Amish Triplets for Christmas

by Carrie Lighte

  “Nothing a gut night’s sleep won’t cure,” Hannah assured him. “Some of the other scholars have had this, too. It’s a twenty-four-hour flu.”

  “I am sorry for any inconven—”

  “You needn’t apologize. I’m relieved they’re resting. Since they’d be coming back tomorrow anyway, I think it best they spend the night here. It will save you another trip in the morning.”

  “I couldn’t allow you to do that,” Sawyer protested.

  “You couldn’t stop me from doing that,” Hannah quipped, her hands on her hips. “The kinner need uninterrupted sleep. It’s no trouble for me, and no amount of noise would ever wake Groossdaadi.”

  Sawyer could plainly see Hannah looked a bit frayed around the edges herself, although he wasn’t about to make the same mistake by mentioning to her how tired she appeared. “Denki,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “Would it be alright if I looked in on them before I leave?”

  “Of course.”

  Hannah tiptoed up the stairs and Sawyer followed, trying to keep his boots from clunking through the hall. The boys were lying back-to-back, breathing in unison, even in sleep.

  “Gute nacht, Samuel. Gute nacht, Simon,” Sawyer bade them.

  Pushing open the door to her room, Hannah whispered, “Sarah will share her bed with me.”

  Sawyer peered in at his daughter, who had curled herself around a pillow. “You’re aware she sometimes wakes screaming from nightmares.”

  “If she does, I will comfort her,” Hannah promised.

  “Of that, I have no doubt,” Sawyer replied. “I mention it more for your sake than hers. I’d hate to have her startle you. As the saying goes, it can be a rude awakening.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Hannah insisted. “We both will be.”

  Before dropping off to sleep later that night, Sawyer found himself wondering who comforted Hannah when she was ill. Certainly not that grandfather of hers. Even if he were inclined to help, he couldn’t hear her request for a drink of water or a cool compress.

  He recalled the many times he had sat on the edge of the bed when Eliza was sick, wishing there was something else he could do to help her.

  “Your prayers are most helpful,” she would say. “And your presence is a kind of balm. How terrible it would feel to be sick and all alone.”

  Remembering, Sawyer prayed, Dear Lord, denki for providing someone as competent and kind as Hannah to watch the kinner, so I can sleep well knowing they are under her care. Please heal them and keep Hannah from becoming ill herself. And please give them all a sense of Your loving presence, just as You’ve given me. Amen.

  Chapter Six

  It was Samuel, not Sarah, who woke Hannah in the middle of the night. She rushed to his side with a bin and towel, but he wasn’t ill; he was merely confused about where he was. The commotion woke Simon, as well.

  “I will sit here on the end of the bed until you both fall asleep again,” she offered.

  “Will you tell us a story?” Samuel asked. “Daed sometimes tells us stories.”

  “What kind of stories does your daed tell?”

  “Stories about our mamm,” mumbled Simon. “About how she swept his feet off.”

  Hannah scrunched her brow. “Swept him off his feet?”

  “Jah.” Samuel yawned. “Because she had a kind heart.”

  “Such a kind heart that the Lord blessed her with three bobblin at once so her kindness wouldn’t go to waste,” Simon added. “Waste not, want not, our mamm always said.”

  “That sounds like a wunderbaar story,” Hannah replied. “What else happens in that tale?”

  But the boys had already fallen back asleep, so she slipped out of the room, leaving the door ajar a crack. Sarah was sprawled across the center of the bed, so Hannah stretched sideways along the outer edge, careful not to rouse her. Her limbs ached, and as she tried to fall asleep, she thought about Sawyer bidding his children good-night and about the bedtime story the boys indicated he shared with them. How had she ever made the mistake of thinking Sawyer was too forbidding? She had never known a man to be so tender to his children, and she assumed he must have been equally affectionate to his wife. She nodded off, wistfully imagining what it would be like to have a husband like that.

  For breakfast, she served the children broth and toast in bed, and by ten thirty, the boys were roughhousing—bouncing on the bed and smacking each other with pillows.

