by Marta Perry
A spark of excitement lit her face. “That would be gut. You’re right. But Jonas isn’t coming until Saturday to bring down the other furniture we’re going to use from the attic.”
“We’ll do it, if you want. I can bring the boys over tomorrow to take care of it.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “That’s kind of you.”
He shrugged, embarrassed by her gratitude and a bit ashamed that she had cause to be surprised that he’d help out.
“Molly will like seeing what it’s going to look like when she has her babe here.” He couldn’t help the edge that came to his voice.
Sarah’s eyebrows lifted. “Given how you feel about it, I’m surprised you want to do anything to help.”
Naturally she’d force him to say more than he wanted to. His jaw tightened, but he forced the words out.
“When I was bringing her over here today, Molly thanked me. She thanked me for not interfering with how she wanted to have her boppli. She said she knew how hard it was for me, so that made it all the more valuable to her that I didn’t interfere.” His lips twisted. “You can imagine how that made me feel.”
“Ja,” Sarah said softly, and her face was tender with sympathy. She had every right to be angry with him, but she wasn’t.
“I sat out here waiting for her.” He jerked a nod at the rocking chairs in the hallway. “I thought about that.” He blew out a breath. “And I knew she was right. I have gut reasons for feeling as I do, but I had no right to interfere with her decision. And no right at all to try to pressure you, Sarah. I’m sorry for that.”
“I understand.” Her eyes warmed in a smile. “You’ve taken care of your siblings all these years, and now they’re growing up. It’s hard to let them go.”
“Ja.” He thought of Benjamin coming in Sunday night a full hour after he was supposed to. “Sometimes it’s impossible. Benjamin . . .” He stopped, not wanting to talk about it with Sarah, of all people.
“What about Benjamin?”
“Nothing.” He clipped the word off. “Maybe we’d best check out the phone shanty, if there’s nothing you want changed in here.”
She looked at him for a long moment, concern in her eyes. Then she turned without a word and took down a heavy shawl to put around her.
He followed her the length of the back porch to the small frame building they’d built to house the telephone. He shouldn’t have cut her off, but he didn’t want to listen to her saying he was wrong in the way he dealt with Benjamin.
“You won’t have to get your feet wet this way,” he said, swinging the door open. “You’ll need to stop by the telephone office or call them to set up the service. Joseph Beiler says to tell you he’ll come by next week to put in a buzzer system.”
“That is kind of him. I thought . . .” She stopped.
“You thought what?” For sure it was something about him.
“I thought maybe you’d be opposed to having the phone here.”
That surprised him. Did she really think he was that negative?
“Why? We have a phone for our business. I’m sure you’ll not be standing out here in the cold chatting instead of paying attention to your work.”
The way he’d caught Benjamin using the shop phone to call his girl. His lips tightened. That boy was determined to test every boundary to the limit.
“Aaron? Is something wrong?”
His face must have given him away. “No.” He clipped off the word. “Well, then, I guess the job is done here now.”
“Ja, of course. You are ready to be paid. How much do I owe you?”
Now he’d made her think he was asking for money. It seemed he could say nothing right to this woman.
“I wasn’t asking to be paid now, Sarah. There’s no hurry about that.”
Her jaw seemed to tighten. “The job is finished, and it’s only right that you receive your pay. How much do I owe you?”
Harassed, he shook his head. “I haven’t figured out the bill yet.”
“Perhaps you could do that tonight.”
“Fine.” He snapped off the word, not sure whether he felt more exasperated with her or with himself. “I’ll do that and bring it when we come tomorrow to move the furniture.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I said we’d do it, and we will. We’ll come by tomorrow.”
And now he was insisting on seeing Sarah again when he’d just been telling himself that it was gut the job was done so he’d not be seeing so much of her. Seemed where Sarah was concerned, he just couldn’t win.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Aaron and his brothers had come and gone early the next morning, carrying furniture down from the attic and moving it from place to place until she was satisfied. Even then, Sarah found herself so excited that she couldn’t leave well enough alone in the new rooms.
