Christmas Visitor (12 page)

Lillian gazed in disbelief at the doll in the box, the wrapping paper in shreds at her feet. “An dolly (A doll).” She could only whisper the words, so great was her delight. Mamie watched her tenderly and had to put a hand to her eyes to hide the ever-present tears of love that lay just below the surface.

John watched quietly. Then he got up and slowly lifted the lids of the boxes he had brought in, extracting one neatly wrapped package with a huge red bow on top. Ruth saw the bow and stored it away mentally, knowing it would adorn the gift that she would give to her parents on Second Christmas.

For the Amish, the day after Christmas is called Ztvett Grishtdag (Second Christmas). It is merely a continuation of Christmas Day, allowing for additional gatherings and festivities with the typically large extended families. Ruth looked forward to the time with her parents and siblings.

These days of Christmas always meant large meals, plentiful and generous gifts, afternoons of singing Christmas songs, and eating lots of snacks and delicious pastries. There was homemade candy, cookies, and trays of fruit, and the children playing endlessly with their cousins as the tempo of the day was fueled by their sheer exuberance along with a good dose of sugar.

“Elmer!” John said and smiled as he beckoned the boy to him.

Shyly, blinking self-consciously, Elmer went to receive his gift, muttering a quiet, “Denke (Thank you),” before returning to his seat, where he held onto it, unsure of what to do.

“Machs uf! (Open it!)”

Mamie gave him clear orders but then felt she was being bossy, if only for a second, Ruth could tell. Elmer looked at Ruth, waiting for her approval. She nodded her head.

It was unbelievable! Ruth could tell by his numb expression that the contents of the box extended far beyond his belief. An entire set of bird books and real binoculars! What a gift! Elmer couldn't say a word. He just picked up the binoculars and turned them over and over in his hand, tracing his finger over the sturdy field glasses before lifting them to his eyes.

Eph said he'd be up to borrow them right before hunting season, then slapped his knee and laughed very loudly, bringing a smile to John's face. Ruth thought he would, likely.

When John called Roy's name, the boy catapulted from his seat, scooped up the large box, and plunked it on the floor, already ripping the green and red wrapping paper from it. His eyes bulged, and he yelled. He yelled and yelled and yelled. He didn't stop even when he held up a large, heavy skateboard and dove back into the box to retrieve a set of knee and elbow pads in the same brilliant blue and darkest black hues as the skateboard.

Ruth shook her head at John and mouthed, “Too expensive.” She was rewarded by a look so generous it took her breath away.

Esther's box contained the exact same thing, except hers was pink and black. Very, very pink
—
more like florescent magenta! She looked straight at John and said as maturely as possible, “Thank you, John. It's exactly what I wanted.”

It was only later, in the privacy of her room, that she threw the skateboard on the bed, flung the knee and elbow pads on top, raised her arms high, and did a sort of tap dance, all by herself, where no one could see. She was just thrilled.

Barbara didn't have a package, so she thought, until John told her to wait a minute and went outside. He returned with a little wooden table and two benches. He told her to wait again while he went back out and brought in two chairs, one for each end.

Barbara smiled behind both hands. Then she sat down on the bench, patting the space beside her. John doubled up his tall frame and sat very carefully on the small space she allowed him. They both tilted their heads to one side and smiled very grown up smiles at each other.

It was as if John could not help himself, then, and he reached out an arm and squeezed her affectionately. She settled an elbow on his leg and kept it there while Mamie blinked furiously, her mouth working as she clamped a hand across it to keep her emotions in check.

Lillian had a large package wrapped in children's giftwrap with Winnie-the-Pooh all over it, dressed in Christmas reds and greens. The box held a child's vacuum, a broom, mop, and dustpan, a small ironing board, and a highchair for her doll. Very solemnly, she pulled each thing from the box, piece by piece, then stood up straight as a flagpole and asked where her iron was.

John became a bit flustered, but he got down on his knees and poked around in the box, finally coming up with an iron to go with the ironing board, relief clearly written on his face.

