Christmas Gift for Rose (9780310336822) (3 page)

I
T TOOK LONGER THAN NORMAL FOR
J
ONATHAN TO
tend to his horse. He moved with sluggish steps as he unhitched the animal, brushed him down, and fed and watered him. Partly because his hands were frozen. He should stop taking the long route on these lumber deliveries. He should just face the fact that his choice had ruined his chance with Rose. No matter how many times he drove by she would not be interested in seeing him.

He also carried the additional burden of seeing Harold Ault. He had not heard that the young man was back from the war, and now he knew why. How were Mr. and Mrs. Ault handling it? From what he saw, not well. Did they have hopes that their son would someday snap back?

Jonathan hung the harness on the hook on the wall. He knew better. Even if the shell shock wore off, what Harold had seen would affect him forever.

Jonathan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The whistles of the screaming mimis were present even in the silence. The smell of gangrene and trench foot. The tearful moans of men waking without sight, without the ability to walk.

It’s over
, he tried to convince himself, wishing his mind and heart believed it was so.

He tightly shut the door to the warm barn and thought about his first impressions of France. He’d seen the war-torn land and rejoiced in the Nazi defeat. He’d had false hope during that first week in Paris that he’d mostly be caring for those left in war’s wake. What he hadn’t realized was that the Nazis had no intention of giving up so easily, and the fight called the Battle of the Bulge would be only the first of the horrors.

And what had kept him strong as he cared for the injured soldiers, most barely eighteen? Thoughts of Rose had brought strength to his weary limbs. He’d thought of her smile. Her brilliant blue eyes. He’d considered returning to her embrace.

What a fool.

Jonathan’s boots tromped through the frozen snow as he hurried to his parents’ house. As the youngest son, the large farmhouse would someday be his. Before he’d left to become a medic he’d even started work on the
dawdi
house in the back, where his parents would live after he married. Now it sat an empty shell. No need to get to work completing that anytime soon.

He stomped the snow from his boots and opened the door to the kitchen. His oldest sister Ruthann sat at the table next to Mem, peeling potatoes. Surprise caused him to pause. Ruthann lived more than two miles down the road. He rarely saw her during the week, and he never saw her without her six children.

“Johnny, get in, would ya? Yer letting out all the warm air,” Dat called from his spot near the woodstove.

Jonathan hurried inside and hung his hat on the hook near the door. He removed his boots and placed them alongside the other shoes neatly lined on wooden shelves. Then he turned to his sister. “Did you come for a visit?”

Ruthann tossed a dishtowel his direction. “Did you forget what day tomorrow is? My Sally is caring for the little ones while Mem and I cook. Thought it would work better this way without the twins underfoot.”

The twin boys were toddlers and the most active children he’d ever known.

Tomorrow. Thanksgiving.
“
Ja
, of course.”

Thanksgiving meant a day of gathering as a family, of enjoying a meal and having a time of Bible reading together. But before that was a time of fasting … of being prayerful and still before God.

Jonathan hung his jacket. He washed up in the water basin in the kitchen. It had been a long time since he’d been still before God. He spent his days living for Him; he just didn’t feel too comfortable praying
to
Him much. Mostly due to shame.

During those dark nights in the Belgium woods, he should have turned to prayer, seeking God’s strength to help him, instead of turning to thoughts of Rose.

He also worried. What if he prayed now and God made it clear that a life with his dear Rose would never be? Mem and Dat always said that God’s way was perfect.
He didn’t see how that could be in a scenario without her as his wife.

Finally, to be still was to question if he’d done the right thing by becoming a medic. At the time Jonathan had felt that’s what God’s Word had told him, but what if he’d been wrong? What if he’d given up everything for something that didn’t matter as much as he thought?

“Son, will you fill my big pot half full with water and set it on the cookstove?” Mem asked. “You know with my arthritis I can barely lift it.”

“
Ja
, of course.”

Jonathan did what his mem asked, thankful Dat had agreed to let him pipe water into the house. His sister’s eyes were on him as he worked.

“Did you take the longer route? Is that what took you so long?” Ruthann’s voice was even, as if she was just trying to make conversation.

“It’s a better road.”

“
Ja
, and a better view. I think …”

The sound of the water hitting the metal pan dimmed her words. He waited until the pot was half full before he turned off the spigot and looked to her. “What was that?”

