A Christmas Promise

by Tamera Lynn Kraft

  “I’ve been assigned to provide the refreshments for the Christmas Lovefeast. I’ve heard you make the best coffee in the village. Could you make the coffee for the Lovefeast and help serve?”

  Rebecca looked at her feet. “I don’t know.”

  “I know you miss your husband.”

  “I do.” Rebecca glanced up. “I miss him more than you can imagine.”

  “This might help. It would give you something to do.”

  “I miss Samuel.” Rebecca bit her lip. “But I also miss home.”

  “I don’t understand.” Anna furrowed her brow. “You mean the cabin you and Brother Samuel lived in?”

  “No. When I converted to Christianity and married Samuel, I moved away from my home, from my family, from the wigwam I grew up in, from the ways of the Lenape. I missed them, but I had Samuel. Then he died, and everything changed.” She wiped her face. “I don’t know why I’m here, living with women I hardly know, in a place that seems so strange in so many ways. I try, but it isn’t home.”

  “If you feel that way, why don’t you return to your family?”

  “I can’t. If I did, my father would marry me off to a Lenape warrior. I couldn’t live as a Christian. My new husband wouldn’t permit it.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Anna placed her hand on Rebecca’s.

  “Sister Mary and the others try to help.” Rebecca wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “And God is with me. He’ll see me through this dark time.”

  “It would help to do something, to focus your thoughts on serving others instead of dwelling on your grief.”

  Rebecca’s mouth turned up slightly. It wasn’t exactly a grin, but it was closer to one than Anna had seen on her face since Samuel had died. “I’d love to serve the coffee.”

  Maybe if Rebecca could start to come out of this melancholy, there was hope for Anna to overcome the anxiety that plagued her.

  5

  John stood among the men from the village who had gathered, waiting to share the feast with the visiting tribe. The women and children stayed in their cabins as a precaution.

  His stomach fluttered as a dozen Lenape warriors, a medicine man, and Paul’s father, chief of this tribe, marched into the village.

  Chief Swantaney came in full attire. On his head was a beaded headdress with many eagle feathers pointed straight up. He wore a deerskin breechcloth, leggings and a fur mantle on his chest. Large rings hung from his ears, and a string of animal bones dangled around his neck.

  John let out a silent prayer that the red and black paint around the chief’s eyes was ceremonial and not a declaration of war.

  Standing next to the chief, the Lenape medicine man wore a leather bag around his neck, a wampum belt around his waist, and a satchel over his shoulder. The warriors, with various designs of red and black paint on their faces, stood behind the chief.

  A couple of men with bulging muscles carried cedar logs in their arms. When they stopped, they dumped the logs in a pile and rubbed their arms as if they’d carried them during the entire two hour trek from their village.

  None of the Moravians had guns. John had left his musket in the cabin. Weapons would have violated their determination to show the Lenape the love of Christ. But the delegates from the Lenape tribe had no such motivation. They carried tomahawks, knives, bows, and arrows.

  A young Lenape warrior beat a cadence on his drum. It mixed with John’s beating heart and intensified the trepidation he felt.

  Chief Swantaney held up his hand. The drum stopped.

  Brother Luke greeted the visitors as the head of the Moravian delegation. “Nulelìntàm èli paan. We are honored to have you visit our village.”

  The chief nodded, but said nothing.

  “We have prepared a roast pig. Please join us in a meal.”

  The Lenape waited and watched as the chief pinched his lips together. “We will eat.”

  John let out the breath he was holding. If the Lenape had refused the meal, it would have shown they had no desire to come to a peaceable conclusion with the Moravians. Eating with them was a good sign.

  As the braves sat on the ground and waited to be served, John helped the Moravian elders serve food first to the chief, then to the medicine man, and then to the warriors.

  Everyone ate except Paul. He stood back from the delegation, leaned against a tree with his arms crossed, and watched with quiet fortitude. Few emotions ever showed on Paul’s face, but John was fond of the man and could usually see through him.

