Christmas Gift for Rose (9780310336822) (10 page)

She nodded and a fresh breath of warmth touched the edges of her heart.

“It’s getting dark,” he said. “Looks like a storm’s coming in.”

Rose wanted to cry at the thought of leaving, but instead an unexpected emotion came over her: thankfulness. She was thankful for the family who’d lived here. Thankful that the Yoders happened to be their neighbors. Thankful she’d survived and was standing here now.

She glanced toward the orchard again as they walked toward the buggy. Yes, the trees were stripped bare, but in four months they’d be blooming with life. All the trees needed for growth, for fruit, was tucked inside—the Creator God made sure of that. She had to believe God had good plans tucked deep inside her too.

She accepted Marcus’s hand as he helped her into the buggy, and she didn’t look back as they drove away. It wasn’t needed. Everything she’d seen would be carried close to her heart.

T
HE STORM HAD COME IN QUICKER THAN THEY’D HOPED,
slowing their progress on the six-mile trip back to Berlin, slowing their progress around town, and chilling Rose to the core. By the time she and Marcus returned from their errands and shopping, the day was gone and the others had already eaten dinner. Dat had sent the children to bed early, and Katie was ready to travel home with Marcus. Elizabeth sat at the table sketching a picture. She barely glanced up at Rose when she entered, but she had a sly look on her face. Rose guessed that she and Mem had made or wrapped Rose’s Christmas present that day. Elizabeth had never been one to conceal her emotions. Once when she was little, Elizabeth had found everyone’s presents and had taken them to them, laying them on their pillows a week prior to Christmas because she couldn’t handle the suspense. She hadn’t changed much, and Rose noticed the twinkle in Elizabeth’s eye as she kissed Rose’s cheek and bid her goodnight.

As soon as Marcus ate, he and Katie hurried out of the house. He still had choring to do and the minutes were ticking by. Soon only Dat and Rose sat before the fire.

“Hungerich?”

She was hungry, but she didn’t feel like eating. It seemed too much work.

“Where’s Mem?” she asked.

“Feeling under the weather.”

“I’m the cause of that, aren’t I?”

“She has a tender heart, Rose. She aches for you.”

“I feel so bad.” Rose released a breath. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’ve done.”

He rubbed the side of his face. “What we’ve done?”

“The sacrifice to take me in. To share your Amish heritage.” Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. She rubbed it, willing it to calm its angry rumbles.

He pointed to the kitchen. A loaf of bread sat on the wooden countertop. “Eat something, Rose, please. I never did like seeing you hungry.”

It was only after she’d cut herself a slice of bread and returned to the chair that he turned his attention to her again.

“What you think is a sacrifice I consider a gift. God’s gift. Children are a gift from the Lord, and the way you came to us makes you more special.” Dat stroked the long beard that fell to his second button. “I feel like Joseph at times.”

“Joseph?”

“
Ja
, Jesus’s father from the Bible. He was given a child to raise that wasn’t his own. It’s an honor. Every time that God gives us a child, it’s His way of saying He trusts us—trusts us to offer love and to guide the child toward Him.”

Rose hadn’t heard her dat talk this way very often. Though he read from the Scriptures, he rarely talked about what was really happening deep inside his heart—most Amish men didn’t. She leaned forward in her rocking chair, as if his words were a golden cord drawing her closer.

“I’ve wanted to tell you sooner, Rose. Maybe I should have tried. Mem didn’t want to hurt you, but I believe waiting hurt you more. God chose us to raise you. I’ve been confident that He’s always intended you to be Amish.” He paused. “It was by the hand of God that your parents were our neighbors. It was by His hand that they learned to trust us.”

“I’m not so sure … I wasn’t born Amish. If God had wanted me to be part of an Amish family, wouldn’t He have just had me born into an Amish home?”

“Maybe He wanted you to be a part of
two
families’ hearts.” Dat lowered his head and glanced at her over the rim of his reading glasses, but although she wanted to believe him—trust his words—her heart still ached.

“Do you think that you are the only one who benefited, Rose? That it was a duty or a chore to care for you, love you? You were a gift to us. My heart wrapped around you just as much as the others. Maybe more. The Bible says we are adopted as sons and daughters into God’s kingdom. Having you in our family has helped me to understand more what a beautiful gift that is.”

