A Simple Christmas Wish (11 page)

Holly giggled at the familiar saying, but Lydia gave her a confused frown.

“I don’t have bugs in my bed,” Sarah told Holly as they headed for the door.

“It’s just a joke,” Holly said. “My daddy used to say it to me.”

The barn grew quiet now, with just the sounds of the
animals and Buttercup rustling around, trying to get comfortable. “Do you think she’s going to be okay?” Rachel asked Benjamin as she sat back down on the milking stool that he had provided for her.

“I think so. She’s never had a problem before, but there’s always a first.”

“What would you do if she did have a problem?” Rachel wasn’t really sure she wanted to hear the answer, and yet she was curious.

“Well, it’s not something I want to do, but I would have to sacrifice the calf in order to save the cow, and it wouldn’t be pretty. If it comes to that—and it won’t be until after midnight—I’ll need you to go in and get Daniel to help me. And I’m sure you won’t want to watch.” He peered at her from over Buttercup’s back, from where he was rubbing her side in the hopes the calf would turn around. “You might not want to stay out here that late.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not easy sleeping in a strange place, and the cot wasn’t too comfy. I’m sure I was wide awake for half the night.”

His brows arched.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to complain. Your sister is kind to put me up like this.” Rachel reached down to where Cookie was rubbing against her legs, and as soon as she petted the cat, she hopped up into Rachel’s lap, which Rachel didn’t mind a bit, because the warmth was nice.

He grinned. “No problem. You can complain to me. I wouldn’t like sleeping on a cot either.”

“And I’m sure I’ve worn out my welcome,” she continued. For some reason she felt comfortable letting her guard down
around this guy. She knew he was Amish, yet he didn’t seem as rigid as Lydia and Daniel.

“Lydia is curious as to why you’re still here,” he told her.

“Well, for one thing there’s the snow,” she began. “She seems to think it’s no big deal, but that Karmann Ghia is not made for this kind of weather.”

“Uh-huh. That’s a nice little car.”

She frowned. “I just don’t get you, Benjamin.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re dressed like them. And I know you’re Amish, but for some reason, you seem different.”

He pointed at her with a funny grin. “Well, you’re dressed Amish, but I have to say you’re pretty different too.”

“I already told you the reason I’m dressed like this. I am obviously not Amish.”

“So clothes don’t make the man? Or the woman either?”

“Maybe not, but appearances do seem very important to Amish people, and I have to admit that bewilders me. I mean, from my perspective, it seems a bit superficial.” Now she pointed at his face. “Another thing that’s different—you don’t have one of those weird fringy beards. Why is that?”

“Fringy beards?” He laughed.

“All the men at the church meeting seemed to have them. Why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not married,” he said simply.

“Oh? So if you get married, you’ll have to wear a beard like that?” She scratched the top of the cat’s head, making her purr even louder.

“That’s what’s expected.”

“And why aren’t you married? You’re obviously old enough.”

Before he could answer, Buttercup let out a loud bellow and Benjamin was barely able to hop out of the way before she turned herself completely around in the oversized stall and then just as quickly turned back around the other way. “Easy, girl,” he said as he moved over to where Rachel and Cookie had evacuated the stool, getting out of the way of the restless bovine.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s in pain.” He bent down to examine her hindquarters again. Since Buttercup’s head was toward Rachel now, she couldn’t see what Benjamin saw. “But I think her situation is improving.”

“Really?” Rachel looked into Buttercup’s big brown eyes. “I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time, girl,” she said soothingly. “I wish there was something I could do to help.” She stepped closer, petting the silky brown neck.

“You can pray that these hooves come out pointing down,” he told her.

Buttercup let out another guttural noise, as if she were moaning in pain. Rachel felt so sorry for her that she actually did close her eyes and silently asked God to help this poor animal. Really, what could it hurt?

“I think it’s about to happen,” Benjamin said eagerly. “I can see the sac.”

“What about the hooves?” she asked. “Are they pointing down? I did pray just now.”

“I can’t tell, but if they’re pointing up, you’ll have to run for Daniel. And I mean
run
.”

Rachel bit her lip, waiting nervously. “Should I run now?”

