Sarah's Christmas Miracle Page 10

  “Danki,” he said, taking the ice bag from her. “Where is everybody?”

  “Gone off in different directions. You’re late.”

  “Had to finish staining a walnut dining table. Why are you still here?” Amanda was usually the first one out of the kitchen.

  “I told mamm I’d reheat your supper since I thought you might need somebody to talk to.”

  Suspicion lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. “And what would I want to talk about?”

  Amanda met his gaze without blinking. “About Sarah going to Cleveland, of course.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “How in the world…”

  “Rebekah stopped by this afternoon. She said you were mighty upset about Sarah’s trip.” She lifted a plate of meatloaf, potatoes, and yellow beans from the oven and placed it before him.

  Adam rose to wash his hands, eager for a reason to get away from his sister. Amanda was bossy, opinionated, and nosy. When he returned to the table, she’d poured them each a glass of milk. She sat down, primly clutching hers with both hands.

  “I appreciate your reheating my supper, but if you have something else to do…” He let his words trail off.

  “Nothing more important than making sure you don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.”

  He took a long drink before saying, “No offense, Amanda, but I don’t wish to discuss Sarah.”

  “I know you don’t, but hear me out. As a woman, I understand things that you don’t.”

  He started wolfing down his meatloaf to get the meal over with. “What do I not understand?”

  Amanda focused on the wall for several seconds before answering. “You don’t have an indecisive bone in your body, Adam. You made up your mind about your work, about joining the church, and about the woman you wanted to marry with little deliberation. Nothing wrong with that, but most people need to hem and haw a bit more.”

  “You think Sarah can’t decide whether she loves me or not? Well, sister, save your breath. I figured that one out on my own.” He swallowed a forkful of mashed potatoes that stuck in his throat like wallpaper paste.

  “That’s not what I’m saying, but there you go, jumping to conclusions again.” She spoke loud enough to draw others from the living room, but blessedly they remained alone. “Sarah might love you every bit as much as you love her, but she needs time to adjust to the idea of marriage. God willing, you two will share sixty or seventy years together. She only has one year to be nineteen. What’s the rush?”

  He set down his fork, feeling emotion build in his chest.

  “She wants to visit her bruder, Adam. Why are you assuming she’s running away? Why can’t you believe that decision has nothing to do with you?”

  “I understand what you’re saying, and I like your optimism, but this isn’t the first time she’s pulled back from me, especially when I talk about our future.” He couldn’t believe he was admitting his insecurities to Amanda. He might read about them next week in the Around Town column of the local newspaper.

  “Fine, but the Sarah Beachy I know isn’t devious or manipulative. You surely wouldn’t have lasted this long in that gal’s company if she wasn’t fond of you.”

  Despite his discomfort over their discussion, Adam laughed wholeheartedly. “Jah, I suppose there’s some truth there.”

  She reached over to pat his arm. “Take comfort that Sarah might be slow to commit but she’s no liar. Give her time. Don’t smother her with your well-intended desire to protect. Let her find her way in this world and come to you when she’s ready. In the unlikelihood she chooses a separate road from yours, let her go with best wishes.” Amanda again gazed at the wall, as though seeing things not in the room. “We can’t possess another person. We can only love them and hope they’ll love us in return.”

  Adam stared down at his empty plate, willing himself not to cry. Her words had broken through his thick skull and reached his heart. “Maybe cracking my head helped after all,” he said without looking up. “I’ve been as stubborn as a mule, and only another mule can love one of them.”

  “You’re not the first to stumble in the romance department.” She carried his plate and their glasses to the sink.

  “Danki, sister,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “Pray for courage and patience tonight instead of asking for an outcome beyond your control. With faith, you might just get what you’re looking for.” She dried her hands and left the kitchen without meeting his eye.

  Adam was grateful for the good advice, but somehow he felt no different inside. She might be right, but in his gut he knew there would be no happy ending.

