Jaime even told Mattie about her father’s offer to set her up with an agent in New York City. “It’s amazing, really, to think my father would help me at all,” she confided in Mattie. “He used to say that photography is a hobby, not a career. And that a woman needs to be able to support herself.”
The puzzled look on Mattie’s face surprised Jaime. For a moment, Jaime had forgotten how different their worlds were.
When Mattie asked how C.J. felt about giving up his teaching job and his Search and Rescue work to move to New York City, Jaime said they hadn’t worked everything out yet. That wasn’t technically true. They hadn’t worked anything out yet, because C.J. didn’t know about it.
“You see, I didn’t really think I wanted to move until this week. Then, suddenly I did. I really want to live in New York. I want to sign with this agent and do some big-time photography.” She knew she couldn’t stand another year being stuck in Sears Portrait Studio, photographing unhappy babies. Or crying toddlers in ballerina tutus. Or little girls dressed up in so many ruffles they looked like Victorian valentines. Or cats. So many people wanted their cat in their annual Christmas picture! This morning’s cat with Mrs. Peterson did her in. Jaime had scratches all over her hands from that hostile cat. After the shoot, she went straight to the manager’s office and told her she wouldn’t be coming back after Christmas. She quit!
Jaime expected to see judgment in Mattie’s eyes. Instead, she saw understanding. Mattie covered Jaime’s scratched-up hand with her own and said, “It can be hard to say important things to the person in our life who matters the most.”
Jaime flipped onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. It was so dark outside that no moonlight shone through the clouds, but she could see the ceiling was painted the same glossy color as the walls. Pale blue.
Mattie had made an odd, poignant remark that struck at Jaime’s heart—it penetrated so deeply that she excused herself and went to bed.
“Poor communication doesn’t disconnect souls,” Mattie said. “It’s the disconnected souls who poorly communicate.” Then she added, “But love is so much more than words.”
What did that mean? Does she think I’m disconnected with my soul? Suddenly, Mattie’s words became clear to Jaime. She thinks I’m disconnected from C.J.
Me? It’s C.J. who is disconnected from me. He’s the one who’s cheating! If it hadn’t happened yet, it wouldn’t be long before it was an actual affair. Twice during dinner tonight, C.J. mentioned that Eve woman. Twice! Once when they were talking about Tucker, and he said how Eve loved Tucker so much that she took him out for walks at lunch. And then, later, he thought Eve might enjoy Mattie’s recipe for chow-chow. When Mattie asked him who Eve was, he said she was just a co-worker. Just a co-worker.
Mattie might be insightful—surprisingly astute—but she obviously wasn’t clairvoyant. You missed that one, Mattie. It sailed right past you.
Just a few hours ago, Jaime had thought of Mattie as a plain woman. The plainest of Plain women. Yet tonight, in the soft lantern light in the kitchen, Jaime reframed that opinion. Mattie was intriguing. She was not a beautiful woman, but yet she was, because she was completely herself. She was slender; she carried herself with a dancer’s grace and reserve. But there was something else she carried, as obvious as her plum-colored dress and white prayer cap: a mark of strength and wisdom, of motherhood.
Jaime knew she ought to feel sorry for Mattie; her father certainly would. Mattie lived in a drafty old farmhouse and had a husband who worked as a farmer. They would never make much money. She had never been on an airplane in her life. Or a cruise! But the three of them—Mattie, Sol, Danny—they were a happy family. Unlike Jaime’s father, Sol was home. And when he wasn’t, they always knew where to find him. Mattie’s home was filled with peace, comfort, and constant, safe companionship. Jaime felt a growing tickle of admiration for these Plain people.
Whenever Jaime had thought of her father—there had been no one to picture. It had always been just Jaime and her mother, Connie, and random checks from her father that would arrive without any note included. There was never anyone to help them out, no man in Jaime’s childhood. She grew up with an empty spot inside, a part of her missing. A hole. A black hole.
C.J. had come from a completely different kind of home. Simple but loving. Like the Riehls’. C.J.’s solidness was one of the qualities that drew Jaime to him. He was a rock. He had a genuine interest in the lives of people. He remembered their names, their children’s names, their situations—if they were thinking of buying a new car, or if they were caring for an elderly parent, or if their dog had just died. This was stuff he cataloged in his brain. It was unusual how much he remembered, how much he truly cared. People lapped it up. Everyone adored C.J.
She was the opposite—happier to be out in the woods, behind the lens of a camera, observing, alone with her interior life. When people asked her too many questions, she felt like she was being pecked at by chickens.
Downstairs, a peal of laughter burst out of Danny. Jaime wondered what had made him laugh. There was something about that little boy that touched her. The way he looked, so small and thin and solemn. The way he talked and asked big questions and the brightness of his laughter that was like a glow on his face. She felt as if . . . well, if she ever had a child, she would want him to be like Danny.
What was she thinking?! She didn’t even like children! And worse—they didn’t like her! Babies and children always cried when they were in the studio, no matter what tricks she used to get them to smile in their picture.
She had come to bed early to try to get much-needed rest. She wished she had thought to put those stupid sleeping pills in her coat pocket instead of her purse—which was in the car. She was sure it was going to be one of those nights, when her mind spun and her brain pleaded for the relief of sleep but her body would not oblige.