“No, not yet. I think we might’ve gotten lucky. Now if she
could just settle down . . . and lie down . . . I think we might be out of the woods.”

Again Rachel prayed. She felt a bit silly praying for a cow, but at the same time, it was better than just fretting. Suddenly Buttercup started to move again, turning around once more, and then she lay down. This time her head was faced away from Rachel.

“Thanks be to God,” Benjamin came over and, grabbing up the other milking stool, sat right near Buttercup’s back end. “It won’t be long.”

The whole barn seemed quiet now, as if the other animals were aware that something important was going on over here. Or else they were asleep. And then, in a matter of seconds, it happened. The calf’s hooves emerged, pointing the right direction, followed by the head, and just like that, the entire calf was out. Between Buttercup and Benjamin, the shiny dark brown calf was getting his nose cleared and cleaned, and after what seemed a long time, but was probably just seconds, he was breathing.

“I wish Holly could see this,” Rachel said quietly, watching with wide-eyed amazement.

“Move out of the way,” Benjamin said as he lifted the calf in his arms. “I’m taking him over to a clean stall.”

“What about his mommy?” Rachel looked at the cow, now resting peacefully.

“Don’t worry, she won’t be far behind.” He walked over to another stall. “Can you get this door for me, Rachel?”

She hurried over, opening the latch and holding the door wide open. Just like Benjamin predicted, Buttercup was on her feet, letting out a protective sounding
moo
and following him into the clean stall.

“There you go, old girl,” Benjamin said as he gently laid the calf down, allowing Buttercup to sniff and check him out. “You should both rest comfortably tonight.” He stepped out and closed the door, then turned back to Rachel. “Thanks for your help.”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t much help, but I did enjoy witnessing that, in a weird sort of way. I mean, I’m a city girl, but that was pretty cool. Okay, cool’s not the right word. It was amazing—miraculous.” She laughed, suddenly feeling giddy with relief. She had really been worried about Buttercup and the calf.

“It is amazing. I’m glad you stuck it out for the whole thing.” He picked up some straw, using it to wipe his hands, then tossing it into the stall where the birthing had just occurred. “I need to get this cleaned up now, and I expect you’ll want to get back to the house.”

She wasn’t eager to leave, but at the same time she didn’t really want to help clean up the stall, which was a bit smelly. “Thanks for letting me watch,” she said.

“Make sure Holly comes out here to see it in the morning,” he told her. “The calf will be all dry and soft and fluffy by then. Nothing cuter than a baby calf.”

“Holly will probably fall in love with it.”

“And I’m sure she’ll get the opportunity to see a complete calving,” he assured her. “We’ve got a number of cows due to calve this spring—she won’t miss out.”

“Yeah . . .” Rachel sighed sadly. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy that.” She told him good night, and picking up the lantern she’d left hung on the peg by the door, she hurried out and on over to the darkened house.

It felt strange to be out here in the middle of the night, still wearing the Amish dress—a dress that had belonged to Miri. Her footsteps crunched in the snow, and halfway between the barn and the house, she paused to look up at the night sky, wondering if more snow was in store, but all she saw was velvety black and stars. Millions of twinkling stars. She had never seen stars like that before, so bright and so close, almost as if she could touch them with her hand. She just stood there, staring up in wonder, until she realized she was shivering, and then she hurried into the house.

As she carried her lantern through the darkened house, tiptoeing up the stairs, it almost felt like she was having a love-hate relationship with the Amish. At times, like watching the calving tonight, she felt completely alive and engaged and was enjoying herself immensely—and those stars were awesome! Even some of the slowed-down simple pleasures of preparing food or enjoying a sunset over a snowy field were all wonderful. But then there was Lydia—and the way her grasp upon Holly seemed to be growing tighter and tighter while, at the same time, she was pushing Rachel away. That thought caused all of Rachel’s good feelings to dissolve, and once again she felt nothing but animosity toward the Amish.

10

The next morning, even before breakfast, Rachel took Holly out to the barn to see the new calf. Thankfully, Sarah was helping her mother with the cooking, and Rachel was able to savor this moment with her niece by herself. As Holly petted the velvety brown calf, Rachel told her the whole dramatic story of how the calf was born.

“You watched the whole thing?” Holly asked with childlike awe.

