. “Now we’ll walk to the barn. Slow and easy.”

  Herc shook his head impatiently, but he paid attention to the subtle change of pressure when Marcus tugged on the lines. When they stopped inside the barn door, Marcus unfastened the thick chain that held the tree trunk and then freed Herc from the harness. With a happy whinny, the Percheron trotted across the concrete floor of the barn, his huge hooves creating thunder that echoed in the rafters.

  Marcus shook the snow from his scarf and stocking cap. He spoke to the other Percherons as he passed their stalls, considering which horse to work next. He was pouring a bucketful of grains into Herc’s feeder when he heard the barn door slide open.

  “Marcus, you in here?”

  His eyebrows rose at the sound of a female voice—Nora’s, he thought. But why would she be here? “Jah, back here! Center aisle and to your right,” he replied loudly.

  He emptied the bucket and started toward the barn door. Nora, wearing a bright red coat with a thick green scarf around her neck, peered around the wooden stalls at him with a mysterious smile. “Welcome to the Percheron barn,” he said. “You’re one of the last folks I’d expect to see out here amongst the horses.”

  “The Simple Gifts shop was the largest, fanciest horse barn in Willow Ridge before I turned it into a consignment store—and I dealt with horses when I was growing up Amish,” she pointed out quickly. “Bishop Tom came over a few minutes ago and asked for my help, so I closed up shop—and suggested that you come with us.”

  Marcus’s eyes widened. “As a Mennonite and a guy who’s been avoiding membership in the Amish church, we make an odd couple to be hanging out with Bishop Tom,” he hedged. “What’s going on?”

  “Tom and Ben are waiting for us at Wyatt’s house, and he’s giving you the rest of the day off to tend to some, uh, interesting business. At the Riehl place.”

  Marcus’s pulse rate shot up. “Is Roz all right?” he blurted out.

  Nora smiled knowingly. “She’s in for some startling surprises, but it’s her father we’ll be dealing with. Because you and I know things, Tom wants our help with the computer he found in Cornelius’s clock shop this morning.”

  “Cornelius has a computer?” Marcus slid open the big door, his thoughts whirling like the snow as he and Nora stepped outside. He shoved the door shut again, frowning. “Does this involve that Reel Money network we saw the day I checked my email in your store?”

  “Bingo,” Nora replied. “See there? You’re savvy about tech stuff, so you and I can help explain it to Bishop Tom. More importantly, we can keep Cornelius from wiggling out of the truth when Tom and Ben interrogate him this afternoon.”

  “Interrogate?” Marcus murmured as they strode along the snow-packed road toward Wyatt’s house. “This sounds pretty serious.”

  Nora’s freckled face tightened. “I might as well tell you this, since you’re about to find out anyway,” she said. “On a hunch, Drew and I followed Cornelius one morning in September when a driver was taking him to Kansas City, supposedly to buy clock parts. But he changed into English clothes at a rest area and—and then he went to a casino. With a briefcase that we assumed held money.”

  Marcus nearly choked. “Probably the same briefcase he carried into the bank in Morning Star,” he said, shaking his head. “Cornelius didn’t like it one bit when I challenged him about why he’d pulled wrapped bundles of money out of it—especially because I quizzed him in front of his girls and Detweiler.”

  “The more I hear, the worse this sounds.” Nora focused on the snowy steps of Wyatt’s deck, climbing carefully. “Bishop Tom swore Drew and me to silence about where Cornelius had been going, so Rosalyn and her sisters don’t know the details of their dat’s secret,” she explained. “I don’t have to tell you that things will get nasty when Ben and the bishop confront Cornelius this afternoon. The Riehl girls will need our support more than ever when the truth about their father gets out.”

  * * *

  When they heard pounding on the front door, Rosalyn went to open it while everyone else remained in the kitchen. Dat had fussed when Asa and Edith had shown up with the twins after their noon meal, but Drew hadn’t given him the option of talking with Bishop Tom and Preacher Ben alone.

  “I’m calling a family meeting,” Drew had said in the same tone Dat used when he said those words. “It’s time your girls found out why Ben and the bishop are on your case, Cornelius. Soon, everyone else in Willow Ridge will hear about your activities, too—and it won’t be pretty.”

