The Christmas Courtship

“Ya, I was just going into the parlor. To see Rosemary.”

He set the paper bags down on one of the two enormous kitchen tables in the room. “Let me show you the way.”

“It’s just down the hall,” Tara quipped as she crossed the kitchen to dig into the bags. “You get my cereal? And the butter?”

“Ya, ya, it’s all in the bag.” Joshua told his stepsister as he motioned to Phoebe. “Come on. Come say hello to Rosemary.”

Phoebe followed him down the hall, past a staircase leading to the second floor. At a doorway, he halted. “Here we are,” he said to her. “Rosemary, look who I found at the bus station.”

Phoebe walked hesitantly to the doorway.

“There you are!”

It was her cousin Rosemary, seated on a sofa, her foot encased in a black cloth boot, propped on a stool. “What took you so long? I was beginning to worry.” She opened her arms. “I’d come to you, but this one will have a fit.” She pointed to the man seated beside her on the couch. “Benjamin has made me promise I won’t get up again until supper.”

The burly man with dark hair and a reddish beard rose. Dressed in denim trousers and a long-sleeved blue shirt and suspenders, he wore sheepskin slippers on his short, wide feet. “Now, Rosebud, you know you’re not going to heal properly if you don’t stay off that foot.” He nodded to Phoebe as he walked past her. “Velcom to our home. Know our door is open to you and yours always.” He met her gaze, something else Phoebe wasn’t used to among elder Amish men. “I think this will be a good place for you.” He gave her a little smile, his dark brown eyes twinkling. “And will you do me a favor?” he said as he walked past her.

“Ya...” His request surprised her. “Of course.”

“Keep my wife on that couch until supper. Her foot won’t heal if she doesn’t rest. There are plenty of able bodies to keep this household going. To care for our little ones.” He slipped his thumbs beneath his suspenders. “And now she has you to help as well, ya?”

“Ya...yes, of course.” A little flustered, Phoebe returned her attention to Rosemary as Benjamin left the parlor.

Joshua smiled at Phoebe, lifting his hand in a little wave, and went with his father.

“He worries too much,” Rosemary insisted, pointing at her husband as he disappeared down the hall. “Come, Phoebe, give me a hug.” She opened her arms wide.

Cousin Rosemary, who had to be in her late forties, could have passed for far younger with her pretty round face and, beneath her white prayer kapp, chestnut hair that didn’t seem to be graying. Phoebe knew Rosemary had to be nearing menopause because she remembered her mother fussing about Rosemary’s advanced age when they’d learned she and her new husband were expecting a baby. Which turned out to be twins. Phoebe hadn’t said anything at the time when they’d heard the news because it was always easier to get along with her mother if she agreed with her, but she’d remembered saying a silent prayer when she’d heard the news, thanking God for His goodness in blessing Rosemary and Benjamin.

Phoebe hesitantly crossed the cozy parlor furnished with two couches and two easy chairs covered in flax-colored duck. To her surprise, there were pretty denim blue-and-green square pillows scattered everywhere. There were oak ladder-back chairs along the walls ready to be pulled forward to make more seating, as well as several slightly mismatched oak end tables. In one corner sat a small, round kitchen table and chairs with a stack of game boxes on top. A checkerboard was set up as if just waiting for two players. Like most Amish homes, along one wall there were doors that likely opened into the living room behind it, making a good-sized room for church services. The parlor was very Amish in the way that it was obviously set up for utilitarian use, but it was different in the way that it was so pretty and cozy with its throw pillows and the cross-stitches framed on the walls. And hanging partially over the doors that opened into the living room was an enormous quilt depicting a scene from the Garden of Eden with trees and plants and beautifully plumed birds.

“Atch, our Nettie’s quilt,” Rosemary said, seeing Phoebe staring at it. “Beautiful, isn’t it? My daughter has a way with a needle.”

“It’s so beautiful,” Phoebe said softly, leaning down to hug Rosemary. She had intended to give her a quick squeeze, but Rosemary wrapped her arms tightly around Phoebe and she wouldn’t let her go.

“Everything is going to be okay,” Rosemary said quietly in her ear. “Not to worry. God has His plan for you. He has a plan for all of us. We have to be brave enough to be open to it,” she whispered.

Tears sprang to Phoebe’s eyes. She didn’t know if it was her cousin’s kind words, full of hope, or just the feeling of another human being’s touch that overwhelmed her with emotion. There was no hugging in her stepfather’s home. It had been too long since Phoebe had felt someone’s arms around her, and suddenly she felt as if she might break down in tears.

“There, there,” Rosemary murmured, patting Phoebe’s back.

Phoebe sniffed and drew back, pulling a handkerchief from her dress pocket. Embarrassed and not sure what to say, she dabbed at her eyes.

Just then, Tara stuck her head through the doorway. “Apple pie came out nice. I’m going to throw the sweet potato pies in now.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Dough for the rolls is rising already. Anything else you want me to do, Mam?”

