The next week flew by for Rachel.
She saw Dr. Michie two more times. Though she was still remembering very little of her past, she was learning to cope with her current situation. She didn’t mention her moods to the doctor. Frankly, she was embarrassed that she woke each day feeling as if she couldn’t crawl out of bed. Once up, after she’d had coffee and eaten, her mood usually improved. If the weather was sunny, she walked to the little one-room school. If it was snowing or if the wind was blowing, Caleb or John drove her there. As far as the evenings went, some were good and some were bad. Wasn’t that true for everyone?
She kept her appointment with the medical doctor who had treated her at the hospital. Dr. Gold assured her that she was healing, and reminded her that “these things take time.”
Martha was easy to work with. She was a few years younger than Rachel, and she planned to marry as soon as school was out. There would be openings for two new teachers, since the board had decided to proceed with plans to build an additional schoolhouse on the far side of the district. Rachel sometimes wondered if she should apply for the job, but as Dr. Michie had told her, “Don’t worry about making tomorrow’s decisions today.”
So she’d focused on the children and the upcoming Christmas play, and in her spare time she did those things that Dr. Michie had suggested. On the afternoons Caleb picked her up from the school, they drove in a random direction to help her look for anything familiar. A comfortable friendship developed between them and maybe something more.
Sometimes when she thought of how much she owed the good man sitting next to her in the buggy, how Gotte had blessed her life with the presence of him, she was certain that their friendship would develop into love. Each night she’d allow her mind to play back the events of the day—and more often than not, her thoughts focused on something Caleb had said, or the casual touch of his hand as he helped her into or out of the buggy, or the way her heart raced when she looked up from her knitting and caught him studying her. Was that love? Did she care for Caleb the way a wife cared for a husband? And did he return her feelings?
The knitting was the only thing that completely relaxed her. Because she had to focus on counting her stitches and following a pattern that she somehow remembered, she wasn’t able to worry or question or think. She found that creating something that would be useful to someone else gave her a sense of satisfaction. Perhaps she had been a skilled knitter in her other life. She might never know. More and more she was coming to terms with that.
One night she’d stayed up past everyone else. The house smelled of fresh cedar and pinecones and baked desserts. Candles adorned every windowsill, and three wrapped presents in plain brown paper with midnight blue bows were arranged on the top shelf of the bookcase. Ida was in full holiday mode.
It was hard for Rachel to fathom that it was the week before Christmas. Her dreams of being home for the holidays seemed foolish now. She still didn’t know where home was. She was alone in the sitting room when Caleb’s dat wandered in claiming he was suddenly hungry and needed a small snack.
He brought back the pitcher of milk, two glasses and the coconut-cream pie that Ida had made for dinner.
“Actually I’m full, but danki.”
“You’re very welcome. Since you don’t want any, maybe I’ll just finish it.” He smiled at her and wiggled his eyebrows, as if this would be their little secret.
Rachel continued knitting. Christmas would arrive before she knew it, and she still didn’t have all the projects done she’d hoped to finish.
John ate his pie in silence, and then he sat back and stared at the fire in the potbelly stove.
“When I met Ida, I knew she was the one, but Ida...she wasn’t so sure.”
Rachel glanced up in surprise. John smiled weakly and then turned his attention back toward the fire.
“She wasn’t being unkind, but she wanted to be sure—absolutely sure was the way she put it.”
“That’s a rare thing, to be absolutely sure of something, to be beyond-a-doubt sure.”
“Indeed it is. I was persistent, and eventually she agreed to marry me.”
“So it was love.”
“Maybe...or maybe it became love sometime down the road.” He stood and returned his dishes to the kitchen. She heard the water running as he rinsed his plate and cup. When he walked back into the sitting room, he picked up where he’d left off—or maybe he simply said what he’d meant to say all along. “We’ve had a gut life, me and Ida. I’m glad she gave me a chance. Sometimes that is all it takes, you know—giving love a chance to grow.”
He walked over and kissed her on top of the head, something that surprised Rachel as much as his words. She stayed up another hour, the knitting sitting in her lap unfinished, her eyes on the fire and her heart wondering if she was brave enough to give Caleb a chance.
Caleb was supposed to pick Rachel up the next day. He made the mistake of arriving a few minutes early. There was a literal traffic jam of buggies in the schoolyard. He should have come later, but he hadn’t wanted her to start walking home. It was snowing and nearly dark outside, though the time was only four in the afternoon. A line of buggies waited to pick up children, which was quite unusual. Amish students were made of hardy stuff. They were used to walking to and from school. Next thing he knew they’d be whipping out cell phones to call their parents to come and get them.
That was a ridiculous thought, and he knew it.
Still, he didn’t like change—any hint of change caused his anxiousness to rise like cream in a pail of fresh milk.
Then he walked into the classroom and saw the decorations and the children, and he knew—absolutely knew—that he should turn around and walk back out.
