A Christmas Promise

by Tamera Lynn Kraft

  That would make Lisel happy since she had recently fussed that she wanted to wear moccasins like some of her Lenape friends at school did.

  The walk was short since their home was only five cabins away from the church that had been built three months ago. The roads of the village formed in a T shape with the church in the middle and the school across the path.

  Pastor Zeisberger, the leader of the village, lived next to the church. Other cabins lined the roads. A few of them had a second floor or two rooms. Some even had wooden floorboards, but most were simple one-room log cabins with dirt floors like theirs, not nearly large enough for their growing family. John promised to build them a larger cabin like the one they had in Bethlehem,as soon as he had a chance.

  At least the land was fertile. During the summer, crops would be planted in the fields bordering the village. Behind the church was the field where corn, beans, and squash, known as the three sisters, were planted together. Each family had their own plot to raise potatoes, turnips, cabbage, and a small herb patch. The village had already been enclosed with wattle fences to keep out rodents and wild animals.

  But it still didn’t feel like Bethlehem. It didn’t feel like home.

  The round cabins on the far end of the T were built by the newly converted Lenape. They weren’t really round like the wigwams many Lenape lived in. They were called that because the natives didn’t have the tools to shape the round logs. Beyond them was God’s Acre, the village cemetery. They’d only been there a year and a half, and already Phoebe’s child and Rebecca’s husband had been buried there.

  Anna remembered the graves they’d left in Bethlehem. She inhaled deeply through her nose and released it through her mouth to keep the anxiety at bay. Worry was a sin she repented of often.

  The bell tolled again. Meeting would begin soon.

  Hurrying their pace, they passed Brother Luke’s cabin, and a knot curled up inside Anna’s stomach. John was headstrong and took risks, but she tried to hold onto the thought that Brother Luke would keep the peace.

  Paul was a different matter.

  The son of a chief, he arrived in the village a few months ago, donning a beaded headdress with a few eagle feathers sticking up and war paint on his face in the shape of a mask around his eyes that was dripping down his cheeks. He wore earrings and had a tattoo of a bear on his arm. He told John it was because he fought like Yakwahe, a mythical bear, in battle.

  Anna kept the girls close by when warriors visited the village. But when Paul showed up, she wouldn’t even let them out of the cabin.

  Pastor Zeisberger, Pastor Jungman, and John talked to him for hours, explaining the salvation of the Lord. In the end, Paul had converted, was baptized. Within a week, with John’s help, he had built a round cabin not much bigger than a wigwam near the end of the T.

  John had made it his mission to disciple the young brave and invited him to supper at least two or three evenings a week so they could study the Bible together, and so John could teach Paul to read his native language.

  On those evenings, Anna cleaned up and tucked the children into bed.

  The girls loved Paul. Lisel would constantly pester him to tell her stories about his tribe. He would tell the girls his yarns only if Lisel would recite the Bible story she learned recently. But his adventures were too violent for young girls to hear even if they did have heroism and romance in them. Lisel was already too enamored with the Lenape ways.

  Even though John had grown close to Paul and remarked often at how quickly the young brave absorbed Scripture, Anna wasn’t sure about him. His conversion seemed too fast to be genuine. She tried to caution John about trusting his new convert at face value and suggested maybe they should meet in Paul’s cabin, away from the girls.

  John dismissed her fear, saying she allowed her troubled thoughts to consume her.

  Maybe she did. But maybe she had reason to be concerned.

  Anna entered the church, and the tension throughout her body floated away. Something about stepping into the house of God alleviated her fears. The Spirit of God lived inside all His children, but she felt His presence here. Lately, it was the only time she did.

  Paintings of Jesus’ life filled the right wall above the fireplace, and paintings of the Exodus from Egypt, David facing Goliath, and Daniel in the lion’s den were on the wall to the left, scenes reminding her that the saints of old also faced trials. Only they were able to trust in God instead of being plagued with worry.

