by Sarah Price
His hand brushed against her knee and she jumped, startled at his touch in the open where someone might see. A quick glance toward the larger house comforted her that no one was outside to witness him touching her.
“You seem quite content these days, my pretty fraa,” he said, leaning his head toward hers so that she could hear his words spoken softly. “I was wondering . . . ”
She fought the urge to smile, enjoying the curious expression on his face. “Wondering . . . what, Menno?”
Hesitantly, he lifted his hand and touched her stomach. His eyes remained on hers as he caressed what was clearly a small, rounded bulge. “I was wondering if there was anything that mayhaps you wanted to tell me.”
Her cheeks grew hot and she knew she could contain her secret no longer.
“Would that please you?” she asked teasingly. “If I had a secret to tell?”
He raised his eyebrows, amused at her coquettish question. “That would depend on the secret. If it was a good secret . . . ”
She couldn’t contain her delight any longer. “What if it was the best secret, Menno? The very best in the world?”
“Grace Beiler!” he laughed, clearly understanding her cryptic question. “The best secret in the world?” Clearly not caring if anyone saw, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her. His arms held her tight and he even kissed the side of her head, careful not to dislodge her prayer kapp. “What a wunderbarr gift God has bestowed upon us!”
His happiness was contagious and she laughed with him, tears of love clouding her vision. After eighteen months of marriage and two miscarriages, she was finally going to be a maem.
Extracting herself from his embrace, she looked into his eyes. “God’s will,” she whispered.
Menno nodded his head. “That it is, fraa. That it is.” He leaned back so that he sat beside her, his elbows on the table, and gave a deep sigh. “Do you know when the boppli might come, then?”
That was the question, indeed. From what she figured, she was at least four months along, so that would mean a Christmas baby. Still, she couldn’t be that certain. She’d have to leave it to God to decide. Like all of the Amish women, she would give birth at home, most likely with Barbara Beiler and a neighbor aiding in the delivery. Some of the women were beginning to rely on midwives to help with the birthing process, but most continued the traditions of their ancestors.
“December, I reckon.”
He nodded his head as if in approval.
In truth, it was a good time of year to have a baby. With less work on the farm, Menno could spend more time around the house and make certain Grace didn’t go into labor alone. And certainly Anna Mae would come to stay with them for a few weeks. Younger sisters often aided their older ones, although Grace had never been asked because her older sisters lived far away and there were plenty of younger sisters-in-law who lived closer to them.
“Vell,” he finally said. “I’m glad there are no more secrets between us.” He glanced at her, his eyes sparkling and a hint of a smile on his lips. “Even the best of secrets.”
“I shall remember that,” she responded.
For the rest of July and August, she felt in wonderful spirits. Her energy remained high, and she worked alongside the others in the garden. She even helped with the haying. At her parents’ farm, working in the fields had always been a welcome change for Grace. She loved the smell of fresh-cut grass, walking behind the cutter with a rake to spread out the cuttings in order for them to dry. When it came time to bale the hay, she didn’t mind helping to stack the bales on the wagon.
Menno drew the line at that, though.
“Grace, you should help my maem in the kitchen today,” he said when she came out to the barn, ready to go to work in the field. She noticed that his younger siblings glanced up, as did his father. “Bethany and Linda will help Thomas today.”
And so the rest of the Beilers slowly began to understand that a new addition to the family would soon be born.
At the next worship service, Grace wondered if other people would notice, her parents in particular. Since Benny’s death, they had changed. Not for the better. Even with the birth of Emanuel and Katie’s baby last year, her mother and father were visibly distant, mere shells of their previous selves. In fact, despite Menno’s constant consideration in helping Grace’s parents with their farm, the atmosphere at the Mast household remained morose.
Grace hoped that a new boppli might help rouse her parents from their depression so they could return to the land of the living.
In greeting her mother at the worship service, Grace felt shocked at realizing how old she looked. Her hair seemed thinner, her posture drooped, and there was a vacant look in her eyes.
“Are you feeling vell, then, Maem?” Grace asked.
“I reckon.”
Grace looked around for Katie, her brother Emanuel’s wife. Their baby, a little boy named Nathaniel, might cheer up her mother, she thought. “Did Emanuel and Katie come, then?”
A simple shrug was the only response that her mother gave.
As much as Grace tried to engage her maem in conversation, most of the responses were short and nondescript. The other women who stood nearby may have noticed, but no one seemed to dwell on it. After all, what could anyone else do about God’s decision to call Benny home?
“I don’t understand,” Grace said to Anna Mae after the service and in between fellowship seatings. “I would think that little Nathaniel would cheer them up.”
They stood to the side, away from the other women so that no one could overhear their conversation. Anna Mae looked as distressed as Grace felt. Now that she was a young woman in her rumschpringe, she understood much more of what was going on around her, especially at home.
“Maem refuses to pick up the boppli,” Anna Mae whispered. “Emanuel thinks it’s because of Benny, Nathaniel being a boy and all.”
