Reba lay her head down on the table, traced the wood’s grain with one finger. “I hope Samuel has one available. I hope Dat agrees I can have one.”
Annie smiled at her enthusiasm. Had there ever been a time when a dog had made life perfect for her?
“So you’re going with me?” Annie asked.
“Absolutely. Plus you’ll look more official delivering pies if I go along, since I’ve been working an hour after school in the bakery and all.”
“Well, I certainly want to look official.”
“I’ll go wash up then.” Reba launched herself off her chair and headed for the bathroom.
Watching her, some of the weight eased from Annie’s shoulders. Perhaps she took life a tad too seriously. Perhaps it was as simple as delivering pies and training puppies.
“She’s a special one,” Rebekah said, sitting down again at the table.
“I have trouble believing she’s fourteen.”
“In some ways she still acts much younger. I’ve stopped by the bakery a few times, and she’s always proper. You would scarcely recognize her. Once she’s home, though, she turns into the Reba we know—full of energy and still a bit of a child.”
“I envy those things about her, though. I’m not sure a puppy ever solved the problems of the world for me.”
“Well, you were always my serious child, Annie.” Rebekah reached out, ran a hand down her arm. “Want to talk about yesterday?”
“I enjoyed it. Samuel is not at all what I expected.”
“How so?”
“He’s different when he’s away from his work, or maybe I finally had a chance to see another side of him.”
“It seems to me men remain very focused when they’re working. They take what they do seriously, and for an understandable reason—it’s how they provide for their family.”
“We care about our work too.”
“Of course we do, but there’s less intensity involved for us. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Ya. Maybe so. Maybe that’s why Dat can’t stay in bed even when he knows he should.”
“Perhaps, and I won’t argue with him about it. He works as hard as he does to provide for me and you and your bruder and schweschders. I’m sure it’s the same with Samuel.”
“But he has no family.” The words popped out of Annie’s mouth before she could consider how they’d sound, and then she couldn’t pull them back.
“True.” Rebekah turned one of the pies, studied its crust. “He did once, though. I suppose he couldn’t merely stop when he lost them. And maybe he hopes to have a family again someday.”
“Is that what I would be? His second family?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. If you and Samuel were to decide to marry, I’m sure Samuel would love you as he did Mary. He couldn’t love you less. Same as how I don’t love you less than I love Adam or Charity or Reba.”
Annie nodded, then stood and threw her arms around her mother.
“What’s that for?”
“Always being there. Being a gut mother. Making excellent pies.” Annie swiped at her tears and laughed lightly. “Pick a reason.”
An hour later she and Reba were on their way, six pies safely tucked into a box in the back of the buggy, the old mare safely hitched to the front.
“Would you like me to drive?” Reba asked.
“Danki, but I think I need the experience.”
They stopped first at Mrs. Wagler’s home. Rebekah had decided to send three jars of canned vegetables along with the pie.
Annie was relieved to see that the older woman seemed to be moving around easily, with few physical problems. She questioned her in a roundabout way and learned she was following Samuel’s instructions to the letter—her bowel problems had improved considerably.
“You still need to eat these vegetables, Mrs. Wagler.”
“I’ll have my own by spring—the garden always grows fine.” Mrs. Wagler waved a wrinkled hand at her as they climbed back into their buggy.
“Before spring you’ll be back at Samuel’s. Now promise me you’ll eat the vegetables.”
“Ya, I’ll eat them. Wouldn’t want to hurt Rebekah’s feelings. Did your mother tell you I once taught her when she was a small girl?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“It’s true. The teacher had to be out due to a terrible cold for a few weeks, and I filled in. Rebekah was around seven at the time, but I still remember her being the smartest in the class. You can tell her I said so.”
“I will, Mrs. Wagler.”
“Little girl, you tell the bakery owner he’s putting too much cinnamon in his apple pies. He’d do better to make them like your mamm does.”
“Yes, Mrs. Wagler.” Reba’s eyes were large, but she nodded in agreement as Annie turned the buggy and the mare clip-clopped off.
“I can’t tell Mr. Bender that, Annie.” Reba’s voice bordered on panic. “It would be rude. Besides, our pies from the bakery taste great. We sell out every day.”
“It’s all right. You can tell him Mrs. Wagler requested a light cinnamon pie—old people have different tastes. If he started a new line of pies for older folks, he could increase his sales even more. That way you’re not lying to Mrs. Wagler, but you’re not insulting Mr. Bender’s pies either.”
“Hadn’t thought of that. Great idea.” Reba studied the road as they headed toward Samuel’s.
“I wish I was like you,” she declared. “I’m great with animals, and I’m fair with food—which is why I do okay at the bakery. I don’t manage quite as well with people, though. They befuddle me sometimes.”
Annie nodded as they moved to the side of the road so a car could pass them. “Every one of us has skills, Reba. Be glad you know yours. As far as understanding people—it becomes a little easier as you grow older, but some people are more difficult to understand—”
“I know a few of those at school.”
