Christmas Gift for Rose (9780310336822) (9 page)

R
OSE FOUND HERSELF HEADING TO TOWN THE NEXT
Friday after reading another chapter of
Heidi
to the children at school. Chapter twelve had always been one of her favorites. Even the children who knew the story—who had heard it last year—had grown tense and still as Rose read about the ghost in Clara’s house. They sat at the edges of their seats as if they were waiting to discover there was no ghost at all, but rather Heidi sleepwalking. The words Rose had read were still on her mind as she entered Hummel’s Grocery after catching a ride to town with Dat.

“Yes, I dream every night, and always about the same things,”
Heidi had told the doctor who’d come to see her.
“I think I am back with Grandfather and I hear the sound in the fir trees outside, and I see the stars shining so brightly, and then I open the door quickly and run out, and it is all so beautiful! But when I wake I am still in Frankfurt.”

“And have you no pain anywhere? No pain in your head or back?”
the doctor had asked Heidi.

Her answer was one Rose understood.
“No,
only a feeling as if there were a great stone weighing on me here.”

“As if you had eaten something that would not go down.”

“No
,
not like that; something heavy as if I wanted to cry very much.”

Rose wiped away a tear, entered the grocery store, and noticed Curtis at the front register. He was just finishing up with a customer. Curtis bagged up the last of the woman’s items and wished her well. As the woman moved toward the door, Rose approached the cashier.

He lifted an eyebrow, and concern filled his face. “Can I help you with something? You don’t look too well, Rose.”

“I was just looking for Jonathan. I haven’t heard from him in a few days. Is he still working in the back storeroom, building those shelves?”

“Your Jonathan?” The man waved a hand. “Nah. I thought you of all people knew he’d left town. Said he had very important business, although he didn’t tell me what.” He scratched his head. “It didn’t have something to do with you, miss, did it? I should have asked. I should have told Jonathan that I’d be willing to help you both. That Curtis Williams is always willing to help a friend.”

“That’s kind of you.” She forced a smile. “I’m afraid he didn’t talk to me about it.” She turned her back to Curtis and stared out the window as if somehow by chance she’d see Jonathan walking down the street. “It seems he has a habit of that—of leaving first and telling me what’s really going on later.”

Rose felt a hand on her arm and jumped. How inappropriate! She pulled away from Curtis’s touch and was about
to give the man a piece of her mind when she noticed the compassion on his face. Just seeing it made her realize he simply wanted to be a friend—to be there for her.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you none. I know since I’m new around here, folks don’t know what to think of me, but I’d like to be known around here as a trustworthy fellow. If there is ever anything I could do to help—”

“There is.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. “I have a friend—a neighbor. He’s also a returning soldier.” She glanced down at Curtis’s cane. “Harold was injured, but in other ways. He’s not handling everything so well. It’s his mind that plays tricks on him. It seems that there are days he feels he’s more
there
than here.”

Curtis nodded, seeming to understand.

“If you could …”

“You’d like me to go visit him?”

“
Ja
, if it wouldn’t be too much.”

Curtis ran a hand down his cheek. “I’ve talked to a few other soldiers around here, but none of them want to talk much. I don’t know—”

“Harold might not want to talk, but I’m sure he’d appreciate the visit. Even more, I think his parents would. Jonathan stopped by once and it helped a lot.”

Curtis nodded. “If you don’t think they’ll mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Then I can do it tomorrow.”

She glanced on the counter for a piece of paper. “
Danki.
I can write down the address.”

“No need. I know the Ault place.” He noted her surprise. “It’s a small community.”

“
Ja
, I suppose, although I’m not sure I’ve even been down every road.”

Curtis chuckled. “I have, uh, a car … my first. I enjoy driving the roads. I know where many folks live. I guess you can just say I’m trying to get to know my community better.”

“I understand.” Still, Rose couldn’t help but feel this man was acting very kindly toward her, a mere stranger. Something wasn’t right about Curtis Williams. He didn’t quite seem to fit into this town—and yet he was working hard to
make
himself fit …

The hair on the back of her neck pricked as Rose offered another thank-you and turned to find a shopping basket. She hoped Dat wouldn’t take too long with his errands.