“Yes, and I sort of helped.” She chuckled. “Well, I probably wasn’t much help, but Benjamin seemed to appreciate it.”

“What’s his name?” Holly asked.

“I have no idea.”

“I would call him Cocoa,” Holly told her. “He’s the same color as cocoa.”

“Maybe you should tell Uncle Benjamin.”

“Yeah.” She nodded eagerly. “I will.”

After breakfast, Jacob announced that it was time to go to school, and Holly was ecstatic over what was about to be her first buggy ride. Although Rachel was happy for her, it was
painful to watch her niece, dressed up in the Amish outfit, climbing into the buggy with Sarah. It all felt so wrong . . . and so final. As if Rachel might never see her again, as if Holly was riding off into Amish Land for good.

Rachel had been forced to wear the Amish clothes too, because at breakfast, she discovered that laundry wasn’t usually done until Saturday.

“But I put your clothing in a tub to soak,” Lydia said as she scrubbed a plate. “And I will wash them out after I finish in here.”

“I can wash my clothes myself,” Rachel said.

Lydia looked doubtful. “The way we wash clothes here is not like you are used to. I will do it.”

“Then let me finish in the kitchen,” Rachel insisted.

Lydia looked even more doubtful. “What if you pour dishwater on yourself again—and all over the floor?”

“I’ll be very careful.”

Lydia sighed. “
Ja,
I would like to get your clothes washed out so we can hang them to dry. It will take most of the day to dry, and I think you must be wanting to be on your way by now.”

Rachel felt the need to bite her tongue as Lydia went out to the back porch, where her laundering area was set up. As badly as Rachel longed to be “on her way,” she did not want to leave without Holly—although the likelihood of leaving
with
Holly seemed to be shrinking by the moment. Just the memory of Holly’s smiling face as she waved from the buggy as it was leaving made Rachel feel like crying as she washed and rinsed a plate.

She’d just finished washing the last pot when Lydia came
back into the house with Rachel’s clean but wet clothes. “I will hang these by the fire,” Lydia told her. “That will help them to dry faster.”

“Thank you.” Rachel cringed to see her red wool sweater all pulled out of shape, but she knew it was pointless to complain. She should simply be grateful. This time, when she emptied the dishpan, she did it very carefully—with no mishaps. Lydia was just returning to the kitchen as Rachel was rinsing it out.

“You have learned how to do it right?”

Rachel sighed. “I guess so.”

Lydia picked up a dishrag, wiping over the countertop that Rachel had already cleaned, as if to show that it hadn’t been done properly. “Mamm told me you spoke to her yesterday,” Lydia said without looking at Rachel, “but that you ran away.”

Rachel’s cheeks flushed to remember her embarrassing breakdown in front of the older woman. “Yes. I got emotional when we spoke about your sister . . . and my brother. I suppose I’m still grieving.”

“Ja.”
Lydia just nodded. “I understand.”

Rachel felt somewhat surprised and was about to pursue this more, but Lydia seemed to change gears. “Mamm wants you to come and see her today,” Lydia informed her. “I told her you would come after breakfast.”

“Oh?”

“
Ja.
I have my work to do and you cannot leave until your clothes are dry, so you might as well go now.” Lydia turned and walked away.

Rachel really felt Lydia’s people skills could use some improvement, but the thought of finishing her conversation
with Miri’s mother—in private—was somewhat appealing. If nothing else, she might discover why Miri had left here. Not that Rachel blamed her. She felt certain she would’ve done the same thing if she’d been in Miri’s shoes. She looked down at her dress, realizing that she was almost in Miri’s shoes now. At least Benjamin was correct—these outfits with the thick black stockings and all the undergarments were warmer than they looked.

Even so, she put on her own coat before she headed over to Mrs. Schrock’s house, where she was soon seated opposite the older woman at a dining table very much like the one in Lydia’s house, having a cup of tea. She apologized immediately for having fallen apart on Sunday. “It’s still difficult for me,” she said. “My brother and Miri were the only family I have. And Holly too, of course.”

“You have no other family?” Mrs. Schrock looked skeptical.

“My father left us when I was very young. We never saw him again, and my mother died when I was fifteen.”