Andy closed his eyes against a wave of yearning. “Thank you so much. Everything going okay?”
“Oh, jah. Your mamm’s wearin’ one of her new aprons and dresses, and the kitchen counter’s covered with perty cookies,” she replied breezily. Then she sighed. “But we’ll miss ya, Andy.”
Impulse urged him to call his supervisor and claim an emergency at home . . . but Dr. LaFarge had chosen him over four other candidates for a position on the hospital’s obstetrics staff, if his final exam scores were high enough. “I’m really disappointed, Rhoda,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry this means you’ll be getting home a lot later than we’d figured.”
“Jah, well, sometimes there’s nothing for that but to go with the flow, ain’t so?”
Andy grimaced. Because Rhoda had gone with his flow, she’d also gone against the tenets of her faith. Yet she sounded okay. Not intimidated by whatever her bishop might require of her, and not sorry she’d come today to care for his mom and kids. “Have you told Brett and Taylor you won’t be back?” he whispered.
Silence. “We’re havin’ us a real gut time this afternoon. Makin’ a fine mess of the kitchen table, too,” she answered, sounding a little too cheerful.
“Gotcha. They’re right there in the kitchen, listening.”
“For sure and for certain. Ya want to talk to them?”
Rhoda had certainly passed that off without missing a beat. “Tell them they’re not to give you any flack about getting to bed on time,” he instructed. “As I recall, Brett’s got a math test tomorrow, and Taylor’s presenting a PowerPoint report on insects.”
“They’re both ready for school,” Rhoda assured him. “But I can’t tell ya a thing about how your daughter got pictures of so many bugs on the computer, along with words and music, no less!”
It touched him, how the technology he and his kids took for granted was totally foreign to Rhoda. Once again, he saw advantages to living more simply . . . to being more tuned in to people than to computers. Andy could imagine Rhoda quizzing Brett about his math, with paper and pencil—or challenging him to work the addition and subtraction problems completely in his head. He could envision the wonderment on her face as Taylor played the PowerPoint presentation and explained what she had been studying these past few weeks.
He envied Rhoda the time she had spent with his children today. Somehow, her priorities seemed more in line than his, even though he’d been finishing his degree so he could support his family.
“Thank you again, Rhoda,” he murmured. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. But it’ll be nine or ten at the earliest.”
“We’ll be here waitin’ for ya.”
As the phone clicked in his ear, Andy blinked rapidly. It made no practical sense, yet having Rhoda waiting for him at the end of a day, in a tidy home that smelled like chili and homemade Christmas cookies, seemed like a dream come true.
But it was an impossible dream, wasn’t it?
Rhoda watched, her heart in her throat, as Taylor and Brett tore into the packages she had wrapped for them. They had plugged in the lights of their decorated tree, and had turned on the two lighted Santa Claus figures that sat on the coffee table. Betty sat on the couch with her small gift in her lap, watching her grandchildren.
“It’s a baby Jesus—wrapped in a quilt!” Taylor exclaimed as she held the little carving up for everyone to see.
“And I got two sheep,” her brother crowed as he grabbed another little bundle from his box.
“Mary and Joseph, too, but they’re Amish people!” the little girl went on as she unwrapped her next little bundle. “Oh, Rhoda, these are so cool. Is this what everybody looks like, where you live?”
Rhoda laughed. “Well, the men have beards and wear those black hats—”
“But they’ve got no faces.” Brett yanked the rest of the green tissue paper from the trio of male figures and studied them. “So, if these are the three wise men, how come they’re holdin’ an ear of corn, and a chicken, and a bucket of white stuff?”
“That’s milk, on account of how the fella who carved this set is a dairy farmer. Makes the best ice cream ya ever tasted, too,” Rhoda remarked. “These wise men are bringin’ their homegrown gifts to the baby Jesus as their best offering to him. We Amish don’t put faces on our dolls, as we don’t want to make figures of people in God’s image. That’s God’s doin’.”
“Ha! And here’s the cow,” Taylor announced.
