The Christmas Cradle (23 page)

After a few moments, Bishop Tom spoke again. “We here in Willow Ridge wish all of ya a blessed Christmas, and we thank ya for comin' tonight to honor the Savior we celebrate and depend upon,” he said. “Be careful goin' home. Please don't cross the tape boundary Sheriff Banks has set up around the burned-out buildings, so their investigation can go the way it's supposed to.”

“Did Knepp set the fire?” someone in the back of the crowd asked.

Bishop Tom smiled patiently. “We don't know that. We're lettin' the police figure it out.”

“Will Miriam rebuild the Sweet Seasons?” somebody else called out. “And what about Ben's smithy? He's the only farrier we've got in this area.”

Bishop Vernon raised his hands to bring the questions to a close. “I ask your prayers on the Hooleys' behalf, as well,” he said. “All of our questions will be answered in God's perfect time—which means we'll need to be patient,” he added with a wry smile. “Good evening to all of you. Go home in peace to contemplate the birth of our Lord.”

 

 

Josiah remained in a back corner of the Hooleys' front room as he watched the crowd disperse. Even though he was now in Lena's parents' good graces, he felt isolated—removed from reality—as he overheard snatches of peoples' speculative conversations. Perhaps if he didn't look across the road again, he would awaken on Christmas Day to see that the Sweet Seasons was still intact, and that the explosions, sirens, and mayhem had all been part of a bad dream. It would be wonderful to sit down to brisket, pork loin, turkey, and Savilla's side dishes, knowing that Bishop Tom's family, Luke and Nora, and Lena's family would also enjoy the meal he and his sister had prepared to thank the folks who'd helped them so much these past weeks.

But it was a fool's game he played, pretending disaster hadn't struck. He'd been wrong to rail at God about why He'd apparently done nothing to curb Hiram Knepp's wickedness; Josiah still felt a void within himself. Although he'd completed his instruction and was to join the church this Sunday, he still had trouble believing that God was in control of their lives and wanted them to prosper.

Emory Esh's earlier question pecked at him like a troublesome hen. How was he supposed to support his young family now? How was he to pay the monthly mortgage and bills for the farm he'd bought? True, he'd kept back money to get through the winter, but what was he supposed to
do
with himself if he and Savilla couldn't cook in the Sweet Seasons kitchen?

When Josiah saw Annie Mae and her family coming downstairs, he made his way through the crowd to express his condolences. Her husband Adam carried little Timmy, still wearing his shepherd costume, while Nellie cradled angel Sarah in her arms and Annie Mae grasped the hands of Josh and Joey, who had portrayed two of the three Wise Men. The children wore solemn, stunned expressions, as though they were too shocked to comprehend what had happened to their father.

“I'm so sorry about your
dat
, Annie Mae,” Josiah murmured when he reached the young woman's side. “If there's anything I can do—”

Annie Mae's huge blue eyes held his gaze through her rimless glasses. “I'm sorry all this has happened to you and Savilla, too,” she replied in a halting voice. “We're taking the kids home, and then Bishop Tom's giving Nellie and me a ride to the hospital. I—I have no idea what we'll say to Dat, or if he'll even be able to hear us. But it seems like the right thing to do.”

“Somebody should be with him. And you'll need to take care of the hospital details,” Josiah pointed out. “I wish you both comfort and strength.”

“
Denki
, Josiah. With the help of our family and friends—and the love of Jesus—we'll come out on the other side of this. We
will
,” Annie Mae added emphatically.

Josiah admired her strength in the face of such a daunting task. While he'd always regretted losing his parents as a youngster—not really getting to know them, or to say good-bye to them—at least he'd not seen them burned to a crisp. Once again he wondered what God had been doing when his
mamm
and
dat
had drowned in the flood and why He'd left two little children without their parents—just as the six Knepp kids had lost their mothers years ago and might well lose their
dat
, too.

Josiah caught sight of Rebecca and scolded himself for succumbing to self-pity and such a lack of faith again. Miriam's daughter had lost her home, her clothing—
everything
—yet as she spoke with Derek Shotwell and another English fellow, she appeared animated rather than destitute. Although her smudged eye makeup reminded Josiah of a raccoon's mask, he sensed a hopefulness about Rebecca that made him downright curious, considering her belongings—maybe even her computer—had been destroyed that evening.

“The insurance adjuster has already spoken with the firefighters,” the balding man alongside Derek was saying. “No matter what the arson investigation reveals, the building that housed the Sweet Seasons and the Schrocks' quilt shop is covered—and we'll help with replacing Ben's smithy, as well.”

Josiah stopped a few feet away from Rebecca and the men who were speaking with her, puzzled. Amish folks never carried insurance—didn't believe in it. So why was this fellow talking about adjusters and promising to replace the burned buildings?

