A Boy's Amish Christmas, page 3
Emaline nodded. “That’s very nice. I bet he’ll have great memories of this.”
“I hope so.”
“And you?” Belinda said, looking expectantly at Emaline.
“For Christmas?” Emaline smiled. “Every year I spend it with my brothers and my mother.”
“What will you do with them?” Belinda asked.
“We go to a candlelight church service on Christmas Eve. It means a lot to Mom,” Emaline said, “and then we come home and eat chocolates and catch up with each other. None of us have children yet, so we can sleep in Christmas morning, and when we get up, we open gifts.”
“And your daet?” Belinda asked. “Has he passed away?”
“No, he’s very much alive and, well...” Emaline’s shoulders straightened, and her grip on her mug tightened. “He left us a long time ago. He has Christmas with his other family.”
Other family. Those words fell heavy across the table. Emaline took a sip from her mug, her gaze momentarily clouded.
“Oh, my...” Belinda murmured. “I’m sorry, dear. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“It’s okay,” Emaline said.
“What happened?” Brett asked.
“Not a story for little ears,” Emaline replied, glancing at Damian.
With his headphones, he wouldn’t hear anyway, but Brett let it go. Every family had their painful stories—the betrayals, the mistakes. His was no different—the Rockwells just had to be better at hiding theirs. It was a matter of political survival.
“Well, Christmas is a time for loving the ones we’ve got,” Belinda said. “And we take that very seriously here in Amish Country.”
The conversation turned to the surrounding area—Christmas-themed events going on, the pond where the Amish liked to go skating and a story Belinda told about her niece who’d met her husband here in her own bed-and-breakfast. It was just chitchat, and Brett sat back, letting the conversation roll over him as his mind took its own path.
This year, Brett had set up the faux Christmas tree and decorated it. The decorations were a little skimpy, but he figured he’d take Damian to the store and let him choose a few they could add before the rest of the family got there. He’d stocked his cupboards with cookies, crackers and Damian’s favorite cereal, and a pile of wrapped gifts were waiting in his closet. While it was still just him and Damian, they’d watch Christmas movies and make homemade pizza, and Brett had even bought the Dr. Seuss Grinch book to read to Damian.
And it didn’t feel like enough... What made that run up to Christmas sparkle when a kid couldn’t be with his parents until Christmas Eve? What could Brett give that Damian would remember fondly? Belinda made up for it with thirty-three grandchildren. Brett couldn’t do that.
Boots sounded on the step outside, and a cold finger of air whisked through the room as Brett heard the door open.
“Eli’s back,” Belinda said, and she rose to her feet and headed to the counter. She came back with a plated cinnamon bun and a steaming mug just as the old man came out of the mudroom in sock feet, his wiry gray hair standing up in a tangled nest around his bald spot. His black dog gave a good shake, spraying snow.
“It’s cold out there, and it’s blowing, all right,” Eli said. He brightened at the sight of the plate and mug. “Belinda, you read my mind. That would hit the spot.”
He sank into the empty seat at the end of the table and slapped his leg. The dog lay down next to him.
“The animals are all right?” Belinda asked.
“Yah, yah,” he replied. “They’ve got feed and water, and everything is clean. I was a little worried about my hens. They’re sensitive girls.”
Belinda fixed the old man with a meaningful look. “That new coop is tight, and you know it.”
“Yah, it is.”
“And the hens will be warm.”
“I checked and double-checked, and they’re quite warm,” Eli said with a nod.
The aged couple exchanged a long look, and Brett had the feeling there was an old, unspoken tension being played out in front of them. He looked over at Emaline. She was watching the old couple with a curious look on her face, her short blond hair tucked behind one ear. He might not want to be featured in her vlog, but he couldn’t deny that she intrigued him. Emaline was pretty and seemed insightful, and if he’d met her under any other circumstances, he’d be trying to figure out how single she was.