Her back to Tara, Phoebe took a moment to dry her eyes and pull herself together.

“Sounds liked you have everything under control, dochtah.” Rosemary looked up at Phoebe from her perch on the couch. “Wait until you taste Tara’s apple pie. You’ll be wanting to set a piece aside for breakfast tomorrow. You met, Tara, ya?”

“Ya.” Phoebe glanced at Tara and nodded.

“I’m Nettie.” A slightly older girl came to the doorway, giving a shy wave. She was petite and blond, with her sister’s green eyes. In stocking feet, she was wearing a blue dress and a long canvas apron that appeared to be covered with splotches of paint. “The chest of drawers will need just one more coat when I finish this one, and then it will be done, Mam. New knobs and it will be perfect for Phoebe’s room.” She gave a cautious smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t get it done before you arrived. I had two orders for quilts I had to finish before I could start on the chest.”

“Nettie found an old chest of drawers at our local farmers market in Dover,” Rosemary explained. “Spence’s Bazaar is open Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. We’ll take you this week. About anything you want can be bought there—food, produce and all sorts of junk.”

“It wasn’t junk,” Nettie protested, walking over to her mother. She lifted Rosemary’s foot in its black boot to readjust the pillow beneath it. Satisfied with the position of her mother’s foot, she turned to Phoebe. “I only paid seven dollars for the chest of drawers. Wait until you see it. A couple of repairs, a new coat of paint and the handles I found in our barn, and it’s beautiful.”

“Nettie likes strays,” Tara explained. “Stray cats, stray chests of drawers—”

“You were happy enough with that stray baking pan I bought for you for a dollar last week,” Nettie quipped.

Tara wrapped her arms around her waist. “True enough.” She glanced at her mother. “Tea, Mam? For you and Phoebe. I managed to hide a couple of gingerbread cookies from Joshua. He loves gingerbread cookies,” she explained to Phoebe. “I hardly have the tray out of the oven and he’s eaten half a dozen.”

“I’m fine until supper,” Phoebe said.

“Nonsense.” Rosemary shifted her position on the couch. Like her daughters, she was dressed in a calf-length dress, hers blue, and wearing a white prayer bonnet, the ties dangling. “I’m bored. Bring us some of those gingerbread cookies and a pot of mint tea. I gather my own mint and dry it. Makes an excellent tea.” She patted the couch indicating Phoebe should approach. “Sit.” She glanced up at Nettie as Tara headed for the kitchen. “Join us?”

Nettie eyed the wood-cased clock on the wall. It was handmade, as were the end tables. “Tempting, but—Oh, my, look who’s up!” She threw open her arms as another sister Phoebe had not yet met appeared in the doorway. She balanced a sleepy toddler on each hip. “Josiah.” Nettie took one of the little boys who was dressed identically to his father in denim trousers and a blue shirt with tiny leather suspenders. “There’s my Josiah.”

Rosemary put out her arms to take her son from Nettie. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“James was still trying to sleep, weren’t you?” the unidentified sister said to the little boy she was still holding. “But big brother Josiah wouldn’t let you.”

Phoebe saw at once that the little boys who were just over a year old were identical twins.

“You must be Phoebe,” the sister said with a smile.

All of Rosemary’s daughters were pretty, but this one may have been the prettiest of them all. She was a yellow blonde with the same Stutzman green eyes, but she had a perfect heart-shaped face, thick lashes and rosy cheeks.

“I’m Ginger. And this, in case you didn’t know,” she said, looking at the little boy in her arms, “is James. Right?” She tickled the little boy, who giggled. “Are you James?”

The sound of the child’s laughter struck Phoebe as sharply as if someone had plunged a shard of glass into her chest. “Would he come to me?” she asked, her voice catching in her throat. Suddenly she missed her little boy, her sweet son, so much that she physically felt their separation. She opened her arms to James. Her John-John was only two years older than the twins.

“Want to go to Phoebe?” Ginger asked her little brother. She passed him to Phoebe and the little boy gave no protest.

“There we go,” Phoebe murmured, pulling the little boy against her in a hug. He looked up at her with big brown eyes, his father’s eyes. “What a good boy,” she said softly, shifting him onto her hip.

“Joshua around?” Ginger asked her mother.

“Somewhere,” Rosemary responded, offering a little horse to Josiah from a basket of wooden toys beside the couch.

“Need me to watch the boys?” Ginger asked her mother.

“I should finish that coat of paint on the chest of drawers before supper.” Nettie tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “But I can stay and watch the boys.”

“You can both go about your business,” Rosemary insisted. “Phoebe and I can certainly handle two little boys. Can’t we?” she asked her son, and he climbed down from her lap, the unpainted toy still clutched in his tiny hand.

“Mam, the doctor was serious about staying off your foot for a couple more days,” Nettie warned. “Benjamin said—”