She made up the beds, spreading one of Aunt Emma’s handmade quilts over each. She polished the small tables and rocking chairs they’d put in each room and fussed over the arrangements of equipment and supplies until everything was stored, linens on their shelves, their array of herbs and tinctures on another. The windows shone, their white shades pulled down to exactly the same level.
Now . . . all they needed were clients, the women who would give birth in these rooms. Hopefully there would be enough women that she could actually make a living at the practice.
She thought of the money she’d paid to Aaron that morning, and uncertainty gripped her. The practice seemed to be picking up recently, but was it enough? If Aunt Emma did decide to move in with Jonas, what then? Sarah probably couldn’t afford to buy this house, and yet, wasn’t it partially hers already, with the investment she’d made in the birthing rooms? She was going on faith and the agreement she’d made with Aunt Emma, but would Jonas see it that way?
A sweet aroma drifted through the air, tickling her nose and drawing her toward the kitchen. She got there in time to see Aunt Emma sliding a cookie sheet out of the oven.
“What are you doing, Aunt Emma? I thought you were resting.”
“Ach, I realized what day it is. Goodness, Sarah, you should have reminded me.”
Sarah shook her head. “You’ll have to remind me. What day is it?”
Aunt Emma wasn’t mixing up the days again, was she? But her expression said she was sure of herself, and her eyes snapped with an energy Sarah hadn’t seen enough of lately.
“The Christmas program at the school is this afternoon.” Aunt Emma slid snickerdoodles onto a cooling rack. “I always bake plenty of snickerdoodles. Half the valley will be there for sure.”
Relief swept through Sarah. Aunt Emma was right and sounding more like herself every minute, too.
“I didn’t remember, and I know we said we’d be there.” She crossed the kitchen, pushing her sleeves back. “I’ll help. Shall I stir up another batch?”
“Ja, best do that.” Her aunt slid a second pan from the oven, and the air filled with the scent of cinnamon sugar. “Doing their program always seems to make the children hungry.”
“Everything makes children hungry, it seems to me.” Sarah measured sugar into an earthenware bowl. “It will be nice to see a program here. How many of them do you suppose you’ve attended?”
“Ach, too many to count, for sure. It was seeing Aaron and his brothers here that made me remember the day. I’ve seen all three of them in Christmas programs, and Molly, too, of course.”
“I’d guess Aaron knew his part perfectly,” Sarah said, stirring the dough.
“You’d guess right. I remember when Nathan forgot his lines. Aaron looked embarrassed for him, but Nathan just smiled and made something up.”
“It’s a forgiving audience, ready to clap for anything.”
Sarah had vivid memories of being so nervous she’d been convinced she’d never remember what to say. The annual Christmas program was a tradition in every Amish school, and she’d guess some of the same poems and skits were used year after year in school after sc
hool. That didn’t make them any less meaningful.
“Aaron was always the serious one, even before his mother died.” Aunt Emma paused, hands covered with dough. “More so, afterward, of course.”
Sarah hesitated, the question she wanted to ask trembling on her lips. No, not just wanted. Needed to know. She needed to understand what really happened when Aaron’s mother died, especially now that Molly was her patient.
Please, Lord. Let me do this right.
“I don’t want to bring up unhappy memories for you, Aunt Emma. But I am concerned about Aaron’s attitude, especially now that Molly is coming to us for her baby’s birth. Please, will you tell me about what happened when Benjamin was born?”
She held her breath.
Aunt Emma was still for a long moment, face averted. She blew out an audible breath. “I never thought I would tell this, not to anyone. But I think now you are right. Having Molly coming here changes everything.”
“I think so, too.” Sarah murmured a silent prayer that she’d know how to respond.
