An Amish Christmas (2 page)

Their relationship had started out as more of a friendship. A little teasing back and forth led to some shared coffees, then pizza while studying for the final exam. Slowly, their connection grew and deepened. James proved to be a stabilizing influence on the flighty, directionless girl Meg had been. She had admired his strength, his solidness—not the physical kind but the kind that made her feel cared for and safe. Of course, she reflected with a smile, she hadn’t minded that he was tall and broad-chested, with thick sandy-colored hair and large dark eyes whose intent gaze made her feel she was the most important person in the room.

By the end of junior year, it was clear to both of them that marriage would follow on the heels of graduation. While he went to law school, she set up their first apartment and helped support them by working in a boring but well-paying job as an administrative assistant. The plan had always been for Meg to go to law school once James had a job, but then she got pregnant
with Lizzie, and that was that. Which was perfectly fine with Meg. She wouldn’t trade one minute of time with her three children for anything in the world. Working would have been impractical for her, anyway, since they had moved to three different states over the years because of the series of job offers that came James’s way. His drive and early success meant their lives were far more than comfortable. She and the children had everything they could ever need and more.

Maybe too much more.

She heard her older son coming downstairs—his feet, as usual, clomping rapidly rather than just walking. He was talking, his voice growing louder as he approached. “That is so
sick
, man!”

Meg rolled her eyes, understanding this to be high praise for whatever it was Will was discussing. She called out to him.

He stuck his head in the kitchen. He was slender and noticeably tall for an eighth-grader, with a face remarkably like his father’s. Will wore a dark-gray sweatshirt, his face nearly hidden in its hood. “Hang on,” he said to the room in general. “My mom, yeah.”

Meg understood that he was using a hands-free phone. No doubt it was the newest, tiniest, most advanced gadget available. She swore that half the time she didn’t know if her children were talking—or listening, for that matter—to her, to one another, or to someone else entirely on a cell phone or computer. Much to her chagrin, her husband aided and abetted the children’s desire to be up on the latest electronic everything. It seemed as if he came home every other week with an updated version of some gizmo or other. The stuff just kept changing,
rendering the previous purchases obsolete, but no one besides her seemed to mind. Though lately, she reflected, she hadn’t seen the usual parade of new electronic toys, so perhaps James had heeded her protests.

“Will, what’s the story with the science-fair project?” She tried to keep her tone light. Non-nagging. “And I’d like to see what you’re wearing for the class photo tomorrow. No rock-band T-shirts, okay?”

He merely gave her a look as if annoyed by her interruption, then was gone. She heard him resume his conversation in the hall. “Two hundred? So what’s the big deal?”

“Well, I certainly straightened
him
out,” she muttered. She glanced at her watch. It was past the time she should have started hustling Sam into bed for the night; he invariably dawdled, dragging out the process as long as he could. This evening there had been his minimal trick-or-treating, admiring and organizing the candy he’d collected, and a full load of homework. He still hadn’t taken a shower to wash off the remnants of green face makeup from his zombie costume. Rushing now, Meg transferred the cookies to a large plastic container. She frowned as she hurried upstairs; she would have to return to finish cleaning up.

She found her nine-year-old seated at his desk, pencil in hand, hunched over a math book. He barely had enough space for the book, as his desk was nearly buried beneath the array of papers, random objects, and unidentifiable pieces of who-knew-what. Her younger son collected—anything. Meg didn’t know why, but apparently Sam had never met a piece of paper, ticket stub, or souvenir he didn’t love. Marbles, miniature cars
and action figures, stickers, small plastic animals, and rubbery novelty toys—all were held in equally high esteem. His collection wasn’t restricted to his desktop, however, or the desk drawers. Boxes and plastic containers of various sizes were scattered about his room, overflowing with the items Meg periodically gathered up from the floor. She didn’t want to think about how many shopping bags full of his stuff were shoved into the back of his closet and on its highest shelves. She was just grateful he restricted himself to smaller treasures. If he’d amassed something like train sets or rocks, they would have been in big trouble.

“Sweetheart,” she murmured, her hand on his shoulder. “It’s late.”

He looked at her and smiled. That grin always melted her heart. While Will looked like James, and Lizzie, with her chestnut-colored hair and hazel eyes, favored Meg, Sam was utterly unlike either one of them. His hair was shiny, almost black, and his brown eyes were so dark that they appeared black as well. Short for his age, with a slight build and pale complexion, he exhibited an inquisitiveness neither of his siblings did.

His nature was different as well. He was far more prone than the other two to feel anxious. He worried and fretted over what might or might not happen in his life, in the country, and in the world. He asked endless questions, which the family called “Sam’s what-if questions,” about how they would handle a wide range of disasters that might suddenly befall them. Hurricanes, fires, robbers, plagues, waterborne pathogens—Meg was often scrambling to explain how they would escape various calamities.
Sam was her sensitive one. Even when the other two were younger, they hadn’t seemed quite as fearful. For several years, starting when he was four, Sam often refused to go places that, for some reason or other, sounded frightening to him. It might be another child’s birthday party or the beach or the zoo. No amount of reassurance could change his mind.

Thankfully, that phase had passed, but when he got under the covers at night, Meg still spent a few extra minutes sitting on the bed, just hugging him. She knew that, at those times at least, he felt utterly relaxed and safe.

Sam closed his math book and stood. Pale streaks of green makeup were smeared not just on his face but on his arms and T-shirt. There was an outburst of shouting downstairs as Lizzie and Will embarked on what Meg figured had to be their fiftieth argument of the day. Both Sam and Meg ignored the familiar sound.

“Do I have to shower?”

