A Lancaster County Christmas

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  “Had you? Been drinking?”

  Zach scowled. “Well, yeah, but that’s not the point. One little mistake! And he tosses me out like I’m a piece of junk.” He kicked at the ground with his boot.

  Jaime’s eyes went wide. “Really? One little mistake?”

  Zach gave her a sneaky sideways glance. “Maybe two or three.” Or a dozen. Getting into trouble with the law was the last straw for his father. After he had been charged with an M.I.P., his father had told him that he washed his hands of him and that the Lord God would see fit to deal with him now. It was well known that Eli Zook and the Lord God held similar convictions on nearly every subject.

  “Your father sounds like an intimidating man.”

  Zach kept his eyes on the ewe. “He gives me the same sort of feeling I get in church, and not a little fear in it.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m my father’s middle son. Most of my life, I spent working beside him. I was born to work. That’s all I’m good for, in his eyes. And now, no matter where I go, I’m surrounded by my father’s family. It’s been a burden.”

  Jaime shrugged. “Or a treasure.”

  Maybe both, Zach thought. A burden and a treasure. When he had exhausted himself of all the frustration and anger and discouragement of the last year, she didn’t say a word. “Now it’s my turn to say that I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he said.

  “Maybe because I like to hear.”

  Jaime was a good listener. She did not automatically take his father’s side, as Zach had expected. She was understanding his side; she was—still!—holding on to his arm. They just stood there in the peace of the morning, watching the ewe and her baby.

  Finally, Jaime broke the silence. “Have you thought about leaving?”

  “I’ve thought of nothing but leaving. The thing is . . . I love cars. Everything about them.”

  “Oh, me too! The smell of a new car is heaven.”

  He cocked his head at her. “I guess . . . I meant what’s under the hood. The mechanics. The horsepower. The sound of a purring engine.” They looked at each other. Her blue eyes matched his shirt. She was ridiculously, absurdly beautiful, and Zach looked into her blue eyes until he knew looking one more second wouldn’t be good for him. It would be like eating too much chocolate.

  He shifted his gaze and noticed her hand, resting on his arm. She had taken off her glove when she took pictures of the ewe. Her hand was so small! And so white. Impossibly soft and white. Her fingernails were painted dark pink; they looked like raspberries. Enough! he thought, and he may have actually spoken the word because when he glanced up at Jaime, she tilted her head and looked at him strangely, as if to say, Enough what?

  He cleared his throat and looked away.

  “Then, maybe a better question is, why do you stay?”

  “Why?” Zach shrugged and kicked at a dirt clod on the ground. “It’s hard to explain.”

  Despite the uncomfortable circumstances that brought him to Mattie and Sol’s home, Zach felt himself growing attached to Danny. Danny followed him around the farm whenever he could slip away from his mother, wore his black felt hat tipped back on his forehead the way Zach did, saved cookies for Zach, he even started walking the way Zach walked—hands jammed deep in his pockets with a long gait. Last week, Danny told him, “I wish you were my brother.” And Zach felt his heart grow three sizes.

  To be adored? He loved it. A little kid affecting him this way? No one would have believed it.

  In the kitchen, Sol fed the fire in the woodstove. He shook down the ashes and threw in some kindling before tossing in a log. The new wood settled into the fire with a pop and a hiss. It pleased him that Mattie was still sleeping. She needed her rest.

  Danny came down the stairs and went straight to sit on the backdoor bench. He pulled on his boots and coat, waiting for Sol. Together, they made their way through the snow to the barn. When they got inside, the big yellow dog greeted them as if he was the welcoming committee to a barn frolic. Danny ran to the lambing pen where Zach and the English girl were standing together.

  “You’ve got yourself a Christmas lamb!” Zach said when he saw them, grinning from ear to ear. “Mom and baby, happy and healthy.”

  Danny climbed through the slats to reach the lamb. First, though, he patted the ewe and congratulated her.

  Sol watched the lamb nuzzle against Danny. “I’m sorry I missed it.” He was too. There was nothing so wonderful as the birth of an animal. Something he never tired of.