  The Lenape convert had been a warrior from his youth, and that didn’t change when he became a Christian. He just decided to fight in a different war, a spiritual one. John knew that Paul was determined to stand strong in the face of this challenge, but it was hard to go against one’s father no matter what age one was.

  They had conversations together during their Bible studies where Paul had asked how he could honor his father without denying his Lord.

  John didn’t have an answer. But he did have confidence that Paul would allow God to guide him. Even though Paul had only been a Christian a few months now, John had never met a man who had surrendered his life more thoroughly to his Lord. That’s why, when Paul was baptized, John recommended his new name. The change was as drastic as when the Apostle Paul had been confronted on the road to Damascus.

  The feast was over and the food cleared away.

  Luke stood and addressed Chief Swantaney and the Lenape warriors. “We are honored to have you visit our village. We understand you wish to discuss some things with us. We would also like to share good news with you. As our guests, we honor you and insist that you speak first.”

  “We will smoke the hapakan with the sacred kshate tobacco before we talk.”

  “Father, no.” Paul said. “I no longer participate in the Fire of Peace, nor do I worship the Great Spirit Kishelamakank. I have a new God.”

  “Silence, Yaweha,” the chief bellowed.

  Paul, whose Lenape name was Yaweha, stepped back.

  John pulled on his collar.

  “Wait,” Brother Luke said. “We will smoke the pipe with you, but we will pray to our God.” He placed a hand on Paul’s arm, but didn’t look away from the chief. “Smoking the pipe does not mean we worship your gods, but that we do seek peace between the Lenape and the Moravians.”

  Chief Swantaney turned to the strong warriors who had carried the logs. “Prepare the fire of peace.”

  The warriors built a fire pit using the cedar logs they’d carried into the village. It didn’t take long before the fire blazed and warmed everyone standing around it. The medicine man pulled a long stemmed pipe out of his satchel, lined it with sweet grass, and packed it with the tobacco from his pouch.

  The chief pointed to the fire where he motioned them to sit in a circle.

  John took a seat on one side of Paul, and Luke sat on the other. The other Moravians and natives filled in the circle. The cold ground under them made it hard to find a comfortable position.

  Swantaney plopped down opposite Paul. The medicine man next to him lit the pipe, and handed it to the chief. It was passed to each Lenape warrior, who took a puff, and then to each Moravian. When the pipe reached Paul, he glared at it.

  John held his breath. Paul was not known for his patient compliance, but this was not the time to offend the chief by refusing to take part. He’d already dishonored them enough by not partaking in the meal with them.

  One Lenape warrior placed his hand on his knife. Nobody spoke as everyone stared at Paul, and for a moment, it seemed that even breathing had stopped.

  Paul’s jaw clenched as he took a puff and handed the pipe to John.

  John smoked the pipe and let the smoke escape his nose and mouth as he squelched the urge to cough. Moravians didn’t believe in polluting their bodies with tobacco, but they did partake of the peace pipe when the Lenape leaders insisted. Not to do so insulted the Lanape before a word of the Gospel was spoken.

  After the peace pipe was laid aside
, Chief Swantaney stood. “As you know, we, the Lenni Lenape, serve Kishelamakank, the Great Spirit. He is our god and has sent us nature spirits to guide us.” The chief moved his arms and spoke in a clear, loud voice. He was a good orator. “My only son has offended the Great Spirit and embraces the religion of the white man. Is that not so?”

  “Yes, Father,” Paul said. “But I have not rejected you, or our people. I am Lenni Lenape.”

  “Not true.” Swantaney pointed at his son. “The great prophet Neolin warned Kishelamakank would not be pleased if we turn from the Lenape traditions to the ways of the white man. Son, you have done that, as have all the Lenape who have turned away from their heritage to join the Moravian tribe. Your soul is in danger, and I will allow this no longer.”

  A murmur traveled through both delegations.

  The noise stopped when Paul stood and faced his father. “I am the son of a chief. That hasn’t changed. But you know how troubled I was after disease killed many from our tribe, my wife, my son—your grandson.”