  On the raised platform in the front, Pastors Zeisberger, Jungman, and Brother Davis sat in chairs behind the sturdy wooden table which held a brass candle holder and a large Bible on it. Sometimes John would sit in one of the three chairs. She missed seeing him there.

  The candles on the walls and hanging from the ceiling weren’t lit. They had meeting almost every morning, but only lit candles when they had special night time services like the Christmas Eve Lovefeast that would take place this evening.

  In the middle pews, widows chattered away in the widow’s choir, but one young Lenape girl, Rebecca, sat quietly. A beauty with narrow brown eyes, high cheekbones, and smooth bronze skin, she looked out of place among the older women.

  Two of the widows, both white women, were at least twice Rebecca’s age. Nobody knew the age of the third widow. Sister Mary was a Lenape who joined the Moravians when her children were young. The sagging skin covering her face, and the age spots and tired lines around her eyes and mouth showed that was many years ago.

  Rebecca left a nearby Lenape tribe, a year ago, when she married a native who had been with the Moravians since his youth. It was the first marriage to take place in the village.

  A month later, she stood over her husband’s grave. The elders urged her not to grieve over her husband and to move into the widows’ cabin so they could take care of her.

  Anna wasn’t sure that was what was best. Rebecca was only nineteen years old and was required to lodge with women who had already lived their lives. How was she supposed to ignore her heartache and not grieve?

  Losing a husband had to be hard. Anna couldn’t imagine what it would be like to experience the pain of loss without John by her side to comfort and protect her.

  Phoebe interrupted Anna’s thoughts. “Are you well?” The Lenape woman spoke in English even though the Lenape language was spoken in church. She wanted to learn the language of the Moravians.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Anna answered her in English, and then turned to Belinda and spoke in Lenape. “Take your sisters to the children’s choir and make sure they stay with you.”

  Belinda nodded and grabbed Katrina’s hand.

  Lisel crossed her arms. “Can’t I sit with my friend, Deborah?”

  “You’ll sit with Belinda.” Anna delivered her mama glower. “Last time you sat with Deborah, you talked during service.”

  Lisel’s lower lip drooped.

  “Go!”

  Lisel abandoned her pout and followed Belinda and Katrina to the children’s section in the back.

  Anna and Phoebe took their seats on wooden benches on the left side in the married women’s choir. Anna took Phoebe’s hand. “Now tell me, why wouldn’t I be well?”

  “I heard John and some others went to Gnadenhutten to meet with some Lenape warriors who showed up there.”

  “Yes, that is so.”

  “The tribal chief is with them.” Phoebe looked at the floor. “Paul’s father.”

  Anna drew her hand to her mouth. “John didn’t tell me.” Heat flushed her face.

  Paul’s father had disowned him when he became a Christian.

  “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “This is a good thing.” Phoebe swiped her tongue across her lips. “Brother Paul has a chance to tell his tribe about Christ.”

  Anna glanced at the painting of Jesus suffering on the cross. John should have told her. It wasn’t the first time he had tried to shield her. They’d quarreled about it, and she told him how much harder it was not to wor
ry when he hid the danger.

  What if Paul’s father meant them harm? They could be abducted or killed.

  Her stomach churned, and she placed her hand over it.

  The bell rang once more, and service began.

  As they sang the morning hymn, Anna tried to focus on the words, but her mind kept wandering to how John had deceived her about the peril he faced, danger brought to them by his new convert. What if something happened to him?

  He lied to her. Again.

  After the hymn, Pastor Zeisberger stood to lead them in prayer. He said something about remembering the missionaries in Gnadenhutten and praying for the visiting Lenape tribe to convert, but Anna couldn’t concentrate enough to form words to petition the Almighty.

  Nausea rose within her, and she ran out the side door and towards the field to throw up. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She couldn’t manage on her own with three children and one on the way, if something happened to John.

  They never should have come to Schoenbrunn Village.

