Rachel's Secret

by B. J. Hoff

  The crying continued amidst women’s hushed voices and an occasional soft laugh. Finally he left the landing and began to pace. It was another fifteen minutes or more before Mrs. Scott came upstairs to give him the news.

  “It’s a baby boy. He’s a tiny thing, but he appears to be healthy, and I’d say his lungs are excellent.”

  Asa smiled. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “Well, isn’t that fine?” he said. And then said it again.

  Much shorter than he, Mary Scott looked up and regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Indeed it is fine,” she said dryly. “And aren’t you fortunate that you get to go traveling north in the middle of winter with three children and a newborn? Of course you can’t leave right away. You’ll have to stay here until Mattie and that baby are strong enough to travel.”

  The significance of her words struck Asa hard. “We can’t do that, missus! The longer we’re here, the more danger we’ll be caught—and bring trouble down on you as well. No, we’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

  Mary Scott seemed to stretch herself up on tiptoes, for she suddenly appeared a good deal taller than before. “It’s already tomorrow, and you most certainly won’t be leaving yet. You must wait here at least two more days—longer, if need be. And if there’s any danger, we’ll just have to trust the Lord to handle it.”

  She moved toward the stairway and then turned, saying, “In the meantime and after breakfast tomorrow, I wouldn’t mind if you’d busy yourself fixing a few things around here that have needed doing ever since my husband passed away. Indoors, of course. We can’t take a chance on having you seen outside.”

  Asa stared at her, already resigned to the reality that he was no match for this small woman’s iron will.

  “First thing in the morning, missus, you just point me to whatever needs doing,” he said, “and I’ll tend to it. And Mrs. Scott?”

  She looked at him.

  “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done—what you’re doing for us. God bless you, missus.”

  “God has blessed us all, Asa.” She gave a quick little nod toward the steps. “Did you remember that today is Christmas Eve? Why don’t you come with me now and see the gift the Lord has given.”

  21

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  And bless the door that opens wide

  To stranger as to kin…

  ARTHUR GUITERMAN

  It snowed on Christmas Eve. When Rachel got up on Christmas morning and looked out her window, she could see nothing but pleated folds of white with a gray sky overhead, from which snow was still falling.

  She wished she could feel some of the excitement that a snowcovered Christmas morning had evoked in her as a child or even as a young woman, when she and Eli were first married. Instead, the same heavy grayness of the sky seemed to color her emotions.

  Before Eli died she had loved the winter season—the beauty, the quiet, and the peace of it. He had often laughed at her “little girl excitement” about snow, but the look in his eyes had always been tender.

  Back then her heart had been that of a bride, a butterfly heart that floated and soared and danced over the snow.

  Today her heart seemed weighted with lead.

  Holidays had been hard since Eli’s death. Christmas, especially, was almost unbearable without him. Today, though, she would do her best, as she did on every special occasion, to put a smile on her face for her family’s sake. No reason to take away from their Christmas happiness with her heart-heavy memories.

  She would have Christmas dinner at Mamma’s house with her mother, Fannie, and Gideon. She would help prepare the meal, help clean up afterward, play a game or two with Fannie, and then come home. Alone.

  What was Gant doing this Christmas Day?

  Here she was, feeling sorry for herself and almost dreading the day to come, when just down the road, a man still on crutches, a man without friends or family anywhere nearby, would almost certainly be spending this special day by himself. If she felt this lonely today, even though she would be surrounded by her loved ones, what must it be like for Gant, who had no one?

  How was he making do by himself? She and Mamma had sent food by Gideon every day or so since he moved out. But was he eating? And could he get around all right on his crutches? What if he happened to fall while he was alone, with no one to know? Dr. Sebastian had taken the train last week to spend Christmas with his son and family in Maryland and wasn’t due back until tomorrow. Had he checked Gant’s wound before he left?

  She wished she dared suggest to Mamma that they invite Gant to share their meal today, but she knew what the answer would be. He was an auslander. It just wasn’t done.

