When she did a small thing, like touching him as she walked by, it breached his aloneness. It wasn’t unpleasant at all, but it was startling.
This time, instead of letting her walk on by, he reached out and touched her arm, pulled her back into the shadow of the barn.
“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, Annie. If you can wait a minute longer.”
Annie looked down at Samuel’s hand on her arm, heard the note of seriousness in his voice, and wondered what could possibly cause such a look of concern on his face.
The day had gone incredibly well, in her opinion.
Other than one young girl throwing up inside the waiting room, she couldn’t think of a single incident that she’d change.
“What is it? Was iss letz?” She pulled her kapp strings back behind her shoulders and hoped he wasn’t about to criticize her nursing. Now why would she worry about such a thing? He hadn’t criticized her since she’d first come home. It seemed so long ago now.
“Nothing’s wrong. Well, something is, but…” He pulled his straw hat off his head, then set it back down more firmly, causing his hair to stick out on the sides. “What I mean is, don’t have such a worried look. You’ve done nothing wrong, Annie. I was being truthful when I said you were a real help to me today.”
He took a deep breath, looked to the pups, then continued. “I’d appreciate it if you’d consider coming back every Saturday when I have the medical side open. If you’re not busy, that is. Folks generally come the weekends we don’t have church meetings.”
“Of course I will. I’d like to very much.” A warm flush of embarrassment crept up her face at Samuel’s praise. Then she realized he’d again taken off his hat. She moved closer, gazed up into his face, and realized he wasn’t finished.
“That wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about, though. Bishop Levi stopped by earlier.”
“I saw you eating lunch with him.”
“He came to tell me about a special situation. It’s a private matter, but a young girl in our district needs tending.”
Annie tilted her head, trying to better discern the meaning behind his words. He suddenly looked everywhere but at her—out at his fields, toward Charity and the buggy, even back toward the pups.
“A young girl?”
“Ya. Well, I don’t know why I feel awkward telling you this. I thought you would be the perfect person to check on her, but it’s a confidential matter. That is to say, the family isn’t ready to share with the congregation yet—”
Annie reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “Are you trying to say there’s a young girl expecting a child?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“And she’s not married.”
“Correct.”
“I see.” Annie let her hand slip away as she walked over to the curtained exam area and began gathering her supplies. “Well, of course I’ll help, Samuel. But I haven’t decided yet on what you asked me regarding the midwife apprenticeship. Belinda will be needing to see the girl.”
“Ya. I suggested to Bishop Levi that Belinda should see the girl, but he doesn’t think it’s a gut idea. He says Sharon’s father isn’t ready yet—”
Not realizing how close he was, Annie nearly knocked him over when she turned around quickly. “Sharon Smucker?”
“Ya.”
“She’s only Charity’s age.”
“I know. Bishop Levi says he’s meeting with the family, but they’d like to keep it quiet for a bit longer. I suggested you might be willing to go and do the prenatal visits for a while, in order to give the family a little time to adjust before everyone starts seeing Belinda’s car stop at their house.”
Annie picked up her quilted bag, walked out into the cold afternoon toward her buggy. She’d crossed half the distance when Samuel caught up with her. She suddenly needed the sun’s warmth on her face, needed to be free of others’ burdens for a little while.
When he caught up with her she stopped.
She felt him standing beside her, waiting, though they both knew there was nothing to wait for. There was no question as to whether she would help the girl.
“I’ll be froh to visit Sharon, Samuel. We both realize, however, there’s no keeping a baby secret.”
He made to interrupt her, but she stopped him. “Babies shouldn’t be secret, regardless the circumstances of their birth. I saw enough of such ways while I worked with the Englischers.”
She looked across the field. In a few months they’d be green with crops, and Sharon’s boppli would be born. “Not only does Sharon and the boppli need the love and support of her freinden, but our community needs Sharon and her baby. We’re one family here, and it’s part of what makes us special. It’s part of what sets us apart.”
Then she turned and joined Charity in the buggy.
She thought he might follow her, ask her to explain herself, but he didn’t. He didn’t need to, and they both knew it. In his heart he knew what she said made sense. Perhaps he hadn’t had the time to think it through.
With all four grown children home, and Annie’s dat still sporting casts on both legs, it was necessary to take two buggies to Deborah Umble’s lunch the next day.
Often they stayed home on Sundays when there was no church meeting, but Deborah had invited them for a special Christmas celebration. Since the following weekend would be busy with church meetings on First Christmas, and family meals and gift-giving the day after, or Second Christmas as they called it, this would be their last chance to celebrate with friends.
Annie rode with Adam and Charity—leaving her mother to make sure Reba had no critters in her pockets. She’d volunteered to ride along and help with her dat, but Jacob had scowled and proceeded to lecture her as he clumsily worked his arm through his coat sleeve while leaning on his crutch.
“Won’t be needing any help of that sort this morning. Believe I’m about ready to be shy of your professional skills, Annie girl.” Then her father had bumped off, leaving her frowning at his back.
Adam pulled her toward his buggy as she started to remind him a second time to be careful. “Say another word, and he’ll insist on driving,” Adam cautioned.
