Merry's Christmas: Two Book Set (Amish) (31 page)

Hope fought frustration, though it threatened to get the better of her. “Of course, I do.”

Daniel shook his head. “In all this time, you have said nothing of the ugliness of the city, nothing of heartache of living with the English. Admit it. You want her to stay. You’re afraid to tell her the truth of how desperately alone you’ve felt, all these years without your family.”

How in the world could she respond? His words pierced right through her, all the way to intentions so deep that she hadn’t dared admit them to herself. Her cast clunked awkwardly as she leaned against the newel post. “What difference does it make, Daniel? Charity isn’t staying. She’s going back with you tomorrow.”

“You don’t know that. You have influenced her.”

“And so have you,” Hope retorted. “But at least, if she does go home, she’ll know I’m settled now. That I’ll have family here.”

“Yes,” Daniel emphasized. “An aunt, an uncle, and soon little cousins out here to miss. And her heart will always be divided. Just exactly the way yours has been.”

With everything in her, Hope tried to compose words to defend herself. But not a contrary sentence would form in her mind. He’d been maddeningly spot-on about everything he’d said. He had said it as frankly and respectfully as he could. Worst of all, he was absolutely right. There was no way to fight him any longer.

Suddenly, tears were streaming down her face. Soon, she was sobbing. The pain and grief she’d borne for almost seventeen years rained down. She had known her decision would be painful, but this was sheer agony. 

Before Hope knew it, Daniel had wrapped her in his arms. As she felt him softly shaking, she realized how deeply he empathized. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” Hope whispered. “You love her, too. How could you not?” Hope pulled back. She met Daniel’s gaze. “Okay. I’ll tell her the truth. I’ll step back. This is Charity’s choice to make, and I will let her make it.”

fifteen

A
lone in Hope’s room, Charity’s gaze lingered on her empty suitcase. It seemed impossible that three weeks had already passed, that the time to return home had come. Then again, it had. Tomorrow, it would be Christmas Eve, the day she’d promised to board the train with Daniel for home.

It wasn’t just the disappointment that Aunt Hope had decided not to return with them that kept Charity wandering down trails of thought. That, by itself, was unexpectedly painful. It was the way the experience of living in the city had made her question so many things.

It wasn’t the allure of the city that Dat had feared. She could do without electricity. She didn’t care about things like driving a car or wearing English clothes. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized there was one thing she would never be able make peace with, ever.

It was saying a final goodbye to Aunt Hope.

A hollow pang rumbled through her stomach. How unsettling it was to differ with Dat for the first time, even in her mind. The solid ground on which she’d always depended quaked beneath her. She tried to imagine explaining it all to Dat, but couldn’t. How could she, without breaking his heart?

Then, there was Daniel. She would also need to tell him everything, and pray that he’d understand. Suddenly, her eyes were pooling all over again. There was no question of how she felt about Daniel. She was in love with him. She knew it by the wave of grief that crashed over her the instant she considered what it would be like to lose him.

And lose him, she might.

Daniel’s father was a deacon. Along with most others, the Yoders ardently held to the most conservative Old Order persuasions. Daniel had been raised that way, just as she had been. But there was that small, growing minority within their community who were beginning to embrace certain things the Brights and Yoders never had. Bethany’s Uncle Caleb and her father, Samuel Beachey, were chief among them.

Charity didn’t underestimate how much siding with the Beacheys could affect her relationship with Daniel. She faltered. A single thought drained the strength from her. If they were blessed with children, what would happen when they came of age for Rumspringa? What if a son or daughter of theirs grew up to choose the English world over theirs? Daniel had always been so devout. As head of their household, would he ask her to shun their own child, even a believing one, forever?

Charity brushed her lips lightly, reflecting on Daniel’s kiss. This could come to mean their parting. How could she bear to live without him? Yet, for the first time, she began to consider what it would mean to live with him, to be a good wife and a mother to his children. If she became more progressive, he might not want to marry her at all. Neither might anyone else in their predominantly Old Order community.