  That hadn’t set well with Dat at all. As Rosalyn, Edith, and Loretta had percolated a fresh batch of coffee and put some cookies on a tray, they’d exchanged worried glances. Waiting for the bishop and Ben to return had frazzled her nerves, so when Rosalyn opened the door and saw that Nora and Marcus had come with their church leaders, she felt even more puzzled about the nature of her father’s misbehavior.

  “Oh my,” she murmured as she gestured for their guests to enter. “This looks worse than I’d anticipated. I can’t imagine—”

  “We’re in this together, Rosalyn,” Nora assured her as she reached for her hand. “Nothing you girls could’ve done would’ve made the situation come out any different—”

  “And what your dat is involved in doesn’t affect the way we feel about you,” Marcus put in solemnly. His dark eyes held Rosalyn’s gaze. “Afterward, if you have questions or need to talk, I hope you’ll let me know, Roz.”

  His words made her heart dance—Marcus was still interested in her! She could only nod, because she had no idea what they would be dealing with around the kitchen table. For weeks, she and Loretta had wanted to hear about Dat’s secrets, yet she was fearful of what would be revealed. They were serving coffee, cocoa, and goodies, but this would not be a Christmas party.

  “Gut afternoon, everyone,” Bishop Tom said as he and Ben hung their black hats and coats on pegs. The bishop sat down in the empty chair to Dat’s left—the seat reserved for Mamm’s memory—and placed a closed laptop computer on the table. He gazed expectantly at her father.

  Dat was too startled to protest about where Tom was sitting, but he wasn’t pleased. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, pressing his lips into a tight line. Ben took the chair beside Asa’s, while Nora and Marcus sat opposite each other.

  “Coffee, anyone?” Loretta asked from the stove.

  Her offer was met with the shaking of heads, so she and Rosalyn took their usual seats—which put Rosalyn beside the bishop. Although she liked Tom Hostetler a lot, it made her uneasy to sit so close to him during such an intense encounter. The lines on his weathered face had deepened. The dark circles beneath his eyes suggested that he’d lost sleep over the matter they were about to discuss.

  As though they sensed the gravity of the situation, Leroy and Louisa sat quietly in their high chairs with animal crackers Edith had brought for them. After several moments of silence heightened by the sound of everyone’s breathing, Bishop Tom murmured, “Let’s pray for God’s wisdom and guidance. We’re going to need it.”

  Rosalyn bowed her head. When Loretta grasped her hand under the table, she felt her sister trembling. Lord, we’re confused and scared and we need help only You can give us, she prayed nervously. We thank You for the support of our friends and ask You to be with us all no matter what happens to—”

  “Amen,” Bishop Tom said with a sigh. He seemed unsettled and disgus
ted—unsure of what to say—when he looked at Dat.

  Preacher Ben, however, jumped right in. “Cornelius, why do you have a computer?” he demanded, pointing at the laptop. “You, as a leader of the Old Order, certainly know that such devices are forbidden—just like that air conditioner we took from your workshop this past summer.”

  Rosalyn held her breath, awaiting Dat’s response. But he seemed at a loss for an answer.

  “My question,” Bishop Tom put in harshly, “is about what you’ve done with the money in our aid fund. I don’t know anything about computers, but I suspect this one’s connected to our money’s disappearance. Am I right? Answer me!”

  Rosalyn jumped at the sharpness of the bishop’s words. He was ordinarily a compassionate, easygoing man, so his tone of voice said as much about his emotional state as his taut facial expression.

  Dat cleared his throat. “I—in my grief, I may have made some unwise decisions,” he mumbled.

  “Your supposed grief has nothing to do with this, Cornelius,” Ben shot back. “The first time we confronted you about money missing from the vault, we went along with your pleas that we not call you up in front of the congregation to confess your gambling habit—”

  “And that was a big mistake on my part,” Bishop Tom interjected with a shake of his head.

  “—but this morning we discovered that thousands more dollars have disappeared since that day—hundreds of thousands of dollars, all told. You were responsible for that cash,” Ben continued in a rising voice. “If you’ve stopped going to the casino, how have you lost so much more of our money, Cornelius?”

  Rosalyn gasped. Apparently Dat’s numerous trips to Kansas City last spring and summer had actually been gambling flings. But why had Dat gone to a casino? And how could he have been gambling in recent weeks, when he’d been spending so much time in his clock shop?

  Her throat got so dry she couldn’t speak—not that she knew what to say. Marcus, Drew, and Nora were gazing at her with sad understanding in their eyes . . . as though they knew the answers to Tom and Ben’s questions.