The Christmas Cradle (6 page)

“Higher Ground's not that far away,” Ben pointed out, “and we know first-hand about the trouble Hiram causes when folks cross him. If I were you, son, I'd get squared away with him sooner rather than later.”

“
Jah, jah
, I get that,” Josiah replied impatiently. “I'll take care of it as soon as we're settled.”

Ben sensed Josiah had once again turned a deaf ear toward him, so he hoped the kid would listen to his sister. The last thing they needed was a brushup with Hiram at Luke and Nora's wedding—or while the Witmers stayed with him and Miriam.

As he entered his home, however, Ben set aside his concerns. Miriam's creamed chicken and biscuits smelled heavenly. She and Lena looked happy and relaxed, as though they'd been enjoying each other's company.
A lot of
gut
things can come from these young people stayin' with us, Lord,
he thought as he removed his coat.
Please let it be so.

Miriam smiled as she looked into the Sweet Seasons dining room on Thursday morning. Savilla Witmer had insisted on helping in the café as payment for her bed and board. Along with Rhoda and Rebecca, she was seating customers, pouring coffee, and calling orders into the kitchen as though the three of them had worked together for a long time. She was quick about bussing the tables, too.

“Our crew's lookin' sharp this morning,” Naomi murmured as she came to stand beside Miriam. “Everything's goin' like clockwork—and my youngest son's takin' in the new scenery, too, I see.”

Miriam chuckled. Her partner handled the menu orders and kept the steam table stocked so Miriam could concentrate on baking the breads, pastries, and pies. “
Jah
, your Aaron and Matthias Wagler both seem real perky this morning. It's nice that Savilla's as capable as she is pretty.”

“Let's hope she and her brother stay in Willow Ridge, so she'll know how the café runs when Rhoda quits workin' to have kids,” Naomi remarked. “My Hannah's better in the kitchen—”

“And even if Lena and Josiah were married, it wouldn't be proper for her to be out amongst the customers in her condition,” Miriam added.

Naomi leaned out to assess the breakfast buffet, where Bishop Tom and retired preacher Gabe Glick were loading their plates. “I'd better refill the creamed chicken pan and have Lena make more waffles. Our new breakfast dish is a big hit.”

When the timer dinged, Miriam opened the oven door. Her loaves of chocolate apple bread had risen into nut-crusted humps, and their cinnamon-cocoa fragrance would make the whole café smell luscious. Customers snapped up the goodies in the bakery case a lot faster when the aromas of her breads greeted them at the door.

“Miriam, let me help you!” Savilla insisted as she grabbed some pot holders. “My word, how do you carry six loaves of hot bread at one time?”

Miriam shrugged as the young woman grasped the rack's other side. “I've baked my bread in big batches ever since we opened the Sweet Seasons,” she explained. “Makes more sense to have the pans in one rack than to handle pan after pan after pan.
Denki
for helpin'.”

After she and Savilla had removed the six-loaf rack of apricot banana bread from the oven, Savilla inhaled deeply. “These smell terrific,” she murmured. “And Bishop Tom wants me to pass along his compliments on the chicken and waffles, too. He's on his second plateful.”

Miriam laughed, watching Lena remove steaming waffles from the two irons. “It's the butter and milk from his cows, along with the chickens and eggs from our deacon, Reuben Riehl, that makes everything we serve extra-special
gut
. Send my compliments right back to the bishop, will ya?”

Savilla's laughter rang in the kitchen. “The city English we serve at our barbecues love knowing their food is locally grown. Never mind that we Amish have been growing what we eat for centuries.”

“Here's creamed chicken for the buffet table,” Naomi said from the stove.

“I'm making these waffles as fast as I can,” Lena added as she closed the lids on her waffle irons. “Those guys are putting away a lot of food this morning.”

“And they're not gonna starve any time soon, so don't get in a dither about bein' a little behind,” Miriam said as Savilla carried the creamed chicken to the steam table.

Lena focused on the waffle irons' red monitor lights. Hannah began filling individual teapots with hot water to serve the residents of a nearby senior center, who'd come for their weekly breakfast outing. Miriam mixed powdered sugar, almond flavoring, and milk in a large glass measuring cup to drizzle over the fruit breads, pleased that her kitchen was running so smoothly. As she loosened the loaves from their pans, however, both Lena and Hannah cried out.