  “If you’re well enough to wrestle, you’re well enough to clean the coop,” she said, shooing them outdoors.

  Sarah slept in, but by noon she joined her brothers romping on the lawn. Hannah, however, weakened as the day wore on. She held her nose as she fixed supper and excused herself from the room while the others ate. When she heard Sawyer’s buggy, she mustered the last of her strength to send the children off before collapsing into bed.

  * * *

  Sawyer was pleased with what he and his cousins had accomplished that Saturday on the farm, but as he guided the horse away from Hannah’s home, he worried that their progress had come at too great a cost to Hannah, even if the children were no worse for the wear.

  “Hannah served us our breakfast in bed!” the boys reported.

  “She helped me write a letter to Gertrude,” Sarah informed him.

  Sawyer wondered how Hannah had managed, given how sick she looked. Despite his prayers for the contrary, her eyes were a watery blue and her skin sallow. Even her smile appeared feeble. Rationally, he expected Hannah would be fine, but his experience of watching Eliza’s condition deteriorate so quickly had made him hypervigilant. He’d learned not to take his loved ones’ health for granted.

  He reminded himself that Hannah wasn’t his loved one, of course. But he did care about her health, and before shutting his eyes for the evening, he prayed again. Lord, please give Hannah rest today and tomorrow, so she will be well again. Not just for the kinner’s sake, but for her own.

  The next morning the four men and three children spent quiet time together in Scripture reading and prayer, as was the custom every other Sunday when they didn’t meet for church. They sang hymns, and after eating a simple noon meal, the children were allowed to go outside to play quietly. Ordinarily, Sawyer might have enjoyed strolling with them through the meadows, but after their illness, he wanted to subdue their activity, so he remained on the porch, watching as they combed the lawn for grasshoppers.

  The week’s farmwork had done him in: his eyelids grew heavy, and he leaned his head back against the railing. The next thing he knew, a buggy was pulling up the lane carrying Doris Hooley, her sister-in-law, Amelia, and her brother, James, whom Sawyer had met last Sunday.

  “Guder nammidaag,” he greeted them.

  “Guder nammidaag,” Doris sang, holding out a large rectangular glass dish. “We brought apple crisp for you.”

  “For everyone.” Amelia quickly made the distinction. “We hope we caught you in time for tea.”

  “I’m not sure John has teacups,” Sawyer replied with a chuckle. “But we can put on a pot of coffee. Don’t let my cousins see that crisp or it’ll be gone before you have a chance to sit down.”

  He had noticed that despite their superficial disdain for treats, his cousins never passed up any dessert his uncle purchased in town. But it was Samuel, not his cousins, who spied the treat first.

  “Apple crisp!” he exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry, but none for you,” Sawyer said, eliciting cries of disappointment from all three of the children. He turned to Doris to explain. “They were sick last night, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s a shame,” Doris said, clucking her tongue. Then she added brightly, “The more for us!”

  Sawyer refrained from shaking his head. The woman was candid to a fault about what she wanted.

  As the adults ga
thered for refreshments, Sawyer’s uncle apologized for the general state of the house. Amelia politely denied noticing any disarray, but Doris looked around the room and sniffed before saying, “A house needs a woman’s touch to make it a home. It can’t be easy looking after the kinner, harvesting and keeping house.”

  “Hannah Lantz cares for the kinner after school,” Sawyer quickly emphasized. He didn’t want Doris volunteering her services again. “But when they’re here, they participate in chores the best they can.”

  “She’s right,” John interjected. “We could use help with mending and laundering. Perhaps a hot meal. I do my best, but it’s difficult working one-handed, balancing on a crutch like I have to.”

  “Of course it is,” cooed Doris. “Say no more. It would be a privilege to help a neighbor in need.”

  Sawyer went silent; it wasn’t his home, so it wasn’t his place to comment. When the guests were leaving and the crisp was only three-fourths gone, Doris suggested Sawyer save it for the children’s lunch the next day.