  Or was it? Mamma didn’t always hold to tradition or the “rules”— at least not in every instance. Last year when she’d learned that Dr. Sebastian would be staying in the area for Christmas and would be alone, she invited him to Christmas dinner, and he’d accepted. Of course the rules didn’t seem to apply to the doctor anymore. He was like family, almost like one of the People himself.

  But her mother did seem to like Gant. Rachel had seen it in the way she treated him, the way she laughed so quickly at his friendly, easy sense of humor. Could she be persuaded? Should she at least ask?

  A blast of wind howled outside the bedroom window just then, jarring her out of her thoughts and reminding her that she had other things to do besides stand and daydream.

  As soon as Fannie heard Rachel and Mamma discussing whether to invite Captain Gant for Christmas dinner, she knew it was the right thing to do. But Mamma still sounded doubtful, so Fannie decided to take it upon herself to convince her.

  The three of them were working in Mamma’s kitchen, preparing the food. Fannie was chopping giblets for the turkey dressing. Mamma had apple pies ready to bake, with the apples she’d dried from the orchard back in October, and Rachel was peeling potatoes. The kitchen already smelled wonderful-gut, and it was only a little after ten.

  When there was finally a lull in the conversation, Fannie saw her chance and broke in. “I think we should do it, Mamma. We should invite Captain Gant for dinner. It would be awful to spend Christmas Day all by yourself in a house that’s not your own, without any family or friends. Why, it wouldn’t seem like Christmas at all!”

  She saw her mother look at Rachel and Rachel look back.

  “Please, Mamma,” Fannie coaxed. “It isn’t right not to ask him, is it? It’s not like he’s a real outsider. We’ve known him a long time now, and he’s oh so nice. ”

  Her mother turned to give her a long look.

  “He helped me with my lessons and made me a paper house. And he’s funny too. Besides, wouldn’t Jesus say we ought to invite him, that we’re supposed to feed the hungry?”

  “Careful what you say, daughter,” warned her mother. “We don’t use Scripture to justify our own wants.”

  “Oh, come on, Mamm,” said Gideon, sauntering into the kitchen and palming a piece of giblet out from under Fannie’s knife. She was in a really good mood today and just grinned at him instead of smacking his hand.

  “What’s the harm in having the captain in for a meal?” he said. “He’s a good enough guy.”

  Mamma wiped her hands on her apron. She paused. Then looking from face to face, she said, “Oh, all right! But he can’t walk up that road in the snow on crutches. You’ll have to take the buggy and fetch him, Gideon.”

  “Sure, I will. But hadn’t we better ask him first if he wants to come?”

  “He’ll want to—I know he will,” Fannie put in. “I’ll go ask him right now! I want to make some snowballs anyway.”

  “Fannie, it’s too cold,” her mother said.

  “Mamm—let her go. She’ll be fine.”

  Bless Gideon’s big-bruder heart! When he used his grown-up tone of voice like that, Mamma almost always did what he said.

  Fannie knew Mamma worried about her because she’d had pneumonia two winters straight, and it kind of dragged her down. But Dr. Sebastian said she wo
uld probably get stronger as she got older. And besides, he was keeping a really close eye on her this year so it wouldn’t happen again.

  “I’ll bundle up real good, Mamma,” she promised. “And I won’t stay out long. I’ll go to Captain Gant’s first and invite him to dinner, and then I’ll just play outside for a few minutes. Honest.”

  “Rachel, you go and make sure she wraps up plenty good,” Mamma said. “That wind is raw today.”

  By the time Rachel helped her with her boots and her coat, her cap and gloves, Fannie felt as stuffed as that old turkey in the roasting pan. But it was worth it. She would get to see Captain Gant again today—and she was going to play in the snow!

  “I’m so glad Captain Gant is coming for dinner, aren’t you, Rachel?”