“Belinda is worried I’ll bring my chickens in the house to keep them warm,” Eli said with a low chuckle.
Damian took his headphones off his head. “In the house? Chickens?”
So, he could hear past those headphones. Good to know. But Brett was starting to feel bad for old Eli. Ranching life had different rules, and he could identify.
“I brought a new calf into the house to warm it up last fall,” Brett said. “Sometimes you do what you have to do in farming.”
“Yah, that’s true!” Eli said, nodding furiously.
“Eli had chickens set up on his kitchen table for the better part of eight years,” Belinda said. “How long was the calf in your kitchen, Brett?”
“A couple of hours,” Brett said weakly.
Belinda shot Eli a pointed look. “You see?”
“They got cold outside,” Eli said. “And one year, I lost a really good layer, too. She was one of my favorites. She used to be the first one out of the coop to come see me when I fed them. She liked to get pet. So I told myself I wouldn’t have that happen again. And to my credit, I never lost another hen to the cold or to coyotes.”
Belinda regarded the old man silently. It was a look that Brett remembered from his own mother—it was a silent warning to a man who was wise enough to take it.
“But Belinda can rest easy,” Eli went on, a little meeker. “I promised her that I won’t do that anymore. I might be the kind of man who brings chickens in the house, but I’m not the kind of man who breaks his word.”
“I certainly hope I can rest easy on that...” Belinda murmured. “It just isn’t sanitary, Eli. And you know it. If every other farmer can keep his hens warm and dry all winter long without taking them into the house, then you can, too. And those hens aren’t half so sensitive as you are!”
“Me?” Eli looked ready to take offense, then sighed. “Maybe I am. I won’t do it, Belinda. I think they lay better in the kitchen, but I promised you, didn’t I? They’ll be fine where they are.” He tore a piece from his cinnamon bun and pushed it into his mouth, the discussion over—at least as far as he seemed concerned. Belinda eyed him a moment longer, then heaved a sigh.
“Would you like to see your room, Brett and Damian?” Belinda asked, turning toward him.
“Sure. That would be nice.”
“I already had fresh linens in that room. There’s two beds—that actually used to be the room my own boys slept in when they were young. I used to have two sets of bunk beds in there. I only had three boys, but they’d have a cousin sleep over or someone visit, and the extra bed got used a lot of the time.”
The old woman headed toward the staircase without looking back, and Brett stood up. He tapped the top of Damian’s head to get his attention, and Damian looked around, then stood, too.
Brett glanced back once to see Emaline watching him with an evaluating look on her face. He knew that he’d caught her attention, and he wondered what she thought of him besides curiosity about the man she’d heard about in the news. She was coming to conclusions about him—he could feel it. Except there were five-year-old news stories to color her view of him.
“But don’t worry,” Belinda said, suddenly turning with a bright smile, “there are no longer bunk beds in that bedroom. You’ll be very comfortable, I’m sure.”
* * *
EMALINE WATCHED AS Brett and Damian disappeared up the stairs. She’d already spent one night in her own room—a bright space with a double bed, broad windows and a thick block quilt. She’d slept like a baby.
She let out a slow breath. She should have taken her mother’s advice and gone for a real vacation, not a working one. Emaline took another sip of her apple cider. It was cooling off now and was easier to drink.
“Are you enjoying your stay?” Eli asked. The dog sighed happily from his spot on the floor at the old man’s side.
“I really am,” she said with a smile.
“What’s the problem between you and the other Englisher?” Eli asked bluntly.
“Uh—” She chuckled uncomfortably. “His family is in the news a lot. And I’m a vlogger, kind of a freelance journalist? I’m always looking for stories to tell... We’re at odds.”
“Ah.” Eli nodded. “That’s too bad.”
“How long have you farmed here?” she asked by way of changing the topic.
“I’m eighty this year,” he said. “My twin brother and I inherited the farm together when we were in our twenties...you do the math.”
