Merry's Christmas: Two Book Set (Amish) (20 page)

Hope shook out her hands. Was it all a dream, or was she really standing in the wings of a bona fide Broadway theater? The musty scent of countless past productions filled her head. And the curtain—that alone was magnificent.
Would it be too geeky to touch it?
She checked around. Good. No one was watching. She reached to her side and ran the back of her hand across the plush velvet.

How on earth could she be perspiring, as drafty as it was? There was nowhere to put her coat, so she draped it over her arm.

Should she go over the lines once more? No need. She had those words down cold. Lines were not her problem. It was the pounding heart that threatened to jump right out of her chest.

She closed her eyes.
Please, help me do my best work.

As the prior auditionee finished, Hope filled her lungs, then slowly exhaled. The casting director’s voice resounded from his seat a few rows back from the stage. “Thank you. All right, next. Hope Bright.”

She smoothed her skirt. “Okay. Five, four, three, two, one.” Counting backwards was supposed to calm her nerves. It didn’t. She threw her shoulders back and strode onto the stage.

Just who was out there past those lights? Hope took a gander at the auditioners as she crossed to the center of the hardwood floor.

The man who appeared to be the director conferred in animated whispers with a woman in an expensive suit. A producer, no doubt. She should wait for their cue.

Hope set her coat down, then took one last glance at the scene in her hands. She ran her fingers through her hair. Finally, the auditioners turned their attention to the stage. “Hi, I’m Hope Bright.”

The director nodded for her to start.

“Oh.” There would be no chitchat, no niceties. Just like her agent had warned, it would be a tough room. She swallowed, fighting a suddenly parched throat. It was like the Sahara in there. She cleared her windpipe and launched into the reading.

“So, that’s how it is. Okay. You know, I told myself a hundred years ago, I was over one-sided relationships and here I am, a fortune in therapy bills later, trying to beg, cajole, plead, whatever it takes to get you to participate in this—”

A pronounced
doink
sounded from her coat pocket.  It couldn’t be, but it was.

A text had just landed.

Mortified, Hope’s jaw slacked. How could she have forgotten to silence the thing? It was a rookie mistake. Rank amateur. All she could do was grab her coat, wrestle the phone out of her pocket and power the thing off so it couldn’t embarrass her again. The phone’s cheesy shutdown ditty didn’t exactly help.

As much as Hope longed to apologize, her training told her otherwise. Simply pick the scene back up, same place, and continue. Stay completely in character:

“—Like I said...I’m trying to do whatever it takes to get you to participate in this... I don’t even know what to call what we’re doing here.  Do you?  I mean, I can hardly force a collective pronoun to describe us or it or...will you please just stop staring at me and say something?”

As she finished, Hope propped up her flagging spirit. She braved a look at the director, searching his expression for some semblance of understanding. Even pity. Verbal or nonverbal, any hint of encouragement would do.

None came.

There were no words privately exchanged with the designer-clad producer about her. The director simply jotted a quick note, then excused her with the identically toned “thank you” that he’d used to release the actress just before her. Oh, how she’d come to dread those
thank yous
. They weren’t signs of appreciation. They were a saccharine heave-ho. They meant
please leave
. Her insides crushing like a paper cup, Hope willed a smile, then hurried off the stage.

Back inside Hope’s apartment, Leanne offered to fix some drinks, then shuffled toward the kitchen. Ivan could at least make himself useful by chatting up Charity and Daniel in the living room. This was way beyond belief. How would she get Frank to believe why she was late if she couldn’t half believe it herself?

She pulled a two-liter bottle out of the fridge and sized up the situation. Charity and Daniel had arrived with small suitcases. That sure didn’t look good. These two intended to stay. If the girl was family, as she claimed to be, Hope would hardly turn her niece away from her one spare room, the same room Hope had promised to her till the baby came.