  3

  John sat at the sturdy wooden table with Luke and Paul drinking his coffee near the fireplace. The guest cabin in Gnadenhutten was larger than most, with a wood floor, two rooms on the lower level, and loft where guests slept. Sister Esther, their host, slept in the smaller room on the main floor that was just large enough for a straw mattress.

  Esther, a widow in charge of hospitality in both villages, was in Schoenbrunn today to celebrate the Christmas Eve Lovefeast. She had another guest home there, but this cabin was always available.

  Outside, behind the cabin, a large fire pit had been built, and a hog roasted on a spit since before dawn. A feast of roast pig, cornbread, cabbage, and boiled potatoes would be served to the Lenape tribal leaders when they arrived later today, as a gesture of good will. The aroma filled the cabin making John’s mouth water.

  They had ashcakes for supper last night and hadn’t had breakfast this morning since Esther wasn’t there to cook and none of the men were gifted in womanly arts.

  John’s stomach growled, making him wish he’d taken time to sup before he left for Gnadenhutten. Anna was a good cook.

  Maybe if yesterday’s meeting hadn’t lasted so long, he could have made it home in time for supper. But everyone on the council had an opinion on how this meeting should be handled. In the end, they decided to allow Brother Paul decide. He and Brother Luke would offer support where needed.

  John moved his head in a circle to get the kinks out of his neck. Sleeping upstairs away from the fire, in a straw tick mattress with his two friends, didn’t allow him a restful night. There weren’t enough warm blankets, and he’d tossed and turned until the rooster crowed. He missed Anna and the girls.

  If Anna knew he didn’t tell her everything, she would be angry, but he didn’t want her to fret. Ever since they’d lost Noah, she’d changed.

  When they were courting, they would talk often of how God would use them in mighty ways if they yielded to His will. But now, fear and worry overwhelmed her more than her faith sustained her.

  He didn’t know how to help her. When he hid the danger, she became indignant as if he’d betrayed her trust. But he still found himself deceiving her to shield her from knowing the worst of the threat they faced. He had no choice. The truth would only make her anxious.

  It was hard to lose a child. Even though it had been two years ago, it bothered him, too. More than he would admit.

  Noah, their oldest, loved adventure and claimed that one day he would explore the wilderness beyond the Mississippi River and bring the Gospel to the natives there.

  He’d been out with his Lenape friends, but they weren’t to blame. They’d done everything they could.

  Joseph, Noah’s best friend, had told John what happened. They’d found a cave opening on a wooded hill near their village and climbed in. It was too dark to go much past the opening, but Noah had the idea of lighting a torch.

  With torch in hand, he led Joseph and three other friends through a cavern to an opening where a stream fed the cave. Noah stepped closer, and the floor fell away. Joseph and the others used a rope to climb down the hole.

  When they reached the bottom, about ten feet deep, Noah was senseless, and they couldn’t wake him. They pulled him out, and after making a gurney out of tree branches, they carried him home.

  Anna was so distraught it scared John. He’d never seen her like that before. He tried to reassure her that everything would be all right. He was so desperate to calm her that he promised Noah would recover even though he knew it was beyond his control. He prayed God would fulfill the oath he foolishly uttered, begged God to save his son. But two days later, it was the first of many promises he broke.

  Noah never woke.

  It made it even harder that Anna had just lost her parents to influenza two months earlier. She didn’t have their strength to help her through it.

  Anna declared she’d give John another son that somehow the next child would make up for losing Noah. When she didn’t get pregnant, she retreated into herself. She eventually came out of it, but the joy and faith that were once such vital parts of her were gone.

  Before Noah died, Anna would never have refused to go to Ohio. She would have insisted on it. Sometimes John wondered if they should have stayed in Bethlehem, at least until she recovered from the loss. At this point, he wasn’t sure she’d ever be the same.