“And I got a shepherd holdin’ a lamb,” Brett chimed in.
“But I . . . got the best pieces.” Betty, who had succumbed to the children’s eagerness, held up her parts of the Nativity set. “The manger . . . with an Amish angel on the roof, and . . . a star made like a quilt piece.”
“We gotta set this up on the table!” Brett declared. “I want to look at it and move the pieces around.”
Rhoda’s heart swelled. It pleased her that Andy’s kids knew the basics of the Christmas scene she’d given them, and that they were so excited about receiving Tom Hostetler’s work. It pleased her, as well, that the two Santa figures got put over beside the Christmas tree so the Nativity set could occupy the table. When the kids had carefully placed the manger in the center, they began to arrange the people and the animals—and then repositioned them as they mentioned the parts of the Christmas story each figure played.
Rhoda moved up to the couch to sit beside Betty, partly because she wanted to memorize the precious expressions on Brett’s and Taylor’s young faces as they enjoyed the gift she’d chosen for them.
“Such a . . . wonderful present, Rhoda,” Betty murmured. She smoothed the front of her white apron. “And so . . . nice that you came early today . . . to sew my aprons and that polka-dot dress for Taylor.”
Rhoda swallowed a lump in her throat. Andy’s mother was so grateful for every little thing. She seemed perkier day by day, too, as though she was overcoming the limitations her stroke had imposed on her body. It seemed only fair to let Betty know that she’d wanted to finish her aprons because she wouldn’t be coming back . . . but the words just wouldn’t come out. She couldn’t bear to upset her.
And she hated to spoil the fun Taylor and Brett were having, studying the details Tom had painted on each of his Nativity figures. If she said she couldn’t work here anymore, the kids would ask endless questions that would shine a dubious light on her and their dat, even though Rhoda felt, deep down, that the kisses she and Andy had shared were a sincere expression of their feelings. While it wasn’t fair to leave all the explaining to Andy . . . maybe it was best.
As usual, Rhoda insisted the kids redd up the room and set their backpacks by the door before they went to bed. And as usual Brett groused a bit, but they picked up the torn paper from their gifts and straightened the area around their computer. Not wanting to do anything differently, Rhoda followed them upstairs, secretly savoring their bedtime rituals . . . watching Brett make faces in the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth . . . noting how Taylor shifted her stuffed animals as she pulled her comforter down, so she could sleep with them all cuddled around her. When the kids had chosen their clothes for Friday, she wished them good night.
“Say your prayers, don’t forget,” she reminded them. “And before I go to bed tonight, you’ll be in my prayers, too.”
Taylor gave her a quick hug, looking wistful. “It’s nice to think somebody like you talks to God about us, Rhoda. I don’t remember anybody ever saying that before.”
Oh, but her heart clenched as she squeezed Taylor’s slender shoulders and nuzzled her soft curls. When she passed by Brett’s bedroom door, his lights were already out and he was settling himself beneath his covers. How she wanted to kiss him good night, but that would probably start a flood of tears and questions. So she went back downstairs.
Betty was shuffling along the hallway toward her room. She grinned around the frosted cookie she had stuck in her mouth, wiggling her fingers to reveal another cookie in each hand.
“Gut nig
ht, Betty. Sleep well,” Rhoda murmured.
The house settled around her. The wind tapped a branch against the front window, and then, when the furnace shut off, the stillness was complete. Though Rhoda wasn’t accustomed to having a Christmas tree in her home, the little white lights on this one soothed her. She turned out the table lamps and stood at the tree, noting ornaments the kids had made, and mementos of their earliest Christmases and places they had visited.
Did they miss their mother? She recalled how hollow the holidays had felt that first year after Dat had passed. She wished Brett and Taylor could know a home filled with love and happiness, the way she did.
Watch over them, Lord. Help them understand why I had to leave—and that I didn’t want to.
Was it too soon for having such thoughts? Had she thrown herself into this job, this family, because her loneliness had driven her here—or because the Leitners needed her? Did she truly feel at home among them after such a short time? If she allowed such feelings to take hold of her heart, would she be tempted to leave the Amish church to become a part of this family? Rhoda didn’t want to think about Mamma’s disappointment and sadness if that happened.