  “Would you like to see pictures of the lamb being born?” Jaime asked.

  Sol surprised even himself with a quick nod. Jaime unzipped her camera bag and flicked on a switch, then brought the camera over to Sol to look through the viewing screen. Mesmerized, Sol looked at the pictures, frame after frame.

  “It’s as if you’re just inches away,” he said.

  Jaime continued scrolling through images. When Sol saw the pictures of Danny, sitting in the kitchen, holding the barn owl, he inhaled sharply.

  “I’m sorry!” Jaime said. “I didn’t know it was wrong, not until Mattie told me. I’ll delete them.”

  “No,” Sol said firmly. The answer came up deep inside of him. “No. Leave them.” He looked up at the ceiling rafters. “Maybe . . . you could send those pictures to us sometime.”

  Jaime clicked off the camera and tucked it back in the padded bag. An awkward silence was finally broken by Danny.

  “The owl! I need to see if there’s a mouse in the trap.” He leaped over the lambing pen, grabbed a flashlight, and ran toward the feed room. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the barn.

  Jaime watched him disappear into the feed room. “I’ll go help him.” She hurried down the center of the barn. Tucker trotted behind her, tail up.

  Sol’s gaze was fixed on Zach. He saw Zach’s eyes follow Jaime as she walked into the darkness. “Zachary,” he said firmly. “No.”

  Zach shrugged and lifted his palms in the air, his eyes round with innocence. “What?”

  “No.” Sol shook his head. “For so many reasons, no.”

  Mattie rubbed a circle of frost on the kitchen window to peer outside toward the barn. She could see the lantern light streaming through cracks in the siding. She turned toward C.J., sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Looks like they’re still out there. Probably the ewe had her lamb.” She wondered if Danny had dressed warmly enough. She thought she had heard him coughing, earlier this morning when Sol was shaving. But then, she hadn’t slept well, and with the racket the wind was making, who knew if what she heard was a cough? Still, a sound woke her and then began the circle of endless worries. She blew air out of her mouth. Stop. Stop, Mattie!

  C.J. stood. “I’ll go out and help. I used to milk cows. I could squirt a stream of milk straight into the cat’s mouth.”

  Mattie glanced at C.J., surprised by that comment. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Sol, but he didn’t look short either. A square-faced man with a cap of close-clipped blond hair and dark brown eyes and smooth-shaven cheeks. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, with a thick gray sweatshirt that said “Slippery Rock State University.” He had a clean, friendly look about him. Not so much handsome as wholesome looking. And he had a way of smiling, she thought, that was just with his eyes. But what she found most appealing of all about him was his way with Danny.

  Last night after dinner, C.J. started telling silly knock-knock jokes. Danny laughed so hard that he nearly fell off his chair. She loved watching Danny laugh with abandon. “Don’t go. They should be back in just a few minutes. Those boys like their time together in the barn.”

  “Well, this morning, they’ve got Jaime out there too.”

  Mattie was surprised. “I figured she was still sleeping.”

  “Not Jaime. She’s usually up at dawn.” C.J. poured himself another cup of coffee. “She likes to take pictures early in the morning. She says the light is best then.”

  Mattie cracked an egg on the side of a
bowl, then another and another. She tried to figure how many more scrambled eggs she should include to feed C.J. and Jaime. It gave her a moment of happiness, a feeling that had been dormant for too long, to have extra mouths to feed. She found she was enjoying having these English guests for Christmas.

  “Do you mind if I ask you something personal, Mattie?” C.J. leaned against the counter.

  She took out the whisk and started stirring the eggs. “Ask away.”

  “Have you ever thought about fostering a child?”

  The question shocked Mattie. She lost her grip on the bowl and it tilted on its side, so that slippery yolks and whites splattered all over her clean linoleum floor.

  C.J. quickly reached for some rags and started to wipe it up. “I’m sorry. Yesterday, in the barn, your husband told me about your miscarriage. I hope . . . I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

  Mattie didn’t know what to say. It was sad information, handed to this man within hours of making his acquaintance. But C.J. looked so sorrowful she couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t apologize. Sounds like Sol told you quite a bit out in the barn.” She squeezed out a rag. “More talking goes on in that barn than I would ever imagine.”