Too late for that, though. Rachel had spied him and was walking toward him with a strained smile on her face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Who said anything was wrong?”
“The look on your face.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re scowling.”
“Am not.” He plastered on a smile, but it seemed to take the strength of a giant to hold it in place, so he returned to studying the chaos in front of him.
“What are they doing?”
“Practicing for the play.”
“What kind of play?”
“The Christmas play, of course.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“See, that’s the fun part. We took the traditional Christmas play...you know the one, Christmas Bees.”
“A gut play, but they don’t look as if they’re dressed up as bees.”
“They’re not, that’s what I was explaining. I changed it a little, and we’re calling it the Christmas Cats.”
She pointed at the decorations—instead of snowflakes connected one to another, there was a string of cats, paws linking them together. Some wore glasses, some were short and fat, others were tall and lanky. Each wore a sweater that bore the name of a student.
“Why did you have to change it?”
“Because the children didn’t want to be bees this year,” she said.
“Cats? That makes no sense. What do cats have to do with Christmas?”
“It’s funny. You’ll see.”
“But why would you change it?”
“So the children would be interested.”
“Why couldn’t they be interested in bees?”
Before Rachel could answer, one of the students ran up and said, “I don’t want to say this.” He thrust a sheet of paper into her hands. “I want to make up my own words.”
“Let’s see how that works.” She threw a is-the-day-over-yet gaze at Caleb, but it did nothing to ease the ache in his jaw. Why would he think it was a gut idea for Rachel to work at the schoolhouse? Sure, Martha had been eager to receive help during the holiday season, but he should have known that Rachel would try to change things, to encourage the children to be different, to make them less Amish.
Bishop Amos had walked in the back door. As Rachel hurried away, he approached Caleb and motioned toward two chairs, where they could sit.
“She’s doing a gut job, ya?” Amos slipped a thumb under his right suspender and smiled at the children.
“I’m not so sure.”
“How’s that?”
“She’s using cats—changing the Christmas Bees to Christmas Cats. Why would she do that?” Caleb was sure that the bishop would be as shocked as he was, and possibly even insist that she change everything back. He didn’t know how they could do that before the play the next evening, but maybe if everyone pitched in.
“Ya, we talked about that. Very cute idea.”
“Cute?”
Amos looked at him, quizzically, then broke into a smile. “Sometimes I forget how much you hate change, Caleb.”
“We’re Amish. Change is what we work against.”
“I can see how you’d feel that way.” Amos combed his fingers through his beard. “That’s not completely accurate, though. All things change. Think of how early Christians often had to worship hidden away in back rooms. We no longer need to do that. We are free to worship as we please.”
“What does that have to do with the children’s school play?”
“I’m only making the point that all change isn’t bad. It’s unfettered change that we avoid. Rachel came to me and asked about the changes in the script before she presented them to the children.”
“She did? Why would you approve it?”
“It’s a small change, Caleb. You’ll see. Instead of being a bee holding up a shield with a word on it, they’re cats and they hold up slate boards with their words chalked on it. The entire thing is quite clever.”
Caleb allowed his head to sink into his hands.
This was a nightmare. The bishop might not see it yet—no one ever said that bishops were perfect—but when the parents found out what their children were doing, Amos would understand that Rachel had made a huge mistake.
At that moment, the group of smaller cats began to recite their lines:
Cats follow, oh, this is true.
But cats can make good things, too.
And that, today, is what we have for you.
At which point, one cat fell into another, knocking each other over and creating a domino effect down the line. All of the children, or rather cats, were laughing and meowing as they clamored to their feet. The falling down was a clever ruse to pick up their slates.
Caleb stared around the room as the children recited, “Be reverent, in spirit low, at the manger lowly. Be generous, be thoughtful.” One cat tapped another on the head when he said “thoughtful.”
“See?” Amos said. “Same words, same meaning and celebration, only presented a little differently.”
Different ought to be Rachel’s middle name.
For all he knew, it was.
Rachel’s head was pounding as she pulled on her coat and followed the last child out of the schoolhouse. Caleb was waiting in the buggy. He had at least turned the heater on so that she wasn’t chilled quite to the bone, but he still had his customary grimace in place. Hadn’t he been laughing this morning at breakfast? How was she able to irritate him so thoroughly and so completely in such a short amount of time?
The clouds seemed to press in around them and the snow fell relentlessly. She tried to remember what spring felt like, but then remembering wasn’t exactly her strong suit lately.
They’d driven the short distance down the road and pulled into the lane to home. Suddenly she couldn’t abide his sulky silence any longer.
“What have I done now?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do. You’re glaring, and if you pull that hat down any harder over your head, you’re going to bruise your scalp.”
“All right. Since you asked...”
“I did.”
“Why do you have to change everything?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why are Christmas Bees not good enough for you? Why couldn’t the children cut out snowflakes for decorations? Why did you have to change it to cats?”
“Oh, Caleb...”