  He walked from the overheated kitchen onto the porch. A cold moon cast its watery light across the frozen hayfields. This same moon shone over Davenport Street in Cleveland, yet he took no comfort there. Sarah would not tie her future to his. She might come home from Cleveland and might remain Amish until her dying day, but she would never become his wife.

  Thanks to Amanda’s counsel, he wouldn’t make a fool of himself. He’d actually considered hiring a car to drive him to Caleb’s. He would have asked…no demanded that she come back and stop her nonsense. He would have been the laughing stock of the district. At least he’d be able to hold up his head when he crossed paths with Sarah in the future.

  She was like an eagle that soared high on the wind currents, touching down only to eat and sleep. Her heart yearned for freedom—the one thing he couldn’t offer.

  What would an eagle possibly see in a plow-pulling mule like him?

  Guilt washed over Cal like a heavy spring rain after Sarah boarded her bus and smiled at him through the tinted window. He should have invited her to stay a few days, long enough to see the zoo and visit the international stalls at the West Side Market. He should have taken her to the art museum to see paintings from artists long dead. Who knew when she would have another opportunity to sightsee? Instead, he’d hustled her back to Wayne County as though he was ashamed of his little sister. The only shame he felt was with himself.

  Seeing Sarah as an adult, instead of his bleed madchen, had broken his heart. He’d missed watching his schwestern grow up. He’d missed the loving support of a family. He was cut adrift in Cleveland with little human contact other than Pete. After five years, he was no more a member of this community than if he’d settled on Mars. A person needed money—a big bank account or at least a good-paying job—to become viable in the English world. Without cash, a man was invisible in a society based on net worth. He should have saved more instead of squandering his paychecks, yet he couldn’t blame Englischers for his foolishness.

  Money was important in Amish society too. The days of bartering bushels of grain to pay the doctor were long gone. Property taxes and medical bills meant households needed to generate cash each month. But an Amish family could still live a joyous life, even if considered poor by twenty-first-century standards.

  More than wanting Sarah to stay, he had yearned to board the bus with her. His taste of being English had grown bitter over the years, but home was one place he could never go. How could he look into his parents’ eyes knowing the things he had done?

  Don’t be drunk with wine, because that will ruin your life. Instead, be filled with the Holy Spirit. Yet he’d gotten drunk too many times to count.

  Don’t you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? Yet he sported a tattoo with the name of a woman who’d broken up with him long ago.

  Run from sexual sin! No other sin so clearly affects the body as this one does. Yet he’d slept with several women and was not married to any of them. He had once memorized these verses and then not lived by them.

  Shame and revulsion filled him with the same nausea as the spoiled egg fu yong. God might be able to forgive those who didn’t know any better—those who’d never heard the Word of God—but he had known better. He’d been raised to believe the wages of sin is death.

 
Suddenly, the blare of a horn startled Cal from his stupor. His sister’s bus had departed on its way back to Canton while he stood in the middle of a slushy parking lot stewing over things better off forgotten. He couldn’t change the past. His behavior doomed him to a lonely life where he didn’t belong, and he shuddered to contemplate his fate when this life was over.

  “Let’s go, Beachy!” Pete hollered from the terminal doorway. “My truck’s in the drop-off zone and my lunch hour is over. I gotta get back to work.”

  “Sorry. Long goodbyes—you know how it is with women.”

  Once back on the street, Cal wouldn’t accept a ride home. Pete had done enough by driving them downtown on a workday. Cal wanted to walk to the square and ride the train home to see what Sarah had seen—the city through innocent eyes. It also would give him a chance to think. Because he couldn’t return to his parents’ farm, he’d better figure out a way to survive in a city without a job and without any money.