  C.J. leaned back on his heels. “It’s just that . . . there’s a family at my school who have foster kids. Really great couple. They couldn’t have children of their own, but that didn’t stop them. They’ve fostered . . . hmm, I’ve lost count . . . at least five or six kids. They even adopted two—a brother and a sister. This couple, well, they wanted to be parents and found a way to make it work. And what a difference they’ve made in the lives of these kids! But if you tell them that, they’d only say that they’ve been more blessed than the kids. The wife, you kind of remind me of her.” Two spots on his cheeks started to flame. “But what do I know? Maybe the Amish don’t sponsor foster children?”

  “Some do.” Mattie took more eggs out of the refrigerator. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she didn’t say anything.

  The truth was, she had brought the topic of adoption up to Sol last summer and was surprised by his strong opposition to the idea. It was the only time they had ever argued. He said he didn’t want an outsider’s influence in their home.

  “But it’s a child!” she said. “Hardly an outsider.”

  Sol didn’t see it that way. To him, an invisible wall separated the Amish and the English. He knew the turmoil that came when someone tried to live in both worlds. The wall, Sol insisted, served as protection. It had always been there and it should always remain.

  “Seems like fostering is what you’re doing with Zach.” C.J. stood. “I just meant that it doesn’t seem nearly as important to bear a child as it might be to parent a child.” He tossed the rags into the sink. “How about if you sit down and let me do the cooking? I know my way around a kitchen.”

  Mattie was shocked! Every once in a while, Sol would cook something, but only if she wasn’t home. C.J. brought her a cup of coffee and pulled out a chair for her. At first, she felt awkward. Imagine sitting in a chair while a man made your breakfast. An English man! Whom she had only known since yesterday! Yet he was very at ease, which made her feel at ease. He was comfortable with himself, with who he was as a man. Unlike his wife, Jaime, who seemed so unsure of herself. Mattie started to relax. It felt rather nice to be waited on.

  She listened to him chatter on, this English man in her kitchen, as he cracked eggs with one hand and used the other to slide a slab of butter into a heated cast-iron pan. As the eggs slipped onto the pan, they sizzled. She watched him carefully, worried he would ruin the eggs, but he knew how to cook. Not to cook tidy, though. He was making a big mess and she tried not to cringe as eggshells flew on the floor and dishes piled up in the sink.

  He talked as he cooked, telling her that he always wanted to have a big family and he was just waiting for Jaime to feel ready. As he worked, he talked and she listened. He reminded her of her brothers. When they were in the mood, especially when they had a question about girls that perplexed them, they would find Mattie somewhere in the house or the yard, chore alongside her, and just talk and talk. People liked to talk to Mattie about their troubles, she was aware, but she never knew why. She didn’t think she had much to offer them other than a listening ear. But she didn’t mind listening.

  As the sky began to lighten outside, C.J. admitted that he was worried about Jaime. “One of her pictures won a category in a National Geographic contest and boom!, she hit the radar for her dad—suddenly, he was paying all kinds of attention to her. One weekend, he breezed in like he had just been down to the corner store for a carton of milk. Jaime was thrilled to have him visit. I’d only met him once before—during the wedding—and the wedding was a whole other story—” He rolled his eyes. “That weekend was terrible, just terrible. I was gone on a Search and Rescue. Tucker and I found the victims . . . but it was too late. I was feeling pretty bad about that, and when I finally got home, Jaime and her dad had a surprise for me. They had found a house for us to buy—her dad said he was going to put a down payment on it.”

  “Why was that such a bad thing?” Mattie asked.

  “For one, I’m not really sure he would have ponied up the down payment. He talks big. But even more than that, it seemed his way of undermining me. He doesn’t think teaching is a real job.”

  Mattie’s eyebrows went up. “Our elders are trying to pay our teachers more, so that men can raise a family and keep teaching. They think it’s that important.”