“Why are men so stubborn?” Annie asked as Charity scooted over to make room for her.
“Don’t ask me.” Adam shut the buggy’s door and walked around to his side. “I wouldn’t know, since I’m the flexible, sensitive type of man.”
“Those weren’t exactly the words Leah used to describe you yesterday when mother ran into her at the store,” Charity teased.
“Mother spoke with Leah at the store?” Adam giddy-upped to the mare he had re-shod yesterday.
“Ya, and I believe she called you stubborn and bullheaded.” Charity elbowed Annie as she recounted the story.
“Leah told you he was stubborn?” Annie gave the question her best I’m-shocked-and-can’t-believe-it tone.
Adam gave them both his best you-must-be-kidding stare. When they simply smiled back sweetly, he took the bait.
“And what would my bride-to-be have been referring to when she called me stubborn?”
“I wouldn’t know for sure,” Charity admitted. “I was at Samuel’s all day, but according to Mamm, Leah seemed a bit upset.”
“Upset?”
“Ya. She asked Mamm to stay, and they had two cups of tea in the café. Sounds fairly distressed to me.”
“Over our bruder? Hard to believe; after all, he’s flexible and sensitive.” Annie coughed into her hand.
“Unlike our father,” Charity added.
Adam pulled their buggy in line on the road behind Jacob and Rebekah’s buggy. A smile now stretched completely across his face.
“Mamm must have been drinking tea with a different Leah King. My girl would never call me stubborn, let alone be frustrated about me enough to talk to her about it through two cups of tea.”
“Your girl apparently asked Mamm if Annie would stop by this week.”
“I’m afraid so, dear bruder.”
“Mamm didn’t mention it to me, but then I went to bed early last night.” Annie tapped Charity on the shoulder and mouthed, “Are you serious?”
Charity nodded yes, then shrugged.
“I stopped by her house last week.” Adam scowled at the clouds building on the eastern horizon. “She wasn’t upset about anything.”
Annie cornered herself into the buggy and studied Adam. She was proud of him in every way. He’d grown into a fine young man. There were moments, though—like this one— when he still reminded her of the little boy but a year ahead of her in school, trying to puzzle out a particularly hard lesson.
“Someone was supposed to take her for a buggy ride yesterday.” Charity looked at Annie and raised both eyebrows.
“He didn’t cancel, did he?”
“Ya. Something about too much work, so he sent a message with his mother.”
“Oh, Adam.”
Both girls stared at him openly, waited for his response.
“Well, now, I had to see to this mare, didn’t I?” Adam sat forward, shoulders hunched.
“I believe Mamm said the mare was re-shod by noon.” Charity straightened her prayer kapp as they neared the Umble’s home.
“True or false, Adam?”
“Ya, but I had planned to work on my and Leah’s house in the morning. When I had to spend the morning on the mare, then I had to push the work on the house to afternoon.”
“So you cancelled.” Annie added a tsk-tsk as Adam whoaed the mare, pulled the buggy up into the row of buggies. Apparently, Deborah Umble had planned quite the Christmas party.
“Man has to finish his house if he expects to be married in the fall.”
“Man better take his girl for an occasional ride on Saturday,” Charity warned, “or she might become a bit bedauerlich.”
Charity jumped out of the buggy after Annie, but Adam stopped her, a look of concern covering his face—all earlier playfulness now gone. “Was she upset about yesterday, Charity?”
“She misses seeing you, Adam. If the house isn’t finished in time, the community will help. Spend some time with her today.”
Adam nodded, then turned his attention to the horse.
Annie looked over to her mamm and dat. She’d planned on helping him into the Umbles’ house, but they seemed to have it covered. In fact, he was leaning on Reba as she watched. So she stayed with Adam by the buggy and waited to go in with him.
“You don’t have to worry about Leah, Adam. She cares about you very much.”
“Ya, but we have less than ten months to finish the house. Plus there’s my job over at the livery stable, and I’ll need to plant spring crops and help Dat. It’s a lot to accomplish, Annie.”
“And Leah will help you. But you have to talk to her about all you need to finish, all your worries and what you’re doing with your days. Find a quiet place today to speak with her. Tell her you’re sorry you missed your time together yesterday. And ask her how you can make it up to her.”
Adam’s eyes searched hers. “You really think it’s that simple?”
For some reason Annie’s mind flashed back to yesterday afternoon, to the time she’d spent with Samuel in the barn, speaking with him as she’d held the pups.
“I’m fairly sure it is. A woman wants to know what’s on your mind and your heart, then she’ll help you as she can.”
16
Annie and Adam climbed the steps of the two-story, clapboard house. It looked like so many other houses in their area—white picket fence, green tin roof, sweeping porch, and a red barn away and off to the side at least equal in size to the house.
The Umbles were neither wealthier nor poorer than any of the other families in their district. They did have a few more kinner than most.
Deborah Umble was a small woman. As Annie entered the house and moved over and among the women and children, she spotted her. Barely over five feet tall, certainly not weighing more than one hundred and ten pounds, she was probably nearing forty years old now.