  Cal exited one stop early. A positive habit he’d picked up while living in the city was running. At first he couldn’t understand the appeal of jogging around the neighborhood without any place to go, but now he loved to put on sneakers and run for miles. It relieved the tension of living in an apartment with little contact with the earth. Today, ice and snow ruled out jogging, but he still could walk the city streets, finding comfort in anonymity. No one knew who he was or what he’d done. And the strangers he passed wouldn’t care even if they did know.

  Cal had never been in this particular area. Although not far from his apartment, this neighborhood had fared better during the real estate crash. Homes were well kept, with yards and porches decorated for the season. Christmas trees in front windows glowed with brightly colored lights. He remembered past Christmases with an ache of melancholy. Although plain and simple like the rest of their lives, an Amish Christmas was filled with good food, visits from family and friends, Bible readings of the Savior’s birth, and gift giving. He hadn’t received a present in five years. He would probably spend the holiday alone, slumped on his couch watching old-fashioned movies on TV.

  Without warning, Cal slipped on an icy patch. Grabbing for a telephone pole with both hands, he fought to regain his balance and catch his breath. Immersed in his troubles, if not for the near fall he might have missed an unusual scene in a church front yard: Three wooly sheep grazed on a bale of hay under a rough-sawn shed. Cal blinked several times. The critters were part of the largest nativity display he’d ever seen. Joseph, Mary, three wise men, two shepherds, and an angel stood around a wooden manger. Unable to look away, Cal thought about the blessed event two thousand years ago with a pang of tender remorse.

  Just as he resumed walking, one shepherd raised a hand to scratch his nose. “Good golly,” Cal cried. “You’re alive.”

  His exclamation drew smiles from the other participants. “That we are, son,” said the angel.

  Cal crept closer. “You don’t have a real baby in there, do you?”

  A grin bloomed across Mary’s face. “Come see for yourself.”

  He walked over and peered down at a plastic doll. “Thank goodness. You had me worried.” Cal straightened and stepped back. “This is a really good idea. How long will you be out here tonight?”

  The angel with long white robes and flowing blond hair lifted his noble chin. “We’re not supposed to speak, but I’ll make an exception for you. Our shift lasts for two hours, and then other parishioners will replace us. We’ll be here every night through Christmas Eve. Blessings to you, young man, on this joyous season.” With a nod, his face regained its stony pose.

  Cal took one last perusal and hurried on his way. But the impact of the live nativity stayed with him long into the night, as he tossed and turned while sleep refused to come.

  FOURTEEN

  Sunday Morning

  Cal sipped his coffee and watched folks trailing into the Catholic church across the street. Although their comings and goings had never intrigued him before, today he studied the expressions of contentment, anticipation, and even joy filling their faces—emotions long absent for him. He stared for ten minutes until no more late arrivals entered the three-story stone church with soaring bell tower.

  Without pausing to contemplate his actions, he pulled on his coat and ran down two flights of steps to street level. He didn’t stop running until he had crossed the street and opened the pine bough-festooned front door and entered the sanctuary. He quietly slipped into the back row, far to the right, and glanced around. The interior of the church caused his jaw to drop. He couldn’t imagine the existence of such grand and ornate buildings, let alone a house of the Lord. The ceiling soared into carved, curved rafters as lifelike statues of saints stood sentinel from every nook and alcove. A beatific Mary, holding the baby Jesus, smiled down on the congregation with grace, while rows of small candles burned at her feet.

  Growing up in a community that worshipped God in folks’ living rooms and outbuildings, Cal was shocked by the opulence. Most striking were the enormous windows, each depicting a scene from the Savior’s life, although many Cal didn’t recognize from his father’s Bible reading. The stained glass drew his attention with near-hypnotic power. When the congregation stood to sing, kneeled to pray, or sat to listen to the sermon, Cal caught only bits and pieces. Instead, his mind wandered back to his own Christian upbringing—praying beside his bed, listening to Scripture around the woodstove, and attending church services with people who loved him. He closed his eyes and remembered how many times his prayers had been answered and the comfort he’d received from his faith. His memories of a rural world seemed ages ago. When he opened his eyes and glanced around, most had gone except for a few still on their knees in prayer.