  The Moravians called it ‘going home’ and encouraged the congregation not to grieve. John was glad his son was in Heaven, but he couldn’t manage not to be sad the boy wasn’t still with him. Noah would have been twelve last month.

  Anna’s grief didn’t leave. Instead, it turned into fear that harm would come to John, or to another one of their children. She’d become overprotective and, since coming to Schoenbrunn, never left the girls alone. She always walked the children to school and church, and never let them play outside without her there to keep an eye out.

  John swallowed another gulp of coffee.

  In a few hours, Paul’s father and some tribal elders would walk to the village, and the meeting would begin. Hopefully, it would be soon so John could get home in time for the Lovefeast. That would ease Anna’s mind.

  He glanced up at his friends. Paul hadn’t spoken two words since their three hour trek to Gnadenhutten the night before. Always a man of few words, he seemed more stoic than usual.

  “Brother Paul, help us know how to prepare to greet them,” John said. “You’re the one they requested to see.”

  “I should meet them outside the village.” Paul stood and poked at the fire. “There’s no reason to put you in danger.”

  Luke leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “We’d go with you, so you might as well stay here.”

  The muscle in Paul’s jaw twitched. “My father is not interested in converting to Christianity. He’ll bring me back to the tribe, or he’ll see me dead. No reason for you to follow me to the grave.”

  “Brother Luke is right.” John took a gulp of coffee. “You’re part of our family, now. We’re staying with you. If it means we go home to be with our Lord, then God’s will be done.”

  They were brave words, and John meant them. But he couldn’t help but think of how Anna and the girls would fare if something happened to him.

  4

  After dropping Belinda and Lisel off at school, Anna held tightly to Katrina’s hand as she marched to the widow’s cabin. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought to ask Rebecca to help before.

  “Mama, I can’t walk fast. My legs are too short.”

  She leaned down and kissed Katrina’s cheek. “I’m sorry, child. Mama forgets, sometimes. But we’re here, so you won’t have to walk any further.” She knocked on the door of one of the larger two-story cabins.

  Sister Mary opened the door. “Sister Anna, it’s so nice of you to visit. We don’t get company too often. And you brought your little one with you.” She pinched Katrina’s cheek.

  “Ow, that hu
rt.”

  “Katrina.” Anna squeezed her daughter’s shoulder.

  “The child is right,” Sister Mary said. “I do squeeze too hard.” She leaned down to Katrina. “Would you like some sweet cornbread and milk?”

  Katrina nodded her head.

  “Well then, come in.” Sister Mary stood aside.

  Anna and Katrina entered the cabin, but Rebecca didn’t raise her eyes to greet Anna as she spun yarn at the spinning wheel in the corner.

  The other widows made up for it with a flurry of activity that almost made Anna forget why she’d come. They all moved at once preparing the table for their guests. Sister Berta poured milk, and Sister JoAnn sliced the cornbread, as Sister Mary got out tin plates and some butter they must have churned recently.

  The spacious cabin had plenty of room for the large oak table and benches. The blazing fireplace warmed the home that already had plenty of kindness and hospitality in it. Sister Mary motioned Anna and Katrina to sit, but Rebecca didn’t join them while they ate cornbread together.

  Anna finished her milk and stood. “Ladies, would you mind watching Katrina while I talk to Rebecca alone?”

  “Not at all, my dear,” Sister Mary said. “Why don’t you two young ladies go in the other room for some privacy?”

  Rebecca followed Anna as if she was afraid her footsteps would unsettle the cabin and bring it to rubble if they were to be heard. The other room was where the widows slept. Two rope beds were on the wall near the window, and on the wall by the door rested a trunk and a small table where a pitcher of water and a wash basin sat. This room alone was as big as Anna’s whole cabin. The elders made it a priority to take good care of the widows.

  Anna sat on one of the beds and motioned Rebecca to join her. Rebecca eased beside her.

  “I wanted to ask you something,” Anna said.

  Rebecca gazed at her with dark, round eyes, but said nothing.