Anna's Gift (12 page)

Samuel started to protest, but Aunt Jezebel silenced him by simply raising a tiny hand. “You're thinking it's not fair,” she said, “that most of those boys got to drive a girl home and sit with her in her house in privacy. I have to say what I have to say about the two of you courting and then you won't hear any more from me on the matter, either of you.”

“We're not courting,” Anna protested. “At least, not yet.”

“I'm courting,” Samuel said. “She's the one who's undecided.”

“Then it's good I say this now.” Aunt Jezebel toyed with her own cup, turning it around and around. Anna knew her aunt was fond of spinning things; she usually made three circles before she was satisfied. “I know you
might think we're being overprotective of Anna. Maybe watching over her closer than her sisters might have been watched.” She tapped a finger on the table. Three times. “I don't want you to take it personal, Samuel, but it's because you are a man grown, and in some ways Anna is still innocent.”

Anna felt her face flame. She stared at her lap, rolling the hem of her apron into a tight ball. Was Aunt Jezebel really making a reference to what went on between a man and a wife in the privacy of their bedroom?

“Where you are used to living a married life,” Aunt Jezebel continued, “our Anna is a good girl. We trust her.”

“I'd never do anything to harm Anna or shame her, Jezebel. You need to know that about me.”

Aunt Jezebel's pale blue eyes took on a piercing expression that Anna had never seen before. “I can see you'd never
intentionally
do anything to hurt our Anna, but we know that you are human, as are we all. We are frail, sometimes weak. And the call of the flesh can be strong.”

Samuel nodded. “That's true enough, I suppose.”

“Sanctioned by marriage, physical love is a beautiful thing,” Aunt Jezebel continued, “or so the preachers tell me. I never married myself. It wasn't God's plan for me. But Anna's mother and her family would not be doing their job to protect her if they—if
we
weren't careful.”

“I understand,” Samuel said. “But like I said, you have nothing to worry about in me. I've nothing but honorable intentions concerning Anna.”

“Good. Glad we've got that said between us.” Aunt Jezebel hit the table lightly three times with the palm of her hand, and then motioned to Anna. “Now fetch Samuel another piece of pie and refill his coffee cup. He has a cold drive home, and he'll need to fortify himself.”

“No need,” Samuel said, rising. “As you say, it's late. I should go.”

Anna walked to the porch with him. “You mustn't mind Aunt Jezebel,” she said softly, so Aunt Jezebel couldn't hear her. “She's old-fashioned and—”

“She was fine,” Samuel said. “She was just trying to make it clear that your family cares about you and wants what's best for you. I didn't mind.” He smiled at her. “Even if I did hope to steal a kiss tonight.”

Anna took a step back and pulled her father's old coat closer around her shoulders. “You'll get no kisses from me until we're joined in marriage—if we are. I'm still not at peace in my heart about this, Samuel. I'm honored by your asking, but…”

“Did you have fun tonight?”

“In spite of everything?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder at the kitchen. “Even after this
talk
with Aunt Jezebel?” She dared a little smile. “I did.”

“Good. Then that's where we'll leave it for now. Don't let me rush you into a decision you're not sure of. Stand your ground, Anna. I like it when you do.”

“All right,” she promised.

“You'll still be able to watch the children on Friday for me?”

“
Ya.
I will. Count on it. I'll come over early.” She hesitated. “Will you think about taking Naomi with you?”

He smiled and shrugged. “Once you get a thing in your head, you're as stubborn as your mother. I'll think about it.”

She offered him a shy smile, went back into the kitchen and closed the door firmly behind her. Inside, she found that Aunt Jezebel had already gone to bed, so she blew out the lamp and made her way up the staircase to her bedroom. The truth was, she wanted Samuel Mast
for her husband. She wanted him more than anything in the world…but she still wasn't convinced that she deserved him.

O
n Friday morning, Anna, Leah and Grossmama arrived at Samuel's at 7:00 a.m., just as Samuel was preparing to get into a gray van driven by an Englisher who Anna recognized. “Morning, Samuel,” she called. “Morning, Rodger.”