Ruthann sighed. “I said you shouldn’t give up on Rose too easily. Every time I see her at church she looks miserable—has dark circles under her eyes. She looks as if she’s lost weight too. I bet she’s hardly eating and not sleeping a wink. She loves you, Jonathan. Everyone knows it’s so.”

“
Ja
, but does she respect me? That’s something to question. Not now she doesn’t.”

“Who’s to say her opinion can’t change? With you gone it was easy for Rose to listen to the disapproval of others, but you’re back now. When you were overseas they said you were going to leave the community for good. While you were gone, they said you’d be changed when you returned. But you’re back. Your presence—your commitment—will silence their words. In the meantime, show Rose you still care. Be there for her. Give her time. Do something special for her. Show her yer not going anywhere. Walking around like a wounded puppy will do neither of you any good.”

“You sure have a lot of advice, Ruthann.”

“Haven’t I always?” She glanced up at him and winked. “I may be a bossy older sister, but sometimes I do have some-thin’
gut
to say.”

“But what if it doesn’t work? What if I reach out to Rose and she still turns her back on me?”

Ruthann set a peeled potato on the table and picked up another. “Oh, little brother, that’s not the question I’d focus on. Instead I’d be thinking,
What if it does work? Ja
, it’s risking yer heart, but consider jest who you are risking it for. Consider that.”

R
OSE DIDN’T REALIZE IT WAS THE HOWLING OF THE
wind that woke her until another blast hit the window, rattling in its frame. The cold November winds pounded on the glass, demanding to be let in. A howl rose—a fearful cry. Was someone outside the window calling to her?

She opened her eyes to discover she was sitting, legs swung over the side of her narrow twin bed. Stockinged feet pressed to the cold wooden floor. Someone moved beside her. A gasp escaped her lips.

“It’s me, Rose.” Mem’s voice was soft. “I’m here.”

Rose placed a hand over her pounding heart. “Is it almost morning?”

“
Ne
. I was jest falling asleep when I heard your cry. Was it a nightmare?”

Rose touched her sleeping
kapp. “Ja.”
She blew out a sigh and then waited. She waited for what was to come next—Mem’s whispered prayers. It was the only time she heard Mem—heard anyone—praying out loud. Silent blessings were the Amish tradition, but Mem must have known she needed to hear about God’s promises, God’s protection.
What would Rose do without her mem there for her whenever the nightmares came?

But Mem didn’t pray. She just sat there silent.

How could I ever tell anyone other than Mem about my nightmares?
They seemed so foolish, as if she was a young child yet.

Rose looked around.
I’m in a safe place. It was just a dream.
She reminded herself what was real. Her mother … this room.

She’d shared this room with her sister Vera until they reached their teen years and it was clear there wasn’t enough room for two in the bed nor two to share the trunk. Now Vera was married with a baby of her own. Would Rose ever be able to claim as much?

The white walls of the bedroom appeared gray, washed out in the strands of moonbeams. Mem’s face did too. Rose swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, wiping away evidence of her tears.

The wind died down. Only silence filled the air. A sliver of moonlight slipped through the window. Rose could still see the questions in her mother’s eyes.

She reached out. Mem’s warm hand took hers. “Mem, are you going to pray?”

“Are you all right, Rose? I heard you crying out.” Mem’s voice was frigid, trembling, as if the winter wind lay trapped within her lips.

“I—I suppose.”

Why didn’t Mem answer her question?

A shiver traveled up Rose’s spine. Her room was cold,
which meant the woodstove had died down. Even colder was the tension deep inside her gut.

Rose didn’t have to wonder what she’d been dreaming about. She knew the motions of the dream as well as she knew the etched wrinkles of Mem’s face.

“The nightmare is back, Mem. I don’t understand.”

“Is it always the same, Rose?” Mem clutched Rose’s hand tighter, as if she was the one who needed reassurance.

“
Ja.
It’s the same. I am away, and I come home. It’s not this house, but another. A small one. I search the rooms—there are four rooms. They seem so empty.”

A puddle of moonlight slipped between the thin, white curtains, and Rose strained to see her mother’s face. “Do you think, Mem, that my nightmares come from fear of having my own family? It makes no sense, but I almost fear that once I do they’ll be taken from me. Do you think that’s yet another reason I push Jonathan away?”

Mem’s mouth opened then closed again.

Rose tapped her stockinged toe on the worn wooden floor. She expected Mem to tell her that their conversation could wait until morning. She expected Mem’s prayers. But still Mem was quiet.