This was no small thing. It certainly hadn’t been for Bethany. As attractive as Bethany was, not a single conservative man had spoken for her. So few had taken the Beachey family’s side. It had left Bethany with little hope of finding a like-minded husband, at least inside their district.

It was all so complicated. Sure, Charity wouldn’t be entirely alone if she embraced the Beachey’s progressive leanings, but then she would quickly find herself in the scant minority along with Bethany. She’d be at unspoken odds with the great majority of their community, including Daniel’s family as much as her own.

Charity ran her fingers along her suitcase. How she missed her family. Still, as much as she longed to return to them, how could she go back to life as it had been? If returning meant alienating herself from her family—whether with Dat and Opa or, in time, with Daniel—then perhaps there was no reason to pack her suitcase at all. Then again, how could she stay, if staying meant never seeing anyone at home again? Either way, it would be devastating.

Charity massaged her temples. Somehow, she had to sort this all out in her mind. Time in the city had been nothing like she had imagined. Honestly, she’d expected that the trappings of English life would feel much more like sin than they had. 

No wonder Aunt Hope had been so ferhuddled when she first faced this confusing tangle of choices.

Were these modern conveniences, in and of themselves, even sins at all? The more Charity mulled it over, the less important it seemed whether transportation was by carriage or car. It didn’t seem to matter whether the lamp that lit a room was oil, kerosene, or fluorescent, or if a stove that cooked their food was wood, propane, or electric. What seemed of greatest consequence was how a thing was used.

Aunt Hope’s church was far from Mennonite, let alone Amish. It had been illuminated with countless wired lights, and faces that shone even brighter. Myrna had sung into a microphone accompanied by an electric guitar. The words to the songs had been projected on a screen. Still, she could not deny it. In spite of all that technology, she had experienced Gott’s presence there. That she knew. His nearness had been every bit as real to her in that English church as it had been at home, worshipping amongst the Amish.

A question rushed into her heart. It was so simple, yet so resounding that it took her breath away:

If your heavenly Father doesn’t shun your Aunt Hope, then how, in good faith, could you?

She sat, motionless, allowing the words to sink down to her innermost being. Would she follow her traditions, or would she follow Gott? There would be no turning back once she answered that question. The magnitude of it left her trembling. Reverently, Charity bowed her head. Silently, she vowed:

I will follow Your example, whatever that means.

Peace flooded her. It encircled her, like a blanketing embrace. No matter what happened, she would not be alone.

It wasn’t long before Charity heard the familiar creak of Aunt Hope’s bedroom door and the padding of her footsteps as she entered. Her reverie broken, she looked up from the still empty suitcase. “Did Ivan leave so soon?”

Hope approached. “He did. He said he wanted us to have this last night together.”

Charity smiled affectionately. “He’s a good man, my uncle to be.”

“Yes,” Hope agreed. “He is.”

Wistfully, Charity rose. “I need to pack, but I guess I’m having a bit of trouble getting started.” Charity picked up the borrowed uniform with its lengthened skirt. “I suppose I should hem this back up for you tonight.”

Aunt Hope selected a hanger from her closet. “No, no.” With a fond smile, she draped the garment across it. “Actually, I think I’d like to wear it this way. To remember you.”

As Aunt Hope hung the uniform on her closet bar, Charity saw her hesitate. Her gaze seemed fixed on a shoebox on the shelf in front of her. After a moment, she reached up and pulled the shoebox down. She carried it into the bathroom and wiped the gathered dust off the top.

Aunt Hope returned with the shoebox, a contemplative expression on her face. She sat on the bed. “That Christmas card of mine you brought back this year... I guess you never read it.”

Charity shook her head. “It was addressed to Dat, so no. I never opened it.”

“You should,” Aunt Hope suggested. She cradled the box in her hands. “You should read that one, and there are more here. One for every Christmas I’ve been gone.”

As Aunt Hope lifted the top off the box, she revealed a stack of cards. They were all stamped
Return to Sender
. “I don’t mean to mislead you. It has been so hard here. Desperately.” Aunt Hope’s eyes dampened. “Hard in ways I guess I could only express to my brother in these cards. Maybe because I knew he’d never read them. He’d never know how spectacularly broken I’ve been.” Slowly, Aunt Hope extended the box of returned cards toward Charity.