Leah reined in the horse and Samuel turned to smile at them. “You're here bright and early.”

Anna saw that there were other Amish already in the van, three men and two women. Only one was a member of their church, but she knew them all, and she waved to them as well. “Told you we would be here early,” Anna replied.
How fine Samuel looks,
she thought with a little thrill. Properly Plain, of course, but well dressed in solid boots, a new wool hat and a heavy coat. He looked like what he was—a solid and prosperous farmer.

Samuel walked over to the buggy. “The boys are finishing up morning chores, but the little ones are still abed. Mae had us up three times last night, with those bad dreams of hers. Screaming fit to bring the roof down. And when you wake her, she just cries and cries. Hope she's not a handful for you today.”

“You go enjoy the auction,” Anna assured him. “I'll look after the children.”

“Don't let them burn down the house,” he cautioned.

Leah chuckled. “We won't.”

Samuel returned to the van, opened its sliding door, raised his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and whistled.

Naomi came flying out of the house and down the walk, boots untied, her best black bonnet in one hand and a book in the other. “Don't leave without me! I'm coming, Dat!”

“Put on your bonnet, girl,” Samuel said. “What are you thinking?” She did as he bid her, and he straightened the bonnet over her white
kapp,
and tied the strings firmly under her chin. “Now, into the van. Hurry.” He tempered his firm words with a grin. “Driver won't wait all day.”

“So you decided to take Naomi after all?” Anna tried to suppress her satisfaction that Samuel had listened to her. “I'm so glad.”

“Told you I'd think on it,” he said. “Spoke to Joe, heard some other womenfolk would be there, so I thought, why not? It's a small thing to do, if it pleases you. Why not?”

“And Naomi,” she reminded him. “Your daughter most of all. It's not a small matter to her.” From her seat by the window, Naomi sat up tall and smiled shyly.

Leah waved and Naomi returned the wave.

“Have a good time,” Anna called.

“Can't say what time this will be over,” Samuel said, still looking at Anna.

“Don't worry. A hot supper will be waiting when you get here.”

“Make sure the boys get to school on time.”

The driver leaned toward Samuel and said something that Anna couldn't make out, and Samuel closed the slid
ing door and got into the front passenger seat. As the engine started, he rolled down the window and called, “I told Peter and Rudy that if there's trouble, I'll know the reason why.”

“Go!” Anna said, laughing.
Men.
To make such a fuss over being away from the farm for a day. As if she couldn't manage four children. As mischievous as boys could be, compared to Grossmama, dealing with Samuel's twins was a piece of cake.

By the time Lori Ann and Mae woke and wandered down to the kitchen in their long nightgowns, Anna had apple pancakes and sausage cooking on the big gas stove, and Leah was topping mugs of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows. Lori Ann rubbed her eyes and said, “Our dat—dat's g-g-gone away and you c-c-came to t-t-t-take care of us.” Mae only stared and popped her thumb into her mouth.

“Indeed we have,” Anna said. She noticed that Mae's feet were bare. Sweeping her up, she hugged her and wrapped her in a furry throw that was hanging near the cupboard, and plopped her down into Grossmama's arms. One looked as surprised as the other, but her grandmother nodded and began to rock the child and sing a lullaby to her in the old dialect.

“Mae had a—a—a b-bad dream l-l-last night,” Lori Ann said. “And—and she wet her night—nightgown.”

Mae hid her face in Grossmama's large bosom, but her stiff little body softened as she cuddled against the old woman. Grossmama stroked the child's back and whispered in her ear, “It's all right. Just a dream.”

Anna glanced at Leah, who shrugged. Whatever the reason, Anna was glad that her grandmother had obviously taken to Mae and the little girl to her.

Anna wiped her hands on a towel and crouched down
beside them. “This gown?” she asked, sniffing the material and feeling it. It felt dry, and all she could smell was the sweet scent of a clean child.

Lori Ann shook her head. “
Ne.
Naomi…she gave her a—a—a b-b-b-bath and put a-a-another nightgown on her.”

Anna pursed her lips and sighed. “She's a good sister, Naomi. She takes care of her like a little mother.”