Leanne poured the drinks and carried them into the living room. It couldn’t hurt to make a good impression. Maybe she could guilt them into staying somewhere else. She handed one glass to Charity and the other to Daniel. “I hope you like Ginger Ale. It’s not real ale, you know. Totally non-alcoholic. Even I can have it.” She glanced at Hope’s wall clock. Ivan wasn’t doing squat to carry the conversation. “We have Root Beer, too. That’s not actually beer, either. Am I still talking?”

Daniel shook his head. “You’re fine.

“Thank you for this,” Charity added.

Leanne froze. “Oops. Ivan, are you thirsty?”

Ivan waved her off congenially. “No, thanks.”

Leanne eased herself down into a seat beside Ivan, across from Charity and Daniel. She caught herself rocking. Why was she rocking? The chair wasn’t a rocker. How ridiculous was that? She told herself to sit still, but her toes kept bobbing. That she couldn’t seem to stop—even when she slept—at least that’s what her mom always told her. A random thought popped into her head. “Hold on. Do you even drink soda?”

“Some do. Some friends of ours even make it. I just haven’t had much.” Charity raised her glass to her lips and took a tentative drink. Her eyes widened. “Oh. Good.”

Leanne rose. “I can get something else.” 

Daniel held his tumbler, but he didn’t take the first sip from it. “This is fine. Really.”

Leanne settled back down. Lost for what to do, she wracked her brain for something to say, some bit of jibber-jabber to break up the stupefying silence. Hope’s cat, Smokey, wandered out, waltzing into Leanne’s line of sight. An inspiration struck. “Are you allergic to cats? Because you probably shouldn’t stay here if—”

Charity reached down and stroked Smokey. “Not at all. I like them.”

Wouldn’t you know it? The cat took to Charity right off the bat. She rubbed herself against those thick black tights Charity was wearing. Leanne couldn’t help being disappointed. This was bad.

Daniel set his soda down on a coaster. “Didn’t we catch you on your way out, Leanne? Was there somewhere you needed to go?”

Leanne forced a laugh. “Just lollygagging for two, you know?” She fired an irked glance at Ivan.

Charity set her glass down, too. “So. Are you busy getting ready to be parents?”

Ivan shook his head. “Parents? No, no—”

“What?” A spray of spit shot out of Leanne’s mouth. She wiped it off Ivan’s shoulder. “We’re not...married or... I don’t actually have a, you know, husband.”

Charity looked embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Leanne crossed her arms over her middle. Heat rose up her neck, all the way to her ears. “That’s such a strange word, coming out of my mouth:
husband
. I mean, I’m barely seventeen, hardly old enough to, you know...” Oh, sweet slobbering succotash! She was only digging herself into a deeper pit. “Anyway...Ivan is, or I should say he was Hope’s boyfriend.”

Ivan looked at Leanne. “Wait a minute. Stop. What exactly did Hope say to you about us?”

Leanne reared back defensively. “Look-it. Okay, I can’t be held responsible for anything I say in my condition. So just...erase, erase, erase!”

Emerging from the theater, Hope yanked the offending cell phone from her pocket and hit the power button. Probably, the text alert had been from her agent, reminding her to let him know how things had gone.

That would be ironic.

It also could have been Frank. He was a sport about letting her off for auditions, but the shelf life on his patience usually ran out after an hour or so. Then again, the culprit could have been Ivan. She’d figured she hadn’t heard the last of him, and actually, a microscopic part of her wished that were true.

As it turned out, it hadn’t been her agent or Ivan. Not even Frank, bugging her to get back to work. Instead, the message was from Leanne:

Hey Hope.
S.O.S.!! No ambulance needed, but get your hind parts home pronto! Emergency!!!

What Leanne’s version of an emergency was, Hope didn’t know, but the number of exclamation points Leanne used set her teeth sideways. She didn’t know Leanne well enough to gauge how dire all that punctuation meant the situation actually was. Maybe they’d run out of toilet paper, or the sink had stopped up again. Maybe the apartment building was half on fire.

She punched in her landline at home. Of course, that was when her battery decided to croak. She kicked herself. Why hadn’t she remembered to recharge the thing?

