Christmas Visitor (4 page)

Ruth smiled as she fed Benjamin, her eyes devouring the cabinets, the corner cupboard, the old extension table, the braided rug in front of the sink. The smells were identical to the ones of her youth with evidence of Mam's Shaklee products everywhere. The laundry soap, bath soap, dish detergent, window cleaner
—
all Shaklee.

The house was spotless, as usual, but then church services were here today, which had meant extra cleaning even if it wasn't entirely needed. The services were actually in the shop across the lawn, where Dat tinkered with woodworking or implement repair. It had been hosed down, the walls and windows washed, carpet laid, and benches set out. And now the services were beginning.

Rocking Benjamin, Ruth's head felt heavy, her eyelids began to close, and she longed to take a nap. She had been awake at four that morning and was unable to get back to sleep with thoughts of driving Pete to her parents' house for church crowding out any possible slumber. Voices in the kesslehaus (wash house) brought her back from her slide into actual sleep.

“No, that's Jake's Sammie's Davey's boy. You know, Huvvel (planer) Dave, the one who has a woodworking shop somewhere up in Manheim.”

“So is this guy the one who bought that property at the end of Hoosier Road?”

“I don't know.”

“This guy's not bad looking. Why isn't he married?”

“Oh, he has a girlfriend. Paul's Anna.”

“I see.”

After Benjamin was satisfied, Ruth headed back to the shop, where she scooped up Lillian and held her close. She looked around at the congregation and saw Dat seated in the ministers' row, his gray hair and beard neat and clean, his head bent, likely sending up a prayer for the young minister who had the opening.

Her gaze found the single boys as she searched for Elmer and Roy. Were they behaving? Turning her head, she found her nephews, Allen and Ivan, and yes, there was Roy, whispering to his cousin. Hopefully, he'd remain quiet after he said what he deemed necessary. She'd try to catch his eye to remind him of the fact that she could see him and knew if he misbehaved.

He looked up, guileless as a rabbit, his eyes open wide. Quickly, Ruth sat up straighter, put a finger to her lips, drew down her eyebrows, and shook her head ever so slightly. When Roy, her generally softhearted one, looked as if he would burst into tears, she smiled, only a bit, and gave him a slight wink as a reassurance of her love.

A small smile smoothed out Roy's humiliation, and she felt better, until she looked straight into a pair of very dark brown eyes that didn't turn away from her face. He had seen her wink. There are lots of words for humiliation, but none served to describe her shame.

Oh please don't let him think…. Then the thought struck her that, of course, she had nothing to be ashamed of. He didn't know her, and she had no idea who he was, so they'd never meet again. If he wanted to be so bold as to let her know he was watching, then, well, so be it. Sorry.

She told her sister, Verna, about it after services. They were busy putting red beets and pickles in small Styrofoam bowls to be put on the table with the rest of the traditional food that was served every other Sunday at church.

Verna watched her sister's face
—
the soft rose of her blush
—
and tried to laugh. But her mouth took on a squarish quality, and she became quite hysterical as she turned her face away. Her shoulders shook as she cried.

When Verna finished, she lifted her apron and dug out a wrinkled, not-so-white handkerchief and honked mightily into it. Then she lifted red-rimmed eyes to Ruth and said, “Ruth, I don't care if you think I'm not quite right, but you need to think about marrying again someday. Your row is long, and the sun is hot, and you have it tough. I would wish for you a nice and decent young man, a special one for your children.”

She again honked her nose into the questionable handkerchief, blinked her eyes, and lifted her apron to return the cloth to her pocket. Then she turned back to the task of fishing sweet pickles out of their brine with a spoon that had no slots in it. Silently, Ruth handed her a slotted spoon. Verna took it, and they finished filling the bowls.

The next time Ruth looked at Verna, she nodded her head ever so slightly, and they shared a watery smile of sisterhood and love and understanding.

As the late summer sun burned the cool mists of September mornings into glorious fall, the leaves turned slowly into vibrant shades of red, yellow, and orange. The garden was cleared of its tomatoes and brown, rustling cornstalks and diseased marigolds.

Ruth gathered an armload of cornstalks, walked to the white board fence, and flung them over. Then she stood to watch Pete hungrily bite into one, allowing Oatmeal, the small round pony the color of her name, none of the tender evening snack.

“Pete, come on. Stop being greedy. Get over here, Oatmeal. He'll let you have some.”

She turned in time to see Roy chasing Barbara across the lawn with a cornstalk held aloft, a banner of intended harm. Barbara was not crying out. She simply lowered her head in determination and outran him, her blue dress flapping as her knees pumped and her brown legs churned. She dodged Roy with the agility of a small rabbit.

Triumphantly and clearly the winner, though her chest was heaving, Barbara turned to face him. Roy swung the cornstalk futilely, accepting defeat, until she charged after him, neatly swiping the offending stalk and racing off with it. Roy took pursuit once more.