“Yes, sugar, and it has to be fast.” Meg smiled as she put her arm around him and led him toward the bathroom.

It was nearly eleven-thirty before all three children were in bed and she had finished cleaning up downstairs. She was exhausted, but, as was her routine, she put on her nightgown and got into bed with her pink leather appointment book—a Mother’s Day gift from James two years before—and five pens, each a different color. She had long ago determined that assigning each family member his or her own color made it easier to keep track of who had to be where and when.

She fluffed up two pillows against the headboard and leaned
back. She loved this room, with its soothing tones of pale green and beige, the soft cotton sheets and goose-down duvet on the bed, the muted lighting. It was so peaceful here. James still hadn’t emerged from his study. Usually, by this hour, he was under the covers, reading a newspaper or business magazine, waiting for her to join him.

She opened her date book, enjoying, as always, the soft leather and thick cream-colored pages. Her own appointments were in red. Tomorrow started with a planning meeting for the high school’s spring fund-raiser, after which she had to take in her BMW for a lube and oil. She made a note to bring her book club’s choice for this month to read while she was waiting.

After that, food shopping for the small dinner party they were having on Saturday, so she could start preparing a few days in advance. She would pick up James’s dry cleaning and the pearl necklace she was having restrung as a gift for Lizzie, a gift Meg knew would be unwanted now but which she hoped would be appreciated in later years. Then it would be time to drive to piano lessons (a protesting Lizzie—purple ink) and to the shoe store for new sneakers (Sam—blue ink). Swing back around to retrieve Lizzie, then get Will (green ink) from basketball practice at school, and home to make dinner. She scheduled an hour the next night to pay bills and catch up on paperwork.

She turned to her master to-do list, a veritable rainbow of color-coded tasks at the front of the book. Lizzie needed her dental checkup, and Meg jotted that down in purple below the forty-some other tasks on the list. No matter what she did, that list just kept getting longer. It seemed that for every item she
completed, another two instantly took its place. Some of the less pressing obligations reappeared month after month, causing Meg guilt pangs over what she viewed as her negligence. Still, there were many days when she wondered what all of this was adding up to. Was there a prize for being the person who accomplished the most errands? Maybe the day you got to the end of your to-do list was the day you died. Just in case, she thought with a smile, it’s a good thing I always leave some stuff undone.

She closed the book and was placing it on her bedside table when James came into the room. Having left him alone all evening, Meg had assumed that by now his bad mood would have dissipated, but she saw that she was mistaken. His mood was, if anything, darker.

“Honey,” she began.

He threw her a hard look. “Not now.” He began unbuttoning his shirt, his anger evident in his sharp movements.

“James, what on earth is the matter?” She refused to go along with this any further.

“I said not now,” he snapped. Their eyes met, and he softened, his shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry, Meg, I shouldn’t … I’m really sorry.”

She leaned forward. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.” James exhaled slowly. “It’s been a rotten day, that’s all. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“You didn’t even say hello to the kids tonight. Please tell me what’s bothering you.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and kissed her on the
lips. “I’m sorry for being a jerk, but I swear, it’s nothing.” He smiled, shifting gears. “And a very happy Halloween to you, too. Sam better have saved me some of his candy.”

“You know our Sam,” Meg said lightly, her tone matching his change of mood. “He had a candy bar and some M&M’s, then put the rest away to dole out to himself sensibly.”

James shook his head. “I can’t imagine doing that. My friends and I used to eat ourselves sick on Halloween.”

“The simple pleasures of childhood.”

He stood. “I’m going to brush my teeth and all that good stuff. Then we’ll talk. You’ll tell me about your day and the kids’ day, and I promise you’ll have my undivided attention.”

“That’s great.” Meg smiled at him.

Bending over, he kissed the top of her head, then grinned and went into their bathroom. She heard the water running at his sink, her husband singing an old Bob Dylan song in an exaggerated scratchy voice. It would seem that he had put aside whatever unpleasantness was on his mind. She didn’t believe it for a second.

Meg flipped through a rack of party dresses but made no attempt to pick out anything. She knew that any dress she selected for Lizzie would be met by an immediate veto. Meg understood that she wasn’t exactly on top of what teenagers liked to wear, but she didn’t think she deserved her daughter’s inevitable look of disbelief whenever she held something up for consideration. As far as choosing something for Lizzie to wear to the high school’s big Christmas Dance—Meg wasn’t even going to try.

She looked over at her daughter, who was searching through racks across the Nordstrom dress department with great intensity. Her mind flashed on Lizzie’s early years, when Meg had had the pleasure of outfitting her little girl however she wanted. She remembered the bunny-print pajamas, the white bathing suit with navy-blue bows, a yellow sundress. Little white summer sandals, a tiny jean jacket. That all ended around the time
Lizzie turned four, when she insisted that her rainbow T-shirt, flower-print stretch pants, and a white tutu were the perfect outfit for preschool. Every day. And, thought Meg with a smile, when she added the red glitter party shoes, it went so easily from day to evening wear.

“Okay.” Lizzie appeared at Meg’s side, her arms filled with dresses. “I’m going to try these on.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No.” The girl bustled off before her mother could follow.

Meg had spotted a flash of dark purple satin and some black nylon material with big silver sequins among her daughter’s choices. She reassured herself that the odds were against Lizzie actually choosing one of those. This was only their first attempt at finding a dress for the dance. No doubt they would have to endure several shopping trips before Lizzie, growing ever more tense and irritable, made the final decision. This was the reason Meg had allocated six weeks to navigate the minefield. All the hysteria had to unfold in, paradoxically, an orderly fashion. If past experience was any indication, Lizzie would question whether she had made the right decision until the moment she walked out the door to attend the actual event.