Hope dashed through pedestrian traffic, across the blocks to her apartment. She ran just as fast as those cute but not-so-sensible shoes she’d worn to her audition would carry her. They really were starting to rub.

The fact that Leanne didn’t want an ambulance was no comfort, not given her financial condition. Still, she was barely even eight months. It was too soon for this to be about the baby.
Or was it?
Who knew if Leanne had calculated her due date right? As far as Hope knew, the closest Leanne had come to prenatal care was one visit to the free clinic. Even then, the line had been so horrendously long, she’d had to bail and get back to work.

Hope’s heart beat even faster. The more she gulped for air, the drier her throat became. This could be awful. Disturbing memories flooded back.

No
.
Please God, no.

Not again.

six

H
ope dug deep. Sprinting up three flights of stairs after running from the theater wasn’t exactly on her exercise program. A cramp yanked from under her ribs. She winced through the pain. Rounding the last corner, she spotted her door ajar. What in the world? “Leanne?” Hope flung the door open. It clattered against the doorstop.

Leanne popped out of her seat, giddy relief on her face. “Hope!  You’re here.”

Gasping, Hope scanned the room. She did a double take, disbelieving her eyes. She didn’t recognize the young Amish man who rose from the sofa, but as soon as the young woman turned, she knew immediately. “Wait, you’re... I...” Suddenly lightheaded, Hope steadied herself on Leanne’s shoulder. Delight tickled its way across her lips. “
They’re
the emergency?”

Leanne shrugged. “Well, yeah, I—”

Before Leanne could finish responding, Hope approached Charity. “You... You’re Charity. You don’t even have to tell me. I know it.” Hope stepped closer as Charity rose. “Come on, up.  Let me look at you. Ah, Charity!”

Hope threw her arms around Charity. Why was Ivan there? She would deal with him later. Charity’s frame felt so light, yet so strong at the same time. Was she being too familiar too soon? The intensity of the embrace Charity returned gave her all the reassurance she needed.

“How did you know who I was?”

Hope pulled back to arms’ length, taking in the details of Charity’s features. “How could I not? You look even more like your mamm than you did when you were little.”

“That’s what Opa says.”

“No wonder. I know you’re all about being Plain, Charity, but I can’t help it. You’re so lovely. Just like she was.”

Charity brushed Daniel’s arm. “Aunt Hope, this is Daniel. Daniel Yoder. You probably knew his father, Mose.

“Yes! And didn’t he marry Rachel Schwartz?”

“He did.” Daniel looked toward Charity, clearly pleased.

Light danced across Charity’s eyes. “Dat asked Daniel to come with me to visit you.”

Hope extended a hand to Daniel, regarding him thoughtfully. “Well, then. My brother must trust you very much.”

“I’ll do my best to live up to that.” Daniel shook her hand. His grasp was firm and warm in hers.

For a moment, there was silence. Charity bit at her lips. Hope ping-ponged between the two of them. Just who was Daniel to Charity? Color rose to Charity’s cheeks. She fiddled with her sleeve, her eyes communicating what she didn’t speak.

Hope nodded softly at Charity, and then gazed back at Daniel. “Yes, Daniel. I’m sure you will.”

“We’ll be here in the city for three weeks, till Christmas Eve,” Daniel said. “We’ve arranged for rooms at a hostel not far from here.”

Hope shook her head. “No, no, please. It’s a fleabag. We can cancel. I want you to stay with me.”   

Charity beamed. “Really? I confess I was kind of hoping you’d ask.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.” As they chattered on, Hope couldn’t help but notice Leanne’s face fall. Hope shot an encouraging grin toward her, but it didn’t seem to help. The girl just tucked her arms around her bulging abdomen and trudged away. Yes, Hope was over the moon to see Charity, but there was a part of her that ached for Leanne. She knew well what it felt like to be seventeen, the odd one out, completely alone in the world.