Ruth watched, laughing to herself, until Lillian ran directly into Roy's path, where he crashed into her. She fell back, hitting her head on the corner of the wooden sandbox and sending up a series of shrieks and howls, her face turning burgundy, her mouth open wide.

“Stop! No, no, Lillian. Don't cry,” Roy said, bending to help his youngest sister, rubbing her head, sliding her onto his lap as he sat down.

Barbara dropped the cornstalk and came running to see how bad it was. She told Roy it was all his fault, because he had started it. Roy asked who had been running away when this happened, and Barbara retorted that that was not what she had said.

When Ruth reached them, Lillian was still emitting howls of outrage. Good-natured Barbara was bristling with anger, while Roy was determined to prove his point and trying to drive home the blame with his words.

Calm. I will remain calm, Ruth thought. She scooped up Lillian and checked her head for injuries. Her searching fingers found a large goose egg protruding from her daughter's scalp.

“Hush. Hush, Lillian. It's alright,” she said softly, which did no good as her words were buried under a fresh supply of howling.

“Roy. Barbara. Stop. Go sit on the bench until you can be quiet.”

“It was her!”

“It was Roy!”

“It was not. She started it!”

With Lillian on her hip, Ruth grasped Roy firmly by his shoulder and steered him in the direction of the wooden bench by the back door. Barbara followed, shamefaced.

As she went through the laundry room door, she could hear little Benjamin crying lustily from his playpen, and by the look of his tired, wet face, he had been crying steadily for some time.

Setting Lillian on the couch, Ruth crunched a few saltine crackers beneath her feet as she made her way to Baby Benjy, as they'd come to call him. She had to kick a plastic bucket of toys aside before reaching to extract him from the confines of his playpen.

What was most important here? She put Benjy in his baby swing and pressed the button to set it into motion as she mentally reviewed Lillian's fall, wondering if she should be taken somewhere. The ER was the only service available if she had a serious injury at this time of the evening.

Hadn't she heard somewhere that if a child yells and cries, it's not too serious? Or if a bump appears on the skull? Was that a myth? She could hear her mother saying that if the lump goes in but is not visible on the outside, it can be fatal.

A stab of fear made her cringe, the reality of Lillian's head injury looming ahead of her. She had fifty-seven dollars in her checking account. That was all. The ER would send a bill, and then there was the amount she would have to pay the driver she'd need to hire.

She held Lillian and felt the lump, undecided. She looked up to find Roy and Barbara entering the kitchen, followed by Elmer and Esther, their eyes wide with concern.

“Is she hurt seriously?”

“Is she okay?”

Ruth nodded, assuring them, but she was still unsure about whether Lillian should be seen by a doctor. The last thing she needed was another bill to pay, but her daughter's health was her first priority, she knew.

Oh, Ben.

She held Lillian, and Esther reached for Benjamin, who was not settling down. Ruth maintained a calm appearance as she tried to think rationally while watching Lillian's face, where the color slowly drained away until even her lips were alarmingly pale. What should she do?

She decided to watch her for an hour, then take action. She put a cool washcloth on Lillian's forehead and gave her a dropper filled with children's grape flavored Tylenol. The generic brand at Walmart had been half the price, thank goodness. Lillian swallowed dutifully, sighed, whimpered, and lay very still against her mother's breast.

Don't let them sleep. She could hear her old family doctor's voice as clearly as if he was in the room. Lillian's eyelids sank lower, and Ruth shifted her position to keep her awake.

“Lillian!”

She began to cry.

“Elmer, go get Mamie. Please?”

“Alright.”

Instantly, he was out the door. Ruth was thankful for Elmer's obedience and wanted to remember to tell him so.

“Esther, would you please pick up toys? Roy, please get the broom and sweep up these crackers.”

They both did her bidding quietly, with reverence for their injured sister worrying them into obedience. Barbara brought a light blanket, and Ruth smiled at her as she covered Lillian's legs.

When Lillian's eyes began to close again, Ruth sat her up, saying, “Lillian!”

She was immensely grateful to see her neighbor, Mamie Stoltzfus, wife of Ephraim, come through the front door with her youngest, Waynie, hanging haphazardly on her plump hip. His thin blond hair was matted, his nose running, his blue eyes alight with interest
—
a small replica of his mother.

Mamie was what Ruth lovingly called “roly-poly.” She was a heavy woman, though tall, with thinning hair and bright blue eyes. She viewed the world through rosy lenses, an extension of her heart overflowing with love and compassion toward every person she had the pleasure of knowing.

“Ach (oh) my, Ruth.”

She bent to look at Lillian with Waynie bobbing along on her hip. She felt the large lump, stepped back to look at Lillian's face, and lifted the eyelids to look for contraction in the pupils. Then she clucked.

Ruth was assailed by odors of cooking and baking, twice weekly baths, Waynie's unchanged cloth diaper, and other smells associated with Mamie's relaxed approach to life.