Jaime punched the pillow again and rolled over, watching the snow whirl through the undraped window. She felt an aching sadness that she couldn’t understand. A hollow emptiness. What would fill it?
She didn’t know.
The house was quiet. That was perhaps the most noticeable difference, C.J. thought, between living in town and living in the country. The absence of noise. He slipped into the full-size bed next to Jaime, careful not to waken her. Tucker jumped up on the bed right behind him and C.J. pushed him down toward the footboard before the dog bounced on Jaime. He rubbed Tucker’s head and whispered to him to lie down. Tucker peered at him solemnly before curling into a ball and releasing a big sigh. Then C.J. stretched out. He never would have believed he would end this day—the day before Christmas Eve—needing refuge at an Amish farmhouse. In the dark, he smiled. He had a new appreciation for Mary and Joseph, seeking shelter and finding it in an unlikely place, before the very first Christmas.
When Jaime’s car went into the pond, he felt horrified—both at her carelessness but also at what it meant. It wasn’t that he minded missing a day with Jaime’s father—just the opposite. The thought relieved him. And it wasn’t his fault! Surely, James MacComber couldn’t blame a storm on C.J. that was walloping the entire Eastern seaboard.
James was convinced Jaime had married beneath her, which was ironic because he had just become interested in getting to know his daughter. James made no secret of how he felt about C.J. A junior high teacher barely scratching out a living in a small town in southeastern Pennsylvania—who had turned down a promotion to become an assistant principal. He’d never forget the afternoon when James called and Jaime told him C.J. had turned down the opportunity. There was dead silence. C.J. counted down in his mind: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. And then the grenade blew up! “He did WHAT?” C.J. heard James’s voice echo across the room. He knew James could never understand that C.J. loved being a teacher and had no desire to get into administration. No indeed, it didn’t bother C.J. to have a bona fide reason to spend one day less this Christmas with his father-in-law.
But how could they impose on this
Amish family? Mattie, in particular, couldn’t have been kinder about the intrusion. She could sense C.J.’s discomfort. As she handed him a pair of her husband’s pajamas to wear, she told him, “God doesn’t make mistakes. He has a reason for bringing you here.”
He thought it must be wonderful to have that kind of solid faith. This year, he had started attending church and tried talking Jaime into going with him. So far, no luck.
“Are you asleep?” Jaime whispered.
He turned onto his back. “I thought you were. I was trying to be quiet.”
“How could anyone possibly sleep with a dog the size of a humpback whale taking over the bed?”
C.J. grinned and lifted his head. “Did you hear that, Tuck? She called you a whale.” Tucker let out a soft snore at the foot of the bed. “He forgives you. He’s not easily offended.”
“Hmmph,” Jaime murmured.
C.J. folded his hands behind his head. He stretched out in the bed, careful not to disturb Tucker, and wriggled closer to her. “Maybe this is how the Amish have so many children. Small beds and cold winters.”
“Not this family.”
“No. When we were in the barn, Sol told me that Mattie had just miscarried.”
Jaime stilled.
C.J. looked over at her. “He said that was why they were at the doctor’s today. That they had met you there.”
“Danny left the whistle at the doctor’s office.”
“Mind telling me why you were at the doctor’s?”
She blew out a deep breath. “Just a prescription I needed.”
“For . . .”
Jaime turned to face the window. “For some sleeping pills. In case I needed them for the trip.”
C.J. sat up and leaned on his hands, peering over her at the window. “Looks like Mother Nature might have a say in that. I’m not sure we’ll be able to get a tow truck out here tomorrow.”
“What? It can’t take long to get those roads plowed.”
“Sol says another storm is right behind this one. A storm from the north is blowing through. It’s supposed to bring twice as much snow.” He stretched back on the bed. “Funny thing is, I don’t really mind. I kind of like this. It feels like a chance to slow down and think about things. Important things.” He leaned up on one elbow to face her. “We’ve needed time like this. We’ve needed it for a long while. There’s a lot we need to talk over.”
They lay in silence for a time, listening to the wind, to the crack of a frozen tree branch that snapped off in a gust.
It was easier in the dark like this, to talk. “It seems as if we’re growing apart, Jaime, and it worries me. I know the last year has been difficult, with your mother passing. And suddenly your father is in your life. I still feel badly about that weekend when your father was visiting and I had my first . . . unsuccessful search.” He couldn’t say it aloud. Deceased Finds. “The timing was just bad.” It had taken him a long time to get over that event. He had felt like such a failure. He couldn’t even talk about it with Jaime. He raised his hand to stroke her cheek, but then thought better of it. He let it fall without touching her.
“It’s not your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”
Were they talking about the same thing? These days they were like two planets, orbiting without colliding, but not drawing any closer either. “What isn’t?”
“Drifting apart. Sometimes, it just happens.”
Why did her voice sound so settled, so defeated? “Jaime, this is no way to have a marriage.”
She was quiet. “No. It isn’t.”
“We can do better.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Her voice was flat and the answer was quick, like she didn’t even have to think about it. What was the undercurrent he heard in those words? Disappointment? Resignation?
