Winter of Wishes (16 page)

Rhoda hung her head. Her mother was being much kinder than she had expected.

“But I still believe that all things work out for them that love the Lord,” Mamma
went on softly. She stroked Rhoda’s cheek, lifting her chin to gaze into her eyes.
“And I believe the Lord has His way of showin’ us what’s best, even if it’s not what
we’ve been hopin’ for or expectin’. No matter what comes of this, you’ll always be
my daughter and I’ll always love ya, Rhoda.”

“Oh, Mamma.” Her words came out as a sigh. She wished it were easier to walk away
from her intense feelings for a man she wasn’t supposed to want . . . a man she’d
known for only a couple of weeks.

“Let’s get our rest now. Things’ll look better in the morning.” Mamma gestured for
Rhoda to precede her up the stairs. “And if ya still want to work someplace other
than the Sweet Seasons, we can ask around. Life’s too short when you’re happy at what
ya do—and too long when you’re not.”

Andy jammed his foot on the brake just as the traffic light turned red. When cars
rushed into the intersection from both directions, he realized how close he’d come
to getting crushed in the cross traffic. He was on his way to two exams he hadn’t
studied enough for, while his children’s protests replayed in his mind . . .

“I don’t believe you! Rhoda wouldn’t leave us!” Brett had declared vehemently. Then
he had refused to eat breakfast.

Taylor had begun crying so hard she could barely talk. “But we did our best to . .
. I—I thought she loved us, Daddy.”

Andy closed his eyes against the uproar in his mind, against the pain of their morning’s
discussion in the kitchen, until a honking horn behind him urged him to drive ahead.
Rhoda
did
love his kids, and his mother, and . . . was he assuming too much, thinking she might
feel a spark for him, as well? He had barely gotten Brett and Taylor out the door
in time to catch their bus, and he sensed his mother had dragged herself back to bed
to remain there until he roused her this evening. She had looked so disappointed.
So confused and defeated.

His exam on health-care ethics went by in a blur. An hour later, when he sat for the
final on pediatric and obstetrical nursing, Andy’s eyes were skipping entire sentences
of the questions and he caught himself checking off answers before he had fully considered
all of the choices. He left the lecture hall with the sinking feeling he had just
blown his chance at that obstetrics position Dr. LaFarge had held open for him.

All because of kisses. And two rides home
.

But his state of mental chaos involved more than what had happened on the road between
New Haven and Willow Ridge. He was in withdrawal, craving Rhoda’s efficiency and sunny
sense of humor, and he knew of no cure for it. When Hiram Knepp had told him he had
no place in the Amish church, or in Rhoda’s life, something inside him had whimpered
and curled into a ball.

Now, however, Andy felt the same fiery defiance Miriam Lantz had displayed last night.
He returned home from campus, devoured three sugar cookies from the platter on the
kitchen counter, and then plopped down on the couch. He turned the Amish manger scene
so it faced him, marveling at the intricate details of the figures’ clothing and their
gifts for the Christ Child. Rhoda had paid a hefty amount for this hand-carved set,
further evidence of her affection for his family . . .

As Andy carefully held the carved manger, where a faceless baby lay beneath a painted
patchwork quilt, it occurred to him that Jesus had been born into a family and a situation
as conflicted as his. Had Mary and Joseph not followed angelic advice, God’s son would
have been slain by a jealous King Herod before He could even walk. All through His
life,

Christ had faced opposition, disapproval, and rejection, yet with God’s help He had
triumphed over death to change the world with His message of love and hope.

It’s not over until it’s over!
Andy’s heart beat faster, yet easier. He craved absolution as much as his family
demanded closure . . . and no domineering Amish bishop would stop them from getting
what they needed.

Spurred on by this surge of determination, Andy buried himself in online research
for the next couple of hours. Once again he followed links to articles about Old Order
ways . . .
to become Amish you must live among the Amish to show that you’ve given up modern
ways
, he read.
You must learn the Amish language, Pennsylvania Dutch, which is based on German .
. .

Andy paused. He’d done pretty well in his high school German classes, and it hadn’t
been all that difficult for him to pick up on the Latin he’d needed for his nursing
classes. If he could find a willing tutor . . .

He resumed his reading, more intent now.
You must give away worldly possessions . . . wear Amish clothing . . . take instruction
and be baptized into the faith. It may take years for the Amish to accept you so that
you can become one of them.