Her aunt wiped her hands slowly on a towel, over and over. “You will have to know, so that you can deal with Aaron for the best.” She pulled out one of the chairs and sat down heavily. “Komm. Sit with me.”
Sarah slid into the chair next to her, suddenly cold. Whatever she heard would change things, for good or ill.
“You asked me before. I got angry.” Emma’s face seemed to draw against the bone. “Maybe because I still felt guilty after all these years.”
Sarah’s heart cramped. “Guilty?” She barely whispered the word.
“I should have seen.”
“Seen what?”
Aunt Emma’s gaze seemed focused on the past. She shook her head slightly, as if to clear her vision. “To begin with, everything went fine. No problems. Benjamin came out easy, rosy and perfect.” She paused, the lines in her face deepening. “Then Miriam started bleeding. I knew right away it was bad.”
Sarah nodded. That was the midwife’s worst nightmare—something suddenly going wrong in what had been a casebook delivery. “You sent for help.”
“Ja, of course. I did what I could for Miriam and told her husband to hurry to the nearest phone.” She gripped Sarah’s hand, painfully tight. “There were not so many sixteen years ago as there are now. I heard him rushing out, calling to Aaron to get the horse and buggy. I heard the buggy go down the lane. And then . . . nothing. He didn’t come back. The paramedics didn’t come. Finally I sent Aaron running to the nearest neighbors to tell them to send for help. By the time help came, it was too late.”
Emma’s eyes were dry, but her face was ashen. She’d probably cried all her tears over this unhappiness years ago.
“Aaron’s father?” Sarah thought she knew, but she needed to hear it.
“One of the neighbors found him, eventually. In the buggy, asleep.” Her face twisted, but she clung to her control. “I should have seen that he’d been drinking. I should have realized, should have sent Aaron—”
“Don’t, Aunt Emma.” Sarah’s words were edged with tears. “Don’t. How could you have known?” Her heart twisted. No wonder Aaron’s father had drunk himself to death. “But Aaron . . .”
“He’s never known the truth of it.” Emma straightened. “We agreed that the children shouldn’t know. They’d just lost their mother. They probably didn’t even know about their father’s drinking. How could they face the thought that their father had been to blame?”
“So you let them blame you.”
Aunt Emma’s face smoothed out, as if she’d found serenity with that burden. “Better for them to blame me, if they had to, than their own father.”
“I guess so.” But Sarah said the words hesitantly. Was that the right thing? Or would it be better for Aaron to know the truth, no matter how hard?
“I pray so.” Aunt Emma shook her head. “The poor man still drank himself into an early grave. But I did what seemed right at the time, even if it was hard. That’s all any of us can do.”
Sarah nodded, an image of Aaron’s face filling her mind. He’d done what he thought was right, too, giving up his own life to be both mother and father to his siblings. Would that have been easier or harder if he’d known the truth? She’d never know.
The schoolhouse was filled to bursting with all the people who’d come to see the children’s Christmas program . . . one of the few times of the year when the children actually performed for anyone. Sarah stood against the wall, but Aunt Emma had a seat where she could easily see.
Thank the gut Lord Emma had decided to attend. Surely that meant she was feeling better, didn’t it? At the moment she was watching intently as the first and second graders spelled out the word Christmas with a simple rhyme for each letter. Aunt Emma had probably delivered most of the children, and she watched them with such pleasure that she seemed more herself.
Gut, Sarah thought again. Especially since they were going to Jonas’s house tomorrow for Christmas, and he was sure to renew his plea for his mother to move in with them. That seemed to him a logical step, with Aunt Emma’s other two sons clear out in Nebraska now.
But was it? Please, Father, guide me to the right answer.
The youngest children were succeeded by the oldest, doing a skit about the signs of Christmas. Out in Ohio, she’d been used to having few visible signs of Christmas among the Amish, but it was a little different here in Pennsylvania, with its strong Pennsylvania Dutch traditions. Most houses seemed to have a few greens and candles, and even the schoolhouse had greens in each window and stars dangling from the chalkboard molding.