The comfort of the darkness gave way to a deeper unease and a chill went through C.J. He didn’t want to hear any more. “We’d better get some sleep.” He rolled onto his side, away from Jaime. “I love you, Jaime.”
“Me too, you, but sometimes love is just not enough.”
C.J. lay awake, unable to sleep, running over their conversation in his mind. He’d wanted to connect with Jaime, to have a moment when they understood each other, but his good intentions had spiraled into distance.
The wind smacked against the house, startling Mattie awake. She was disoriented for a moment, aware only of the cold that lay thick and deep around her. Then a fresh gust slammed against the wall, making it moan. Or was that Danny?
She slipped out of bed to go check on him in his room. She touched a hand to his forehead; his skin was warm and damp. He had Sol’s thick eyelashes, which curled against his cheek when he slept. There was no more beautiful sight than her child asleep. She loved Danny so profoundly, his perfect little body and all the complexity it contained. My child, she thought. My son.
He stirred and mumbled a few words that she couldn’t make out before he settled back into his dreams. What did a six-year-old boy dream about? A scooter? A pony? A cart to go with it? Those were the things he wanted most, and he made Mattie set timelines. Can I have a scooter when I’m seven? Can I have a pony when I’m eight? Danny was charging through his childhood, eager to be as old as Zach.
“Slow down, sweet boy,” Mattie whispered, and covered him.
He was so capable, so independent, so smart. He had taught himself to read when he was three, he knew his addition and subtraction tables up to ten by age four, he kept a list of rare animals that he and Sol spotted—bog turtle, piping plover, Indiana bat.
Slow down, sweet boy.
As soon as he learned to talk, a day with Danny was one long conversation, filled with unanswerable questions. Why is the sky blue? How far away is the moon? Did you know a blue whale’s heart is as big as a small car?
Slow down, sweet boy.
She stood for a minute in the wind-echoing room with her hand on the doorknob, moved by Danny’s smallness, by all the ways she would not be able to protect her son in the world. She closed the door softly and stopped by Zach’s room when she noticed the light under the door.
She knocked gently and poked her head in the door. “Can’t sleep?”
Zach lifted his book. “In the middle of a good chapter.” He yawned.
She took a few steps inside and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms against the cold. She and Zach were more than ten years apart in age, but they’d always had a special closeness. He was right on the precipice of leaving the church. She sensed the restlessness within him. The knowledge didn’t trouble her, not like it did her uncle Eli. The way it bothered Sol. She felt about Zach the way she used to feel about Sol—she saw the man he could be. She knew Zach would make the right decision . . . in the end, if he could have a little room right now to think it all through for himself. But instead of giving him some margin, Zach’s parents had cut him off. In their minds, he had two choices. Settle down and become baptized, or leave now. All that his parents had succeeded in doing was to drive Zach further away.
“How bad off is your car?”
He closed the book. “Bad. Couldn’t even start it. The ignition was frozen. The key broke off.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. Danny should not have been fooling around in that car. When did he get into it, anyway? She watched him like a hawk. “I can’t remember a storm like this one.” Every hour, the temperature dropped a few more degrees and the windchill stirred the air to make it even colder.
“Bet those English folks are feeling the cold,” Zach said with a devilish grin. He didn’t look at all sorry for them.
“They seem very grateful to be here.”
Zach shrugged.
“I had a good talk with the English woman while you were all out in the barn. She’s not what she seems.”
Zach put his book down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I suppose that she might have seemed a little selfish, at first, letting you go into that cold pond. But the
re’s turmoil in her life. She reminds me of a lost little lamb. I think she’s trying to decide something important.”
“And what would that be? Which new shoes to buy?”
Mattie smiled. “I’m just saying . . . that maybe God brought them here for a reason. Maybe we can help them.”
“Mattie, she’s not one of those stray puppies that follow you home. You can’t fix everybody.”
“Just . . . give her a chance. We should be pitying her for her lostness. Maybe . . . you could be a little . . . nicer.”
He rolled his eyes at her and she smiled, then she left. As she walked down the hallway to her bedroom, she caught a reflection of herself in the night-blackened glass window, illuminated by the glow from her flashlight. The woman who stared back at her was not herself at all, but a stranger who looked so thin and so sad. She put her hands up to her face and squeezed. Stop! Stop feeling so sad!
Behind her, Sol slipped his arms around her waist. She felt the tickle of his beard as his lips grazed her neck. “Were you watching our son sleep again?”
She leaned her back against him and covered his hands with hers. “I thought I heard him call out.”
Sol’s hands were warm, large, and comforting. He had been so patient all these years, so reassuring. Always optimistic that they would have more children. She raised his hand and kissed his palm, strong, rough with calluses, marked with lines. She placed his hand on her heart, held it there.
“You worry too much about the wrong things, Mattie.” He kissed the top of her head. “He’s nearly seven years old. You hardly let him out of your sight. He needs to be doing much more around the farm with me. Like other boys his age. Most eight-year-olds can do the work of a man.”
She stiffened. “Danny’s not like other children his age.”
A Lancaster County Christmas Page 7