“Ja.”
Dat’s words were true—she knew they were. Rose just wished her heart believed them. “But what about my future, Dat? Where do I go from here?”

“It seems to me, Rose, the kind of ancestors you have is not as important as the ones your children have.” He released a heavy sigh. “God has let this day dawn,
liebling
… just as He gave us the day when you joined our family. We must thank Him for it, and ask Him for our purpose in it.”

“I always seemed to know my purpose before: to become an Amish wife and mother. All my life I looked forward to one thing,” she offered with a sigh.

“What’s that?”

“My Amish wedding. Thinking about it. Planting the celery in the spring, knowing that it’ll grace the tables after harvest. Seeing everyone gathered there to celebrate my joy.”

“You don’t think it’ll happen? Jest because Jonathan left doesn’t mean he’s gone for good. Or maybe another young man …”

Rose shook her head. She couldn’t think of marrying anyone else. She couldn’t think of ever hoping Jonathan would come back. What was here for him?

“Even if there was someone, Dat, do you think the bishop would allow it … once he discovers the truth of who I am?”

Dat rocked back and forth in his chair. “The bishop knows you, Rose. Surely he’ll take your heart that loves God, and your commitment to our Amish ways, into consideration.”

“Maybe Jonathan made the right choice.” Her words were barely a whisper. “Maybe leaving, starting over, is the one way to be welcomed into a community, accepted, once everyone knows the truth.”

Rose stood and walked over to her dat. Leaning down,
she kissed his cheek before quickly hurrying away. She’d never shown Dat affection like that, but what did it matter now? Especially if she was going to leave.

In her room, Rose lit the candle on her side table, and her shoulders quivered slightly as she noticed a brown-wrapped package on the trunk. Attached to it was a note:

With trembling hands Rose opened the package. White cloth was tucked inside. Rose opened it and unfolded it slowly, feeling the softness of the cotton flour sack.

A gasp escaped her lips. It was the apron—the one Louisa had brought into the kitchen all those weeks ago. So it wasn’t a Christmas gift … well, at least not from Mem. She imagined her mother—her birth mother—holding this object. Goosebumps rose on her arms.

Twenty yellow roses were embroidered on the front so they made a ring along the bottom near the hem. Rose brushed her hands across them. The vibrant color had not faded. The thread was surely as bright as it had been all those years ago.

She turned it over and noticed more small stitching. She gasped, her mouth an O.

“The names of my family.”

Curtis Williams?
Rose sat straighter with a start. It was the name of the grocery store clerk … the one she’d found so friendly. Could that be her brother?

And what if he was? Did he know? Had he come back to the area for a reason? Rose had to ask him.

But not yet.

“I can’t,” she whispered. Not until after Christmas, at least. She couldn’t think about leaving until after then.

Rose folded up the apron and tucked it deep into her wooden chest next to Jonathan’s letters.

“I just want one more Christmas to enjoy my family,” she whispered. “Dear God … I don’t know what I’m supposed to do after that, but can You make this Christmas special, memorable?”

And as Rose closed her wooden chest, an eagerness filled her. She couldn’t wait until morning to talk to Mem. Her mother’s love had kept Rose’s apron tucked away, but it had also given her a great gift. Her mem had prayed. Even when Rose didn’t understand, Mem had known and loved in every way possible. Had Mem’s prayers carried Rose to where she was now? Rose had no doubt. Had they carried her birth parents too? Rose hoped so.

D
AYS WENT BY AND ROSE DIDN’T LOOK AT THE APRON
again, but every time she thought about it she realized how much that one addition to her hope chest changed everything. She’d crafted everything else in there—the linens, the towels, and the pillowcases—with care, for her future home. The apron was a reminder that those things wouldn’t be used in that way. Not now.

Rose sat on one of the wooden kitchen chairs next to the
woodstove, quilting. She’d bought the fabric in the frame to create a cover for her marriage bed, but she supposed she could sell it and use it for a train ticket someplace nice. What she’d do after that she didn’t know.

“Rose, would you like to play checkers with me?” Matthew asked.