  “What about your dish?” he asked thoughtfully. “Won’t you need it for baking?”

  “Oh, I’ll be visiting a lot more often, so I’ll pick it up the next time I’m here,” she said, before flouncing to the buggy.

  * * *

  Hannah spent the better portion of Sunday in bed, rising only for Scripture reading and worship with her grandfather and to fix his meals. By evening she felt well enough to pen a letter to her sister.

  My dearest Eve,

  What a joy to hear about the Lord’s blessings to you and Menno! I will pray for all to go well. I relish the thought of holding a baby in my arms, and I know you relish it even more.

  I was also pleased to hear Menno’s repair shop is flourishing and it isn’t necessary for you to make quilts for consignment anymore. It’s very generous of you to offer to continue quilting in order to send the income to Grandfather and me, but the Lord has provided for us in another way.

  As you recall from my earlier letters, John Plank broke his leg in a ditch. He and his sons couldn’t manage harvest season on their own, so recently, his nephew, Sawyer Plank, arrived to help. Sawyer is a cabinetmaker from Ohio who has triplets, Simon, Sarah and Samuel, seven years of age. Although Sawyer is widowed, he has not remarried. I have been hired to bring his children home with me in the afternoon and prepare their supper here. Afterward, Sawyer picks them up. He has been most generous with my salary, and this short-term arrangement should provide Grandfather and me our daily bread until I find other work.

  The children are a delight to care for, and they’re a big help to me with evening chores. I am teaching Sarah baking basics. Simon and Samuel are so active that sometimes I think I am seeing quadruple instead of just double when they scamper about the yard! Samuel is the tiniest bit stronger and quicker than Simon, but Simon makes up for it by trying twice as hard. Sarah keeps her brothers in line by “correcting” their grammar and scolding them for perceived offenses, although they are never truly naughty. We laugh much of the time we are together and I am sorry to see them leave in the evening.

  Sawyer Plank is a very tall man with a solemn face, pensive green eyes and a voice deeper than Grandfather’s. Yet despite his size, he is exceptionally gentle with his children and there are times when a laugh breaks through his seriousness, making his eyes dance. He sometimes stammers and is more often than not reserved in nature, but I understand now this is because he is thoughtful, not arrogant. Anyone who doesn’t hold a grudge against another for nearly running over his foot with their buggy—as Grandfather nearly did in town the other day—must have a forbearing spirit. Sawyer has certainly been thoughtful in supplementing our pantry, as well, and I appreciate how considerate he is of our situation.

  Grandfather’s health is well (even if his steering is not!). Our apples are early and copious this year, and I will try the recipe you sent as a special treat for my scholars before I bid them goodbye. As fond as she is of desserts, Doris Hooley does not allow such celebrations in her classroom.

  Grandfather and I would like to visit you soon, God willing.

  Please remember me to Menno and write again with news of how you are.

  Your loving sister,

  Hannah

  * * *

  After Doris, Amelia and James left on Sunday afternoon, Sawyer provided the children with sheets of paper for drawing while he wrote letters.

  The first was to the foreman of the shop. Has Vernon’s hand healed enough to carry out his daily work? he inquired.

  Then he directed:

  If not, assign your duties to him—managing orders, the books and scheduling deliveries to the English; everything except overseeing the rest of the crew. You alone are responsible for their charge, along with performing any work Vernon would do, had he not been injured.

  When he had finished addressing matters of business to his foreman, he began a letter to his sister.

  Dear Gertrude,

  I am thankful Kathryn and the baby are gaining strength. We will continue to ask the Lord’s will for them. Remember us to Kathryn and Leroy. John and your cousins also send their greetings.

  Sarah’s nightmares have decreased, although she still misses you. Samuel and Simon say they especially miss your mashed potato candy on Sunday evenings. The children are faring well in school: Sarah is writing you a letter, as she has mastered the spelling and printing of many small words.