“That’s a long time,” she said.
“Yah, a long time,” he said. “And this is my last year of it. This spring, someone else will be working this land instead of me.”
“Are you retiring?” she asked.
“You could call it that.” He sighed. “I never married, you see. Normally, if you have kinner, you’d have a son or a son-in-law who’d take over and you step back. But I don’t have either. There’s a Mennonite old folks home, and I’m going to sell up and go there.”
“Are you ready to stop farming?” Emaline asked.
Eli shook his head. “The problem with getting old is that you aren’t as old in your head as you are in your body. Do I want to stop farming? No! But I’m a man on my own. I have to take care of my home and my animals and my land, and...it’s a lot for these old bones.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s tough.”
“It happens to the best of us...” Eli shrugged. “Enjoy your youth while you have it. It passes faster than you think it will.”
Damian came back down the stairs then, his headphones on, and his dark brown eyes scanning the room cautiously. Emaline could hear the rumble of Brett’s voice through the floor, so it seemed he was busy up there. She fluttered her fingers in a wave, and the boy headed over to where she sat.
“Do you like your room?” Emaline asked.
Damian nodded and pulled his headphones off. “Yeah. It’s nice. There’s no TV, though.”
“We have no TVs at all,” Eli said.
“That’s what Uncle Brett said. Why?” Damian asked.
“We’re Amish.” Eli took a bite from his cinnamon bun and chewed slowly.
Damian looked up at Emaline questioningly.
“It’s a simple life,” Emaline explained. “No TV, no electricity, but there’s wood stoves, and horses and buggies.”
“Belinda says there’s a donkey out there,” Damian said.
“His name is Eeyore,” Eli supplied.
“Can I see him?” Damian asked.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Eli said. “He’s in the stable now. And it’s blowing hard out there.”
“I pet him yesterday,” Emaline said. “He likes carrots.”
“He’s also incredibly naughty,” Eli said. “He runs away. A lot.”
“Where does he go?” Damian asked. “Because sometimes at school, I go hide in the bathroom.”
That revelation made Emaline’s heart stutter in her chest. Damian fiddled with one headphone absently, his little fingers working around the plastic.
“Why do you hide in the bathroom?” Emaline asked softly.
“Because it’s quiet in there, and my class is noisy,” Damian said. “The other kids talk loud, and they yell sometimes, and we have to sing a song, and I don’t like the song.”
“What song is it?” she asked.
“The welcome song. I hate it. It’s got bells.”
Right. The noise. This kid really didn’t like noise, did he? That was part of an autism diagnosis, and while she didn’t have any information on Damian’s situation, she’d seen it often enough. She had a cousin with autism spectrum disorder who’d attended the same school she had growing up. Times had gotten a lot better for these kids with special needs.
“Do you have a special helper in the classroom?”
“Yeah. Miss Tanner.”
“And she doesn’t come with you outside the room when the song starts?”
“Sometimes. But I tell her I have to use the bathroom, and she can’t go in there. It’s cool in the bathroom. And quiet. And empty. I wear my headphones until the teacher comes and says the song is over,” Damian said. “Then I go back.”
Damian put his headphones up over his ears and reached for a cookie. Eli was thoughtfully watching the boy.
“You must have sensitive kids in your community, too,” Emaline said.
“Yah, I’m sure we do.”
“What do you do for them?” she asked.
“I don’t have kinner,” he said. “I’m an old bachelor. You’d be better off asking Belinda that. But I have noticed that some quiet boys who stay back from the group tend to be very good with horses.”
“As therapy?” she asked.
“As a skill,” he replied soberly. “As a talent. As a horse-boy relationship. It’s a special connection. Like that donkey—he’s a terrible, obstinate, no-good donkey. But I think if you put this boy with that donkey, they’d get along. Just a hunch.”
“You think?” Emaline asked.
“Yah. A long time ago, I was a boy who didn’t quite fit in, either.”