Respectfully, Charity resisted. “I shouldn’t.”

Again, Aunt Hope handed over the box. “No, Sweetheart. Trust me. You should.”

Charity searched Aunt Hope’s eyes. It was as if she could see right through them, all the way to the utter loneliness of her soul. In a way, like the words of that carol they had sung about Bethlehem, the hopes and fears of all the years really did seem to be met in these Christmas cards. They must be too personal, too intimate, and yet Aunt Hope appeared somehow relieved when Charity reached out to accept the box.

Charity waited quietly. It seemed best to let Aunt Hope leave the room. When the door closed, she sat back down on the bed.  

Where to begin?

Sorting through the stack of cards, Charity’s eyes settled on the very earliest of the postmarks. That was where she’d start. She would experience the passing of the years in the same order that her Aunt Hope had lived them, one lonesome Christmas after another.

By the time Charity returned to the living room, a full hour had passed. Aunt Hope was helping Daniel make up the couch for his final night there.

Leanne padded across the apartment in fuzzy socked feet, towards her room. She cradled baby Jesse in her arms. “Night-night everybody. Come on, Smokey.” The cat sauntered behind her, surprisingly compliant.

Hope shot a smile in Leanne’s direction. “Sleep well.” She turned to Daniel. “Just one more night on the sofa. I know it’ll feel good to get back home to a real bed.”

What had privately passed between Aunt Hope and Daniel, Charity didn’t know for sure, but from the way Daniel thanked Aunt Hope as she headed off to bed, it seemed they must have resolved it. Perhaps it had been about the cards. Or it could have been something more. Maybe both of them knew how torn she had been between them, and the places they called home.

Finally alone, Charity and Daniel stood silently for a moment. As much thought as Charity had put into what she wanted to say, it was still hard to know exactly where to begin.

Daniel set a pillow in place on the sofa, and then straightened up to face her. “Before you say anything, please know two things: whatever you do tomorrow is your choice, Charity. And whether you stay or return with me, whatever you decide, know that I will always love you.”

Charity felt her eyes fill as she met his searching gaze.

“Talk to me, Charity. Please. I want to know everything you’ve been thinking and feeling.”

Something in those words meant the world to Charity. Daniel was a man of great conviction, yes. But he was also a man who would sincerely listen to her. She wouldn’t have to hide her emotions as her people usually did. He wasn’t just saying that she would have a voice in their relationship. He was demonstrating to her that she would. It made it somehow easier to pour it all out, to unburden herself of every secret thought that had been stirring in her mind.

How long it was that Daniel stood listening, Charity couldn’t say. All she knew was that he never once interrupted her, nor made any attempt to invalidate what she had been thinking. On a few points, it actually seemed that he might be inclined to agree with her, even when it came to learning of her less than conservative Amish leanings.

Her cheeks were streaked by the time she reached her conclusion. “It’s not about choosing whether or not to live in the city. It’s not about technology. She’s family, Daniel. I love her. I want to write to her, to call her. I want us to be able to visit. And if that somehow distances me from my family back home, then I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see if I can move in with Bethany’s family, since I think they would allow it.”

Daniel’s brow rose. “You’d leave your father’s house?”

“If I have to,” Charity nodded. “I understand if this is too much for you, Daniel. I can’t tell you how it breaks my heart to say it. But if this is something that you can’t accept along with who I’m realizing that I’ve become...then as much as I love you, I can’t keep seeing you. And I cannot be your wife.”

Daniel glanced down momentarily, seeming to gather his words. Finally, he looked up. “You’re not the only one who has been doing some serious soul searching, Charity.” Daniel brushed a hand over his face. A moment passed before he could bring himself to speak. When he did, his voice caught in his throat. “I cannot lose you needlessly, Charity. Not like your father lost your mother.”

Charity stood, stunned. Was he saying what she thought he was? “You would take me to an English hospital.”

“I would.” Daniel paused. “It’s about more than that, though. It was just...seeing you deliver Leanne’s baby. So calm, so assured. It made me think what a good midwife you could be, if only you could get some training.”