The Christmas Cradle (13 page)

As Miriam gazed down the length of her crowded extended kitchen table on Thanksgiving, she had many blessings to be grateful for. She spooned some stuffing onto her plate, smiling at Ben. “When ya built this home, how'd ya know we'd be needin' such a big kitchen and a table with so many leaves?” she asked. “Twenty people we've got here today, and they all fit in this one room.”

Ben held her gaze for a lovely moment. “From the first, I knew your mission was to feed people, honey-girl,” he replied beneath the chatter going on around them. “I'm happy I could help ya make that happen. Glad our family and extended family have blessed us with their presence today.”

Miriam nodded. Except for Rachel, who was eating dinner with the Brennemans this noon, and Ben's Aunt Jerusalem, who was celebrating with Vernon's family in Cedar Creek, all of her girls and the Hooleys were here. She smiled as she watched newlywed Nora chatting with her daughter Millie Glick, and she was pleased that Gabe and Wilma, Atlee, Lizzie, and little Ella Glick had come, too, so Wilma didn't have to cook. Ben's Aunt Nazareth and Bishop Tom sat at the far end of the table with Rhoda, Andy, and their kids—as well as Andy's mother, Betty. All of these folks had come through times of trial to find new lives this past year, and Miriam felt honored to have been part of their journeys.

Beside Miriam, Lena was tucking away a plateful of corn casserole, turkey that Josiah had roasted before he left, mashed potatoes and gravy—and she was taking a second helping of cranberry sauce. “Sure do appreciate your helpin' me make all this food,” Miriam told her. “Your glazed carrots are a big hit! Rhoda's kids love them, so that bowl's nearly empty.”

“Mamm always fixed those for our Thanksgiving dinners,” she replied wistfully. “I can't help but wonder who might be at home eating dinner right now—”

“Why not call them?” Miriam encouraged her. “I'm sure your
mamm
would be glad to hear your voice, even if ya just leave a message.”

Lena sighed. “When I was leaving with Josiah, Dat made it clear I wasn't to bother them anymore,” she replied. “But if it's all right with you, I might call Josiah this afternoon. I bet he and Savilla are way too busy packing to enjoy a nice meal today.”

“Fine idea. Give them our best,” Miriam said. It bothered her that Lena's family had cast her out so coldly—although Nora had lived through that same situation when she'd been carrying Millie. As Miriam watched the two redheads laughing together, mother and daughter, she asked the Lord for a similar reconciliation in Lena's family. God already knew whether their relationship would heal, but it never hurt to request His special attention when a baby was involved.

“I'm proud of ya, Lena,” Miriam insisted as she passed the crescent rolls. “You're handlin' this situation better than I would've at your age. Keep on believin' your life'll work out for the best and that's what'll happen.”

When Lena focused on her dinner again, Miriam noticed how her arm remained wrapped around her unborn child—and how a grimace flickered across Lena's face. As a blue-eyed blonde, Lena often looked pale, but today she appeared very fragile. Lost in her own little world.

Miriam gripped her forkful of corn casserole. Once again that voice that resembled Vernon's had spoken to her. The words came from a story about Jesus telling Simon Peter that caring for those around him was the earthly work he'd been commissioned to do.

As Miriam contemplated what these words might mean to her, her crowded kitchen rang with conversation and laughter while the people she loved most were stuffing themselves silly with too much food. So why was she being reminded to feed Jesus's sheep?

These words were your mission statement when ya opened the café with Naomi.
Miriam blinked. She'd begun baking full-time because she believed that feeding people was a special talent God had blessed her with. Yet last week, He'd told her to leave her restaurant and live according to the
Ordnung
, and to take up a different life purpose.

Miriam let the words of Psalm 100 seep into her soul. Why was she so focused on this still, small voice while nineteen other people conversed in her kitchen? Although no one else seemed to notice, she felt as if a special messenger had taken her aside.

When she glanced at Lena again, Miriam felt a jolt of understanding. Lena and Josiah were vulnerable lambs who'd lost their way. And even though Savilla was more mature, she was leaving the only home she'd ever known, boxing up memories of her grandparents and the parents who'd died when she was so young. It was no mistake that Josiah and Lena had gotten lost in a snowstorm and had found their way to her door because the Lord never left anything to chance. He worked out His purpose even during the least notable moments, whether or not His sheep listened or obeyed His commands.

As this concept sank in, Miriam accepted it. Sometimes God made it rain for forty days and nights, and sometimes He whispered hints into His followers' ears. There was no mistaking His message now, however. If He intended for Miriam to shepherd the young sheep He'd herded into her life, wasn't that more worthwhile—much more important—than running a café? Considering that Lena's baby might be born any day now, Miriam knew she had no time to waste.

As her own unborn child shifted in her swollen belly, Miriam was filled with gratitude. She emerged from her soul searching to participate in Thanksgiving dinner again, knowing why it was so important to remain at home. Three precious lambs—and a new baby—would depend upon her love for the next several weeks.

When Ben caught her eye, Miriam smiled.
I love you, Bennie-bug
, she mouthed.

Her husband reached beneath the table to caress her protruding belly.
I'm so glad I'm yours
, he replied silently. His beard rippled with a smile that made his hazel eyes shine.
You and me—and baby makes three.

Miriam felt her face turning pink. God had guided this fine younger man to her doorstep a year ago—and who could have foreseen the wondrous love they had shared ever since?

Miriam pressed her hand on top of Ben's and held it against their shifting baby. She knew her time at the Sweet Seasons had been well spent, just as she now believed a more important purpose awaited her.

And she was finally ready to accept it.

 

 

As Josiah opened the box of delivery pizza, he was so tired he almost didn't care that the turkey he'd roasted Tuesday morning wasn't on his own table. Almost.