Emaline looked at the weathered old man, his not quite properly shaven face and his kind eyes. What sort of a life had this old bachelor lived? How many people had misunderstood him over the years?
“And you get along with Eeyore?” she asked.
“Me?” He shook his head. “No, no. Eeyore sees me as competition. He loves Belinda, and any time she casts a smile my way, that donkey is plotting his revenge.”
“Does he really?” Emaline chuckled.
“He’s a smart donkey,” Eli said, tapping the side of his head. “He lets himself out of that stable. You’d think he couldn’t, but he finds a way. And I shut the doors firmly. You can’t lock a stable—it’s not safe. If there were ever a fire, no one could let the animals out without finding the key. And that donkey can turn a knob—I’m sure of it.”
“He can turn a doorknob?” Damian pulled his headphones off again. “Really?”
“Yah. He must. He also undoes knots in rope. Because I don’t know how else he gets out,” Eli said. “And you know who gets blamed every time he wanders away?”
“Who?” Damian asked, wide-eyed.
“Me!” Eli shook his head. “Every time. That’s because I help Belinda with the men’s work, and that donkey knows it. He thinks he’s the man of this place. And while I might not be the man of this home, I’m certainly more of a man than that donkey is. I think he laughs to himself every time Belinda there gets mad at me for letting him get away.”
A smile tickled Damian’s lips. “You should give him a time-out.”
“I would if he wouldn’t wander off in the middle of it,” Eli retorted.
“That’s what happens when Ivy pinches people,” Damian said. “She gets a time-out. And when Michael B. breaks the crayons, too. And when I hide in the bathroom and don’t tell Miss Tanner where I went.”
“How come you don’t tell Miss Tanner where you’re going?” she asked.
“Because I want to be alone.”
“You get time-outs for that?” Emaline asked.
“Yeah,” Damian replied, and he leaned ever so slightly toward her, resting one arm against hers. Just a sweet little kid who wanted some contact. She leaned toward him, too, just a little bit, to show him it was okay.
It tugged at her heart to hear that he’d get punished at school. She could understand that he shouldn’t be hiding from teachers, but Damian didn’t seem like a boy who wanted to misbehave.
“Horses,” Eli said meaningfully. “Mark my words.”
But she was the wrong person to tell all of this to. Brett was Damian’s uncle. She was just a stranger staying at the same B&B.
“Uncle Brett has horses,” Damian said. “He’s got a whole ranch. And there’s horses and cows and dogs and cats and everything on Uncle Brett’s ranch.”
“Then I have one word of advice for you, young man,” Eli said. “When you get back to your Uncle Brett’s ranch, you go look those horses over, and you find the one who’s looking back at you just as hard as you’re looking at him. And then you go over and say hello real polite like.”
“Really?” Damian asked.
“Yah. Keeping a carrot in your pocket helps to smooth over the introductions, but the hello is the important part.”
Belinda came down the creaking staircase, Brett behind her. Brett looked surprised when he saw Damian sitting next to Emaline. She expected Damian to move away then, but he didn’t. He stayed right where he was, his headphones around his neck, and his feet kicking in the air beneath him.
“Having fun, Damian?” Brett asked.
“Yep.”
Brett’s eyebrows went up. Before, she’d been thinking that if they were snowed in together, Brett might soften up and consent to be interviewed on her vlog about some fluffy topic or other—the emotional life of cattle or something. But now, being snowed in didn’t seem like it was so great for Damian. Maybe it was better to get this particular Rockwell back on his land and his nephew into the company of some horses he could form a relationship with.
The poor kid. It wasn’t easy being five, was it?
CHAPTER THREE
DINNER THAT EVENING was roast beef and potatoes with creamed corn on the side and the most delicious dinner rolls Brett had ever tasted. He ate two full plates of food and watched as Damian did the same. If the kid was eating, Brett figured he was succeeding on some level.