How had she birthed eight children?
The thought was enough to make Annie want to lie down and take a nap.
Deborah’s hair was covered with a prayer kapp, like all the other women’s, but auburn wisps escaped as she bent to wipe the youngest girl’s nose.
Annie had no trouble distinguishing the Umble children among the many in the house—though some had their father’s burly build and some were slight like their mamm, all had Deborah’s dark auburn hair. The youngest she carried on her hip. He looked to be almost a year old.
Food covered every inch of space on the kitchen counter, and tiny sprigs of evergreen decorated the table. Annie wondered where she should put the butter-squash casserole she held, but Charity whisked it out of her left hand and set it in the oven to warm.
“Desserts?” Annie asked with a smile.
“I’ve been put in charge of those.” Samuel took the shoofly pie from her right hand even as he bent closer. “The dark green color looks attractive on you, Nurse Annie.”
Then he was gone, standing across the room next to the long planks Stephen Umble had placed on sawhorses near the front windows. They were covered with pies, cakes, and Christmas cookies.
Candles perched on each windowsill, waiting for nightfall, and Annie noticed a few wrapped Christmas presents that had been stacked neatly and tucked under the end tables that flanked the couch in the living room. It all reminded her of how close Christmas was and how relieved she was to be here—to be home.
“Maybe you should step out of the kitchen, Annie. You look a bit flushed.” Rebekah placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, offered her a cup of punch.
“Thanks, Mamm. I’m fine. What else can I do to help?” Annie turned from watching Samuel, but as she did she was sure she saw him smile at her and nod.
Now what was that about?
And why did her heart race every time he stood near?
Samuel accepted the plate of food from Rebekah Weaver. “Danki.”
“No need to thank me, Samuel. Though I’d appreciate it if you’d take an extra plate over to Annie. Maybe stay with her and see that she eats. She seems intent on hovering over her father. No doubt she’ll set it down and walk away if you leave her for a minute.”
Samuel followed her gaze and saw why she was worried.
Annie was attempting to find something Jacob could elevate his leg on. She kept trotting back to him with various-sized items—stools, small pillows from the couch, even a gift she’d found wrapped in bright red paper.
Jacob was having none of it.
He looked perfectly content sitting at the long table set up in the middle of the large open space straddling the kitchen and living room, and he wasn’t going to move so he could elevate the leg with the larger cast.
The scene outside the windows revealed a world covered in snow, as the storm that had been building all morning had finally let loose.
Most of the children and even the single adults had filled their plates and gone to the barn to eat. No doubt even now a game of indoor volleyball had begun.
Annie had stayed behind.
“I’ll take care of her,” Samuel promised with a chuckle.
He accepted another plate of food and walked to where she was still trying to shove something under her father’s foot.
“Leave a man alone, Annie.” Jacob forked a piece of ham and pointed it at her. “My stomach is as important as my foot, and right now I’m hungry.”
“But you’ve been on it all morning, and you should raise it up for a while.”
“Is there a problem here?” Samuel spoke quietly, knowing she hadn’t seen him walk up behind her.
She jumped, then scowled at them both. “Problem is he’s stubborn as a mule.”
“Hungry as one, too.” Jacob looked up
at Samuel with a smile. “I hope her mother sent you over here to rescue me.”
“Actually, she did. Come with me, Annie. I need your help with something.”
“Oh, well. All right, but I’ll be back.” Annie glowered at her father, but moved away with Samuel. “Is someone hurt? I saw all those children leaving for the barn. Did someone fall?”
Samuel nodded toward their coats, waited while she shrugged into hers. Then she took both plates, and he shrugged into his.
They hurried to the barn, through the falling snow. Once inside, amidst the noise of a volleyball game, a transistor radio, and several dozen kids and young adults ranging from four to twenty-four, he maneuvered her to the far side of the south wall.
Samuel set both plates down on a wooden crate that had been turned upside down.
“No one’s hurt,” he admitted.
“Then, what did you need me for?” She looked around, puzzled, as if she might find an emergency lurking under the closest hay bale.
“Because your mother wants you to eat, and your father wants to enjoy his lunch.”
He watched the blush start at her neck and creep all the way up to her hairline. A man could grow used to watching such a beautiful sight.
“My father needs to elevate his foot.”
“No, he needs to eat. Now, why don’t you stop fussing over him and let the man be?”
“Samuel Yoder, I can’t believe you’d say such a thing to me.”
“I didn’t say it first. Your mamm did. She also sent your plate and asked me to sit and eat with you.”
If anything her face turned even redder.
She snatched the plate from his hand and plopped down on the hay bale next to the wooden crate. “Well, by all means don’t feel like you have to stay because you promised my mamm.”
“Actually, I was looking for you anyway.” Samuel took a large bite of the casserole on his plate, decided he needed to eat the fresh bread before it grew completely cold, then wished he could wash it all down with a big drink of Deborah Umble’s famous lemonade. “I see Charity brought out a jug of lemonade. Would you like me to bring you a cup?”
A Simple Amish Christmas Page 14