Andy exhaled wearily. What was he thinking? If it depended upon Bishop Knepp’s acceptance,
he and his family would never become members of the Willow Ridge congregation . .
.

Andy shook his head, noticing it was nearly time for the kids to get home from school.
It was surely another sign that his brain was fried, that he was even remotely considering
joining the Amish church. What would he do for a living? From what he’d read, only
unmarried girls could teach in an Amish school, and he probably wouldn’t be allowed
to practice nursing—if indeed he passed his exams. Where would he live if he had to
give up this home in New Haven? How would he and the kids get by without their computers,
the TV, and his car? He imagined himself wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a vest, like
the figures in the Nativity scene—

Yet when the kids came through the door a few minutes later, he held up his hands
to stop the questions and the protests he saw on their long faces. “Here’s the deal,”
he announced. “If you don’t mope and whine and argue with me about Rhoda’s leaving,
we’ll go to the Sweet Seasons for breakfast on Saturday. To celebrate me finishing
my tests and getting my degree.”

“And we’ll see Rhoda there?” Taylor asked cautiously.

“Most likely. But she’ll be working, understand,” he replied. “And there’ll be other
people eating there, of course. Saturday is probably their busiest day.” Once again
Andy wondered if he’d lost his mind. Would this visit be a way to restore their sanity?
Or would seeing Rhoda only make them all miss her more? At least he wouldn’t have
to eat cold cereal.

“Why can’t we go there
now
?” Brett demanded.

He’d thought of that option himself at least a dozen times today. “Sorry, bud. They
closed at two,” Andy answered. “They only serve breakfast and lunch, because they
believe in eating dinner at home with all the family together.”

“So why don’t we call and ask if we can go to Rhoda’s house for supper?” The wistful
twinkle in Taylor’s eye said she knew the answer to that, but at least her question
made them all chuckle.

Andy shrugged, wishing he could go along with their suggestions. “It’s Saturday or
not at all. Sorry.”

“Saturday!
Yesss!
” Brett cried out. “You in, Taylor?”

“Yesss!”
she echoed.

“Can we bring home a . . . pie and some fresh cinnamon . . . rolls?”

They turned to see Andy’s mother leaning heavily on her walker as she reached the
end of the hallway, but at least she was up and interested in their discussion. Andy
smiled at her. “Mom, we can bring home whatever you want.”

“Then we’ll be . . . bringing Rhoda back,” she replied pointedly. “She’s . . .
gut
for all of us. Especially
you
, Son.”

Heat crept up out of his collar as the kids’ eyes widened. Maybe he’d better clarify
the situation right here and now. “Unfortunately, she got into trouble because I took
her home,” Andy hedged. “It’s against Amish religious rules for her to ride in a car
with an unmarried, un-Amish guy. So it was her bishop and one of the preachers who
declared she had to stop working for us.”

When he saw questions dawning on Taylor’s face, Andy drew upon what he’d read online.
“The Lantz family is close-knit, and Rhoda’s been baptized into the church, so I don’t
see her going against her religious beliefs to be our caretaker anymore,” he explained
softly. “If she leaves her Old Order Amish faith, the church members will excommunicate
her. And they believe she won’t go to heaven to be with Jesus when she dies. I don’t
want to cause her family that kind of grief.”

Brett got very quiet. He went to sit on the couch beside his sister, who had picked
up the carved figurine of the baby in the manger. “How could Jesus not love Rhoda?
He knows how much she’s helped us,” Taylor murmured.

“And He knows how we behave better, because we
want
to, when Rhoda’s here,” Brett added somberly. “Jesus ought to give her a
lot
of points for puttin’ up with the names I’ve called her.”

“I wish it were that simple, kids.” Andy was pleased that his children were considering
matters of faith on such a deep level—surely another accomplishment he could credit
to Rhoda. She didn’t preach at them, but she spoke openly about her beliefs, a topic
Andy hadn’t gotten around to often enough.
Just one more reason Rhoda’s good for all of us.

“Well, then,” he said with pointed cheerfulness, “we’ll go to the Sweet Seasons on
Saturday morning. We’ll be on our best behavior, too, so Rhoda and her mom will be
glad we came. Meanwhile, I could use some help getting supper on the table.”