  “We don’t know that he is coming, Fannie. We haven’t even asked him yet. Now you go there first and then come right back here to make your snowballs.” She gave her coat collar another tug to make sure it was good and tight. “Why do you want to make snowballs anyway?”

  “For our snowball fight later on.”

  “Whose snowball fight?”

  “Ours. Yours and mine and Gideon’s.”

  “Oh, we’re having a snowball fight, are we?”

  Rachel was trying to look stern, but she wasn’t a bit cross. Fannie could tell. She knew because Rachel was smiling.

  Fannie wanted to look just like her big sister when she grew up. Rachel was so pretty, especially when she smiled. Trouble was she didn’t smile a lot anymore.

  “Don’t expect too much,” Rachel warned. “You know Gideon won’t stay around long after dinner. He’ll be off with some girlfriend or other, soon as we eat.”

  Fannie pulled a face. “Probably that Englisch girl he likes. The one with the pointy nose and thick lips.”

  “Fannie Kanagy!”

  “Well, have you seen her?”

  Rachel admitted that she hadn’t.

  “I did one day when we went to town. I don’t understand why Gideon likes her at all. She’s not nearly as pretty or as nice as Emma Knepp. And Emma likes Gideon a lot. She’d be his sweetheart if he wanted her to.”

  “And just how do you know that?”

  “I can tell by the way she looks at him at preaching service, and how she gets all tongue-tied if he tries to talk to her.”

  “And I think sometimes you talk too much, little sister. You go on now. And remember—tell Captain Gant that dinner’s at four o’clock and that Gideon will come get him in the buggy. And, Fannie—”

  “I know, I know,” Fannie chanted as she went out the door. “Don’t stay out too long, don’t get too wet, and keep my coat buttoned all the way to the top.”

  “And don’t sass,” Rachel shot back.

  Fannie gave a wave without turning around, but she could tell by Rachel’s voice that she was still smiling.

  22

  UNFRIENDLY SNOW

  For the world’s more full of weeping

  than you can understand.

  W.B. YEATS

  Gant’s Christmas gift to himself was to lose the crutches. He’d practiced all day using the cane and finally mastered it. Of course Dr. Sebastian had warned him not to rush matters. “You can do some real damage to that leg if you hurry things. And if you’re on it too long at a time now, once you’re off the crutches, you’re just asking for trouble.”

  According to the doc, he was going to be lame for the rest of his life anyway. Not bad, but he’d have enough stiffness in his leg that he’d limp a bit. If that was the case, the sooner he got rid of the crutches, the better. He was becoming dependent on the things, and that had to end. If limp he must, then he’d limp with a cane for the time being. Not that he intended to use it forever either. But for now there was no ignoring the fact that he needed it. But only for now.

  He took one more turn around the front room and then went to look out the window again. Still snowing. It even looked like Christmas.

  He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. He wouldn’t have known it was anywhere near Christmas had it not been for Doc and Gideon Kanagy. The doctor had mentioned it before he left town to visit his son. And then yesterday Gideon had showed up with a teeming basket of food, including some homemade jam and just about the best snickerdoodles he’d ever tasted.

  “Christmas Eve special,” the lad had said with a grin as he brought the basket inside. “Mamm and Rachel have been baking for a week or more now.”

  The boy wished him a good Christmas before leaving, and Gant had awkwardly returned in kind.

  Most years Christmas was just another day for him. Usually he spent it on the river if it wasn’t frozen, at his house if the weather was fierce. It was always just he and Asa, Asa cooking what he referred to as a “civilized” meal for the two of them. But other than eating too much and, in later years, maybe going to church or at least saying a prayer or two, he didn’t pay much attention to Christmas or any other holiday.

  The thought of Asa made the worry start grinding in on him again. Where would he be by now? The good Lord willing, he hadn’t run into too much bad weather along the way.