Beginning to fill her basket, Rose turned to something that worried her more—the information Curtis had given her. Jonathan was gone. Was he gone for good? Surely his parents would hear from him. Maybe she should try to contact him through them.

Rose decided when she got home she’d write a letter and take it by his parents’ house. He couldn’t leave them all … not for good. And when Jonathan returned she wanted him to know her heart: if she had any chance of a relationship with Jonathan, it was time to let the future matter more than the past. She just hoped that God would help make that so.

T
HE NEXT TIME MARCUS AND KATIE CAME OVER,
Marcus’s beard had come in fully, and from the glow on Katie’s face Rose expected that in a few months the couple would make it known a new member was joining their family.

Elizabeth had brought out her colored pencils and paper, and they sat around the kitchen table, making Christmas cards to mail to friends who lived out of town.

Sitting next to Katie, Rose couldn’t help but consider her own mother. Had she and her father been excited to know they were expecting her? Were they pleased it was a girl? She pretended they did. She imagined her mother snuggling her close after her birth, breathing in her scent, and forgetting the family’s lack of means.

On the paper before her, she drew a candle and a bunch of holly, wondering what her other parents and siblings were doing. She circled a freshly sharpened red pencil on the page, making berries on the holly, wishing she had a way to send them a card. But who could even begin to guess where they’d ended up.

“I’m going to town in the morning if anyone would like to go,” Marcus interrupted her thoughts.

“I would,” Rose spoke up. She looked at her brother, studying his face, hoping he’d go along with her plan.

It had been weeks since she’d been to town, weeks since Jonathan had left, and weeks since she’d seen the cashier Curtis—although Mrs. Ault had stopped over twice, telling them what a good friend “that Williams boy” had become. It helped to have someone who understood the war in the South Pacific—someone Harold could talk to who wasn’t rattled by his injured mind.

It had also been weeks since she’d written her letter to Jonathan, although it still sat on top of her linens.

“That was a quick answer, Rose.” Mem looked up at her from her quilting, surprised. “Do you have shopping to do?”

“You can say that.” Her mind scurried for a reason, but she could come up with none. Her eyes met with Marcus’s. Night after night she’d lain in bed and heard Jonathan’s words:
“You need to find peace with your past, Rose.”
Out of everyone, she knew that Marcus would help make that possible. Her older brother had always been there for her, and she knew he’d be there again when she asked him to take her to Charm.

“Rose, do you have Nancy Shank’s new address? Last I heard, they’d moved to Somerset County,” Elizabeth asked.

Rose set down the colored pencil.
“Ja.”

“Stay where you are. I can get it.” Elizabeth jumped to her feet. “Is it in your trunk?”

“Yes. It should be right on top.”

Without a moment’s hesitation Elizabeth darted off.

Rose finished her card and wrote a short note to her pen pal, also named Rose, who lived in the next community over.
Dear Rose, I do think of you. I miss your smile. I can’t wait to see you again, and if I don’t talk to you, have a good new year too. I know God has good plans for you in the coming months.

And for a moment, as Rose looked over her handiwork, she pretended that note had been for her. That someone special had left it. That someone couldn’t get her off his mind.

T
HE NEXT MORNING MARCUS WAS DRESSED AND SIPPING
a cup of coffee by the time Rose entered the living room. Dat was in the barn choring, the kids were readying for school, and Mem and Katie had plans to piece together a new quilt.

Rose grabbed a plate and a fresh biscuit. She didn’t bother with putting on jam or butter. Instead she took a big bite, eager to get the day started. “I do have to do some Christmas shopping too.”

“Too?” He lowered his chin and looked down at her, peering into her eyes. “Do you mean on our way back from Charm?”

Rose put down her biscuit. She crossed her arms over her chest again, feeling as if everyone knew the truth—saw the truth—better than her. Pushing back from the table, she moved to the kitchen window, looking out at the frozen earth. In the distance she saw a car driving slowly—too slowly—past their house. She sucked in a breath as she realized who it was.
Curtis.
Again an uneasy feeling swept over
her. Her heartbeat quickened and worries filled her mind. What did they know about this man? Why had he taken such an interest in their community? Her heartbeat stilled only as she watched his car pull into the Ault place and park.

You have too active an imagination
, she told herself.
He’s just trying to find friends in this new place. That’s all.