“
Ach
, I didn't mean to bump—”

“Watch out for this boiling—”

“
Oh
—oohh!”

Lena's waffles and Hannah's hot water flew all over the center of the kitchen as the girls grabbed each other. Stainless-steel pots clattered to the floor and rolled around.

“Everybody all right?” Miriam asked as she fetched the mop.

“We're fine, but we've made a big mess!” Hannah exclaimed.

“And now I've ruined the waffles, and it'll be a long time before—before—” Lena burst into tears and turned away, her shoulders shuddering.

Stepping carefully, Miriam mopped the puddles while Naomi scooped up the soggy waffles with a dustpan. Savilla hurried back into the kitchen and relieved Miriam of her mop.

“Bless her heart, Lena's always been one to cry when something goes wrong,” she murmured.

“I've noticed that,
jah
.” Miriam crossed the damp floor to where Hannah was trying her best to console Lena. The two girls clasped hands as though they'd had quite a fright.

“Honey-bug, if I had a dollar for every time I spilled something, I'd be the richest gal in Willow Ridge,” Miriam murmured to the sobbing blonde. “It's okay, really it is.”

“But I didn't want to—I didn't mean to—”

“Of course ya didn't, but ya know what?” Miriam asked as she slung her arm around Lena's shuddering shoulders. “The floor's gettin' mopped. And the little goats Bishop Tom's wife keeps will think those waffles are a special treat. So all we've lost is some time and batter.”

As Lena kept blubbering, Miriam sensed the girl's hormones were in high gear. “Why not take a break over home?” she suggested gently.

“I got upset over every little thing while I was carryin' each one of my four kids,” Naomi joined in. “The best part about that is that it'll soon be behind ya, dearie.”

“But—but how will I work here in the kitchen after my baby's born?” Lena wailed. “I'll have to feed him and change him and—” When the back door opened and Ben stepped inside, she hastily mopped her eyes with her apron. “I want to do my fair share, but I don't see how I can.”

Miriam knew Lena's reservations were right on target, for she'd need some recovery time after she gave birth, and every new mother discovered worries that hadn't occurred to her before she held her firstborn. “After I've had my wee one, maybe you can keep the babies in the morning while I bake, and then I'll tend them in the afternoon if ya want to help Josiah and Savilla with their cookin',” Miriam said. “Will ya think about that?”

Lena nodded dolefully. She smiled forlornly at Ben as she slipped into her coat and bonnet. When she stepped outside, everyone in the kitchen breathed easier.

Ben set aside his insulated coffee mug to hold the bucket so Naomi could scoop the last of the watery waffles into it. “Is Lena gonna be okay walkin' home?”

“She'll be more embarrassed if ya offer to go with her,” Miriam replied. “She's feelin' frazzled today. We're
gut
to go now, thanks to these ladies helpin' so quick.”

“More waffles comin' right up!” Hannah said as she returned from taking the hot tea to the dining room.

“And to what do we owe your kitchen visit, Bennie-bug? Time for a coffee break?” Miriam teased. He wasn't wearing his coat because he'd come over from the smithy, where his forge kept him warm. “There might be a sample in it for ya if ya talk to me while I drizzle frosting on this warm bread.”

Ben smiled, but as he followed her to the back counter his expression turned serious. “I'm not so sure Lena should care for both babies,” he murmured as Miriam removed the warm loaves from the pans. “If droppin' waffles upsets her, what'll she be like when two wee ones are cryin' and she's there by herself? She might not spring back real quick after givin' birth either, so helpin' Josiah and Savilla might be a long shot—and for all we know, the Witmers might move on to Higher Ground. And Lena might go with them.”

Miriam kept drizzling the frosting over the tops of her warm loaves as she listened. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she murmured. She glanced behind her to be sure the other ladies were out of earshot. “If it makes ya feel better, Rachel has offered to tend our baby when I come back to work, as she'll be home with Amelia anyway.”

Ben cleared his throat. White frosting had run down a loaf of chocolate bread to puddle on the countertop, but he ignored the temptation to scoop it up with his fingertip. “What makes ya so sure you'll be able to separate yourself from your child? Once it's born, I'm guessin' you'll let Naomi run this place while ya take on your motherin' duties.”