Grace looked shocked. Was it possible that her mother was rejecting her own grandson? “I can hardly believe you!” But she did. Anna Mae was never one to tell tales.
Her sister nodded her head. “It’s right gut that your Menno comes to help Emanuel. I don’t know how he’d manage working the fields and haying without your husband. Daed seems to have aged and barely gets through the morning milking before he is back inside, either reading the Bible or taking a nap.”
Looking over her shoulder, Grace tried to find her father. When she did, she couldn’t help but sigh. He sat at the table, looking down at his plate and not engaging in conversation. He wasn’t even sixty years old, yet with stooped shoulders and a drawn face, he too looked much older. As she started to return her attention to Anna Mae, she noticed the bishop, ever so watchful over his flock, staring at her father too.
Grace nudged her sister and, with a slight tilting of her head, indicated that Anna Mae should look toward the bishop. They both knew what his attention focused on their father meant.
Amish mourning was short-lived. Life had to go on. After all, their faith was based on understanding and accepting God’s will as well as the fact that earthly life was only the entrance into a heavenly one. To mourn so long meant a lack of faith. For the bishop to notice that almost two years after Benny’s death, the Masts were still mourning certainly meant one thing: he’d be visiting with them during the week. A long discussion would ensue in order to reconfirm their faith in God’s will.
Later that evening, when Grace mentioned to Menno her observation about her parents and the bishop, he remained thoughtful for a moment before nodding his head. “It does go against the faith to mourn for so long, I reckon,” he finally said. “Are they questioning God’s reasons for taking Benny? Do they not believe that he is in a state of bliss awaiting the second coming of Jesus Christ? Doesn’t the Bible tell us that ‘the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us’?”
She remained silent. She knew what he meant: the Bible said that suffering on earth was temporary
, for God’s kingdom would bestow glory and joy on righteous believers. For a moment, she felt ashamed of her parents for having put themselves in this position. Surely the bishop’s calling upon them would not only help them through their grief but also restore their faith.
“Man was made to suffer, Grace,” Menno continued. “It is through our faith that we are able to return to our daily tasks and maintain a state of well-being.”
Later that evening, as she wrote in her diary before retiring to bed, she wanted to comment about Menno’s statement. All afternoon, she had thought about his words. While she knew he was right, she wondered if she would have the strength to regain such a state if one of her own children perished. According to Scripture, suffering was part of life. Ever since Eve took the forbidden fruit and offered it to Adam, both men and women suffered. Yet the Bible also clearly stated that glory lay ahead for all believers in Christ. And, she pondered after writing in her diary, God had sent His own Son to suffer alongside mankind in order to take on the burden of sin.
Ashamed or not, Grace still felt compassion for her parents’ grief. She suspected their anguish didn’t stem just from the fact that since Benny was the son intended to work alongside Emanuel on the farm, his death meant ongoing hardship for the entire family. No, Grace suspected that her parents blamed themselves for not raising him properly. Not one of their other children, eight in all, had behaved so rebelliously. Surely they worried that they had been too permissive with Benny. Perhaps they even felt that he might still be alive if they had disciplined him more.
What they failed to see was what Grace observed: Benny had been a spirited child and an even more rambunctious young man. While it was true that their father didn’t take Benny out to the woodshed as often as he had her older brothers, Jacob, Jonas, and Emanuel, Grace suspected that Benny’s penchant for unruly behavior could not have been cured by the rod; it was engrained in his personality.
During the next few months Grace learned that her suspicions regarding the bishop’s concern for her parents were well founded. Word circulated through the Amish grapevine that the bishop was counseling them. Sometimes Grace overheard conversations after worship gatherings, whispers that included phrases like “lack of faith” and “church discipline.” She did her best to ignore such speculation as she prepared for the upcoming season of communions, baptisms, and weddings.
As a young married woman, regardless of her delicate condition, she would play a pivotal role in assisting at these events in the g’may. She would cook food to be served at fellowship and help clean the bride’s home. During the weddings, she would work in the kitchen, taking shifts with the other women. And by the time her second anniversary arrived, the season would slow down and all eyes would focus on the approaching holiday.
Christmas had always been Grace’s favorite time. As a young girl, she had loved the little pageants held at the schoolhouse for the parents and grandparents of their church district. The children stood at the front of the school, reciting scriptures and singing songs about the birth of Jesus Christ. She could well remember how long they had practiced under the guidance of their teacher.
On the day of the event, her mother ensured that all of her children were dressed in freshly laundered and ironed clothes. She always had the girls wear dark green dresses and the boys wear newly made white shirts. Everyone’s hands would be inspected to make certain their nails were clean. She would also study their faces, especially Benny’s, so that her children would look their best at the program.
Grace couldn’t wait until her child was old enough to go to school and perform in such an event. While pride was frowned upon in the Amish religion, Grace knew that there was more than one parent in the audience who needed to ask for forgiveness in their evening prayers on those nights.