“Me t-t-too,” Lori Ann ventured. “I—I—I'm a—a—a g-good g-g-girl.”

“Ya,”
Anna agreed, giving the child an approving glance. “You are a very good girl, to always think about your little sister.” Lori Ann straightened her shoulders and smiled. “The best,” Anna said.

She was so glad that Naomi had gotten to go with Samuel today. It wasn't fair that she spend her entire childhood taking care of a house and her younger siblings. Again came the thought that Samuel really needed a mother for the five of them. Providing a home and working a farm was work enough for any man, without having to do it all alone. Maybe this was God's wish for Anna, that she care for these children, even if there would be no love in the marriage. How was she supposed to know?

“Now, you go and eat your breakfast like a good girl, Martha.” Grossmama stood Mae on her feet. “And someone find some stockings and shoes for this baby before she catches the ague.”

“Can you show me where her things are?” Leah asked Lori Ann. The girl nodded and the two hurried off.

Anna lifted Mae into a plastic booster seat on a chair, and slid her up to the table. Anna took a sip of the hot chocolate to see that it wasn't too hot, and then handed the cup to the child. She glanced at the clock, then went
to the kitchen door, opened it and struck the iron triangle to call the boys to breakfast. Soon Rudy and Peter came charging in, Leah and Lori Ann returned with the thick stockings for Mae, and everyone, including Grossmama, gathered around the big table for breakfast.

“Look at those hands,” Grossmama snapped at Rudy. “You do not eat with hands like those. To the sink, both of you.” Her order encompassed a grinning Peter. “Soap. Scrub hard. You need clean hands for school.” The twins went without argument, and the rest of the meal passed by without a hitch.

Anna was glad she'd offered to bring Grossmama over early with her, rather than picking her up on the way to Byler's store. Mam had looked doubtful when she'd suggested it, but Aunt Jezebel had clearly been pleased to get a few hours' respite from her sister's constant complaints. And Leah had cheerfully offered to help out Anna for the day. Instead of a problem, Grossmama had turned out to be a blessing.

Getting her grandmother up and dressed in time to get Samuel's children off to school hadn't been difficult, because Lovina had gotten up before daylight every day of her life, and saw no reason to change her routine at this age. “This is a good house,” Grossmama said, after the boys left for school, leaving only the women and girls to clean up the kitchen. She waved a hand, taking in the spacious kitchen, the oak cupboards and the sturdy table that sat twelve. “I've always liked this house.”

“You've never been to Samuel's before, have you?” Leah asked.

“Snickerdoodles,” Grossmama snapped. “We moved here back in the spring of…well, I don't recollect the year exactly. Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. But two of my girls were born here—and my Jonas. He was the
best baby, if I do say so. Not colicky like Martha here.” She indicated Mae, who returned the attention with a lopsided smile. “A fine, healthy baby, my Jonas. A little woodchopper to help his father.”

Leah looked at Anna, and Anna shook her head. If Grossmama was satisfied, what good would it do to upset her by correcting her? Mae didn't seem to care that Lovina called her Martha, and Anna doubted there was much chance of winning the argument that this was Samuel's house and not Grossmama's.

“So,” Anna said, when the girls were dressed, the kitchen was shining and a pot of dried butter beans were soaking in a pot on the back of the stove. “Who wants to go to Byler's?”

“Me!” Lori Ann cried. Mae nodded.

Anna smiled at them. They looked so cute in their starched white
kapps
and cornflower-blue dresses that Samuel's sister, Louise, had sewn and sent from Ohio. Anna knew it was as hard for Louise to be separated from little Mae as it was for the child to be apart from the only mother she'd even known, but Louise had a big family of her own. Sending Mae back to Samuel had been a difficult choice, but the right thing to do. When a child had a loving father, she should be with him, not only for their sakes but for Naomi, Lori Ann and the boys.

Mae's return had shaken up the household in more ways than one. Lori Ann, who was naturally shy and had a speech problem, was no longer the baby; and Naomi, who was already overworked, had even more to do. Anna's heart went out to these motherless children. If only she knew for certain that there was the possibility that Samuel could learn to love her, despite her size and
lack of looks, she would have been thrilled to take on that challenge.

