Christmas Visitor (2 page)

“Did you sleep good?”

“Oh, yes!”

Barbara came over and laid her head against Ruth's waist as her arms went around her mother. Ruth held her close, a wet washcloth clutched in her hand. She inhaled the sun and dirt and not quite properly rinsed hair.

“Mmm, Barbara. Ich gleich dich so arich (I love you so much).”

Barbara was the one endowed with a caring spirit, loving and gentle and kind to all, except for Roy. Roy was the one single irritant of her life, the fly in her chicken corn soup, the rain on her parade, the fingernail across her blackboard.

“Esther's awake.”

“Good. Is she with Lillian?”

“Yes. Lillian wants Trix.”

“Did she get her some?”

“They're all gone.”

“Would you please check on the baby?”

Barbara left immediately, and Ruth shook her head, always appreciative of her five year old's willingness to obey.

They ate dippy eggs, stewed saltine crackers, and buttered toast for their breakfast as they sat gathered around the kitchen table near the sunny east windows. The windows sat low in the wall, allowing all that morning light to enter.

The table was a solid oak extension one, made by Noah Fisher down below Atglen before Ben and Ruth were married. The chairs were wheat chairs, the spindles on the back splayed out so that they resembled sheaves of wheat, all made of solid oak.

The tablecloth on the table was a durable double-knit fabric from Lizzie Zook's Dry Goods Store in Intercourse. Ruth had hemmed it herself, and it was a fine red and white gingham, serviceable for years, as long as she used her dependable Shout spray on the grease spots before immersing it in the hot water in the wringer washer.

Ruth's dishes were Corelle, the set her sisters had given her on the day she became Ben's bride. She still had most of them after eleven years, which was remarkable considering what they'd been through.

The kitchen cabinets were oak as well, fairly new, with the gas refrigerator set neatly in the space created for it. A healthy green fern sprouted from a brown pot suspended above the sink by a macramé holder, and the canister set was brown ironstone to match. By the low windows, there were more potted plants
—
a fig tree, another fern, and a few African violets.

The hutch against the west wall was made by Noah Fisher as well and contained the china that Ben had given her a few weeks before the wedding. He'd been so humble, almost shy.

Ruth loved pretty things, her artistic touch showing in her ability to maintain a nice home, although it was all done in simplicity, with common sense, the way the Amish ordnung (rules) required.

She felt blessed, having this small single story house and being able to live in it without paying rent. Levi King simply refused it, and Lizzie told her in whispered tones they wouldn't feel right taking her money, then closed her eyes and kept them closed for so long that Ruth had a terrible urge to laugh. Then she felt like crying and wringing this dear, plump woman's hand, but she just gave up and hugged her. Without the support of the Amish community, she'd never make it
—
that was one sure thing.

Her family's support was tremendous, her bank account still containing the last of their generosity. Her emotional support was bolstered frequently by caring relatives and was as essential as the air she breathed. But some things can only be spoken in solitude, things other people need not know.

Elmer and Roy did a good job in the garden, for all of thirty minutes, before they gasped and staggered toward the old oak tree, flopped down on their backs, and flung their arms across their foreheads
—
each movement seemingly synchronized, like swimmers.

“Mam!”

The howl was in unison, too.

Ruth stopped pushing the reel mower and wiped the perspiration from her forehead as the blood pounded in her ears. She answered with a calm, “Yes, boys.”

“It's too hot! It's cruel to make us work in the garden.”

“Oh, come on! You're men. You're tough!”

Elmer's head flopped back and forth as if it hadn't been properly attached.

“It's 100 degrees,” Roy wailed, his despair bringing a deep mirth from someplace Ruth had almost forgotten.

It would soon be five months since Ben had fallen, leaving her to journey alone. She had never thought she would laugh ever again, certainly not within five years. But life kept on going. And it was the children that mattered. They gave her reason to go on living. And here was Roy, making her laugh, deeply and sincerely.

Flopping down to sit beside them, she bowed her head and gave in to her laughter, squeezing her eyes shut, lifting her face, and howling with it. She didn't cry hysterically at the end either.

Roy and Elmer looked at their mother, then both sat up and watched her with serious concern.

“Oh my!” Ruth gasped, wiping her eyes. “Sorry, I wasn't schputting (mocking) you.”

Roy eyed her warily.

“Yes, you were.”

“Nah-uh!”

“What else was it?”