Rebecca nodded as she listened. “I'll help Mamma, Ben, and Mary Schrock list all the appliances and tools and inventory they lost so we can figure out the replacement value for all that stuff,” she said. “If their ledgers were lost in the fire, we might not be able to document everything—”

“But we'll be able to put them back in business sooner rather than later,” the English fellow beside Derek remarked as he slipped his arm around Rebecca's shoulders. “It looks like you'll be getting a whole new wardrobe and a laptop, too, sweetie.”

Unable to corral his curiosity any longer, Josiah approached the little group as the last of the visitors were leaving the front room. “Rebecca, I'm really sorry about your apartment,” he began, figuring it wasn't his business to inquire about the insurance issue.

Rebecca grabbed his hands between hers. “Josiah! I'm so glad you weren't checking your grills when they blew up,” she exclaimed. “We're really fortunate that everyone was on this side of the road, away from the flying debris, too. This is my dad, Bob Oliveri—the man who raised me after I was washed downriver as a toddler.”

Bob reached out to shake Josiah's hand. “It's wonderful to meet you—despite tonight's unfortunate circumstances,” he said with a kind smile. “I was at Luke and Nora's wedding party, and one plateful of your cooking convinced me you'd be a fabulous addition to Miriam's staff and menu.”

Josiah returned Bob's firm grip. “Well, I appreciate that—even though it was my cooking that blew up two buildings tonight,” he added ruefully.

“We all know better than that,” Derek insisted. “And at times like these, we can be grateful that Bob owns Miriam's building. It means you'll all be back in business soon.”

An English fellow owned the Sweet Seasons building? Why had Miriam never mentioned this to him? As Josiah's thoughts raced, he felt Rebecca squeezing his forearm. Her blue eyes sparkled with fierce determination as she gazed up at him.

“Fear not, Josiah,” she said, much as the angel in the Nativity story had spoken. “You might be thinking that Hiram finally got the best of us, but you're about to see what the people of Willow Ridge are made of! We will rise again—believe it!”

Miriam shifted carefully on the hospital bed to make room for Ben to sit beside her. Her incision throbbed and she still felt weary from delivering Bethlehem, but now that the morning's crises were behind her, she welcomed this time of cuddling with her husband as they watched their newborn sleep.

Ben eased over the top of the covers and slipped his arm around Miriam's shoulders. “How sweet is this picture?” he murmured as he gazed at their daughter. “She's been nursin' just fine, and she's perfect—and now we're a family.”

Miriam smiled. “Ya know, of course, that had I not been able to have your babies, I would've considered you and me a family anyway,” she said. “But then, I already have three girls. It's a wonderful-
gut
thing that you've got a child of your own now, Bennie-bug.”

“She's a Christmas gift like no other,” he agreed as he kissed Miriam's temple. “And soon we'll be home again, livin' in our own little slice of paradise. God's been mighty
gut
to us, honey-girl.”

“Ya said a mouthful there,” Miriam replied. She rested her head against Ben's sturdy shoulder and allowed his warmth to seep into her. Could there possibly be any cozier place on earth than her husband's embrace? It would be so easy to drift off to sleep....

“What a blessing it is to see this peaceful scene,” a familiar voice said from the doorway.

Miriam's eyes flew open. “Tom! It's
gut
to see ya—and I'm guessin' the Nativity pageant must be over. How'd it go?”

Tom paused before he answered. “Well, it's hard to beat watchin' the kids act out the birth of Jesus, and leadin' folks in our favorite carols,” he replied. “I think our crowd might've been bigger than we had last year, too.”

Miriam sensed something wasn't quite right about his response. Long before he'd become the bishop of Willow Ridge, Tom had been a good friend—had gone through his share of trials and tribulations—and she'd usually been able to tell when he was keeping things to himself.

“I'm glad to see ya lookin' so chipper, Miriam,” the bishop went on, rolling the band of his felt hat in his hands. “Everybody sends their best. Naz and I were mighty concerned when the ambulance shot down the road so early this mornin'.”

Ben squeezed her shoulders. “Andy was worried about her blood pressure droppin'—and about all the pain she was in,” he added. “I'm glad we didn't dig in our heels and insist on a home birth. A lot of things could've gone wrong.”

Once again Miriam noticed a telltale flicker of emotion passing over the bishop's face, but she didn't press him for details. “Come over and meet our wee girl, Tom,” she said. “On account of it bein' Christmas Eve—and what with the way Hooley names run—we're callin' her Bethlehem.”

Tom's face softened. As he approached the bed, he gazed eagerly at the baby. “Oh, would ya look at that dimpled chin and those long eyelashes,” he murmured. “I think she favors the both of ya. It's the best part of my day, bein' here to witness God's love come down at Christmas to fine parents like you.”