“It’s an empty house,” Rose continued. “The walls are tall. Bare. There is an open window.”

Mem’s fingers trembled. “Is that all?”

She closed her eyes and thought back. She never wanted to remember the dream, think about it. No matter the years that passed, she always felt like a small child. A lost, sad child.

“Maybe I was looking for someone?”

“I know who you’re looking for.” Mem’s voice quivered.

Rose leaned closer. “You?”

“
Ne
, Rose.” Mem looked away. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Told me what?”

Mem pulled her hands away. “In the morning.”

“No.” The word shot from Rose’s lips. “This has to do with the secret, doesn’t it? All evening you tried to hide it, but it’s been clear on your face.”

Mem sat still, and minutes passed. Finally she straightened her back, as if setting her resolve. “Do you remember much of your childhood, Rose?”

“
Ja
, of sharing my room with Vera. Of running around the orchards, climbing trees. I fell once and hurt my arm.”

“Do you remember where you lived when you hurt your arm?”

“I jest said I shared my room with Vera.”

“Rose, don’t you remember? You didn’t always share your room with Vera.”

Rose lowered her head and folded her hands on her lap. She remembered a warm body curled up next to her. Soft breathing. The cool of the room, but warmth under the blankets. Dat’s snores.

Her brow furrowed. Mem and Dat’s room was at the far end of the hall on the second story. How was she able to hear her father’s snores as a child?

“We didn’t always live in this house? I thought we did—”

“
Ne
, Rose. Before this house we lived in a house in Charm. But …”

Rose waited.

“Before that there was another house you lived in.” Mem pointed to the lantern on Rose’s side table. Rose nodded and lit it.

Mem sighed. “I’ve been wondering when the perfect time to tell you was … I suppose now is as good a time as any.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something I need to talk to you about. Something important.” Mem fidgeted and then focused on Rose’s eyes. “Do you remember Christmas 1932?”

Rose shook her head. “
Ne.
I was only four. I hardly remember anything from back then.”

“Wait right here.”

Mem took the lantern, and Rose could hear her walking up to her room. The squeaks of the stairs were more pronounced in the dead of night. A minute later she returned with a note written along the edge of newsprint. The newspaper was yellowed, and the date on the paper was 1932.

Rose read the words out loud:

The paper quivered in Rose’s hand. And her mind took her back to a small green kitchen table. The faces were barely visible in the low candlelight. An
Englisch
man and woman. Boys. A baby.

The boys … a baby … Betty.
Rose placed a hand over her stomach. It clenched tight. “In my mind there is an image of a family. An
Englisch
family. Sometimes they are in my dreams too. But not the nightmares. They are in my happy dreams. Are you telling me they are real?”

“
Ja
, Rose. When we lived in Charm, Stan and Betty were our
Englisch
neighbors. They were a good family but the Depression hit them hard. They did their best to care for their children, but there wasn’t enough food. Your father’s heart must have ached to feel the thin skin over your frail bones.”

Mem lifted her hand to Rose’s cheek. “And our neighbors—they never asked for handouts, but we noticed something. As it neared mealtime, usually lunch or dinner, you would show up at our front door. You told us your mama sent you to play, but we knew better.” Mem chuckled softly. “You ate so much for a little thing, and after a while you were starting to look healthier … But that wasn’t the case with your sister.” Mem lowered her head. “She was a plump, healthy baby, but …”

“Did something happen to her?”

Mem nodded. “Your parents did what they could, but
it was a hard winter. Too hard. She slipped away and broke everyone’s heart.”

Rose tried to make sense of what Mem was saying. Another mother. A sister—Rose’s sister—who had died. It was something to be sad about, she knew. But it was too much. These words that Mem spoke were harder to understand than the unsettled feelings. It was harder to understand than the nightmare.

“Then what happened after … my sister … died?”

“Things didn’t get better. The jobs were few. The storms came. The banks … Well, even those who had reserve funds lost them.” Mem sighed. “And then you became sick. There were days I’d watch for you, and when I saw you coming down the road I’d run to you, wrap you up in a blanket, and bring you into the house. Some mornings I woke worried that you’d be too weak to come down the road that day.”

Rose tried to process what Mem was saying. Part of her felt that her mother’s story was the dream, but another part believed the truth of Mem’s words deep down inside. It made sense. The sense of missing something … of a longing that was unexplained. As the words seeped in, her child’s heart ached for the family she’d once had.