Hope drew her coat around herself as she led Ivan outside of her building. All the ease they’d felt together over the passing months was gone. Sure, she’d thought of little else since she’d broken things off with him, but what more could she say? With Charity and Daniel upstairs, she was on overload. She needed her space, and he would just have to understand.

Ivan turned back to Hope. “Daniel could stay at my flat.”

Hope sighed. “Ivan, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides, your place is tiny.”

“And yours is not?”

Once again, a text alert landed. Hope checked it. “It’s Frank. I’ve gotta get back to work.”

“Okay.”

Hope shivered. “Look, I just don’t... Maybe we should detach, you know, not—”

Ivan’s face fell. “I thought you liked me. Maybe even loved me.”

Hurting Ivan was like kicking a puppy. How could she not do something to soften the blow? She brushed his arm. “I do like you. A lot. I’m just not so much on the marriage track, and you are, so—”

“What is so wrong with getting married?”

“Nothing, Ivan, but ask yourself. Why are you pushing this so soon?”

Ivan took Hope’s hand. “We could make a home. Start a family.”

Decidedly, Hope let go. She wrestled for words. There was no way to sugarcoat it. “Okay, when does your green card expire?”

“That is not it.”

Hope locked eyes with him, standing her ground. “When?”

Breaking her gaze, Ivan exhaled wearily. “I do not exactly know.”

“Liar!”

“All right, Hope. Sometime late in January. But I promise you, that is not why I—”

“Of course, it is, Ivan. I get it. You come from an oppressive country. You don’t want to have to go back, even though everyone you’re connected to is there. So, now you’re desperate for an anchor here, someone to secure your place in the free world. It’s just...I can’t be that person.”

“Believe me,” Ivan insisted. “It really is not that way. You do not understand.”

After so many years of being shunned, it took everything Hope had not to completely recoil. She did her best to stuff it inside. “Trust me, Ivan,” she assured. “I understand more than you think.”

It was kind of mind-boggling for Hope to imagine that Charity and Daniel would want to go back to work with her, what with all there was to see in New York City. Still, it pleased her that they just wanted to be with her, wherever she needed to go. When she led them into the Café Troubadour, she found Frank at the register, struggling to keep up with the rush.

“Finally. Is that what you call an hour off? Myrna, call Leanne. Get her in here,” Frank barked.

As Myrna rang Leanne’s cell, Hope fumbled for an excuse. “She said she’s not feeling so hot.”

“Well, I’m not feeling so hot about being down to four clean plates.”

Myrna hung up and grabbed her orders, “She’s not picking up.”

The agitation in Frank’s voice grew. “Call information. Call that employment agency down the street. Hire a temp. Call somebody to get me clean dishes!”

Myrna buttonholed Hope as she approached. “Girl, am I glad to see you back.” Myrna passed by Hope, spotting Charity and Daniel just beyond her. “Table for two?”

Hope intervened. “They’re with me. Myrna, this is my niece, Charity.”

Charity smiled sweetly at Myrna. “Hello, Myrna. So nice to meet you.”

Hope’s heart filled. “Wow. My niece. It feels so great to say that. And this is Daniel, her—”

With a nod, Daniel rescued her. “I’m Charity’s friend from home. Nice to meet you.”

Myrna checked toward the kitchen momentarily. “Daniel, you and Charity can make yourselves comfy at whatever table you like, but fair warning, Hope. Dishwasher’s fried, Leanne’s vapor, and Frank’s having himself some kinda holiday hissy fit.”

Charity exchanged a glance with Daniel. “I can help.”

“Sure, we can,” Daniel added.

Hope put a reassuring arm around Charity. “Relax. Honeypot, you just got here.”

Charity congenially headed toward the kitchen. “Yes, and it sounds like we’re just in time.”

Back in the Café’s kitchen, Hope prepared a salad. Charity stood at the sink scrubbing. Daniel dried each cleaned plate as Charity rinsed and passed it to him.

Frank fiddled with the disabled automatic dishwasher. Hope nudged him toward Charity and Daniel. Finally, he relented. “Are you sure I can’t pay you two something for this?”