“Not an answer.” They’d made it to the barn. He still held the reins, and Stormy waited patiently for him to jump down and open the barn door. Instead Caleb turned to look at her. “I honestly want to know.”
“The children were dragging their feet, giving Martha a hard time, not wanting to participate. I don’t know why. Some years... I think some years are like that.”
“Which is why they’re paying you to help her.”
“And I did. So I changed up a few things. Now the children are excited, in case you didn’t notice, and participating happily.”
“Why can’t they be happy with the old ways?”
“They are. They’re not asking to sit on Santa’s lap or put a Christmas tree in the schoolhouse.”
“There is that to be thankful for.”
Rachel tied the strings of her outer bonnet, picked up her school bag and purse, and reached for the door handle of the buggy. “You know, Caleb, I did check with Amos before I made any changes. I didn’t know that I had to run everything by you, as well.”
And then she fled into the house.
Inside was warm and cozy, and Ida met her with a hug and a smile, pushing a hot mug of tea into her hands. But for once tea didn’t work. Rachel admitted to having a headache and fled to her room, where she spent the next ten minutes having a good cry. Not a very mature thing to do, but it certainly helped her to feel better.
She avoided speaking to Caleb the rest of the evening.
The next morning she left early, insisting that she could walk the short distance to school. She came home only long enough to make a sandwich for dinner and change clothes. Then she returned to the schoolhouse, promising Ida that she’d see her there.
For some reason she wasn’t a bit nervous about the play or the children or even the parents’ reactions. But if she was honest, she longed for Caleb to approve of the work she’d done with the children.
She caught sight of him coming in the back door twenty minutes before the play was set to begin. The room was crowded with parents and older siblings and even a few Englisch neighbors. Generally everyone in an Amish community came to a schoolhouse Christmas celebration—whether they had children attending the school or not.
The Christmas program included stories, songs and, of course, the play. It was all a smashing success. The audience joined in singing a final carol, and then the students presented Martha with a gift box holding new pens, beautiful stationery, hand lotion and candles. It was obvious that every child there had a hand in contributing.
Nothing unexpected happened until Martha called up Rachel, and one of the youngest—a lad named Nathan—handed her a gift-wrapped book. “It’s more poetry, because we know you like it,” he said. The entire audience laughed at that as young Nathan screwed up his face when he said the word poetry. Rachel laughed along with them and thanked both the children and Martha for allowing her to help.
Bishop Amos had mentioned to her that Martha would like her to continue helping after the short Christmas break—like most Amish communities they took off only the day before, the day of and the day after Christmas. She supposed she would continue doing the job. The work was exhausting, but looking at the children she knew it was worth it.
Ida and John both gave her a hug and then said they were riding home with a neighbor, which seemed a bit odd to her. It also felt awkward. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with Caleb. She was surprised when he turned left out of the schoolhouse parking area instead of right.
“Have you bumped your head? Home is the other way.”
“Thought maybe we’d celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
“Your play. It was very gut.”
He glanced her way, grimaced and resettled his hat on his head. “Don’t look at me so. I can admit to being wrong.”
“You can?”
Now he laughed, and the sound caused the tension she’d been carrying since the day before to dissipate. “Rachel, I am sorry that I criticized your handling of the school play. Obviously you know more about children—and parents—than I do. Will you forgive me?”
A dozen memories passed through her mind then.
Caleb staring at her when she woke on Ida’s couch.
Caleb standing in the door to the hospital room, looking at her as if she might perish before his eyes.
Caleb pulling her away from the snake.
Caleb attempting to protect her from a parrot and one very sweet old woman.
Those memories softened her heart and ministered to the hurting places from when he had criticized her rather harshly. But it was John’s words that echoed in her mind and convinced her to accept his apology.
What was it he had said? Sometimes that is all it takes...giving love a chance to grow.
“That was a very nice apology.”
“It was?”
“Indeed, and I do forgive you, Caleb.”
“That’s it?” He was smiling at her now. “I don’t have to write sentences or read extra chapters?”
“Hmm... I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe it would be a gut idea...”
He claimed her hand, pulled it toward him across the buggy seat. “I shouldn’t be putting ideas in your head.”
She tried to act as if it was normal for Caleb to be holding her hand. “Where are we going?”
“To celebrate your play—I said that already.”
“And what is your idea of celebration?”
But she should have known he’d pick the ice-cream shop, which was open late on Fridays. Caleb loved ice cream. Of course, he chose vanilla, while she went for cherry pistachio. Their choices reflected their personalities, and maybe that was okay. Maybe it was fine that they didn’t view life the same way. Maybe it took different points of view to make things work.
On the drive home, he pulled her across the seat and tucked the blanket around both of their laps. “Cold in here,” he said gruffly, but his eyes said something more.
And when they’d pulled into the barn, instead of jumping out of the buggy, he turned toward her, placed his hands on both sides of her face and asked if it would be all right if he kissed her.
She nodded, unable to speak, unable to even think clearly, as she melted into the kiss.