“I guess it just struck me funny, because I'm hot and miserable, too. It is too warm. But I'm almost finished. We'll come back out this evening, and you can finish the garden while I run the weed eater.”

Elmer looked as if he couldn't believe his good luck.

“Can we go swimming?”

Ruth considered his question.

“Would it be possible to pick the green beans and take them to Mrs. Beadle first?”

“I think so.”

Completely rejuvenated, they bent their backs to the task with the plastic buckets by their sides. The sun suddenly seemed much more comfortable than it had ten minutes before.

Esther was in the house filling her usual role as the bossy older sister. She had her little bib apron tied around her waist and was caring for Benjamin while scolding Lillian for getting beads in the baby's face.

“Lillian, now get away from him!” she screeched, her dark hair wet with the sweat from her forehead, her dark blue eyes intense, her hands on her hips, for all the world a replica of a little biddy hen protecting her chicks.

Ruth washed her hands at the sink and dried them on her apron.

“Your face is red!” Lillian shouted.

“It's hot outside,” Ruth answered, smiling.

“Mam, you have to stay in here. That Lillian is a mess. She won't listen to me. She just keeps getting at Baby Benjamin. She's driving me nuts!”

“Now, Esther. Don't say it like that. That's going a bit overboard.”

“Well, I don't know how to say it so that you'll listen.”

Ruth hid a smile as she stooped to pick up Lillian, buckling down yet again to the responsibility of raising this brood of six children alone without ever showing the worries that threatened to overtake her.

When Ben was alive, they had been busy. The farm required physical labor day after day, but the responsibilities and the decision making had been shared. It made a difference. There was so much to be shouldered alone.

The first thing to go had been the battery lamps. It was easier to fill a plastic can with kerosene to fill the lamps they used in the bathroom and bedroom than it was lug those heavy twelve-volt batteries around. Yes, the kerosene was smelly, and she had to wash the glass lamp chimneys each week, but it was easier to manage. She had also learned to change the propane tank for the kitchen lamp, a job she had never accomplished before Ben died.

Now she also had to harness Pete, the driving horse, all by herself, and with Elmer lifting the shafts, hitch him to the buggy to drive to church or the grocery store herself. She had become used to it, and it wasn't so bad, though she did often worry about driving alone with the children.

The responsibility of making decisions about the children was not easy, ever. Should Elmer be forced to return to Priscilla's corn patch? Would it be best to make him continue to work hard at a job he despised? Or should she take pity on him and allow him to stop? Which was best
—
building character or understanding his total dislike of Priscilla and her weedy corn patch? That was when she needed Ben so badly. That was when she felt defeated, but only as much as she allowed herself, she soon learned.

All her life, courage had just been a word
—
much like virtue or hope or fear or any other word
—
until she'd been alone. Courage was now a noun. She had to buckle it on, like a harness or a back pack, click the plastic fasteners into place, take a deep breath, and just get going with it.

Dealing with Esther and Lillian took courage. Dealing with perfect little Barbara and her abrasive, yet sensitive, brother took courage as well. And on and on.

But this day ended with a perfect late summer evening, and as the sun slid behind the cornfields and the twilight folded itself softly down around them, they took a pitcher of iced mint tea out on the front porch and a bag of Tom Sturgis pretzels with some ranch dressing to dip them in. The lawn was clipped evenly, the edges of the flower beds were trimmed, and the garden contained no weeds
—
at least as far as Ruth could tell from the porch. Benjamin was settled for the night, and Lillian curled up on her lap, her tousled little head quiet at last. And Ruth knew she was not alone. God was right there with her and the children, supplying backpacks full of courage when she needed it.

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Yes, of course. It was God's will to take Ben, for reasons we don't know, her mother had said. So had Aunt Lydia and Eva. The true test of faith is in accepting and trusting God when life's events leave us without understanding.

Why her? Ruth had questioned many times in her heart, but only once to her mother.

Dear Mam. Ruth's rock of comfort. When all else failed, her Mam was there with her large blue eyes and wrinkles and crow's feet that all somehow reflected her life
—
the garden, the wringer washer, the harrowing, hay making, cooking and baking, laughing and crying, teaching, and being stern in the way only Mam could, living her life with Dat, her life's partner for more than thirty-five years.

Tomorrow, Mam would come for the day, bringing a spring wagon loaded with corn. Incredible, her specialty.

“Did you know Mommy (Grandmother) is coming tomorrow?” Ruth asked the children.

“Is she?”

“Yes, we'll be freezing corn.”