 

 

Miriam saw them come in—two inquisitive children followed by a stooped woman clinging
to Andy Leitner as she shuffled through the door. Four sets of eyes eagerly scanned
the crowd in the Sweet Seasons dining room, looking for Rhoda, no doubt.

Miriam stopped rolling her pie crusts to observe them from the kitchen. She reminded
herself to remain open-minded and objective, for her daughter’s sake, because once
Hiram spotted them from his table on the far right, the situation might boil over
faster than an unwatched pot. The two preachers, Tom and Gabe, sat at a table catty-corner
to the bishop’s, observing Hiram’s ban by not eating with him. But they would certainly
join in on whatever discussion he started about Rhoda and her involvement with Andy.
In their usual center spot, the three Brenneman brothers, the two Kanagy boys, and
the three Hooleys chatted noisily as they ate their breakfast.

Rebecca, bless her, seated the Leitners at a table on the left side of the café. Miriam’s
heart quivered when she saw that Andy and his kids immediately noticed Rebecca’s resemblance
to Rhoda and Rachel even though she wore jeans and a T-shirt with a canary-yellow
sweatshirt she’d called a
hoodie
. Rachel was ringing folks up at the cash register, unaware that anyone of special
interest had arrived.

Rhoda was at the big stove, holding a metal bin from the buffet table as Naomi filled
it with steaming hash browns cooked with onions and bell peppers. As the two of them
then topped the potatoes with a layer of crumbled cooked sausage, an excited voice
rang out in the dining room.

“Rhoda the ’Ranga-tang! We came to see ya!”

Rhoda’s head popped up and the look on her face said it all: not only did she recognize
that little-boy voice, but she lit up brighter than the star of Bethlehem at the sound
of it. “Brett!” she called out, oblivious to the way the folks out front were watching
this exchange. “Brett the Baboon, is that you?”

Miriam then witnessed Rhoda’s true feelings for this family and saw that those emotions
were mutual: the Leitner children rushed between the tables to hug Rhoda as she came
out of the kitchen, while Andy . . . Andy stood watching his children lavish their
affection on Rhoda, with a wistfulness that touched Miriam’s soul. He might be English,
but he was sincere—and he was as crazy about Rhoda as she was about him. Ben Hooley
had the same devotion and desire written all over his face every time he looked at
her
.

“Well, now. That has to be the family your girl was helpin’ these past couple weeks,”
Naomi remarked as she came to Miriam’s counter to watch the reunion. “Nice lookin’
fella, that dad is. And what do ya make of that? His
mamm
’s wearin’ a Plain-style outfit, apron and all, except the dress is a perty print
like you’d see our Mennonite friends wearin’.”

“
Jah
, Rhoda drew up the pattern and sewed it for her.”

“Ya don’t say.” Naomi’s expression registered her recognition of the depth of Rhoda’s
involvement with the Leitners. “I get the feelin’ Hiram’s not gonna sit still much
longer.”

“The bishop’s already gotten his two-cents’-worth in,” Miriam murmured. She ran water
on a tea towel, rung it dry, and then spread it over her pie crusts and dough to keep
them from drying out. “Ya might as well know, Naomi. Rhoda’s in hot water—already
confessed to Preacher Tom—about ridin’ home in Andy’s car because it was too late
to call Sheila Dougherty when he got off an emergency shift at the hospital. Hiram’s
ordered her to sit up front next preachin’ Sunday, to confess. No doubt he’ll recommend
we shun her.”

“Oh no.” Naomi squeezed Miriam’s wrist. “What a shame that you and I understand how
ridin’ with Andy was probably the only practical way for Rhoda to get home, while
the preachers’ll see that she pays the full penalty for—”

“Seems Ira Hooley and Millie Glick saw Rhoda and Andy kissin’ in his car, too.” There.
Miriam could finally spell out what had lain so heavily on her heart. It didn’t right
her daughter’s wrong behavior, but she felt better for sharing such a burden with
her best friend before it became common gossip.

“Oh, Miriam, I’m so sorry you’ve had to—”

“Don’t be sorry for me, Naomi,” she murmured. “Send up some prayers instead. We’re
gonna need them.” She caught a movement in the opposite corner of the crowded dining
room. “I’d best get out there. Hiram and I have already clashed about Rhoda’s situation,
and the last thing we need is a confrontation in front of our customers.”