Amish Christmas Memories

Several times that afternoon she had to excuse herself and lie down because of the vertigo and nausea, and bone-deep exhaustion. Ida’s cooking smelled wonderful—it was a meat loaf she’d thrown together and served with mashed potatoes, canned squash, gravy and fresh bread. Rachel thought she could eat three plates, but when she’d taken her first bite, the nausea had returned, and she’d fled to the bathroom.

Now it was ten thirty in the evening and everyone was asleep, but she was starving. Pulling on the robe Ida had loaned her, she padded down the hall to the kitchen. She pulled a pitcher of milk from the icebox and found a tin of cookies when Caleb walked in.

“If you’d eaten your dinner, you wouldn’t be so hungry late at night.” When she didn’t answer and just stood there frozen, as if she’d been caught stealing, he’d walked closer, bumped his shoulder against hers and said, “I’m kidding. Pour me a glass?”

So she did, and they sat down at the table together. She could just make out his outline from the light of the full moon slanting through the window. Oddly, the darkness comforted her, knowing he couldn’t see her well, either. She felt less exposed, less vulnerable.

“I can’t remember if I thanked you...for finding me in the snow. For bringing me here.”

“You didn’t.”

“Danki.”

“Gem Gschehne.”

The words slipped effortlessly between them and brought her a small measure of comfort. At least she remembered how to be polite. Surely that was something.

“You owe me, you know.”

Her head snapped up, and she peered at him through the darkness.

“You scared at least a year off my life when I saw you out there.”

“Lucky for me you did.”

“I’m not sure luck had anything to do with it. Gotte was watching over you, for sure and certain.”

“If He was watching over me, why did this happen? Why can’t I remember anything? What am I supposed to do next?”

“I’m not going to pretend I have the answers to any of those questions.”

“Might be a good time to lie to me and say you do.”

Caleb’s laugh was soft and low and genuine. “We both would regret that later.”

“I suppose.” She sipped the cold milk. At least her stomach didn’t reject it. Maybe she would feel better if she could keep some food down. She hesitantly reached for an oatmeal cranberry cookie.

“Your mamm’s a gut cook.”

“Ya, she is.”

“So it’s just you? You’re an only child?”

“Ya, though my mamm wanted to have more children.”

“Why didn’t she?”

“Something went wrong when she had me, and the doctors said she wouldn’t be able to conceive again.”

“Gotte’s wille.”

“She always wanted a girl, too, so I suppose you’re an answer to that prayer, even if you’re a temporary answer.”

“When you marry, she’ll have a daughter-in-law.”

“So they keep reminding me.” He laughed again, but there was something sad and bitter at the same time in it. His next words had a serious, let’s-get-down-to-business tone. “How are you feeling? I know you keep telling my parents that you’re fine, but it’s obvious you aren’t.”

“Lost. Confused. Sick to my stomach.”

“Food should help settle your stomach.”

She bit into the cookie, which was delicious but could use a little nutmeg. “I just remembered something.”

“You did?”

“Cookies need nutmeg.”

Caleb reached for another. “It’s a beginning.”

“Not much of one.”

“The doctor told you this could take a while.”

“I know...but can you imagine what it’s like for me? I don’t know who I am.”

“You know your name is Rachel.”

“Only because you found my book.”

“Not many Amish girls read Robert Frost. That narrows the prospective field of candidates down a little.”

“Perhaps we could advertise somewhere...”

“The Budget.” Caleb nodded and ran a thumb under his suspenders. “Actually that’s not a bad idea. If you write something up in the morning—”

“What would I write? I don’t remember anything.”

“Okay. Gut point, but perhaps your family will post there. We’ll watch the paper closely.”

“Danki.”

“Gem Gschehne.”

And there it was again—an odd familiarity that bound them together.

“Are you always this nice?”

“Nein. I’m on my best behavior with you because you’ve had a brain injury.”