  Chief Swantaney crossed his arms. “All the more reason to pray to the Great Spirit.”

  Paul wiped his hand over his face. “I did pray to the Great Spirit, and I watched the medicine man do everything he could to stop the plague. But they still died, along with many strong warriors.” His jaw set, he turned slowly, looking at each brave. “I needed to know the truth. If the Great Spirit allowed this to happen for a reason, I would accept it as his will. But I needed to be sure. I decided to go on a spirit quest until I had an answer.” He turned to his father. “I left with your blessing and was gone for many moons on this quest.” He locked eyes with the medicine man. “I vowed to not return until I had a revelation from the One True Master of Life, the only God.”

  “No,” Swantaney stood. “If your revelation was true, you would have not rejected Kishelamakank and our people.”

  “Father, you did not see my vision. It was from the one true God. He spoke from a bush that burned, but was not consumed, as He did to the prophet, Moses, written about in God’s book. He told me to go to the Moravian tribe; that they would tell me how His Son died to save me, and that they would teach me His ways.”

  “You will return to the tribe and embrace the traditions.”

  “No, Father.” Paul crossed his arms and glared at the fire. “I will not reject my Lord now that He has shown me the truth.”

  “Think carefully.” Swantaney gazed into Paul eyes. “If you do not return with us within a moon, we will make war with the Moravian tribe.”

  A gasp escaped John’s lips.

  6

  Anna tried to ignore the dread welling up inside of her as she started home with Katrina. She was glad she went to visit the widows’ cabin and asked Rebecca to be one of the Dieners, but it reminded her how quickly everything could be taken away, how easily she could lose her husband, or another child.

  Before she left, she’d convinced Rebecca to sup with them on Sunday. Somehow, Anna hoped she could help by befriending the young widow.

  Katrina held up her hands to be carried.

  “You’re a big girl. You can walk.”

  “Mama, carry me.”

  Normally Anna would have insisted. Being strict, but kind, was the best way to help her daughters mature into godly women, but she didn’t have the energy or the heart to argue. “Just this once.” She picked up Katrina and carried her home.

  When they stepped into the cabin, Anna sat in the rocker and hugged her youngest daughter tight, too tight, afraid to let her go.

  “Mama, you’re squishing me.”

  Anna set Katrina down. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes.

  “Mama, are you sad?”

  “I’m all right, little one,” Anna said, hoping Katrina wouldn’t see through the lie. “I miss your Papa.”

  “Me, too,” Katrina said.

  Work would keep the anxious thoughts away, and Anna needed to get busy if she would be ready for Christmas. She needed to bake more sweet buns and had planned to make a squash pie for dessert, John’s favorite. When she’d spent a whole week boiling maple syrup to form sugar crystals for the sweet buns, she made sure she had enough for the pie and to sweeten the cornbread.

  The main dish would be a problem. John didn’t have time to hunt a pheasant or wild turkey for Christmas dinner, so she would need to serve maple cured ham or kill one of the chickens. They’d had their fill of ham, but she only had a couple of chickens, and she hated losing one of her egg-layers. Ham would have to do.

  Before she started, she needed to bring more water up from the creek. While grabbing the water pails off the shelf, she heard a rustling sound behind her.

  Turning in time to see Katrina climbing halfway up the tottering Christmas tree, she pulled her daughter back right before the wood frame, boughs, and candles crashed to the ground.

  Katrina sobbed.

  Anna pulled her youngest daughter into her arms. “Shhh, hush now. It’s all right.” She trembled as Katrina wailed. Her chest felt as if the wooden frame had fallen on it.

  Katrina could have been killed.

  ****

  “Chief Swantaney.” John stood and faced him. “Brother Paul, Yaweha, is your son, even if he chooses to live away from his people. Will you not listen to his words before you decide to war against his friends?”

  The chief crossed his arms and said nothing.

  None of the other men, native or Moravian, seemed to want to be the first to break the silence.

  Paul stared at the fire, his jaw clenched.

