Amish Christmas Memories

“Never said they were, but they’re not Plain.”

“A computer isn’t going to cause anyone to leave the faith.”

“It could. The things you can see on one...well, it’s like bait to our youngies...”

“Of which you are one.”

He laughed at that. “Turned twenty-five last year.”

“Me, too.”

They both froze, the argument suddenly forgotten.

“Another piece of the puzzle of Rachel,” he said softly.

She glanced at him uncertainly, a range of emotions playing across her face, and then she turned and wandered back into the house, pausing now and again to look back at the alpacas.

* * *

Rachel spent the rest of Friday morning helping Ida, but honestly there wasn’t much to do for a family of three—four if she counted herself. Was she a part of Ida’s family? Was this her home now? When would she remember her past?

And beneath those questions were Caleb’s words, mocking her.

Amish women work hard, too. At least most of them do.

Did he think she liked not being able to remember her own last name or where she was from? Did he think she enjoyed being ill?

“The headaches are better, ya?” Ida was crocheting a gray-and-black winter scarf for Caleb. She only brought it out during the day, not wanting him to see it until Christmas morning.

Rachel was sitting and staring at the crochet needle that Ida had given her. She’d even shown her how to use it, but the rhythm and stitch pattern seemed completely foreign. If she’d crocheted in her other life, she certainly couldn’t remember doing so.

“Some.”

“That’s gut. You’re a little better every day. You could be entirely well by Christmas.”

“Does your community celebrate on December twenty-fifth or on January sixth?”

“Both. The older generation—older than me even, they prefer Old Christmas.”

“Probably includes Caleb.”

“Caleb likes both holidays—mainly because I cook his favorite dishes.”

“I wish I could remember how to use this.” Rachel stared at the crochet needle. “I wish I remembered something useful.”

“That seems to happen when you’re not thinking about it.” She pointed to the journal that contained the list that Rachel had made. The list was pitifully short, in her opinion. She opened the journal and stared down at the first page.

My name is Rachel.

I have a brother.

I know about alpaca wool.

Used to wear sunglasses?

I’m 25 years old.

“Those things could describe a lot of women.”

“And yet they describe you, and Gotte made you special and unique.”

“Now you’re trying to cheer me up.”

“Indeed.” Ida peered at her over the reading glasses she wore while crocheting. The frames were a pretty blue, which probably irked Caleb to no end. A blue dress was out of the question—blue frames couldn’t be far behind.

“Do you know what I think is wrong with you?”

Rachel nearly choked on the water she’d been sipping. She’d known Ida for only less than a week, and yet already she knew the woman had a gentle spirit—one that wasn’t critical.

“What’s wrong with me?”

Now Ida was smiling. “Uh-huh.”

“Tell me, Ida. Because it may just be that my brain is bruised, but I feel all out of sorts.”

“You have cabin fever.”

“Pardon me?”

“Cabin fever. I used to suffer from it something terrible when Caleb was a babe. That was a hard winter, and we were inside—in this very house—too much. Finally, his father came into the kitchen one morning and told me that he had finished all of his work in the barn.”

“A farmer’s work is never done...”

“Exactly. When John came in that morning, he claimed he’d finished the work that had to be done, took the babe from my arms and told me to go to town.”

“And did it help?”

“Immensely. After that, one day a week he’d come in and take care of Caleb for a few hours while I went on little errands.”

“So I need to go on little errands?”

“Wouldn’t hurt.” Ida dropped her crochet work in her lap and pulled a scrap of paper from her apron pocket. “Here’s some things I need from the general store. It’s on the main road. You won’t have any trouble finding it. While you’re out, maybe you can find something whimsical to do.”

“Whimsical?”

“Impulsive. Something you hadn’t planned on. Life on a farm can be awfully predictable. A surprise, even a little one, can brighten the spirit.”

“How am I supposed to get there?”