“That is where you wanted to go, Rose, isn’t it? To Charm?”

Rose turned back to Marcus and noted compassion on her brother’s face. “How did you know what I was going to ask?”

“You’ve been here, but you haven’t been present. I’ve been wondering when you’d ask someone to drive you by the old place. And since Jonathan left town, I’ve been expecting that you’d ask me. Everyone has been wondering what’s wrong. Dat and Mem can’t get up the nerve to tell the younger kids. Still, they are worried. We all love you, Rose. I wish we could help you somehow—give you the answer you are waiting for. But like Katie said, it’s a journey that you’ll have to take on your own.”

Rose’s fists clenched as she thought of Jonathan. Marcus was right. If Jonathan had stayed, she would have asked him. But Rose didn’t want to consider that, think about that. She pushed out her bottom lip.

“Katie knows?”

“She was worried about you. She kept telling me that something was wrong. She insisted you needed to get into the doctor, that you had a disease.”

“Being
Englisch
isn’t contagious.”

“You’re not
Englisch
, Rose. At least not anymore. And besides, I think you could say that anything you allow to eat you away inside can be considered a disease.”

R
OSE AND MARCUS CHATTED ABOUT EVERYDAY THINGS
as Marcus drove the buggy the six miles to Charm. The horse’s breath blew out in a gentle rhythm. While her childhood memories were piecemeal, Marcus was older. He remembered more, no doubt. She wanted to ask about her family but was afraid maybe her longing would grow.

He turned down a side road and they passed two farms. Around a corner another farm stood. A buggy was parked out front. The barn door was open and white curtains hung in the windows of the house. The place looked warm and inviting. Rose cocked her head. It also looked familiar. As they neared the house both of them fell silent.

Finally the words bunched in her throat, but she pushed them out. “Mem and Dat’s place?”

“
Ja
.” It was a simple response. Then his gaze moved past the Amish farm to the next piece of property. She followed it. There was the orchard that she remembered in foggiest detail. And beyond it a smaller house that had seen better years. It was an abandoned, ramshackle place. Rose wondered who owned the land now. There were many such places around their community. During the Depression, when families could no longer pay for their property, they’d often just walked away.

She held her breath as the buggy neared and leaned forward to get a better view. She waited for the moment that
something would click, the moment the memories would flood back. But even as the buggy approached and parked on the small turnout, nothing came.

Rose looked at the faded gray structure, sure it would blow down with every gust of wind. Still it stood, despite its state of disrepair. A small porch shielded the front door set off by two windows.

Above the porch roof sat two more windows—maybe from some type of loft. At least a quarter of the shingles were missing, the dark spots reminding her of Louisa’s smile with her missing teeth. A wooden fence with chicken-wire protected the property—or, rather, became a gathering point for musty, decaying leaves. A tree, thin and scraggly, stretched gray limbs into the sky.

Does it bloom in spring?
If so, it had to be the only form of life around this place.

Even the ground in the fields beyond the house looked scraped away, as if the wind had stripped it of all topsoil. Rose cautiously stepped toward the house over a thin layer of snow and ice. In her mind’s eye she pictured the single gable-end chimney breathing out puffs of smoke like the dragon books Marcus used to read. She pictured the gray boards as fresh lumber. The windows gleaming and framed with curtains, and a family with smiles and hope—lots of hope—sitting inside. Now, though, it was only a broken-down shell of its former glory.

“Would you like me to come with you?” Marcus’s voice called to her.

Rose glanced back, almost forgetting for a moment he was with her. “Can you give me five minutes?”

“
Ja
. Of course.”

Rose walked toward the porch and paused at the steps. She gripped the banister, partly to make sure she didn’t step on any of the rotten boards, and partly because she needed strength to continue on.

On the porch she attempted to peek in the window, but the glass was dingy and it was too dark to see anything much inside. She moved to the door and noticed the screen had been ripped off its hinges. Her hand moved to the knob, and she expected it to be locked. Instead the knob turned with ease and the door swung open.

“Dear Lord …,” she whispered, unsure of what to pray for. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she dabbed at them.

A layer of dust covered the warped floorboards and everything inside sat so still, so silent. There was a chair without a back and a small table that had seen better days.