  John cleared his throat. “Chief Swantaney.” Paul grabbed his arm, but he pulled it away. “I too have lost a son, but my son died. You still have yours, even if he doesn’t share your beliefs.”

  “My son might as well be buried, as my grandson was.” Chief Swantaney hunched his shoulders. “Who will take my place when I join my ancestors in the Great Milky Way? I have no son or grandson to become chief and lead our tribe.”

  Luke cleared his throat. “I am Lenape, and I have lived with the Moravians for many years. They are friends to the Lenape. They mean no harm to you. Your son has made the decision to stay with us.”

  “Because you deceived him, with your talk of a Son of God. The Great Spirit has no sons.”

  “No, Father,” Paul said. “I was not deceived. I chose to become a Christian and give my allegiance to God. Will you not hear me?”

  Chief Swantaney sat at the fire and nodded. “I will listen.”

  The other braves sat around him, and Paul moved to the center. He set forth the Gospel message and how he came to know the truth.

  John gazed at the men. Some jutted their chins. But Chief Swantaney gave no indication what his response would be. He prayed God would give Paul wisdom as he spoke.

  A few braves leaned forward. One man nodded. Paul ended with a passionate plea for the braves and his father to come to know Christ.

  Some of the braves looked visibly shaken. The one who nodded his head stood. He looked like he might say something, but glanced towards the chief and swallowed any words tempting to be uttered.

  Paul’s father stood. “I will consider what my son has said. Tomorrow, we will meet again. I will let you know my decision, then.” He marched out of the village with the braves following him. The man who stood looked towards Paul, even took a step in his direction, paused, and then ran off to join the others.

  John swallowed the lump in his throat. Tomorrow was Christmas Day. He wouldn’t be home in time.

  7

  As Anna led her children on the path to the church, she kept her gaze focused outside of town. An inch of snow had covered the ground, but it wasn’t as bad as they were expecting. The snowstorm fizzled into light flurries.

  It took her most of the day to clean up the mess Katrina had made and set the tree back in place. She had the squash pie to make and the buns to bake, but she was glad to have something to keep her mind off her husband’s absence.

  They reached the churc
h, and she took one last look before they entered. No sign of the men. She bit her lower lip. John said he might not be back in time.

  The lit candles gave the room a warm glow. A blazing fire in the fireplace added to the mood.

  Anna ushered the girls to the children’s choir and set the baskets of sweet buns on the wooden table in front. Rebecca had already arrived with the pot of coffee she’d made, and Phoebe had provided a pitcher of juice for the children.

  She joined Phoebe and Rebecca on the bench in the front in the married women’s choir facing the congregation. Even though Rebecca’s place was in the widow’s choir, since she volunteered to make the coffee and be a Diener, nobody minded this breach of tradition.

  Anna was glad Rebecca decided to help. It seemed to lighten her mood to know she could be of service.

  The meeting opened with Pastor Zeisberger reading the Scripture in the book of Matthew about Jesus’s birth. He went on to say how Jesus’s birth was a promise that God would always be with the people of this world. That’s why He was called Emanuel.

  But all Anna could think of was John’s promise to be home for Christmas. She glanced towards the door. No sign of John.

  Pastor Zeisberger prayed over the meal, and Anna joined the Dieners in serving the sweet buns and pouring the coffee and juice. When all were served, she returned to the bench to enjoy the meal with Phoebe and Rebecca.

  As she took a bite of bun, she squelched the nausea rising in her stomach. The morning sickness didn’t normally affect her this late at night, but worry would sometimes cause it to flare up. She tried not to fret, but all she could think about was the child growing inside of her. If something happened to John, he’d never know she was expecting. She could finally give him another child, although they could never replace the son they’d lost. Maybe she should have told him before he left. She might have if he’d told her the truth about the danger he faced.

  Anna chided herself for pondering all the bad things that could occur. Nothing would happen. John promised he’d be back for Christmas. She glanced again towards the back where the door stayed firmly shut.