“And what happened?” Rose was almost fearful to ask. “What happened to that family?”

“One day when you came over to help with the Christmas baking, yer daddy never came for you, like he usually did. I asked Marcus to walk you back. I couldn’t leave the other children, and Dat was in the barn choring. You looked so
small as Marcus led you with the lantern. I watched at the window. Fifteen minutes passed, twenty. Your father—Dat—came in, and I urged him to go look for you and Marcus. He was putting his boots back on when I saw the lantern. Marcus was nearly dragging you down the road. He said your family was gone.” Tears filled Mem’s eyes. “Marcus said the house w-was e-empty.” Her words came out broken. “He said you kept running from room to room looking for your family … and that he had to bribe you to leave. He told you Dat would give you a pony ride if you walked back with him.”

Rose’s mouth felt dry. Her eyes did too. Mem’s words hung above her heart, unable to penetrate.

“Your dat and I went and checked. Marcus was right. The—your—family was gone. The only thing left was this note and a small package.”

The trembling started in Rose’s arms and moved through the rest of her body. “I—I don’t feel so good.” Cold enveloped her, and she motioned for Mem to rise. Mem moved to the trunk, sitting upon it. Rose watched her. She expected Mem to cry. Mem always cried over things far less than this. Instead Mem’s face carried a serene look, as if a great burden had lifted from her shoulders.

“It must have been hard … keeping that secret for so long.” Rose wasn’t sure if she’d said the words out loud.

Then—as if her grandmother’s quilt could protect her from the rest of the story—Rose climbed underneath it until only her eyes and nose peeked out.

It’s not my grandmother’s quilt. This isn’t my family, my home. My
mem … my dat.
Everything she knew was a lie. They’d taken pity on her. Pity.

The wind picked up again, and her thoughts pounded even stronger.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Mem’s voice was just a whisper. “I—I suppose we can talk more tomorrow … after everyone leaves.”

Thanksgiving.
Rose’s stomach plummeted. What did she have to be thankful for? First, she’d lost Jonathan, and now her family too? The truth—others’ choices—had stripped her of both.

What’s left? Will everything be taken away?

Mem opened her arms, but Rose pulled back. Mem hadn’t hugged her often in recent years, and the times she had were times of loss. But even Mem’s hugs couldn’t help her now.

Rose saw the pain in her mother’s face as she pulled away. Mem hesitated, then dimmed the lantern and stood. Rose wanted to speak to her. To ask her to stay. But what right did she have to do that? Her lower lip trembled.

Mem slipped from the room, and Rose turned to her side and tucked her knees to her chest, hoping to retain her warmth. A chill seeped through the glass window. Or maybe it came from within. Soon nothing moved within the house, and the only sound outside was the creak of the chain of the porch swing as it shifted. Her thoughts filled the void. Were her parents still alive? Her brothers? Where did they end up? Had things worked out for them? Had things been easier with one less mouth to feed?

Tomorrow morning everyone else would wake up as if nothing had happened. But everything had changed. How was she going to face the day? Face the people she knew as well as she knew herself?

Actually, they knew her better. Marcus knew the truth. Did Vera too?

She’d never felt as alone as she did at this moment. Here, but not belonging. Here, but only because they didn’t have a choice.

Who else knew the truth? What about all those at church? She lay there a moment. Despite her fatigue she couldn’t keep her mind from racing. Finally she rose and pulled on another pair of knitted socks, wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, and peered out the window. Would she ever feel warm again?

Blue moonlight draped over the barn and yard. Behind the barn was Dat’s field. And somewhere in Charm stood her real parents’ small shack. Had she ever passed it as they visited friends and family in that area? How could she not have known? How could she not have remembered?

Rose wiped her nose on the sleeve of her night dress. She thought of sitting on her dat’s lap as a child, by the fire as he went through the Scriptures. He’d never speak out loud but his lips moved as he read, and sometimes she recognized a word. Had she ever sat in the lap of her real father like that? Mem said his heart must have ached to feel thin skin over her frail bones.

She thought of the family again, pressing her eyes tight
and trying to picture their faces and their clothes
—Englisch
clothes.

Then, as if every star came crashing down, every speck of light dimmed around her.

“My
Englisch
parents,” Rose whispered. “I’m …
Englisch.
”