Headlights beamed through the lace curtains and Rhoda remained beside the tree, holding her breath. When Andy opened the door he stood there watching her . . . holding her gaze without breaking the silence. As he closed out the frosty breeze coming in around him, he gazed around the front room, inhaling deeply.
“It smells so good in here,” he finally whispered.
“Ach, and here I stand while I could be warmin’ up your bowl of—”
“Rhoda.”
The way Andy said her name stilled her heart. His weary sigh echoed in her soul and she longed to caress away the tension lines etched into his handsome face. “Jah?”
“I won’t stand next to you, because that’ll lead us into temptation,” Andy said in a low voice. “So I’ll eat my chili and take you home, but we must agree not to touch. Not to . . . kiss again. Understand?”
She nodded, her lips pulsing as though he were kissing her anyway. “It’s best. There’d be no explainin’ if one of the kids came downstairs.”
“And we’ll be able to honestly say—to your mother, or your preacher, or whoever—that we backed away from a relationship that would only get you in trouble.”
“Jah.” Not that Andy’s honorable intentions satisfied her need to know more about him . . . to hear his voice and feel the warmth of his arm around her shoulders. Nor did his emotional distance make her future shine any brighter. But there wasn’t much to be done about that. He was behaving as he should, and she ought to be grateful for his restraint.
As Andy ate his chili and marveled over the wonderful sugar cookies she and the kids had made, Rhoda repeatedly swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. She busied herself wiping crumbs from the countertop while he ate, so he wouldn’t see her blinking back tears. She tried not to think about this being the last time she would cook in this kitchen, for this family.
“I helped deliver my first baby today,” Andy remarked. He chose a star cookie frosted in yellow, encrusted with jimmies.
Rhoda heard awe in his voice and stole a glance at him. His dark brown eyes glimmered in the low light. “Everything went all right for mother and child, I hope.”
“Perfect, yes. This was the couple’s second child, so the mom knew what to expect and the dad was right there coaching her,” he replied quietly. “Brought back the nights I spent in the delivery room when Taylor and Brett were born.”
He paused then, a mixture of joy and regret edging his expression. “I found myself wishing Megan could still feel the love she shared with us back then . . .”
“Jah, that would be gut for all of ya,” Rhoda murmured. It was the right thing to say, even if she preferred to imagine herself patching this family together rather than Andy’s ex-wife coming back.
Andy stood up then, as though to dispel his regrets. “No sense in wishing for what will never be, though,” he remarked. “And maybe you Amish have it right. Maybe her leaving us was God’s will . . . God telling us we could all do better for ourselves if we went our separate ways.”
Andy held her gaze then. “After all, I would never have considered a career in nursing if I were still married to Megan. Last I heard, she married a wealthy fellow and moved to some upscale town on the California coast. I could never have given her that sort of life, and I know she’s happier now.”
“But what about the kids? How can she live with herself, knowing she left—” Rhoda clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That’s none of my beeswax.”
Andy’s smile forgave her immediately. “Those are questions anyone would ask, Rhoda. But it became apparent that while Megan liked the idea of being a mother . . . enjoyed the attention folks showered on her while she was pregnant and tending our babies, the realities of raising kids frustrated her.”
“Ah. The stinky diapers and fussy cryin’ at all hours. The spit-up all over a clean dress.”
“And the idea that her time—her life—wouldn’t be her own again until they grew up and moved out.” Andy let out a sad chuckle. “Once Taylor and Brett started walking and talking—making demands—their mom felt she was losing herself.”
Rhoda’s eyes widened. What on earth did that mean, losing herself? What woman could begrudge her children the time and love and effort it required to raise them? “Well, ya surely are talkin’ about it more reasonably than I would be. Beggin’ your pardon, but Megan sounds mighty self-centered.”
“There’s that,” he agreed. Then they both laughed at how he’d picked up on Rhoda’s habit of saying that phrase.