  He’d hated sending him off on his own with Durham’s runaways. It just worked better and was safer, if at least two went together on these trips. What with the bounty hunters always on the prowl and some of the rugged, wild country on the trek north, there was no such thing as safe passage.

  He turned and went to plop down in the big rocking chair by the window. The next thing he knew Rachel had slipped into his mind.

  Nothing unusual about that.

  He wondered what she was doing today. How did the Amish spend Christmas anyhow? Or did they even observe it? Obviously they baked. He had enough food left over from yesterday’s dinner basket to last him another day or two.

  It was probably a big family day for Rachel and her kin. It would be nice, having a family to spend special days with. Most likely they would all eat together and then sit around the table and talk. It would be a good time.

  When he lived in Brooklyn and worked at the shipyards, every year Will Tracey, the owner, invited a few of his men to Christmas dinner at his home. The year Gant went, he’d been miserable, feeling out of his station the entire time. The Traceys ate fancy, and back then Gant hadn’t known a butter knife from a butcher knife. The water glasses—goblets, Mrs. Tracey had called them—had been paper thin and looked so fragile he would have choked to death on a dry throat before picking one of them up for a drink.

  When they invited him again the next year, he’d declined, pleading “other plans.”

  He cracked a grim smile to himself. Those other plans had included too much rum and a cold slab of ham from his Brooklyn landlady’s pantry.

  But that was before Asa. And before Asa taught him what Christmas was all about.

  Fannie trudged down the road, kicking snow as she went. Rachel had her bundled up so snug she had to struggle to kick at all, much less kick as high as she would have liked. Even so she was still able to raise a pretty gut cloud of white on the way.

  She was thinking about Captain Gant. She couldn’t even imagine what it must be like not to be able to use one of your legs. She figured he was the type of man who would enjoy being outside in the snow too. He had lots of fun in him, in spite of his gunshot wound. He seemed to like making her laugh. And he could make Rachel laugh too, though Fannie could tell her sister usually tried not to.

  She didn’t like to think about the captain leaving the People soon. She wished he wasn’t an auslander, so he could stay a long time. Maybe forever.

  So absorbed was she in plowing through the snow and thinking about Captain Gant that she didn’t hear a sound until the boys were almost upon her.

  There were four of them. Englisch boys, not so big or as old as Gideon maybe, but not little boys either. They circled her, quickly blocking her from moving in any direction.

  Fannie stood very still. She had never been around more than one or two Englischers at the s
ame time, and then they were usually small children she happened to meet in a Riverhaven store or on the street. Her heart raced, but she tried not to show that she was afraid.

  It was still snowing, big puffy flakes falling slowly and silently. But the snow had lost its storybook prettiness for Fannie. Now it seemed more enemy than friend, for she knew it was too deep to run quickly enough to get away.

  They don’t mean me any harm, she told herself. They aren’t going to hurt me.

  But in the corner of her vision, the dark shape at her right moved closer, and then closer still.

  Thoroughly bored, Gant decided to see if his fiddle was ruined altogether.

  To his surprise—and thanks to Rachel’s forethought in emptying his suitcase and laying his things to dry—he discovered that it didn’t sound half bad, not at all. It was a bit scratchy at first, and he needed to resin the bow and tighten the strings, but at least it still worked.

  He worked on it for a half hour or so, and this time when he began to play, it sounded considerably sweeter.

  This was one of the few things he had left from Ireland. His chum Liam Brody had taught Gant to play the fiddle and then pressed it into his keeping just before he was jailed for distributing illegal pamphlets in protest of the oppression of the British Crown.

  Liam, God rest his soul, had eventually died from a vicious beating at the hands of a prison guard, leaving the fiddle as his only legacy.

  Over the years Gant had discovered that the music that wafted forth from the old instrument, albeit at the rough hands of an amateur like himself, could go far in easing his soul and soothing his mind, even in the worst of times.

  These weren’t the worst of times, of course, though as he glanced down over his injured leg, he had to concede that they weren’t exactly the best either.