Hope stifled a grin. “Better take him up on it. He won’t offer twice.”

“I already offered twice,” Frank blustered. “This is twice.”

Charity turned back to Frank. “It’s fine. Really. We’re happy to help.”

Frank scowled in frustration at the dishwasher. “Blasted piece of high-tech junk! Thing crashes every time you blink.” He looked up at Daniel as Hope headed out with the salad. “You wouldn’t know anything about—”

Daniel shrugged apologetically.

Frank slapped his own forehead. “What in blazes am I talking about? You people have the right idea. You work with your own hands. Hands, you can depend on. Hands don’t blow a fuse. Hands don’t crash.”

Hope couldn’t help her amusement as she passed through the swinging kitchen doors. She smoothly served the salad to Goldie where he sat on a stool at the counter. He’d been her customer so long; she knew exactly what he liked. He preened over her attention, so attend to him, she did. “Half Cobb, chopped. Hold the egg yolk, crispy bacon—turkey, not pork. Light balsamic on the side.”

Goldie motioned back toward the kitchen, a sardonic sneer on his face. “So, what? Did the Mayflower just dock?”

Well accustomed, Hope took Goldie’s caustic humor in stride. “They’re not time-travelers, Goldie. They’re Amish.”

Goldie drizzled dressing on his salad. “Very quaint, but what are they doing back in the kitchen?”

Hope stuck her hand out to receive his empty dressing cup. “The dishes you’re eating off, at the moment.”

Goldie eyed Charity and Daniel uneasily through the pass-through window. “I don’t know about you, but religious people give me the willies.” He stuffed a first bite into his mouth.

Hope tipped her head. “Really?”

A spot of dressing glistened on Goldie’s chin. “Pretend to be all sweet and pure, but I watch those exposés on TV. I know better. Those people have got huge issues.”

Unintimidated, Hope answered. “They’re my family. She is, at least.”

Goldie’s jaw dropped. “Oh. What...you mean, you’re—”

With a perky smile, Hope headed back toward the kitchen. “Congratulations, Goldie. You’ve outed me. Yes. I’m Amish.”

Never had Hope been so glad to be back at her apartment. With Charity and Daniel there, it felt full in ways it never had before, and not just when it came to improvising accommodations.

Hope spread one of her handmade quilts over the sofa for Daniel. She’d never tired of looking at that particular quilt. The piecework formed an expansive tree. Laden with colorful autumn leaves, its boughs reached out against cornflower blue heavens with white clouds.

Embroidered on many of the leaves were the names of her Amish ancestors. All the dates were there, too. It chronicled the years anyone had been born or married into the Bright family, extending from the eighteenth century, all the way up to the births of Charity’s twin brothers Aaron and Isaac. How she longed to see those two boys.

Her heart warmed as Charity and Daniel leaned in to examine her work. It had been time-consuming, but knowing how that quilt would make them feel made every hour spent on it worthwhile. Charity would recognize the quality of the stitching. It was fine, just as her mother had taught her. It told of many more nights engrossed in this solitary pastime than she cared to admit to most people. Hopefully, they’d see that it also spoke of the bond she felt with those she’d left behind. They were all still part of her. They always would be.

Daniel traced the family line, all the way up the branches until he located Charity’s name. It was stitched on a vibrant yellow leaf. “There you are, Charity.”

Charity studied the quilt, transfixed. “This is so beautiful, Aunt Hope. Ah, there’s Oma and Opa. See, Daniel? Faith and Eli Bright.”

“It’s the whole Bright family tree, as much as I know, all the way from when they left Switzerland. You know, I’d always wondered why we call our grandparents
Oma
and
Opa
instead of
Mammi
and
Dawdi
like so many there do. It goes back to our Swiss-German roots.”

Charity marveled. “So, our family—we’re from Switzerland?”

“Yep...where the whole Amish faith began.” Aunt Hope gestured to the top of the quilt. “See there, in the sky? Those are pieces from my old dresses. The clouds, they came from my Sunday apron.”