Lillian took it, examined it carefully, and said, “Thank you, John.” She set up the ironing board and plopped it on top. She ironed for the remainder of the evening, pausing only when Waynie got in her way.

Finally John brought Ruth a brilliant sparkly gift, the light catching the silver glints in the red wrapping.

“It's heavy!” she gasped.

“Is it?”

Mamie hovered over Ruth, a protective friend and a very nosy one, John did not fail to see. He watched as the small hands carefully lifted the wrap beneath the scotch tape and folded it neatly away, repurposing it in her mind along with the bow.

When she opened the box, a small gasp of surprise escaped Ruth's lips, and her eyes filled with tears. Mamie's piercing shriek carried across the room, slammed into the walls, and ricocheted back to John's ears.

“Ruth!”

“Oh my!”

“Mam!”

“It's what you wanted!”

There it lay
—
the rubbed luster of the cherry wood an oval of perfection, the glass so clear and clean, the face so golden and white. It was a Swiss rhythm clock, nestled in white tissue paper with the batteries tucked in at the bottom. A clock is a traditional Amish engagement gift, but that didn't even cross Ruth's mind. All she could think to say at the moment was a simple, breathless “Denke.”

They carefully lifted it out of its box, inserted the batteries, and huddled around with bated breath, watching in wonder as the small castle below the face turned back and forth.

When the hands reached the eight and the twelve, the soft strains of “Amazing Grace” pealed from the beautiful clock, and Ruth lifted her face to John's, touched his arm with her fingertips, and told him it was the most wonderful gift anyone had ever given her. And she meant it.

Was it because she was older, more spiritually aware? Or was it the surprising joy of a second chance when she had felt so alone? Whatever it was, the wonder of this beautiful timepiece infused her Christmas season with the magic that is only carried by a truly grateful heart.

Christmas Eve lasted on onto Christmas Day, as Ruth knew it would. Ephraim and Mamie and the children settled themselves in, delighted by this opportunity to become better acquainted with John.

They made hot chocolate with Mamie's recipe. When she found out Ruth had no Reddi-whip, Mamie put on her coat and scarf and marched the whole way home for some of her own, saying hot chocolate was not the same without it.

John declined the sweet drink. After all that bother, Mamie fussed at him, but he smiled and said he was a black coffee drinker, if that was okay. He certainly did not want to offend her. She said fine, drink what you like, but she was noticeably quieter than usual for the next half hour until Ruth made a big fuss about her hot chocolate recipe, which set things right.

They played Monopoly with the boys' new game. They ate candy and cookies, fruit, and Chex Mix and popcorn, until the house appeared to have been stuck by a hurricane.

Ruth winced as Waynie sat on the floor with a small chocolate bar melting in one little hand and a wedge of Rice Krispies treat in another. He was soon on his hands and knees, crawling across a braided rug that wasn't washable and leaving a trail of sugary stickiness in his wake. Meanwhile, Mamie waved her hands and exulted in her acquisition of Indiana Avenue, having finally acquired a set of three, her messy little son the last thing on her mind.

This was not lost on John, who watched Ruth watching Waynie, and knew she truly was an exceptional person.

Ephraim easily won the Monopoly game as Mamie dropped out early after spending all her money to put hotels on her properties. Unfortunately for her, no one landed on them, so she never collected any rent. She soothed her battered ego with the taco dip and tortilla chips, then made another batch of popcorn, and ate almost the whole bowlful by herself.

The children played and played. They laughed and shrieked and ran around the house until midnight, when even Esther began to yawn, and they all had to go to bed. A large air mattress was set up on the living room floor, and two children were tucked in on the couch with soft, clean sheets for each one. Soon Ephraim's children were nestled down for the remainder of their stay.

Weariness was creeping stealthily over Ruth by two o'clock, and John saw the shadows under her eyes and the heaviness of her eyelids. He stretched and yawned, saying it was way past his bedtime and he was going to call it a night.

Ephraim asked what in the world was wrong with him. The night was still young, and what was the use sleeping
—
that was all a waste of time. Mamie laughed hysterically at her husband and said she agreed. She was up for another game of Monopoly.

