Patricia Davids - An Amish Christmas Journey

His dark brown hair was fine and straight, but it was cut shorter than the traditional Amish bowl-style. Young men during their rumspringa , the years when they were free to try English ways and decide if they wanted to remain Amish, often adopted English hairstyles. There was nothing remotely English about his clothing. He wore dark, homemade pants, a pale blue shirt and black suspenders. Had he left his rumspringa behind or was he only dressing Amish because he was going to visit his Amish family?

Greta realized there was a lot about this young man that intrigued her, but it was unlikely that she would learn much on this short trip. She glanced toward his sister. Marianne was napping, too. She had wedged herself into the corner of the seat. Her head rested against the window glass.

Greta took off her coat and folded it into a bundle. Slipping in next to the child, Greta eased her coat beneath the girl’s cheek without waking her. She glanced over the seat back at her uncle. He had assumed the same position. She seemed to be the only one who couldn’t sleep.

Returning to her seat, she took out her needlepoint hoop and began to work. It didn’t require much concentration, but the repetitive motion helped to keep her mind off her unhappy situation. The thing she regretted most was bringing her uncle into her sisters’ lives again.

Lizzie with her delicate pregnancy did not need to be subjected to their uncle’s cruel verbal barbs. Betsy had become a fun-loving teenager. Even their oldest sister, Clara, had come out of her shell and gained the confidence to marry a man with three children. None of them deserved to be exposed to their uncle’s venom.

Greta’s one consolation was that he wouldn’t dare raise a hand to any of them as long as Duncan was in the house. The dog considered them part of his flock. He would lay down his life to defend them.

The miles rolled by as she worked, glancing occasionally at the other passengers. They all slept. Christmas remained quiet in her box. Greta was tempted to open the carton and check on her, but decided against it. There was no telling what the cat would do when she sensed freedom.

Sometime later, Greta was losing the light to work by when Arles pulled off the interstate and turned into the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant adjacent to a large truck stop. Toby sat up in the back and looked around. Marianne remained asleep, but Morris sat up, too. As if on cue, the cat began to meow softly. Arles turned around in his seat. “I’m going to get something to drink. Does anyone want anything?”

Greta shook her head, as did Toby. Arles left, closing his door softly. Toby came forward to his sister’s seat. Seeing her asleep, he handed Greta the pet carrier and gently lifted Marianne in his arms. Returning to the rear of the vehicle, he laid her down on the seat and covered her with his coat. She didn’t rouse.

Greta retrieved her coat and slipped it on. She opened the box and lifted the cat out. Toby came forward. “We should put the lead on her before we take her outside.” He spoke softly so as not to wake his sister.

“I was thinking the same thing. Can you get it from the box under the seat?”

He extracted the pink harness and cord. “If you hold her, I think I can get it on without too much trouble. Let’s hope she’s still groggy enough to be cooperative.”

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