“What happened? Here, Waynie, you sit here. Look, there's a car. You want to play with the toys? Look, there's a teddy!”

Waynie gurgled happily and crawled across the floor, his questionable odor following him. Mamie grunted and straightened her substantial frame before sitting down beside Ruth, who promptly leaned against her as the cushions flattened under Mamie.

“The children were playing and knocked her over. She hit her head against the corner of the sandbox. She really cried.”

“Oh, she looks aright. Some color's coming back to her cheeks. Gel, Lillian? Gel, doo bisht alright. Gel? (Right, you will be fine. Right?)”

Nodding and smiling, Maime reached for her neighbor's daughter, her arms and hands and heart needing to be about their business. She gathered Lillian against her greasy dress front and kissed her cheek.

“Bisht falla? (Did you fall?)”

Suddenly, Lillian sat straight up and said, “I broke my head apart.”

“You did? Just like Humpty Dumpty?”

Lillian nodded and giggled, watching Waynie crawl in pursuit of a rolling ball. She pushed against Mamie's red hands and slid off her lap. She walked steadily over to Waynie and patted his bottom, giggling.

Tears sprang to Ruth's eyes, and her knees became weak with relief. Mamie beamed and said Lillian had quite a bump there but by all appearances would be fine.

“You wouldn't have a doctor examine her?”

“No. She just had a good tap on her head.”

“Tap?”

Ruth shook her head, laughing.

As the sun made a glorious exit behind the oak tree, Mamie settled herself into a kitchen chair with a cup of hot spearmint tea and a plate of chocolate peanut butter bars.

“You didn't need to do this,” she chortled happily, immensely pleased at the prospect of visiting with Ruth.

“No, no, it's okay. I need something to pick me up after that scare,” Ruth assured her.

“I can't imagine life without Ephraim,” Mamie said, quick tears of sympathy appearing in her happy eyes.

Ruth nodded, then sent the older children out to finish the removal of the cornstalks. After they'd gone, she turned to Mamie.

“It's not always easy, although I can't complain. I have so much to be thankful for, in so many ways.”

Mamie dipped a bar into her heavily sugared tea, then clucked in dismay when it broke apart and the wet part disappeared into the hot liquid. Quickly, Ruth was on her feet to get a spoon, but Mamie held one up, laughing, and fished the wet particles out of the tea.

“Drowned my chocolate chip bar! Oh well.”

She slurped mightily as she bit into another half of a bar. She nodded her head in appreciation and shook her spoon in Ruth's direction as she chewed, an indication of the volley of words that was to follow.

“I don't know how you do it. Everything so neat and clean. Your work is always done. You just glide seamlessly through your days and never complain. Waynie, no. Don't. As I was saying, how can you handle all your children, and get your work done? Waynie, no.”

She heaved herself off the chair and extracted her young son from a potted plant, as Ruth winced at the trail of potting soil spreading across the linoleum, which was apparently invisible to Mamie.

Mamie settled Waynie on her lap and began feeding him chunks of the chocolate chip bar.

“You know Mert Ordwich died?”

“Who?”

“Mert. You know, the feed salesman. Oh, I forgot. You're not on the farm. Well, he had hardening of the arteries and wouldn't go to the doctor. That's how thick headed he was. Ephraim says he's stubborn as a mule. He was. I doubt if he is now anymore. We went to his viewing last night. The line was so long, and my feet hurt so bad. There we stood and stood, on and on. He didn't look like Mert. His face was so puffy.”

Mamie looked at Lillian.

“She seems perfectly alright. Anyway…Waynie, komm. As I was saying, they say the David Petersheim place is sold. Eli Kings were standing in line with us. They said a young bachelor bought it. We…I don't know if he's a bachelor. I shouldn't say. He's single, but he's going with Paul King's Anna.”

Ruth chuckled.

“He's single, but he's dating?”

Mamie laughed uproariously and thumped the table solidly in a most unladylike manner. Ruth watched her and felt her spirits lifting. She was also relieved knowing Lillian would be alright, and she was glad.

“Ach Ruth, I'm getting old. I say the dumbest things. You know what I mean. He's pretty old
—
to be unmarried. Anyway, he must have money, or his father does, paying four hundred and some thousand.”

Mamie paused as she reached for another cookie bar.

“I'll just eat this one, and then I have to go. Oh, I meant to ask you. We have a shopping trip planned at the end of October
—
early Christmas shopping. Would you want to go with me and a few others?”

Ruth simply didn't know what to say. How could she respond honestly and yet keep her pride intact at the same time? So she hesitated, pulled Lillian onto her lap, and checked the lump on her head to buy time. Then she answered Mamie.

“I'll see.”

“Good! Oh, I hope you can go! We'd love to have you.”

Later that night, when the late September moon had risen above the oak tree and bathed the small house in a soft, white glow, Ruth lay in her king sized bed, her eyes wide, her mind churning with endless questions and possibilities. What to do?