“Good thing the pizza place isn't closed today,” Savilla said as she took a steaming slice. “With all these boxes piled around us, we won't be fixing any more food in this kitchen. That's kind of sad.”

“Miriam's kitchen is full of people right now and her table's loaded with all sorts of great food,” Josiah murmured. He didn't have the heart to mention how much cheerier the Hooley kitchen was, either, because the house they'd grown up in had faded into a shabby state of disrepair. “It's a little late to ask, but do you think we've done the right thing? I never dreamed it would take so much work to clear this place out.”

Savilla's weary shrug told him she was feeling as wistful—and worn out—as he was.

For a moment, Josiah flashed back to Thanksgiving dinners of his childhood, when this house had rung with the stories and laughter of aunts, uncles, and their grandparents. It made him very sad that except for Savilla, everyone in his family had either moved or passed away. It bothered him, as well, that he couldn't remember what his
mamm
and
dat
looked like, and couldn't recall their voices.

He studied his sister's face, trusting Mammi's remarks about how Savilla was the image of their mother. “I'm sorry I've overturned your life, sis,” he murmured. “I've made a lot of major decisions lately without considering your feelings.”

Savilla's blue eyes widened. “Is this the voice of reason and responsibility I'm hearing?” she asked softly. “Or are you so exhausted you're out of your head?”

Josiah laughed and grabbed another slice of pizza. “I can't
ever
recall being this sore and worn out,” he admitted. “But when our helpers come tomorrow, we'll be a lot readier for them to load the wagons. That was a
gut
idea you had, getting us a Dumpster.”

Savilla smiled glumly. “Most of the stuff in the house is worn out or broken. Not worth packing.”

“
Jah
, Mammi used everything until it fell apart. Growing up, I never felt we were poor—but I was also clueless about how short the money got after Dawdi had to stop working.”

“She was an expert at making a little go a long way,” Savilla agreed. Her dust-smudged face flickered with a smile. “I think she'd be pleased that we've found a town where there's more opportunity to support ourselves with our catering.”

“
Denki
for saying that. Our lives went on the same way for so many years,” Josiah remarked as he reached for more pizza, “and then
bang!
Everything changed at once.”

“We've done some scrambling lately,
jah
. But we've landed on our feet,” Savilla insisted. “Long as we stick together—”

A guitar riff played in Josiah's shirt pocket and he grabbed his cell phone. “It's a call from Willow Ridge—”

“Answer it! They wouldn't be calling unless it was important.”

Was Lena having her baby? Josiah's mouth went dry as he pressed the button on his phone. What with having to clean out the house so quickly, he'd not responded to Miriam's challenge about being
in
or
out
of Lena's life. Once again, his priorities hadn't been in order, had they? “
Jah
, hullo?”

“Josiah! We've finished dinner and I wanted to hear how you're doing,” Lena said. “Even with a houseful of people, it's not the same without you here.”

Josiah's eyes closed. Lena sounded fine, thank goodness. He pictured her sitting in the phone shanty behind the café as he savored the sweetness of her voice, her words. “Savilla and I are taking a pizza break. I can only imagine all the wonderful-
gut
food you and Miriam cooked up for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I don't know how she does it,” Lena replied in a breathy voice. “We had the table extended out so far that twenty people were gathered around it! And your turkey was fabulous, Josiah. Everybody said to tell you so.”

When Savilla scooted her chair back to leave him to his conversation, Josiah motioned for her to stay put. He envied Lena—not just because she'd enjoyed a traditional Thanksgiving dinner but because everyone in Miriam's kitchen
cared
about her. “Roasting that turkey was a small favor, considering how much the Hooleys have done for us,” he said wistfully. “Savilla and I have made a lot of progress, but we have a long way to go.”

Lena's soft sigh tickled his ear. “I bet that's a tougher job than you thought. You're both saying good-bye to your lifelong home.”

A pang of realization sliced through him. Lena had immediately recognized the emotional consequences of selling his family's farm, and it struck Josiah that because of him—because they'd made a baby without being married—Lena had lost her lifelong home, as well. Why had it taken him so long to figure out what his sister and his girlfriend had known all along?

“You've got that right,” Josiah murmured. “Most of the furnishings and Mammi's belongings aren't worth bringing to Willow Ridge, and they're too worn out to donate to the thrift stores. That's a sad thing to say about the stuff she loved.”

Lena got so quiet that Josiah checked to see if their call had cut out. “Um, does that mean you and Savilla won't be finding a house in Willow Ridge?” she finally asked.

Josiah heard anxiety in her remark and didn't know what to say. Had Lena set her heart on living with him and Savilla instead of staying with the Hooleys? She seemed so comfortable there.
Why can't you get it through your head that she wants to be with you—to be a family and have a home?

“We'll be moving into a place as soon as we find one,” Josiah murmured. “I hate to bother Ben and Miriam any longer than we have to.” His conscience prodded him to reassure Lena that she would have a place in their home, too, but he didn't want to start a discussion about marriage over the phone. So he changed the subject. “How are you feeling, Lena? I bet you've been on your feet a lot, helping Miriam.”

Her sigh told him more than he wanted to hear. “I tried not to let on during dinner,” she admitted, “but my back's killing me and I can't find a comfortable position to sit in. When I return to the
dawdi haus
, I'll probably rest in my room. The house is really noisy today, and I don't feel like making conversation.”

Warning flares went up in Josiah's mind. Did the symptoms she'd mentioned signal the coming of the baby? “Sounds like a
gut
idea,” he hastened to assure her. “I bet it's cold in the phone shanty, so I should let you go—but it was really nice of you to call, Lena. Nice of you to think of us.”