Even though her siblings weren’t in the school, Grace convinced Menno that they needed to attend. He smiled and obliged her without any question, understanding the joy of such a wonderful evening, especially one that was so close to both Christmas and the anticipated due date of their first child. It would also be a welcome distraction from the scuttlebutt circulating about her parents.
Lanterns lit up the windows of the schoolhouse. Over twenty buggies were parked along the side of the building, the horses tied to a rope that hung between the corner of a hitching post and the large oak tree by the playground. Menno tied the horse before walking around the buggy to the left side in order to help Grace step out. Her stomach protruded from beneath her black shawl and she placed her hand upon it.
“Moving around, then?”
She shook her head as she took his arm so that he could lead her toward the front door of the school. “Nee,” she admitted. “Been quiet today.”
The inside of the school appeared to be packed with the families of the g’may. When Menno and Grace entered, the people at the back of the building greeted them with cheerful smiles and extended hands. Unlike worship service where the people were more somber, for worship was not meant to be a social occasion, this event was a celebration of Jesus Christ’s birth as well as a recognition of the hard work accomplished by the students and their teacher.
A few men stepped aside to make room for Grace to pass through, and one of the women offered her a seat. Grateful, Grace accepted it.
The students stood at the front of the classroom, their eyes shining and their smiles bright, as they waited for their teacher to indicate that they should begin. The older students stood in the back row and the younger ones stood in the front. Grace thought she counted twenty students. In their g’may, the farms were spread out so far that there were two schoolhouses, the other one a bit farther away and bordering on another church district.
The teacher stood in front of her students and smiled at the parents, grandparents, and friends. “Wilkum and danke for coming to our school program.” Behind her, the students beamed. “We would like to start by having a moment of prayer.” Silence fell over the group as they prayed.
Grace prayed for the children and their parents, for her unborn baby and her husband, and for her mother and father, who needed the strength of God to get through this difficult time in their lives.
The students began by reciting scripture, retelling the story of Joseph and Mary traveling to Bethlehem for the Roman census and describing how, despite Mary’s condition, no one would provide them shelter for the night. One little girl got tongue-tied as she talked about the innkeeper who offered them his stable for shelter, and the audience collectively suppressed their amusement at her expression, so serious and determined to correct her mistake. When she did, she grinned, her two front teeth missing.
By the time the scripture reading was over and the students began to sing “Silent Night,” Grace’s favorite song of the holiday, she felt the dampness on her dress. It took her a moment to realize that even though the one-room schoolhouse was warm and she was perspiring, the dampness on her clothes was of a different nature.
Her water had broken.
With a slight intake of breath, she looked behind her, trying to find Menno in the shadows. He stood beside one of his cousins who lived on a neighboring farm. At first, he didn’t see her staring at him, as he was watching the program so intently. She loved that he could be teasing and playful at times, but when it came to reverence for God and Jesus Christ, nothing could distract him. She had first witnessed this side of him at her baptism and then at their wedding. Throughout the past two years, she had learned that Menno was unlike most other Amish men who adopted an all-around stern, serious demeanor, a demeanor that permeated their entire lives, not surfacing just at worship. While his own demeanor was more jovial and easygoing within the confines of their personal lives, Menno’s devotion to God could not be questioned.
He must have felt her eyes on him because he glanced at her. Seeing that she was staring at him, he tilted his head as if asking her if she was all right. Grace shook her head from side to side, her eyes wide and the color drained from her alrea
dy pale cheeks. Menno seemed to realize immediately that whatever was wrong, it had to do with the baby.
She waited until the song was over and took advantage of the brief pause before the next song to get up, holding her dress tight around her waist and making her way toward the back of the school. Menno helped guide her out of the building, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders as they carefully walked down the three cement steps.
“I think the baby’s coming,” she whispered in the darkness.
He didn’t ask any questions as he guided her back toward the buggy. Silently, he helped her step up and settle on the seat.
It was only when he was driving her back to their farm that he managed to find words. “Are you in pain, Grace?”
“Nee,” she said, too embarrassed to speak about the wetness on her dress. “I just know.”
He questioned her no further, and they rode the rest of the way to the farm swiftly and in silence. She waited, almost impatiently, for any sign of a contraction. None came. She prayed with her eyes shut that her baby was all right and that the birthing would be free from complications. Without even asking, she knew that Menno was praying for the same things.
The farm was dark and Menno held her arm as he guided her up the walkway to the porch.
“Easy now,” he said, adding in a serious tone, “can’t have you slip, fall, and have our baby on the porch.”
His words caught her off-guard. As she visualized such a scenario while trying to imagine why he would say such a thing, she started to laugh. Her laughter seemed to shift the weight within her belly, water leaking and then stopping in short intervals. She grabbed his arm, laughing even harder as she realized what was happening: the baby’s head was pressed down and blocking her water from fully breaking. But her laughter had caused the baby to move, just enough.
“Oh, Menno,” she said, her laughter dying down. “I cannot believe God has blessed us with such a wunderbarr gut gift, a boppli just in time for Christmas.”