Patricia Davids - Amish Christmas Twins

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 his head. “I can’t help you. You must go.”

She couldn’t bear to hear those words. Not after she had come so far. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back. “Please, I’m begging you. I have nowhere else to go. Don’t turn us away. We are your flesh and blood.”

His brow darkened. “You come to me wearing Englisch clothes, with your shorn hair and your head uncovered. I see no repentance in you. I have heard none from your lips, yet you say you want to be Amish again. You share in the shame your father brought to this house.”

“I was a child. I had no choice but to go with my parents.”

“You chose to remain in the Englisch world all these years, even after the death of my son and his wife. You could have come back then. I would have taken you in. Nee, I will not help you now. This suffering, you have brought on yourself.” He rose, put on his hat and coat and went out the door.

Willa sat at the table and dropped her head on her crossed arms as she gave in to despair. Gut-wrenching sobs shook her body. Why was God doing this? Hadn’t she suffered enough? How much more would He ask of her?

Chapter Two

“I’m sorry I’m late. I had a few unexpected delays.” John stepped down from his wagon as Melvin Taylor came out of the house to meet him.

“You said you’d be here today. It’s still today.” Melvin pushed the brim of his red ball cap up with one finger and grinned.

Relief made John smile. Melvin appeared to be the understanding sort and a rare Englisch fellow in John’s book—one who wasn’t in a rush. His hopes for more work from the man rose.

“Can’t thank you enough for taking on my little project.”

“I enjoyed restoring it.” He loved re-creating useful things from the past.

Melvin rubbed his hands together. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense any longer. How did it turn out?”

“I’ll let you be the judge.” Moving to the back of the wagon, John untied the ropes and lifted the tarp covering his load. The antique blue-and-gold sleigh had made the journey unharmed.

“I knew she was a beauty under all that neglect.” Melvin drew his fingers along the smooth, elaborately curved metal runner. “I’m right pleased with your work, John Miller.”