She shifted position a little. Whatever Emma decided about her future, Sarah would support her, but still, she couldn’t help feeling a little apprehension. If Jonas persuaded her to sell the house . . .
She wouldn’t let her thoughts stray in that direction. Sufficient unto the day were the troubles thereof. At the moment her main trouble was the fact that Aaron stood almost directly opposite her across the room, and her heart gave a little jolt each time their eyes met.
Enough, she scolded herself. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. But still, the feelings were there, ready to spring to life each time their gazes crossed.
She focused firmly on the children and kept her eyes on them until they’d finished.
Loud applause greeted the final act. Beaming, the little actors and actresses either waved to parents and grandparents or peeked from behind siblings, depending on how brave they were.
“Oh, that was just wonderful.” Sarah turned to find Rosemary standing next to her. Correctly interpreting Sarah’s surprise, she smiled. “Anna invited me to come. I’ve never attended one of these Christmas programs before. To think they do the whole thing in English, even the little ones.”
“It is a tribute to their teacher.” Sarah hesitated, not sure whether to bring up the subject. Still, it had to be on Rosemary’s mind, as it was on hers. “I’m glad to see you. I wanted to say again how sorry I am that things didn’t work out with Dr. Mitchell.”
“He’s more stubborn about it than I’d expected,” Rosemary said. “But I haven’t given up. I’ll talk to him about it again at my next appointment.”
“I don’t think that will do any gut.” And it might do a great deal of harm, especially if Dr. Mitchell thought Sarah had put her up to it. “Maybe it would be best just to leave things be.”
“Nonsense.” Rosemary swept that typically Amish response away. “I don’t give up easily, you know.” She spun with a quick movement. “There’s Anna waving at me. I’d better get some refreshments. I’m always hungry these days.”
Sarah watched her go, thinking of all she should have said. It was often that way with the Englisch. They talked fast, acted fast. Unfortunately, in this instance Rosemary’s quick talk might set Dr. Mitchell’s back up still more.
Sarah took a step, thinking she’d get refreshments for Aunt Emma, but she seemed well blocked in by young scholars greeting their parents wit
h question after question about how they’d liked the program. She needn’t have worried, anyway. Rachel was handing Emma a filled plate and a cup of punch.
Sarah settled back against the wall and watched as Rachel Zook’s children swarmed all over her and Gideon, talking a mile a minute. Rachel listened, hugged, said all the right things. Her gaze met Sarah’s over the children’s heads, and she slipped away from their clamor to greet her.
“Ach, those kinder are so excited I think they will never settle down.” She fanned her flushed face with one hand. “Gideon can deal with them for a while.”
“They did a wonderful gut job with their parts,” Sarah said. “You look as if you should sit down for a while instead of standing here talking to me.”
“I’m fine,” Rachel said. “I won’t stay long, but I wanted to let you know that everything is set for Second Christmas. There’s nothing at all for you to worry about, because Anna and I have it arranged, even down to the boys to tend the horses.”
“That is ser gut of you, Rachel. That will cheer Aunt Emma up as nothing else could, I think.”
Rachel squeezed her hand. “You look as if you could use some cheering, as well. You’ve had more worries than you expected when you came here, ain’t so?”
“Ja. Still, it will work out as God wills, I know.” Sarah did know that, which meant she should stop all the futile worrying she did . . . an easier thing to tell herself than to do.
Rachel’s children claimed her attention again, and Sarah edged her way through the crowd toward her aunt. A group of scholars swirled around her like an eddy in a stream, diverting her, and she found herself in the midst of the Miller family.
Molly greeted her with a warm smile. “Happy Christmas, Sarah. It always feels like Christmas to me once I’ve seen the children’s program.”
Sarah nodded. “They were wonderful gut,” she said, giving the expected response. She smiled at Benjamin. “You can remember better than I can what it was like, I guess.”