John stayed adamant, however, and Ruth told him how grateful she was as they washed dishes.

He stuffed wrapping paper in garbage bags, swept, and picked up toys for Ruth to put away. They hung the new clock on a large nail on the wall above the sofa, then stood back to admire it. It said 3:10.

“It's almost morning!” Ruth exclaimed.

“It's Christmas Day!”

“Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Ruth.”

And then, because he wanted to take her in his arms so badly, John decided to leave, and he did so rather hurriedly, leaving her with a great sense of loss and bewilderment. Ephraim and Mamie took their leave as well, prodding the older children awake for the walk home and picking up the sleeping little ones.

What had gone wrong? Why had John left so quickly, when she yearned for his arms to hold her close, embracing her in their safety and solidness? He had said nothing at all about seeing her again.

Miserably, she brushed her teeth, weariness seeping into her bones until she collapsed into bed and cried exhausted tears of disappointment.

It was Mamie. Ruth bet anything he didn't like her and her rowdy family. They shouldn't have come. But she was only being Mamie, her dear friend, her loyal supporter, and Ruth knew she could not desert her. If John wanted to be that way, then so be it.

Everyone slept till 8:30, when Benjamin's little grunts first woke her. Ruth rolled over, opened one eye, and found Benjy's eyes peering intently at her through the bars of his crib. Immediately, she was filled with good humor and called his name in soft tones. He lowered his head and kicked his legs and squirmed with happiness, then propped himself up on his hands and watched her again.

She got out of bed, scooped him up, and nestled him in the bed beside her. She held her baby close as she breathed in the smell of him, that mixture of Downy fabric softener and Johnson's baby shampoo and formula and pacifier. She tiptoed down the hallway to the living room to rock him in the recliner for a while.

The light was grayish white. It was snowing! On Christmas Day! She stood in her nightgown, holding Benjamin, and marveled at the clean beauty of the falling snow.

“Schnae! (Snow)!” she told Benjy. He smiled, his eyes alight, and reached for the new wonder in his life, so she took him out to the porch and let him touch it, delighting in the amazement in his eyes.

They had sausage gravy and homemade biscuits for breakfast with dippy eggs and toasted bread, leftover fruit, and cereal.

Lillian said her doll was named Goat, and when everyone made fun of her, she threw a terrible fit, kicking against the bench and screaming so loudly that Ruth had to take her away from the table. She returned to scold the children in firm tones, telling them Lillian was only three, and if she wanted to name her new doll Goat, she guessed they'd get used to it. Then she burst out laughing in spite of herself with all the children joining in, while poor Lillian lay on the couch and sniffled.

Well, it was Christmas, but with six children, these things happened, and no mistake about it. For a mother, it was called life
—
no matter what day of the year.

She was bewildered when Mamie tapped on the door, her wide face shining with exhilaration, excitement, and what else?

“Merry Christmas, Ruth!”

“Well, Mamie! What are you doing here?”

“You could wish me a nice Christmas,” she said, and Ruth promptly did.

“Thanks,” Mamie sniffed her indignation before announcing that she was babysitting.

“Who are you babysitting?”

“Your children.”

“But why?”

“Here.” Reaching into her coat pocket, Mamie brought out a sealed, white envelope with Ruth's name on it.

Completely puzzled, Ruth opened it and unfolded a plain sheet of paper. She read the words in Mamie's handwriting, but they made no sense. Please walk to this address. 11749 Gravel Road. Thank you.

Ruth looked up. “But why? Where on Gravel Road? Is it far? It's snowing.”

“Oh, just go. No, it's not far. Dress warmly.”

“What is going on, Mamie?”

Mamie was divesting herself of her coat, undoing the large silver safety pins as she spoke, the children watching, strangely quiet. The boys didn't ask to see the contents of the letter, which was strange. Esther and Barbara were setting their dishes on the table without any show of curiosity.

“I know. It's Ephraim. He's playing a trick on me.”

“No, he'd never do that on Christmas Day. He's still in bed, sound asleep. You know how lazy he is on holidays.”