She looked out the side window, noticing the springhouse, the barn, and the orchard stripped bare and lifeless. Her soul felt the same. To go from belonging and feeling a part of a family and a community to being an outsider rubbed her heart raw, as if someone had peeled off the top layer with a paring knife.

“Did Jonathan feel the same after how I treated him?” she whispered, her breath condensing on the dirty window glass. He’d been out of the community, not only living in a different state but on the other side of the world. And yet
he came back ready to leave the past behind him. He was braver than she’d thought; he’d risked more than just his life. He’d made an effort to move beyond the past too. Why couldn’t she do the same? What was holding her back? She’d faced much less than the horror of war. And he’d only done what his conscience deemed right. Yet she’d blamed him for her unhappiness—allowed the bishop and neighbors’ attitudes to poison her own.

Rose felt like a fool now. What would have happened if she had encouraged him, stood up for him? What would have happened if she’d listened to him and had asked him to help her make peace with her past? Would he have stayed? She’d finally confessed her need in a letter, but what good did it do sitting in her trunk? Why did it take such a dreary day, in the midst of all she’d lost, to see so clearly?

If only he were still here, she’d tell him.

She heard the door creak open behind her and turned. Marcus entered with slow steps, and she waved him in, thankful for his presence.

“Your mem had a beautiful garden out back. Even when the dust was thick and nothing would grow, her little rose garden thrived. Mem said it grew on hope and leftover dishwater. Dat said if Betty would have been as mindful about a vegetable garden, they might not be in such a pickle. She had a collection of vases, and she’d fill them with roses … and wild daisies.”

Rose smiled, thinking about that, but it also made her
sad to consider her mother’s loss. First Daisy to death, and then Rose to … circumstances? Fear of the same?

“Mem used to click her tongue after a visit to your parents’ house. ‘Cut flowers!’ she’d exclaim. ‘They’d live longer if they remained in God’s good earth where He planted them.’ Yet I remember one week when Dat had gone to Indiana to help his cousin raise a barn and Mem gathered a bunch of wildflowers and set them in a jelly jar on the counter. Ach, I thought her eyes were gonna turn pink and purple and blue for the amount of staring she did on those. But they were gone by the time Dat came home, and she never allowed herself the pleasure again.”

“She … enjoyed their beauty?”

“Ja.”

“And I jest thought all this time that she disapproved of my decorating.”

“Haven’t you seen her gazing upon the greenery, the flowers, the pinecones and small plants? I bring those things for her as much as you, Rose. You’ve brought a
gut
beauty into our lives. A
gut
beauty.” Marcus sighed audibly. “You see, Dat thought your family needed a garden for food … and they did. But flowers feed our soul in a different way. They remind us of a God who creates beautiful things and takes notice of the tiniest detail.”

Did her mother still garden? Did she still love her roses best?

“You look like her, too, especially when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Tilt your head when you’re thinking. I’d see your mem standing out by the clothesline sometimes. She wouldn’t be working, but instead just enjoying the view of the orchard or fields, her head cocked and her mind in another place.
Ja
, you look like her, all right.”

Rose touched her hand to her cheek. “I do?”

He nodded. “She had long, blonde hair that fell down her back. I’d watch it move when she walked because Mem’s hair was never like that.”

There were steps heading up to a loft and Marcus sat on them. The light from the window lit the front area, but Rose had no desire to look into the other rooms. She’d seen them enough times in her nightmares. Why would she want to peer into their murky darkness?

Marcus looked around. “Your mem used to have yellow curtains in that window and all sorts of pretty things around. I remember that because it looked so different from our place. And so many colors. A red tablecloth, a blue vase, some paintings on the wall—maybe ones she did herself. I’ve always thought that’s where you got yer love of pretty things.”

“I never knew.” Rose wanted to ask more, but just that one thought was enough to carry around and turn over in her mind for a while. Instead she headed to the front door.

Marcus heaved himself off the step. They exited, and she paused on the porch. Tears filled her eyes.

“They did it to save you, Rose. They did it because of love. After Daisy died … well, this place was gloomy, even with all the bright colors. And when you became sick …”
He released a sigh. “I know they thought you were next. I know their decision meant you had a chance to live—to have a good life. I have no doubt.”