  C.J. gave up a wry smile. “Jaime’s dad thinks there’s only one real job—selling. He’s pretty well-to-do—so he says—and he uses his money to impress people.” He covered the scrambled eggs with a lid and put the pan into the oven to keep it warm. He flipped over the sizzling bacon in the second frying pan.

  “He had also bought a new camera for Jaime that weekend—that very one she was so anxious to get out of the car yesterday. I listened to the two of them trying to convince me to buy this house . . . and I just blew up. Said things I shouldn’t have said.” He laid the bacon on a paper towel to drain. “I tried to apologize to James later. But he wouldn’t accept my apology.” He filled a pot with water and set it to boil.

  Mattie took a sip of coffee. “Forgiveness works both ways. If you ask for forgiveness from someone, then a person has his own responsibility to accept it.”

  “Try telling that to her dad. He likes holding power over people.” He poured oatmeal into the pot of boiling water. “Seems as if things haven’t been the same between Jaime and me since that weekend when her father visited. It’s as if she has expectations of me that I can never fulfill.” As the oatmeal bubbled up, he started to stir it down. “You know what’s funny? I don’t think Jaime’s pictures with that camera are as good as the ones she took with her old camera. She used to rely on her own eye, on her instincts. It was a film camera. This new one is state-of-the-art digital, with all kinds of bells and whistles. Now she relies on that camera to tell her what a good picture is.”

  A thought occurred to Mattie. “By any chance, did you give her the old camera?”

  He nodded. “It was my wedding gift to her.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry to be dumping all of this on you.”

  Mattie smiled. “My grandfather Caleb used to say, ‘Things can get good again. Even things like a marriage.’”

  “What if only one of us believes that?”

  “Then you wait,” Mattie said quietly, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “That’s what my grandfather would say that we Plain people do best. We wait.”

  The barn door rumbled shut. Through the window, Mattie could barely make out four bundled figures running toward the house. When they reached the porch, Mattie heard Jaime’s musical giggle as she stomped off clumps of snow from her boots. She could see that the sight and sound of her hurt C.J. so much that he flinched.

  He turned to Mattie. “What if I’m running out of time?”

  Zach drained his juice glass, then spun it ab
sentmindedly on the table. It was the best breakfast he had ever eaten. The English man made them all perfectly cooked scrambled eggs, soft and buttery, topped with sautéed onions and mushrooms and cheese. Zach had wanted to dislike that fellow, the man married to this beautiful creature sitting across the table from him. But he could tell C.J. was a good man. Impossible to dislike, despite his best efforts. He admired the way C.J. treated Jaime—he was kind to her, the way Sol was kind to Mattie. It was one of the things Zach liked about living with Sol and Mattie. He was able to observe, day in and day out, a different kind of marriage than his own folks’. The kind he wanted for himself one day.

  It amazed him that the English fellow cooked for everybody. His wife said he cooked most of the time at home. That thought would have baffled his father. He couldn’t even imagine his father in a kitchen, other than eating at the table. Nor could he imagine his father treating his mother with kindness.

  He glanced over at the mountain of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. The pale green formica countertops were buried in dishes. The stovetop was splattered with bacon grease and bits of dried-on eggs. C.J. must have used every dish in the house. Ha! That fellow may be able to cook, but he sure couldn’t keep a kitchen clean.

  He watched Jaime slather jam over her toast. He found himself watching her every move; she was a mystery to him. He was mesmerized by every word she uttered. He had to be careful watching her because he knew that Sol was watching him, but the complexity of her fascinated him. There were so many things he was starting to wonder about her, the loneliness and the restlessness he saw in her.

  He finished his eggs and buttered one more piece of toast to go. He was so full he could hardly even sit up, much less bring himself to leave. But the worst of the storm had passed and he wanted to get out to his car to see if he could get it running. Assuming, of course, it wasn’t completely buried in a snowdrift. As soon as Sol finished the prayer for breakfast, Zach jumped from the table and plucked his coat and hat off the wall pegs.