And some other days, Ruth thought, but said nothing. She combed her hair hurriedly without bothering to wet it down or roll it tightly
—
just ran a comb through it and shrugged into her dress and apron, warm socks and boots. She donned her heavy, black coat and white headscarf and pulled on her gloves, but she couldn't conceal her bewilderment.

Mamie had settled herself in the recliner with Benjamin on her lap, showing him a small animal book and looking as clueless as the boys.

“Don't you care that I'm venturing out in this cold snow, perhaps putting my life in danger?” she asked Mamie, who looked up at her with guileless blue eyes and didn't as much as crack a smile.

Was it just her imagination then or did she actually see the boys and Mamie peering out from the front window, glee plastered all over their ­faces? What was going on?

The snow was gorgeous, though, and her spirit responded to the clean stillness of it as she reveled in the hushed whisper of the falling snow. She loved how it clung to fencepost tops and tree branches. It was piling up on roofs and mailboxes and bushes, changing the drab landscape into a clean, white wonderland.

God was amazing, the way He designed each new season with the brilliance of newly fallen snow a great boost to late fall's frozen drabness.

11749. Where in the world? Oh. There was the Petersheim place. She'd have to check the mailbox. What if there was no number on it? She looked to the left, then right, standing still at the end of Hoosier Road, indecisive.

He stood inside, peering anxiously through the windows, the trees in the front yard a filament of snowy lace obscuring his view. All morning, he'd been pacing, watching. Would she come?

11749 was the Petersheim place, but the fact that John had bought it and now lived there somehow eluded Ruth on that snowy morning. It must have been the minimal amount of sleep. Five hours of it, to be exact.

She walked along the winding driveway. It was on level ground with great trees on either side, and beyond them the whispering snow fell, creating a scene from some other world, a fictional land.

The house had two stories with a porch along the front. There was stone of brown and gray, low windows and a massive front door, alcoves, dark beige siding, and roofs of various levels.

It couldn't be the Petersheim place. It looked like an English house, almost. Oh my.

Ruth had never actually been at the house before. Her church district stopped at the end of Hoosier Road, so a neighboring district had their church services there.

There was a large barn, a shop, a stone sidewalk that had been swept clear of snow. There were pine trees and bird feeders alive with colorful winter birds. Brilliant red cardinals vied for position with bold blue jays, and anxious little black-capped chickadees twittered about, while the wily nuthatches climbed down tree trunks headfirst.

The shrubs were numerous, trimmed with a shelf of snow. Oh, what a beautiful home. Hesitant now, her steps slowed. Carefully, she placed one foot on the stone sidewalk and looked at the house.

The front door moved, opening from inside. John Beiler stood in the doorway and welcomed her to his home. Blank, her mind not comprehending, she stopped.

“But…”

His heart pounded now, afraid.

“Come in. You must be cold.”

“No.”

“Aren't you?”

“No. I just don't understand.”

She stopped by the front door and pulled off her boots, one gloved hand going to the stone wall to steady herself. John told her to bring them into the house, and she set them carefully on the rug inside the door before looking up into his face. He was so pale, so obviously ill at ease.

“Why did you ask me to come to here? It was you, wasn't it? What did Mamie have to do with this? What's going on?”

Ruth looked so bewildered, so at a loss. John was so terribly unsure of himself, too. He knew he couldn't wait until he'd shown her around the house to say what he had planned, so he left caution behind and put his hands on her shoulders, which were still wet from the snow.

“I'm nervous, Ruth. I….oh, come here.”

He pulled her into his arms, lifted her face after a few moments, looked deeply into her eyes, and slowly lowered his head. She closed her eyes as his lips met hers, hesitantly, afraid somehow, but her love spoke to him, and he kissed her with a new and wonderful love of his own.

“Ruth. Ruth.”

It was all he could say.

Tears streamed down her face, cleansing her of the months of grief and loneliness, the doubts and fears, the fires of widowhood, the times when she thought she could not go on for one more day.

When he realized she was crying, John was concerned, afraid he'd done everything all wrong.