Rachel woke Christmas morning to the smells that she’d known all her life—a fire in the stove downstairs, cedar sprigs placed throughout the house, cinnamon rolls in the oven, coffee percolating on the stove. She made her way downstairs and found her mamm sitting at the table.
“Gudemariye, Mamm.”
“And to you, Rachel.” She waited until Rachel had poured a mug of coffee and sat down across from her. “I want to explain to you why we didn’t call the police...”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I do, for me.” She traced the rim of her mug with her thumb. “I was terrified, when you didn’t come home that first night. I hope you never know that sort of fear, wondering where your child had gone, wondering what you could have done differently.”
“I’m sorry that I put you through that.”
“You remember nothing of the fight we had?”
“Nein.” The word was a whisper, nothing more than a breath carried over an aching heart.
“You wanted to quit your job, your apprenticeship at the school.”
“I was teaching?”
Her mother studied her a moment and finally nodded. “You had tried several jobs, but none of them suited you. Oh, they were fine jobs, as far as jobs go, but you weren’t satisfied.”
“I wanted more.”
“You kept saying that it wasn’t what you were meant to do, as if you had some destiny beyond being a gut wife and mother. I didn’t understand that. Just as I didn’t understand why you broke up with Samuel.”
Rachel covered her mouth with her hand. “Samuel King. He was two years younger than me, and I thought... I thought he was a child.”
Her mamm leaned forward, pulled Rachel’s hands across the table and covered them with her own. “Sweetheart, I’ve had a lot of time to think since you’ve been gone, a lot of time to pray. I want to say I’m so sorry...”
“This wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m so sorry that I didn’t attempt to understand what you were going through more.”
“How could you?”
Her mamm stared into her eyes a moment, as if she was searching for something. Finally, she patted Rachel’s hand, sat back and took another sip from her coffee. “Our life is simple—Plain. Our choices are few, and we like it that way. Only three dresses to choose from, only a few jobs, only a handful of beaus.”
“I don’t think a dozen beaus or job choices would have satisfied me at that point. I was...lost.”
“And that’s okay. Gotte had a plan for you, whether we understood it or not. I’m just so grateful you’re home.”
Rachel didn’t think her heart could hurt any more than it already did, but seeing her mother cry opened a whole new chasm inside of her. She hopped up, stumbled around the table and threw herself into her mother’s arms.
That was how her dat and Ethan and Caleb found them as they stamped their feet in the mudroom and then plodded into the kitchen with Christmas greetings on their lips. Deborah and Rachel jumped up and began pulling together things for the family breakfast. It was traditional to keep it rather simple—some sweet rolls, milk for the youngsters, coffee for those who were older.
They’d have a family devotional, spend time considering the miracle of Christ’s birth, and then later they’d have a big lunch with extended family. In the evening they would exchange gifts. But as her large family tumbled into the room and around the table, Rachel realized that the most precious moment of the holiday was occurring right then. She’d been reunited with her family. The rift that had existed between her and her mother—a rift that she hadn’t been able to remember but knew in her heart was there—had been healed. The only thing to mar the near perfect morning was the fact that Caleb would be leaving before lunch, and she didn’t know if she’d ever see him again.
Caleb rode in the back seat of the buggy, with Rachel on his left and both of her younger sisters on his right. Ethan was driving the buggy, and Miriam’s husband, Clyde, was sitting next to him in the front seat. The entire family had wanted to see him off, but they’d decided to limit it to one buggy.
Caleb had wanted a moment alone with Rachel. He had to satisfy himself with being jostled against her as Clara and Becca prattled on about seeing their cousins, and how much snow they’d had, and presents that would be opened later that evening.
He’d about given up on the hope of speaking privately with Rachel, when they pulled up to the bus stop and Ethan said, “Rachel, we’ll wait here if you’d like to walk with Caleb to get his ticket.”
The girls fell into a chorus of “not fair” and “we want to go,” but Clyde distracted them with a game of I Spy.
Rachel and Caleb walked to the store where tickets were usually sold, but taped on the window was a sign that read:
Closed for Christmas. If you’re waiting for a bus, purchase your ticket from the driver.
“You don’t have to wait,” Caleb said.
“I want to.”
“I bought you a Christmas present.”
“You already gave me one.”
“A skein of yarn? That wasn’t your real gift.”
“I love yarn.”
“I have another for you, but I left it at home.” Why had he done that? He’d known this would be goodbye.
“Your sweater...it’s not finished yet.”
“A fine pair we are.” He reached for her hand, instantly feeling better when their fingers were laced together.
They huddled under the overhang of the building’s roof, waiting on the bus that should arrive in the next ten minutes. Ten minutes. How was he supposed to tell her what was on his heart in so short a time? But then his watch ticked off another two minutes, and he knew that he had to try.
Rachel was talking about her family, apologizing for the chaos and her sisters and the fact that they weren’t as traditional as he was used to.
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“Excuse me?”
“I need to tell you something, Rachel.”
“You do?”
“But I don’t want... I don’t want you to answer me, not now.” He reached out, tucked a wayward lock of hair into her kapp and allowed his fingers to linger on her cheek.
“I’m so fortunate that you found me.”
“Nein. I’m the fortunate one. I love you, Rachel Yoder.”
“You do?”
“I know our lives are very different.”
“Not so different.”
“And I live a long way from here.”
“Only five hours.”
“I know that you need time with your family, time to be home.”
