A Simple Charity (27 page)

“See that? The Santa thing does a number on kids’ heads.”

Meg admitted that she’d acted a little bratty that morning. She had pointed out that Zoey didn’t get the sand sculpture kit that she wanted. Mom had said that maybe Zoey would get it for her birthday, and she had added that Christmas was really about celebrating the birth of Jesus.

“Well, little crumb that I was, I didn’t want to hear that. I got dressed and went next door to see what the neighbors got for Christmas. All very inappropriate, because they had family visiting and I don’t think they wanted the neighbor kid playing with all their new toys while they were having Christmas brunch.”

He smiled down at her. “Stubborn little thing, weren’t you?”

The memory of that Christmas used to make her feel awful, but she had forgiven herself for acting like the petulant, grieving six-year-old that she was. “And you know what Zoey did? She came next door with the skates we’d gotten and lured me outside. She helped me get the skates on and got me started rolling on the flat part of the sidewalk. We ended up spending the whole day out there. And Zoey kept saying how glad she was that we both got skates, so that we could play together.”

“Seriously? She made you look really bad, my friend.”

“I know. I’ve gotten over it, but it took a while.” As they drew closer to town, other pedestrians bustled through the cold along the quiet streets. Although all of the Amish shops were closed, LED
candles burned bright in the windows. “How about you?” she asked Jack. “What was your favorite toy?”

“Probably the rapid-fire Nerf gun I got when I was ten or eleven. The thing had foam bullets, but I hounded my sister with it. I think she ended up throwing out the bullets while I was asleep one night.”

“So you were interested in law enforcement from an early age,” she teased.

“Exactly.”

“Holidays always bring out memories, good and bad.” A cluster of three-dimensional stars shone bright in the dim window of the hardware store, offering light in the darkness. “Those stars are so pretty. I see them all over town,” she said.

“They’re called Moravian stars. They’re Advent symbols for the Moravian church, a religious group that came here from Germany.”

“Just beautiful,” she said, admiring the fat stars that were illuminated from within.

They were walking along Main Street now, passing the small grocery, the tea shop, and Kraybill’s Fish and Game. Since Meg’s arrival Halfway had taken hold of her, and she had learned the shops and side streets. Ahead of them loomed the tall Christmas tree, a graceful tower of hope and light.

The sight of the festive town hall reminded her of the gathering where she and Jack had volunteered last week. They had spent two afternoons sorting donations of food and toys before setting out to the back roads between farms to distribute the goods to people who didn’t have enough for the holidays. The charity drive had introduced Meg to some of the poor families of the town, and she had enjoyed talking with many of the women about their families and their favorite holiday recipes. The experience had also allowed her to see a different facet of Jack: his commitment to the people of Halfway. Jack was a helper, just as she was. It was an important thing to have in common.

They slowed their pace and stared up at the cone of colored lights, whorls and swirls of floating gems. The twinkling tree stirred emotion inside her, memories of Christmases past and hopes for the holidays of the future, with church pageants and cookie decorating and children of her own excited about the arrival of Santa Claus. There was something poignant about the cluster of warm colors sparkling beneath the indigo sky, like a symbol of God’s love, shining in the darkness. Christmas trees caught her every time.

“It’s all so beautiful,” Meg said.

“Yeah.” Jack slid his arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his warmth. “Halfway knows how to do Christmas right.” He sighed. “I gotta tell you something, something that’s been weighing on me this past week. I know I can talk up a blue streak most of the time, but this is hard for me to say because …’cause it means so much to me.”

Meg studied his face, patient and trusting.

“I’m blessed to live in this town,” he said, “and I’m so grateful to be here with you right now. You’re the best thing to rock my life for a long time. You’ve got to know that’s true. I know it’s kind of soon, but I’ve got to say what’s in my heart. I love you, Meg.”

She sucked in a breath, overwhelmed. Those three words … they changed everything … rocked her world, as Jack had put it. “Oh, Jack.” She turned to him, her palms flat against his coat. “I love you, too, but I’m a little scared at how fast this is all happening.”

“Yeah. Like lightning,” he said.

She nodded. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. And it’s amazing and wonderful. Fireworks and a river of deep emotion. But …”

“Oh, no. There’s a but?”

“I’m a pragmatic person. Grounded. Responsible. I don’t want to make any rash decisions with my head in the clouds.”

“Okay, yeah. That’s all good. No rush, Megs.” He pushed the
edge of her cap back slightly and placed his hands on her shoulders. “We’ve got plenty of time to ease in and take it slow. I’m not going anywhere … at least, not without you.”

“I’m really happy to hear that.” Joy radiated through her. The colored lights blurred behind him as she swallowed back the knot of emotion growing in her throat. “Merry Christmas, Jack.”

He leaned down so that his forehead pressed hers, so close, so intimate. It was as if they were the only two people on the busy Main Street. “Merry Christmas,” he said before he swept her into a kiss that warmed her down to her toes.