  “I’m Father Al. May I sit with you?” Without hesitation, a man in a long black robe and high white collar sat down next to him.

  Cal quickly sat up straight. “You clearing folks outta here?”

  The priest smiled, deepening the web of wrinkles around his eyes. “Not at all. Please stay as long as you like. I saw you looked troubled and thought you might like to talk.”

  “Why would you want to talk to me? I don’t go to church here.”

  He laughed softy. “Because it’s my job to help people, whether or not they are parishioners or even Catholic.”

  “Tell me something, then. Why is this place so over-the-top fancy? I grew up Amish and never saw anything like this.”

  The priest leaned back in the pew and studied the surroundings. “I suppose this would be pretty overwhelming to an Amish man.”

  “I said I grew up Amish. I’m not anymore,” Cal snapped. “I’m nothing now.” He arched his back while his hands clenched into fists.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, son. In the eyes of the Lord, you’re certainly not nothing. Once you’ve known Him, and more to the point, He’s gotten to know you, you’ll never be forgotten.”

  Cal wanted to argue with this man in odd clothes, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth to speak. He stared down at his chapped and calloused hands.

  “What drew you here this morning?” the priest asked. “Why did you come inside St. Stephen’s?”

  “Because everybody coming to your church looked happy. I haven’t felt that way in a long time.” Cal’s words were little more than a whisper. “I wanted to know what was going on that made folks so all-fired eager to come.”

  “I would like to say it’s the rousing sermons, but more likely it’s the season. It’s impossible not to get fired-up when we remember God sent His only Son to earth that we may be saved—that through our steadfast faith in Him, we can one day enjoy the rewards of heaven.”

  There it is, the same basic principle taught by the ministerial brethren, here in a place looking like a king’s palace. “God wouldn’t be too happy about your church spending money on fancy decorations when so many are suffering out there.” Cal gestured toward the street and spat out bitter words borne of frustration.

&nb
sp; The priest’s expression revealed surprise but not outrage. “Sounds like you’re angry, son. Whom are you mad at?”

  “The job market, my mess of a life…mostly me, I guess.” Resentment drained away as quickly as it had appeared.

  The priest placed his hand on Cal’s shoulder. “Then what’s keeping you here? If city life holds nothing for you, why not go home?”

  Cal released a weary sigh. “I can’t go home. You don’t know what I’ve done. One night I drank an entire six-pack and passed out on the couch, sleeping all night in my clothes.” In a barely audible voice he continued, “I haven’t prayed or opened my Bible in ages. I haven’t kept myself pure for marriage, and I’m a disgrace to my family.”

  Several long moments passed before the priest spoke as the magnificent church grew deathly quiet. “Do you think you’re the only Christian who has ever sinned? Do you think you have done so much wrong that your parents could never forgive you? Do you think God can never forgive you? Because I assure you, if you are penitent, God will hear and answer prayers for forgiveness. God the Father, the Holy Spirit, and our Savior Jesus are the same here in St. Stephen’s as back home. Just close your eyes, still your mind, and listen with your heart.”

  Cal couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe. His throat had swelled with a burning tightness. Tears he’d been holding back since the priest sat down filled his eyes. He didn’t want Father Al to see his weakness. I am a grown man, not a boppli.

  For the first time in years, a Deutsch word had come to mind instead of English. He hadn’t forgotten the dialect of his childhood. Memories of his mamm and daed flooded back, with her gentle words and his guiding hands. No longer able to contain his emotions, Caleb bowed his head and wept. The priest squeezed his shoulder once more and silently crept away. Tears flowed uncontrollably down Cal’s face, washing away the last vestiges of his arrogance, pride, and shame.

  “Sarah, are you up?” Elizabeth called up the steps. “A little help, please, but I just want you.”