Usually she would have told him maybe, after she’d quilted for a while, but now she didn’t know why quilting had ever been more important than spending time with one of her siblings.

“Are you going to come to school tomorrow to read
Heidi
, Rose?” he asked. “We’ve missed you the last couple of weeks, and Miss Lucy said there must be something surely wrong for you not to come. I told her that I thought so too. Is there something wrong?”

Mem was in the kitchen, on her knees, with a wash pail beside her. She used a large brush to scrub with wide, sweeping motions. Each of the Yoder children had grown up pitching in and doing chores, but there was one thing Mem always did herself, and that was the kitchen floor. It was as if the sun hadn’t truly set—the day done—until Mary Yoder’s kitchen floor could be eaten off of with a fork.

“I can come tomorrow. I’ve just not been feeling well.” How could she tell him that her heart was broken? She still walked through life as though she was born from Mem’s womb—carried under her heart—like the rest of the children. They had no idea to suspect that after Christmas everything would change.

A hand on her shoulder caused Rose to jump. She turned to see little Martha there. “After yer game with Matthew, can you play with me?”

“
Ja
,
ja
, of course.”

She played four games of checkers—two with each of the twins—and Mem didn’t pester them when the clock ticked past their bedtimes. But the time came when the yawns and rubbing of the eyes were more frequent than not. It was then the twins put themselves to bed and Rose was forced to retreat alone to her room. That was always the hardest part of the day.

She removed her
kapp
and dressed in her bedclothes. Tonight she told herself she wouldn’t wear her sleeping kerchief. What was the point? What was the point of anything?

There were moments when her mind was focused on a recipe or bathing one of the younger ones that she’d forget. Sometimes she even wanted to bring it up with her mem again, although she didn’t know what she’d say. But other times, like now, she felt herself sinking into a dark place, certain she’d never feel complete peace again.

She brushed out her hair, letting it trail down her back like her mother used to do. She felt different with it down like that, braver, maybe. Just as her mom had been brave.

Rose moved to the window, pressing her fingers to the glass. Jonathan was out there somewhere, but where? Would he return if she asked? What would it hurt to add a few lines in the letter?
I miss you … Please come back so we can talk.
His parents would find a way to get the letter to him, wouldn’t they?

Decision made, she moved to the trunk to retrieve the letter … but it was gone. It wasn’t on the linens where she’d left it. She dug deeper, looking under every piece. It hadn’t slipped underneath. Had someone knocked it out of her trunk by accident? Rose sank to her knees and looked under her bed and side table. There was nothing there. The letter was gone.

But who would have done such a thing? Who would have gotten into her—

“Elizabeth.” Rose spat her sister’s name. No wonder Elizabeth had had that twinkle in her eye the other day. She’d read the letter!

Without worrying about the others sleeping in the house, Rose stomped down the hall and up the stairs to Elizabeth’s room. Instead of knocking, she walked right in. A candle still burned and Elizabeth was reading one of her favorite books. She jumped as Rose entered. “Rose, what’s wrong? Is something the matter?”

“
Ja
, something’s the matter.” It took work to control her voice. “You took my letter. You read it, I just know that. How could you do that … get into my things?”

“You told me Nancy Shank’s address was there—in your trunk. I was looking for it. I opened the letter, thinking that was the one where the address was. I didn’t realize what it was until I was halfway through it. I didn’t know Jonathan had left town, Rose. But the worst part was you poured out your heart and didn’t give it to him. How’s he supposed to come back if he doesn’t know how you feel?”

“That isn’t your business, now is it?”

“Vell … at least I’m brave enough to tell people how I feel. If I was as beautiful as you, Rose, I wouldn’t hide like you do. It’s almost as if you’re afraid of people seeing you—even the man you love.”

Rose sat on her sister’s bed and closed her eyes. Now wasn’t the time to raise her voice, to lash out with angry words, although they surged up inside. “Maybe I do try to hide, but I’ve been hurt before, you know. I don’t want to face that rejection again. I wanted to send the letter, but I couldn’t. What if Jonathan has already found another bride? I’d be such a fool. You can give me the letter, Elizabeth. There’re a few things I want to add, and I’ll think about dropping it off at Mr. and Mrs. Fisher’s house, I promise.”