Amish Christmas Twins. Patricia Davids
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to do. How could she fight his parents without him? She was pregnant, broke and on her own against their terrible scheme. She could think of only one way to keep her children safe. She had to run.
Someone grabbed her arm. Willa jerked upright. It took her a few seconds to gather her foggy wits. The wagon had stopped moving. She found her Amish Good Samaritan staring at her.
“You were asleep. I feared you’d falla out da wagon.”
She checked her daughters and found them awake, too. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”
He released her. “Is this your grandfather’s place?”
She looked past him and saw a mailbox for E. Lapp. A glance up the lane proved she had arrived at her destination, for she recognized the farm where she’d grown up. “It is. Girls, we are here. Thank the nice man for giving us a ride.”
Lucy did. Megan only glared at him. Willa got down and lifted them off the wagon without his help. He touched the brim of his hat and drove on. He glanced back once. Willa knew because she was still standing by the mailbox looking after him. She raised her hand in a simple wave. He did the same and then turned back to the road.
The Amish were quiet, kind, peaceful people. Willa had forgotten how unassuming they could be during the years she had been away. Her Good Samaritan hadn’t asked a single question about who she was or why she was in the middle of nowhere with two little children. She was glad he hadn’t. She hated the idea that she might have had to lie to him.
She watched the burly man drive away with a sense of loss, almost as if she were losing a gentle giant of a friend. Although he was a stranger, she had felt safe in his company. For the first time since her panicked flight from Columbus, she felt hopeful about her decision to return to her Amish grandfather. It had to be the right choice. She didn’t have another option.
She cupped a hand over her abdomen and raised her chin. Time was short, but she would find a safe place for her daughters and her unborn baby before it was too late.
Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, she shepherded her tired girls up the dirt lane. When she drew close to the house, she saw an elderly man standing on the farmhouse steps. It had been ten years since they’d last met. It wasn’t a time she liked to recall. She stopped a few feet away. “Hello, Grandfather.”
Ezekiel Lapp’s weathered face gave no indication of what he was thinking. His dark Amish clothing, full gray beard and black hat added to his somber appearance, but he was frailer and thinner than she remembered. Her daughters clung to her legs as they peered at him from behind her.
“Why have you come?” he asked.
“I wanted you to meet my daughters. This is Megan and this is Lucy.” Willa placed a hand behind their heads and urged them to step forward. Lucy faced him, but Megan spun around and retreated behind Willa again.
“Hi.” Lucy opened and closed her fingers to wave at him.
“Where is your Englisch husband?” Ezekiel asked, ignoring the child.
“Glen passed away six months ago.”
* * *
“It was Gott’s will, but I am sorry for your loss,” Ezekiel said softly in Pennsylvania Deitsh, the language of the Amish.
Willa blinked back tears. The pain was still fresh in her heart. “Danki. Thank you.”
“Mama is sad,” Megan said.
“I sad,” Lucy added. “I’m cold, Mama.”
The early fall wind had a bite to it. Willa shivered despite the coat she wore. It wasn’t heavy enough, but it was the only one she had that she could button across her pregnant stomach.
“Come inside.” Ezekiel turned and went in the house without waiting for them.
Relief made Willa’s knees weak. So far, so good.
She had no idea what she would do if he turned them away. She had spent the last of her money to get this far. Unless her grandfather took them in, they would be sleeping in a barn or under a bridge tonight. She climbed the steps with the girls close beside her.
Inside the house, little had changed since the day her parents walked away from their Amish life with her in tow. The wide plank floor of the kitchen had been scrubbed clean. A simple table with four chairs sat in the center of the room. The windows were free of shades or curtains, for an upright Amish family in her grandfather’s ultraconservative church had nothing to hide from the outside world. A single plate, cup and fork in the dish drainer by the sink proved her grandfather still lived alone. The room smelled faintly of bleach and stout coffee. The scent transported her to the past the way nothing else had done.
She had been fifteen the last time she stood in this room, completely confused by the family quarrel taking place. One day she was Amish and knew her place in the world. She knew what was expected of her. She had been a week away from her baptism. The next week she was an awkward, shy, frightened girl trying to fit into the perplexing English world her parents had chosen.
Her Amish childhood had been filled with hard work, but she had been happy here. If her grandfather took them in, she could be happy here again. Nothing mattered as long as she had her children with her.
She led her girls to the heavy wood-burning cookstove and held out her hands to the welcome heat. “Don’t touch. It’s very hot,” she cautioned them.
“Are your children hungry?” her grandfather asked, speaking Deitsh.
“I’m sure they are.”
“Have them sit.” He walked to the counter and opened a drawer.
Willa helped the girls out of their coats and seated them at the table. She hung their coats on pegs by the front door and then stood behind her daughters, not daring to assume the invitation included her.
He scowled when he turned around. “Sit. I will not eat with you, but I am permitted to feed the hungry as our Lord commanded us. Then you must go.”
Willa’s heart sank, but she held on to the hope that he would change his mind when he learned the details of her situation. She took a seat at the table and waited while her grandfather prepared church spread for her daughters.
A mixture of peanut butter, marshmallow cream and maple syrup, the tasty treat was often served on bread or used as a dip for apples or pears. He spread it on thick slices of homemade bread and set it on plates in front of them. It was just as good as Willa remembered...
The girls loved it. When they were finished eating, she led them to the stark living room and settled them for a nap on the sofa.
When she was sure they were sleeping, she returned to the kitchen. Her grandfather sat at the table with a cup of coffee in his hands.
She stood across from him and laid a protective hand on her stomach. “I have no money. I have no job. I don’t have a place to live, and my baby is due the second week of January.”
Willa thought she glimpsed a flash of sympathy in his eyes. “Your husband’s family will not help you?”
A chill slipped over her skin. She crossed her arms to ward it off. They were the ones claiming she was an unfit mother because of her mental breakdown. According to Glen, they had paid an unscrupulous judge to grant them custody of the twins while she was in the hospital. Willa knew nothing about the law, but without money and without Glen to help her, they would succeed in taking her children away. She couldn’t allow that. “Nee, you are my last hope.”
* * *
Her grandfather took a sip of his coffee. “I have no money to give you.”
“I don’t want money. I wish to return to the Amish faith.” She held her breath, hoping he believed her.
He was silent for a long time. She waited and prayed for his forgiveness and for his understanding.
He shook