“And others seem difficult to get along with, no matter how you try.” Annie’s mind drifted back to some of her more difficult patients at Mercy Hospital.
“I used to find Samuel kind of frightening. He didn’t smile much, and he looked kind of sad all the time. He’s changed, though. I like it when he comes to visit now.”
“You do, do you?”
“Ya.”
“Doesn’t have anything to do with those border collies?”
“Nope. I’d like him anyway.”
“Hunh. Nice to know—in case they’re all gone.”
Reba squinted up at her anxiously, and Annie felt a little bad for teasing her. Not bad enough to tell her Samuel had reminded her last night there was still one left.
Waiting was half the fun of receiving.
And they were almost to Samuel’s place. She turned down his lane and giddy-upped to the mare.
By the time they pulled up to the house, Samuel stood on the porch steps, smiling at them.
“This is a surprise—two of my favorite people on Christmas Eve morning.”
“Mamm sent you pies, and my dat is still thinking about whether I can have one of the puppies for Christmas—if you have one left that is. Are there any left? Annie said they might be all gone, and that’s okay if they are, but I sure hope you have at least one still needing a home.” Reba stood below the steps, shuffling from foot to foot, staring up at him hopefully.
Samuel glanced over at Annie and almost broke into a smile, but somehow he resisted.
“Let me see, I did give away a few since Annie was here Saturday, but I think…” He pulled on his beard, scanned out across the clear blue sky, then looked back at Reba with a smile. “Why, yes, I’m sure of it. There’s one little male left, waiting in the back corner of the barn with his mother.”
“The pie’s apple,” Reba said shoving it into his hands, then she was gone—tearing off around the corner of the house to the barn.
“I think she’s a bit eiferich.” Samuel motioned toward the house with the pie. “Would you like to come in w
hile I put this up?”
“Oh. Sure.” Annie followed him inside. “I don’t know why she’s so thrilled about a pup. Well, I do know why. She gets this way about animals. It’s not that we haven’t ever had a dog before, because we have. But the last one lived to be so old, and then we weren’t ready to replace him and there was really no need since we had no cattle.”
She heard herself rambling as she followed him through the house to the kitchen.
What had she expected his home to look like?
A place that was all male, completely devoid of feminine touches?
A place that was a shrine to his gschtarewe fraa?
Samuel’s house was neither. Obviously, it was a man’s house, as some of the softer touches she noticed about her mother’s home were missing.
No basket of knitting sat by the chair.
No shawl hung on the peg by the door.
No smells of baking filled the air.
But neither was his house depressingly devoid of personality. Amish homes were by nature modestly decorated—counters without knickknacks or clutter, windows covered with shades rather than curtains, no proliferation of throw pillows on the couch.
Annie wouldn’t have expected those things, and she didn’t find them.
Samuel had kept the house freshly painted, though, and clean—which she would expect from a man in the medical profession.
“Does it meet your approval, Miss Weaver?”
“What?” She turned, found him standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, watching her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that I’ve never been in your home, and you’ve been in mine so many times.”
“Is it what you expected?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I expected.”
“It’s only a house, Annie—walls and a roof. What matters is the people who live inside—that’s what makes a place a home. That’s what makes your parents’ place so welcoming.”
“Ya, I know what you’re saying is right.” She followed him into the kitchen, stood by the small table as he put the pie into the refrigerator. “When I stayed with my aenti, I never could get used to all the things she had lying around. Made me feel crowded.”
“I believe your experience there changed you—and for the better.” He closed the distance between them, touched her face. When he did, it seemed as if the sun had pierced through the window, warmed the room. “What I mean is, I think it made you appreciate things here more.”
“Maybe so.” She had trouble pushing the words out. She had trouble concentrating with his dark eyes staring into hers. “I know I think about home differently now.”
“And?”
Annie stepped away, moved back into the living room. “And I’m glad we don’t have all those knickknacks. Makes for a lot of dusting.”
Samuel laughed and followed her out onto the porch.
“We best go check on Reba,” he said. “Where are you girls headed next?”
“The Hooleys’, then Onkel Eli’s.”
“I had some wood I wanted to send to Eli. I think he could use it for the toys he makes. Would you mind taking it with you?”
“ ’Course not.” Annie also didn’t mind when he reached for her hand, closed his fingers around hers.
“I’ll bring the pup by this evening, before the Christmas presentation at the school. Would you like to ride with me this evening?”
“Ya, I would. Danki.”
They slowed their pace, still holding hands, as they moved toward the barn in the bright morning sunshine.
23
Annie delivered the pies from her mother to the Hooleys.
Next stop—Onkel Eli’s. He was thrilled with the pie, but his face glowed when he saw the maple wood.
She delivered Reba to the one-room schoolhouse. Then she drove the buggy home, arriving there well before noon.
And she began to grow restless.
She’d finished all of the laundry.
Every last present had been completed and wrapped—and though the stack was small by her Englisch freinden standards, she knew Second Christmas would bring smiles from her family.