“Goody!” Esther clapped her hands.

“Can we eat all we want all day long?'

“Of course!”

The prospect of having Mommy Lapp come to their house the next day provided a sense of anticipation. Their happiness replaced the usual melancholy that often settled over them at night, when the children missed Ben most.

Mommy Lapp might let the boys drive Ginger, her trustworthy driving horse, if they needed something at the store. Ruth glanced at Elmer, knowing what he was thinking, and grinned.

“You might be allowed to drive Ginger.”

Elmer laughed, then watched his mother's face before saying, “Mam, I worry about training a horse. Who will buy me a buggy, or teach me to drive my own horse if…Dat is….” He stopped and swallowed, then reached self consciously for another pretzel as if that act of normalcy could cover his embarrassment.

“Oh, that's a long way off, Elmer.”

But after the children were in bed, Ruth returned to the porch. She aimlessly rocked in the wooden rocker and thought of what he'd said.

Who would? She didn't think about being married to someone else. How could she ever be unfaithful to the memory of Ben? He lived on in her heart and in her mind. It wouldn't be right.

She'd teach Elmer. Somehow they'd acquire the money for a horse and buggy. Elmer had always been a serious thinker, well beyond his years, and now, without Ben, he was especially so. They would manage.

No, she could not imagine subjecting these children to a new relationship. It would not be fair to them. It would be entirely different if she had only one or two children who were too young to understand. But at the age of ten, it would be too hard for Elmer and even the others
—
except perhaps her little Benjamin.

In the morning, the children were up and dressed, except for Lillian, who hadn't slept long enough the night before, when Ruth's mother drove up to the barn with the corn piled high on the back of the black spring wagon.

Ruth hurried out to help her unhitch, followed by the children, leaving little Benjamin howling in his bouncy seat.

“Ach (Oh) my!”

Ruth hurried back into the house, crooning as she took up the unhappy newborn and cuddled him against her shoulder, bouncing him and patting his back. She looked out at her mother, surrounded by the children, her back bent slightly, her gray apron lifted to one side as she reached into the oversized pocket sewn on the side of her dress and extracted a heaping handful of Tootsie Rolls
—
every flavor imaginable.

Ruth smiled, knowing the sugar-laden candy would just have to be consumed before breakfast as Mommy Lapp pooh-poohed the idea that candy wasn't healthy. Ruth figured scrambled eggs and toast could aid its digestion.

Her mother entered the kitchen. She was a small woman with a rounded stomach and a bit of fullness around the hips, having borne eleven children of her own. She said she needed the extra padding. It was what kept her going. Her hair was pure white, neatly rolled at the sides, and pinned in the back beneath her large, white covering.

Mam was a dienna's frau (minister's wife). Her coverings were large, and she wore a belt apron pinned around her waist. Her clothes were conservative as a good example for the younger generation. Radiating kindness and caring, her work-worn hands were always ready to be laid on a suffering one's shoulder or slipped about the waist with whispered words of condolence that were always as available as the air she breathed.

Mam sat down. She gathered Barbara in one arm and Esther in the other, stroking their backs and saying, “Oh, girls, it's so good to see you again. It's been too long. I make myself too busy in the summertime, gel (right), Ruth?”

“Well, no Mam, you still have Emma and Lydiann at home, plus all those big boys who should be dating and getting married. I declare they are spoiled with you for their mother.”

Highest praise, Ruth knew, and she was rewarded by a smile of pure benediction.

“Oh.”

That was all she said, but Ruth knew her mam loved having her boys around her, cooking huge breakfasts for them with fried mush and dried beef gravy and applesauce and shoofly pie and hot chocolate.

“Couldn't Emma come?”

“No, she goes to market with Lydiann on Saturdays now, too.”

“Really?”

“Yes, David Kind gave her a job at the produce stand.”

“Well, that's good.”

“Yes, she'll be glad for some spending money. Lydiann was so busy she could hardly keep up with the customers, so she said something to David about it, and he said Emma could start last week.”

“Is that market so busy already?”

“Well, in New Jersey fresh produce from Lancaster is quite popular.”

Ruth nodded.

Farmer's markets were a way of life for many single Amish girls who worked long hours on the weekends selling produce, baked goods, meats and cheeses, or prepared foods like chicken, pulled pork, and a variety of barbeque. They were huge, indoor markets with many different vendors, bustling places filled with homemade or homegrown food, mostly within a 100-mile radius of the Amish farms of Lancaster County.