Miriam gazed at the bishop's silver-spangled beard and weathered face. Now that Tom stood at her bedside, she could see he carried a burden—and he was going to rub away one side of his hat if he didn't stop fussing with it.

“What's on your mind, Tom?” she asked softly. “Your words sound cheerful enough, but whenever I see that line between your eyebrows diggin' in so deep, I suspect you're not tellin' me everything ya know.”

Tom's eyes widened and his soft laugh sounded like a sigh. “You're too sharp for me,” he murmured. “I—I hate to spoil this special moment. Especially because you're not gonna believe what all happened during the pageant.”

Ben sat up straighter. “The animals didn't knock down their pens and get out of the barn, I hope. I didn't get to check things over out there as I'd planned to. Was anyone hurt?”

“Not as you're thinkin',” Tom hedged. He looked away for a moment, sighing as though he was perplexed. “There's just no easy way to tell ya—”

“The truth'll set ya free, Tom,” Miriam murmured as her heart began to pound faster. How could anything have gone wrong with the pageant? Rebecca and Teacher Alberta had kept to the program they'd presented last year, and Rachel and Micah were confident little Amelia would be fine while they sat in the shelter of the barn. “Just say it out. It's like rippin' off a Band-Aid real fast. Hurts like crazy for a bit, but then ya get over it.”

“Oh, this'll take a lot longer to recover from, I'm afraid.” Tom straightened to his full height and gazed at her with a desolate sorrow that deepened his crow's-feet. “First, everyone from Willow Ridge, including your girls, is okay, but Josiah's grills caught fire and exploded and—and then your Sweet Seasons appliances blew up, too—”

Miriam's breath stuck in her throat as she gaped at the bishop. Ben's arm tightened around her shoulders.

“—and I'm sorry to have to tell ya this,” Tom continued in a wavering voice, “but there's nothin' left standin'. Your smithy's gone, too, Ben. The fire trucks got there in a hurry, but all that's left of either place is burned-up rubble.”

Had she not been holding her sleeping infant, Miriam would've cried out in protest. She tried to picture what Tom was describing, but her mind refused to form the images. A sob choked her. “How did
that
happen?” she rasped. “Josiah's usually so
gut
about checkin' his propane tanks and—”

“Maybe we were wrong to put up that wall around the cookers,” Ben murmured. “I thought there was plenty of ventilation—”

“Don't go blamin' Josiah or second-guessin' yourself,” Tom insisted. “The firefighters found one of those plastic lighter gadgets a little distance from the buildings. And they, uh, found Hiram on the ground, too. Burned real bad and unconscious.”

“Sweet Lord Jesus,” Miriam murmured, hoping the Man in question wouldn't think she'd taken His name in vain. “So he was messin' with Josiah's cookers again?”

“That's what we're all thinkin', but we'll see what the arson investigator comes up with,” Tom replied glumly. “Hiram's here at the hospital now. I brought Annie Mae and Nellie with me to tend to the administrative details and see how he's doin'.”

“Oh, those poor girls. They've had such a time with that man.” Tears trickled down Miriam's cheeks and she made no attempt to blot them. “Do they know if Hiram'll survive?”

“Officer McClatchey and Sheriff Banks weren't sure. Said he was in mighty bad shape, though.”

Ben let out the breath he'd been holding. “I'm glad they arrived in time to help. They understand our ways better than other lawmen do.”

“Oh, they were already there, watchin' the pageant,” Tom said as a slight smile curved his lips. “We were all singin' ‘Joy to the World,' and then—pardon me for sayin' it this way—all hell broke loose. At least that surely must be what hell looks like. And it's worse than I ever imagined.”

Miriam stared ahead of her, visualizing the inferno Tom had described and trying to comprehend its consequences. The bakery she'd nurtured with the love in her heart and the labor of her hands was gone. Ben's shop—which had first belonged to her previous husband, Jesse—was demolished, as well. It hurt too badly to think about it, so she focused on other details. “Was anybody else hurt?”

“Nope. Everyone was still at your place, and we all went inside to stay safe.”

“How's Naomi takin' this?” Miriam asked, and then her brow furrowed. “And what of poor Rebecca, losin' her apartment? What a snug little place that was, too, with those rollin' walls Micah designed.”

“They're both doin' well, all things considered.”

“We can be grateful that with winter and the snow, I'd parked my farrier wagon behind the barn instead of beside the smithy,” Ben said in a faraway voice. “And the animals are safe, and our home's still intact. Could've been a lot worse.”

“
Jah
, there's that,” Miriam murmured. “Sounds like Hiram's meddlin' backfired on him in a big way this time. I'm glad nobody else got hurt.”