Miriam's mouth clamped shut. Although Ben's words were spoken gently, they had an unmistakable undercurrent. “Are ya sayin' these things as an excited new
dat
—or as Preacher Ben upholdin' the Old Order, tellin' me to stay home after the baby's born?” She gazed directly into her husband's hazel eyes. “Or maybe ya think I should already be at home. Is that it?”

Ben's lips flickered, but he didn't look away. “Bishop Tom's been askin' me about that—mostly because he's concerned about your welfare, and the child's. But
jah
, you're a preacher's wife, Miriam, and there's already been some murmurin' about ya runnin' this café, defyin' Old Order ways,” he replied matter-of-factly. “And me, I'm wonderin' how you'll maintain a regular feedin' schedule, and what you'll do if the wee one's sick, or—well, ya sure can't be changin' dirty diapers in this kitchen. Have ya even thought about such things?
I
sure have.”

Miriam suddenly needed to sit on the stool she kept close at hand. She'd known all along that their church leaders would expect her to take time off—or quit working altogether—after the baby was born. She sensed Bishop Tom was allowing her to work because she remained in the kitchen rather than carrying out orders or refilling coffee mugs, as she'd done before she married Ben at the first of the year. Amish wives were to remain modest and not show their pregnant bodies in public.

Was she overstepping her boundaries, thinking she could continue to work? Had she ignored her responsibilities as a wife and mother? Was Ben expressing his disappointment in her because she loved running her café even as she yearned to hold his child and raise it with him?

Are
You
disappointed in me, God? Have I been thinkin' like a crazy woman, forgettin' how You'd have me live this life You've blessed me with?

The clatter of dishes and the chatter from the dining room brought Miriam out of her uncomfortable musings. She released the breath she'd been holding. “I'll pray on it,” she whispered.

But she had a feeling she'd gone far too long assuming that God—and Ben—were happy with the choices she'd been making. Miriam focused on getting the drizzle just right over the tops of two more loaves of chocolate apple bread.

“Didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Miriam.”

“I know. Ya don't have a mean—or untruthful—bone in your body, Ben.” She blinked back tears, determined not to let this thought-provoking conversation get the best of her. “Here—ya might as well have the first taste before I put this out for lunch.”

When Miriam sliced off the end of a dark chocolate loaf and handed it to her husband, his boyish smile returned. “Guess I wouldn't get so many samples if ya weren't here bakin' every day,” he admitted.

“Ya said a mouthful there.” It lifted her spirits when her husband bit into the warm bread and closed his eyes with pleasure. “I'll think about what ya said, Ben.”

“I know ya will, honey-bug,” he murmured. “Ya understand when to follow your own notions and when to change them. That's just one more thing I love about ya.”

Miriam couldn't resist kissing off a drop of frosting that had lodged in Ben's sandy-brown beard. Even when her husband acted older and sterner than she was, she counted her blessings. Before Ben had come into her life a year ago, she'd been lonelier than she cared to recall. He kissed her full on the lips before refilling his mug at the coffeemaker. Nodding at Naomi and Hannah, he returned to his smithy.

Miriam inhaled deeply to settle her thoughts. She felt caught up in a tug-of-war, longing to continue with her business yet eager to hold a newborn for the first time in twenty-two years. Before her Jesse had died—before she'd opened the Sweet Seasons to make ends meet—she wouldn't even have
considered
working outside her home.

Is this what a taste of independence has done to me, Lord? Have I wandered from the path You'd have me follow? I want to believe You brought me to this place in my life for a
gut
reason . . .

“Miriam! You're just the woman I want to see!” a cheerful, familiar voice called out.

When Miriam looked up, she couldn't help smiling. Nora was wearing a cape dress made of a paisley pattern in shades of pink, green, purple, and orange that brightened the entire kitchen. “How's our bride-to-be?” she asked.

“Never better.” Nora's freckled face lit up. “I'm having a hen party at my place Saturday night for the gals who're helping at the wedding—so you're all invited!” she gushed, opening her arms to include everyone in the kitchen. “Savilla, I want you and Lena to come, too. What a party we're going to have after the wedding, thanks to you and Josiah—so we'll celebrate before the wedding, as well!”