Still, she had six hours to kill before she needed to be ready for tonight. How was she to occupy herself?
Why was she looking for ways to occupy herself?
She should be working. She should have a job.
She thought of scrubbing the floors one last time, but it would require changing out of her new dress, then changing back again for this evening. She picked up some darning her mother had begun, but each stitch she sewed somehow added to her impatience.
What to do?
Looking over at the basket beside her mother’s chair, she spied the baby blanket. Had she mentioned it was for Sharon Smucker? Yes, and when Annie had stopped by the store, she’d told her their visit had gone well.
She’d also said Sharon’s mother appeared calmer, and Mr. Smucker hadn’t hidden in the barn when she’d arrived. Perhaps it would be a gut time for her to go over and talk to them again about the midwife.
Annie hurried to the kitchen, set out a cold lunch for her dat and David, then grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and headed toward the barn.
A ride in the buggy might also temper the impatience in her soul.
Rehearsing how she might broach the subject of Belinda Strong with the Smucker family, Annie nearly ran right into David.
“Hello, David.”
“Gudemariye.” David smiled, pushed down on his straw hat.
“It’s nearly afternoon actually. How’s your work in the barn going?”
“Very well. I know your dat will be froh to be able to do more himself once the smaller cast is removed next week.”
Annie followed him into the barn. “I’m not sure what he’s told you, David. But because the cast is removed doesn’t mean he’ll be able to run this farm by himself right away.”
“Ya, he mentioned you would say as much.” David offered his usual smile and some of her anxiousness fell away. She’d noticed that around David it was impossible to feel naerfich.
“You always act as if everything is going to be all right.”
“It usually is, isn’t it?” Gentle eyes smiled at her as they entered the barn together.
“I suppose, but I tend to worry nonetheless.”
“Perhaps because you’re a caretaker, Annie. It’s wunderbaar the way you look after your father, and don’t worry about the farmwork. I’ll still be here half days for awhile. Your mamm has already talked to me about the spring planting schedule.”
Annie felt a burden she didn’t realize she’d been carrying lift off her shoulders as she reached for the old mare’s harness.
“I’ll be taking that for you.” David arms reached around her. “You need Ginger harnessed to the rig?”
Annie blushed slightly, but released the harness without argument. “I do. I wanted to go and visit one of our neighbors. Oh and I’ve set out lunch already in the kitchen.”
“I appreciate it, but your father and I could find lunch for ourselves if you’re too busy, Annie.”
“I’m not too busy.” She ran a hand over her father’s workbench. “Some days I barely know how to fill my time,” she continued, her voice taking on the tone of someone revealing something they’d rather not own up to.
David nodded. “We’re in those in-between years, when we don’t have our own place yet, an apprenticeship of sorts that isn’t as much work as real life will be. That’s how I like to think of it.”
Annie glanced up quickly. It was as if he’d been struggling with the very same things she had, but surely David was so busy he didn’t know which pasture he needed to till next.
“Your dat’s in the near pasture working on the gate latch. Why don’t you go and have a word with him while I tend to this?”
“Danki.”
“No need to thank me, but gem gschehne.”
Annie knew he meant rigging up the hors
e. She could have let the misunderstanding go, but something about his mild-mannered ways had calmed her this morning.
David had reached the barn door and pushed it open. Sunlight splashed into the work area, filling even the darkest corners.
She spoke anyway—knowing he would stop. “I meant to thank you for everything you’ve done for my family. Thank you for being here, for dividing your attention between your parents’ farm and my parents’. Mostly thank you for doing so in a considerate way.”
David tilted his head, and she had the thought his straw hat might fall off on to the ground.
He turned, moved back into the workroom. When he stopped beside her, she had to scrunch her neck to see up into his eyes. It struck her then how much he reminded her of Adam, and how her feelings for him mirrored those she felt for her bruder.
“It’s what we do, Annie. You know that—it’s what we’ve always done for one another.” He reached forward, swiped at some straw clinging to the sleeve of her dress. “You’d do the same for us.”
She nodded in agreement, almost stopped the words that wanted to push out. “Do you remember when you asked me to go for a buggy ride with you?”
“Ya.”
“I don’t know if you are aware of it, but I’m seeing Samuel now.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to say how much your friendship means to me, and how much I appreciate your kindness. You’ve been a gut friend to me since the day I came home.”
“I’m glad you’ve found someone, Annie. God has someone for each of us.” Grinning sheepishly, he added, “No one can have too many friends.”
As if that last thought explained it all, he turned to walk back outside. She started to walk out with him, but as she stepped forward her foot caught on the corner of the workbench.
She let out a squeak, and David turned, jumped to catch her as she fell into a bale of hay he’d been using to stack old rope on top of.
Annie grabbed at him, trying not to fall, but instead of steadying herself she succeeded in pulling David off balance. They both went down in one giant cloud of hay dust.
Seeing the look on David’s face, and the hay in his hair, Annie started laughing and couldn’t stop.
A Simple Amish Christmas Page 20