  Their schoolteacher is Hannah Lantz and I have hired her to care for them through the supper hour as well as give them their nighttime baths, and she even manages to untangle Sarah’s hair without a fuss. Although Hannah is petite in form, she matches the children’s vibrancy. They amuse me with stories of their daily escapades together all the way home after I pick them up from her grandfather’s house, where she lives. (It is strange she is unmarried, but Willow Creek is a small town and perhaps her suitable choices were few.) She is a fine teacher, too. I concentrate on the farmwork better, knowing her deep blue eyes are keeping careful watch over the children.

  The harvesting is as to be expected. We are working as diligently as possible. I am grateful for the strength the Lord provides me in order to help John during this time of need.

  I was informed Vernon Mast was injured. I don’t know how they are keeping up in the shop, with two fewer men (Vernon and myself) to share the load. God willing, Vernon will be healed and I will make headway here so I can return sooner rather than later.

  Your brother,

  Sawyer

  PS: I miss your Sunday-evening mashed potato candy as much as the boys do, but don’t tell your uncle I said that. He’s doing the best he can.

  * * *

  “Sawyer mentioned the kinner were sick,” Doris said on Monday morning. She stood over Hannah’s desk eating a doughnut.

  “Sawyer is here? I didn’t see him arrive with the kinner yet.”

  Doris licked powdered sugar from her fingers. “Neh, he’s not here. He told me yesterday, when we visited John Plank. They seemed alright to me, though. You have to be careful with kinner—they’ll feign illness to be excused from their chores.”

  “I’m wise to the ways of kinner, and they were genuinely sick,” Hannah snapped. “Not to mention, they had already finished their chores when they became ill.”

  Doris shrugged. “They seemed fine when I saw them, so I didn’t want anyone taking advantage of you. You look a little under the weather yourself.”

  “I am fine, denki,” Hannah replied in a milder voice.

  The inactivity on Sunday had been helpful; she was all but recovered, although the sight of Doris chewing a doughnut still put her stomach on edge.

  “It’s time to summon the kinner for class,” she suggested.

  Just as Doris and Hannah exited the building, Sawyer was taking the stairs by twos, a gla
ss dish in his hand.

  “Guder mariye, Hannah,” he exclaimed breathlessly.

  “Guder mariye, Sawyer,” Doris interrupted pointedly before Hannah could answer.

  “Forgive my manners,” Sawyer mumbled, looking chagrined. “Guder mariye, Doris. I’ve brought your dish.”

  “I told you I would have retrieved that when I visit the farm tomorrow.” Doris pouted.

  “I wanted to save you the trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble—I’ll be going there anyway,” Doris replied. To Hannah she expounded, “I’ll be helping with some of the household chores on the farm. Of course, I wouldn’t accept a penny for it. I consider it my Christian duty to help a neighbor in need.”

  Hannah felt her cheeks flame. Whether it was embarrassment because she needed to accept compensation for helping Sawyer’s family or the glare of the morning sun, she didn’t know, but suddenly she couldn’t get out of Doris and Sawyer’s presence quickly enough.

  “That’s very kind of you,” she said to Doris, and then she spun on her heel toward the classroom.

  The sudden movement caused her such wooziness, she teetered backward. In the split second it took her to become aware she was going to tumble backward down the stairs, she felt Sawyer’s strong hands clasp her shoulders, propping her upright.

  “Easy does it,” he said into her ear, sliding his hands down to clutch her elbows.

  Stunned and dizzy, she was in no condition to resist when he steered her inside and settled her into her chair. Using what Sarah referred to as his “big voice,” he ordered Doris to bring her a glass of water.

  “I’m fine, really,” she insisted while the two of them watched her sip the water until it was gone. “It was the heat.”

  “Then why are you still quivering?” Sawyer asked.

  He crouched by her side so he could be level with her face. He gazed so intently into her eyes, she nearly confessed it was the unfamiliar warmth of a man’s touch that had unnerved her so.

  Instead, she blinked and said, “I’m faint because I haven’t been eating enough, perhaps.”