Later, during the Evensong service, Meg melted into the rosy glow of a hymn and tried to absorb it all. Most of the service was bright, festive music—a celebration of the Savior’s birth—and the lovely songs gave Meg a chance to process the events of the evening.

Jack loved her. His words had been the finest Christmas gift she could imagine—brimming with joy and commitment, and yet no pressure.

We’ve got time
, he’d said. They could take it slow.

Part of her wanted to simply revel in his lovely pronouncement, but the presence of a family in the pew in front of them brought the issue back with all the comfort of cold water. The three kids, who looked to be between ages eight and twelve, seemed to enjoy one another, sharing a hymnal and smiling up at their parents. Oh, to have a family like that! Meg wasn’t sure that was possible for her, and she hadn’t told Jack about her endometriosis yet. Not that it was life-threatening, but it could have some bearing on her ability to have children. And, dear Lord, they both wanted kids. She vowed that she would come clean with Jack on the topic as soon as she got the latest test results back from Doc Trueherz.

The smells of candle wax and evergreen reminded her of the church back in Pittsburgh, where Mom and Kip would attend services tonight. Meg had to press her lips together to suppress a sudden grin. Most Christmases she felt like a third wheel, tagging along with her mother and stepfather, but not this year. This year, she had found love.

Jack took her hand, and she sat a little closer to him and soaked up the sweet harmonies, fragrant evergreen garland, and candles trimmed in ribbon. There was such an air of expectancy in the church. Like the hymn that spoke of the thrill of waiting: “The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing.”

The minister called for a moment of reflection, a time to think over the past year, and Meg knew she had so much to be grateful for: a loving sister, a chance to pursue the vocation she loved, a new home here in Halfway, and a man she loved dearly.

And none of this would have come about if she had not just endured the worst crisis of her career. She thanked God for clearing her name in the investigation. The silver lining in that horrible experience was that she had seen it was time to shake up her life. All signs pointed to Halfway being a much more hospitable place for a midwife, a fine place to settle and raise a family. Jack squeezed her hand as the choir began to sing “O Holy Night,” and in that moment, Meg knew she was in the right place.

22

C
hristmas morning dawned with a pale sky and snow flurries. Fanny dressed quickly in the cold, grateful for warm water to splash on her face. She lit the kerosene lamps downstairs, started a fire in the kitchen stove, and woke her children with the good news that Christ was born in Bethlehem.

“He was? Again?” Will peeked out from under the blankets and swiped at the edge of his mouth.

Fanny chuckled. “I’m talking about the first Christmas, liebe. This is the day that we celebrate Jesus’s birth. Come downstairs and we’ll read the story together.”

Beth sat up in bed and pushed stray hairs from her face. “Is Jesus in the manger?” Fascinated by the Nativity scene, Beth had been anxiously awaiting the arrival of the infant statue, which Fanny kept hidden until Christmas morning.

“Come downstairs, and you may put him in his crib,” Fanny promised.

They assembled in the warm kitchen, where Fanny had set out a small pile of gifts covered with a bright dishtowel in front of each child’s place. Beth was excited at the prospect of gifts, and Will wanted to take a peek but agreed to wait until after breakfast, as usual. Fanny put the crèche on the table in front of the children to distract them from their curiosity over the Christmas goodies.

Caleb had just come in from feeding the horses; wisps of snowflakes were melting on his shoulders. Fanny slid a freshly diapered Tommy into his highchair and placed a handful of Cheerios on the tray.

Still wearing pajamas and slippers, Beth and Will sat in front of the crèche, their elbows on the table, their cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Mamm, we need to add the baby Jesus,” Beth said.

“I didn’t forget.” Fanny fetched the small figurine from the top shelf of a cupboard and handed it to her youngest daughter.

“There you are!” Beth’s tiny fingers cradled the statue and carefully placed it in the small wooden manger.

Elsie sang “Christ the Savior is born,” as she slid an egg-and-bacon casserole into the oven and took a seat at the table. She opened the Bible, smoothed down the pages, and looked up at Fanny. “Who will read this morning?”

The question pointed to the one missing from the table—Tom.

The tradition was to gather around the head of the household and listen as he read the story of the first Christmas. In their family, Tom had read the scripture. In most Amish families, it was usually the father or doddy—the grandfather—who did the reading.

Fanny lifted the Bible with a soft, loving smile. Throughout the morning Fanny had been mindful that this was their first Christmas without Thomas. It would have been easy to fall into a trough of sadness, but she knew that was not Gott’s will. “It’s up to Caleb now,” she said, sliding the good book over toward him. “It’s from the book of Luke, chapter two.”

He lifted his chin, a bit surprised, though he didn’t object. “I think I know it by heart from hearing Dat read it all these years.”

Caleb began softly, like a rustle of wind in the trees. “ ‘And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.’ ”