The back door banged open and Rudy dashed back in. “Where's our lunch?” he asked.

Anna looked at Leah. Leah grimaced. “I guess we forgot,” she admitted.

“Naomi is supposed to make our lunch,” Rudy said, rocking from one snowy boot to the other. He stood with the door still half open behind him.

“Shut that door,” Grossmama ordered. “Were you born in a barn, Jonas?”

“I'm Rudy,” he said, but he meekly pushed the door shut.

“I know who you are,” Grossmama said. “You're trying to trick me, pretending there's two of you, but I know better. You're my Jonas. But if you were Bishop Ash, I'd still tell you to shut that door and not let the heat out!”

Anna scanned Samuel's spacious kitchen. On wrought iron hooks near the door, three black lunch kettles hung. She opened one after another, but all were empty. “You go on to school,” she said to Rudy. “I'll make you each a lunch and drop it off in the cloak room as we go out to Byler's.”

“I want bologna,” Rudy said. “Two slices with cheese in the middle, and catsup on my bread. Potato chips. And cookies—six.”

“You'll eat what we give you,” Grossmama said, “And be glad to get it. When I was a girl, my Mam gave us boiled squirrels, still with the head and bones, and corn bread in our lunch pails and we were glad to get it. A bear killed our hogs, and all the meat we had one winter was wild game my father shot.” She made a shooing
motion. “Go on. You heard my Anna. Off to school with you, Jonas.”

Rudy stiffened. He started to say something, then eyed Grossmama warily, thought the better of it, and ducked back out onto the porch. Anna followed him.

“Don't worry,” she promised. “I'll give you plenty to eat.”

He spun around suddenly. “You aren't our Mam, you know,” he said in a mean voice. “And we don't like you. You're fat and ugly and Dat won't ever marry you.”

Anna gasped. Hurt tightened her throat. “That's a rude thing to say, Rudy. Your father would be ashamed of you.”

“We don't need you. We don't need anybody. This is our house, and we don't want you here.” He turned and looked at his twin, who was standing on the sidewalk a few yards from the house. “Do we, Peter? Tell her. We don't want her here.”

Peter put his fingers in the corners of his mouth, stretched his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue. “Fatty, fatty, two-by-four!” he shouted. “Can't get through the kitchen door!” And before Anna could gather her wits and think of a suitable comeback, both boys ran, leaving her standing, eyes stinging with tears, on the cold, windy back porch.

 

Even on a cold Friday morning in January, Byler's was bustling with Amish, Mennonites, local Englishers and a scattering of tourists with their outlandish dress and out-of-state license plates on their big fancy cars. Anna felt more at home at Byler's than she did in the Dover supermarkets or Walmarts. The Kent County folk had lived with their Plain neighbors for generations, and few stared and pointed as the strangers did.

Sometimes tourists tried to sneak pictures of the Amish. It was rude and embarrassing. Photographs were against the Ordnung. Anna had been baptized into the church when she was fifteen, and she'd never willingly permitted her snapshot to be taken. But sometimes Englishers jumped out, a flash went off in her face, and then what could she do?

Leah never seemed to get upset by the intrusions. “They don't know any better,” she said. “We're lucky that no one wanders into the house like the Englishers do in Lancaster. Pauline's sister tells her that they have tourists walking in all the time. There is a sign on the far side of their property, pointing to the ‘Old Amish Farm,' and people mistake their house for the showplace.”

“I don't know why anyone would want to see our house anyway,” Anna said. “I don't go into their homes and stare.”

Leah chuckled. “Because Mam taught us better.”

Anna was still smarting over the way Rudy and Peter had acted. Their cruel words hurt, but a secret voice whispered that they were right. Samuel would never marry her, and if he did he might be sorry.

Leah and Anna each took a cart and put the girls in the seats, so that they wouldn't have to chase them. “C-c-can we have i-i-ice c-cream?” Lori Ann whispered. “I l-l-l-like i-i-ice c-cream.”