“Well, thanks for listening. And thanks for taking care of my family, Rhoda,” he continued, as though he wanted to say it all in an uninterrupted rush to be sure he got it out. “Even a couple weeks of being around your simple goodness has helped me see my divorce in a different light. I believe I’ve honored God’s plan by entering another profession . . . and doing the best I could with my family, in the meantime. That’s more of a comfort than you can possibly know.”
Well, at least one of us is feelin’ better.
The ride home felt awkward, in a car filled with unspoken emotions, but Rhoda contented herself with gazing out the window at the snow-blanketed fields. When Andy pulled over into a driveway, before they reached the first farms of Willow Ridge, she looked across the darkness at him.
“I probably shouldn’t say this, but you’ve already left your mark on me—on my kids and Mom,” Andy said earnestly. “I didn’t want to drop you off without saying how badly we’ll all miss you—how much I wish I could get to know you so much better, Rhoda.”
Her breath left her in a slow sigh. “Me too, Andy,” she replied with a hitch in her voice.
“Please don’t cry,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “It’s all I can do, not to kiss away your tears.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Please.”
She reached into her coat pocket for a tissue and loudly blew her nose. Andy backed onto the blacktop and drove the short distance to the Sweet Seasons without saying anything more, but Rhoda sensed his heart was as full as hers. When he turned in at the Lantzes’ lane, they saw a lamp burning in one of the upstairs apartment windows, its light muted by the closed curtains. “Mamma’s waited up,” she murmured. “Might as well pull up in front of the smithy.”
“If it weren’t past ten o’clock, I’d go in and say hi to her,” he murmured.
Rhoda let out a nervous laugh, peering up through the windshield to see if her mother’s form was outlined in the window. “That’s not such a gut idea, but I appreciate ya wantin’ to be polite. She’s let her hair down by now and she’s most likely in her nightgown. I’d best get on upstairs.” When she pulled on the door handle, Andy took hold of her arm.
“Whoa there, Rhoda. I owe you some money and I won’t let you refuse it.”
How had he known she’d i
ntended to do just that? As Andy took bills from his wallet, folded them, and curled her hand around them, his touch made her tremble. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Rhoda. I wish you all the best.”
“Jah, you too,” she rasped. “Tell the kids—your mamm—what a joy they’ve been. I’m sorry I couldn’t find the right time or the words to tell them good-bye.” She slipped her hand out of his and stumbled out of the car, her vision blurred with tears. Bless him, Andy didn’t pull away until she’d found the handle of the smithy door in the beam of his headlights—
“Rhoda Lantz, I had figured you for an obedient, God-fearing young woman,” a stern male voice challenged. “You have disappointed me greatly tonight.”
Hiram! How had the bishop known when she’d be coming home? How long had he been waiting here to catch her with Andy? Rhoda gawked at him, speechless, as he stepped from the shadows at the side of the building. Did Mamma know he was here?
“When Preacher Tom told me of your sin with this Englischer , he and I wanted to believe you had truly repented when you confessed to him,” Hiram continued, “but I see we were wrong.”
Andy was getting out of his car, and Rhoda heard the rapid clump-clump-clump of her mother’s footsteps descending the stairs from the apartment. All of the evening’s best intentions, along with Preacher Tom’s promise to keep her confession to himself, had apparently come to nothing. Her head began to spin.
But ya did what ya promised Tom! This is Bishop Knepp stickin’ his nose into your business, even though he’s under the ban . . .
Rhoda knew better than to say that to Hiram’s face. As Andy stepped toward the bishop with his hand extended, her heart thudded dully in her chest. “We’ve not met, sir,” he said, “but—”
“Andy Leitner, this is Hiram Knepp, the bishop of Willow Ridge,” Rhoda blurted. Her gaze darted from one man to the other.
“I assure you that Rhoda and I have discussed this situation,” Andy continued in a low, firm voice. “Because of the circumstances of her faith, today was her last day working for me. It was never my intent to cause her a problem.”
Winter of Wishes Page 13