Bishop Tom was nodding as they counted their blessings. “
Jah
, had folks been leavin' because the pageant was over, we might've had a lot more injuries. I think some debris shot far enough to hit some of the cars parked along the roadside.”

Miriam shook her head sadly as the ramifications of Hiram's misdeed began to sink in. “I feel real bad for Josiah and his sister,” she said. “They were cookin' Christmas dinner for half of Willow Ridge or he wouldn't have had his cookers goin' tonight. Don't ya wonder how Hiram always seems to know when he can do the most damage?”

“Ah, but there's a brighter bit of news I almost forgot!” Tom said in a more cheerful voice. “Josiah introduced me to Lena's
dat
right before the explosion. Seems your Christmas card and phone calls convinced her parents to come see their new grandson and mend some fences.”

A smile spread over Miriam's face. “Every cloud's got its silver linin',” she stated. “I'm happy to hear the Eshes have reconsidered their feelings about Josiah and Lena. They must be wonderin' what sort of town we've got, though, after all the hubbub this evening.”

Tom smiled. “I'm sure a lot of our visitors were appalled,” he agreed. “But when they saw the paramedics loadin' Hiram into the ambulance, I think they realized that in this case, one bad apple doesn't spoil the whole barrel. Derek Shotwell and Bob Oliveri were in the crowd tonight, too, so I won't be surprised if they're already puttin' their heads together.”

“They've been
gut
friends to us and to Willow Ridge—more than once,” Miriam added. “That's another thing to be grateful for.”

As the details of Tom's story sank in, Miriam felt the urge to get up and move around—to release some nervous energy. She glanced at Bethlehem, who was sleeping soundly. “How about if we put this wee one in the nursery for the night? Andy told me to take it slow, just to walk around when I felt like it—and we'll take my ride along,” she added as she nodded toward the wheelchair in the corner of the room. “I know just where I want to go, too.”

A few minutes after she'd pressed the CALL button, a nurse came to take Bethlehem, and Miriam eased out of bed. With Ben at her side, she took a few slow steps. Even though her incision ached badly, she made it to the doorway before she motioned for Tom to help her into the wheelchair.

“Let's check at the nurse's station to see where Hiram is,” she said as she carefully settled herself in the seat. “I know a couple of young girls who're hurtin' a lot worse than I am right now.”

A short ride down the hall and a trip on the elevator took them to the Intensive Care Unit, which was hushed and almost peaceful—until Miriam spotted familiar figures in Plain dresses standing in front of a room with their
kapped
heads bowed. Annie Mae had her arm around Nellie's shoulders, and the dazed expressions on their dear faces tugged hard at Miriam's heartstrings.

“What's the word on your
dat
, girls?” Ben asked as he walked ahead to stand beside them.

Annie Mae wiped her eyes while her sister turned away from the window. “It's not looking
gut
,” she rasped. “He's burned so awfully bad, and he's still not opening his eyes or responding to talk. Has a lot of damage to his lungs, and if he lives . . . well, Andy told us it would take a long time and a lot of surgery to fix his skin. And even then, he'll never look like he did before the fire. His face is nearly . . . gone.”

“I'm so glad the little ones didn't see him this way,” Nellie blurted out. She hugged herself, choking on a sob. “All those tubes and bandages and machines—it's too scary to watch anymore. I'm glad they didn't let us go in.”

“I'm so sorry about this, girls,” Miriam murmured. She opened her arms, and the sisters rushed over to embrace her from either side of the wheelchair. Their tears and quiet sobs tore at her. It would take a lot of love and healing and time before Annie Mae and Nellie got past the damage their
dat
had done to their family—let alone dealing with his physical and emotional scarring, if he pulled through.

“When the doctor asked if we wanted to keep Dat on a ventilator—asked if he had a living will—I said I didn't want to prolong his suffering,” Annie Mae murmured. “Andy told him we Plain folks don't believe in using machines to keep folks alive, so he's just got an IV now.” Her slender body shuddered and she curved her arm around the fullness of her unborn child. “I hope I didn't speak out of turn, as if I want Dat to die, but—”

“Ya did just right, Annie Mae,” Bishop Tom confirmed. “God decides whether we live or die, and He alone knows when our time on this earth is finished. Shall we pray on it? God'll give us the strength to see this through if we ask Him.”

The Knepp girls bowed their heads with Tom, and so did Miriam—until Ben's sudden intake of breath made her open her eyes. When his hand went to his heart and his eyes widened, Miriam sensed her husband was witnessing Hiram's final moments. His expression brought to mind her memories of Jesse's passing, when she'd been sitting at his bedside, gripping his hand as it went limp and his next breath didn't come. Ben was young enough that he might not have been present previously when a soul left a body. Miriam knew he'd never forget what he'd experienced.