“I do?”
“You need time to remember, time to understand who you are and what you want in life.”
“I want you.” She seemed as surprised as he was at that confession.
Three of the sweetest words Caleb had ever heard, but he knew with complete certainty that now wasn’t their time to make any big decisions. He heard the bus pulling into the parking area. Leaning closer, he kissed her once and then again. He pressed his forehead to hers, and then he said, “I’ll write.”
“You will?”
“And call.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
“I love you,” he said again, aware that she hadn’t said those words yet, that she wasn’t ready yet. It confirmed that he was doing the right thing leaving her there, leaving her with her family. He kissed her once more, then pushed his hat down on his head and jogged toward the bus.
Rachel watched Caleb jog away and she wanted to sit down, put her head on her arms and weep. When her life was finally coming together, when things were finally starting to make sense, why did he have to leave?
Had he really said he loved her?
She walked back to the buggy in a daze.
Her little sisters had moved on from I Spy to playing finger games with pieces of yarn they both kept in their pockets. Clyde was looking out the window and saying that by this time next year he would be a father. But Ethan’s gaze met hers, and she knew he knew.
Had Caleb spoken to him?
Or did she simply have a love-dazed look about her? Because she was in love with Caleb Wittmer. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of why she hadn’t told him, but she would. In time, she would.
The day passed in a flurry of family and celebration and gift giving. Though their holidays were dramatically scaled back as compared to Englischers’ celebration, the fact that they had over twenty people in the house with her aentis and onkels and grandparents and cousins meant that there wasn’t a quiet moment. And though she felt terrible that she had no gifts for anyone—she hadn’t known she’d be back home and, in fact, she still had Caleb’s sweater in her bag waiting to be finished—that didn’t stop everyone from stacking gifts around her.
She received a new coat, gloves, mittens, an outdoor bonnet, a scarf and a small book of poetry. Her mamm gave her a basket overflowing with writing supplies—stationery, a new pen, envelopes and stamps. She kissed Rachel’s cheek and whispered, “Maybe you can write to Caleb,” which was what she thought about doing for the next hour. But she fell into bed without uncapping the pen, a whirlwind of emotions clouding her thoughts. She was exhausted, heartsick that Caleb was gone and tremendously happy to finally be home.
New Year’s Day arrived with a blizzard that kept everyone inside. Rachel finally began writing Caleb. She had tried several times before that. Each night she’d sat in front of her little desk, pulled the paper toward her and stared at it.
What could she say to him that he didn’t already know about her?
How could she describe her feelings?
When could she expect to see him again?
The questions swirled and collided in her mind until she would invariably push the paper away, climb into bed and huddle under the covers. She was still grateful to be home, but a malaise had settled over her feelings until it felt as if she was viewing everything from a distance. She constantly berated herself for feeling blue. She should feel grateful! Had she learned nothing from her time away from home? Yet no matter how much she told herself that she should feel happy, she often found herself on the verge of tears.
After she cleared the breakfast dishes, her mamm suggested she spend some time on the sun porch.
“It’s still snowing.”
“Not on the porch.”
“I’ll freeze.”
“We put windows in years ago and a small butane heater. Remember?”
Rachel nodded, but in truth she didn’t remember at all. There was much she still couldn’t recall, though each day brought at least one new revelation about her past—she couldn’t abide peas, she was the family’s designated baker, she visited the local library at least once a week, she had a kitten named Stripes that slept in the office in the barn.
“There’s a rocker and even a small desk there,” her mamm continued. Rachel’s younger sisters were playing jacks in the barn, Miriam had gone to her mother-in-law’s for the week and Ethan and her dat were in the barn working on a table that they planned to sell at the next auction. Only Rachel and her mamm remained in the house. It was quiet and forced Rachel’s thoughts to address questions she didn’t have answers to. The entire thing made her want to go back upstairs, back to bed.
“You know, your dat built the porch for me because I sometimes suffer from winter blues, or seasonal depression, as the Englisch doctor calls it.”
“I thought he built the porch for us kids.”
“It was a wunderbaar place for you all to get a bit of sunshine when the weather kept us in for days on end, but nein, he built it for me.”
“And did it help?”
“Ya. As a matter of fact it did.”
“Do you think I’m depressed, Mamm?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“Maybe.”
“How’s your energy level?”
“Low to nonexistent. It’s as if I have the flu, but I don’t.”
“Moody?”
“You know I am. You caught me crying when I spilled the flour on the floor yesterday.”
“Problems sleeping?”
“I toss and turn a lot.”
“Perhaps we should make an appointment with the doctor.”
Rachel shrugged. “I’m still a little confused, a little lost, and I miss Caleb.” She hesitated, not sure if she was ready to share her deepest fears yet.
Instead of pushing her to say more, her mamm went to the kitchen, brewed two mugs of hot tea and brought them back. That kindness reminded her of Ida and gave her the courage to speak her fears. “What if Caleb doesn’t really care about me?”
“So you think he doesn’t know his own mind?”
“What if those feelings arose out of the oddness of our situation? He saved a coatless girl who might have died in the snow. Maybe that’s not love he feels. Maybe it’s relief or surprise or merely affection.”
“Have you written him yet? Have you asked Caleb these things?”
“Nein. I want to. I mean to, but then when I sit down... I don’t know what to say.”
“Say what’s in your heart, dear.”
So with her mamm claiming that it would be a lovely place to write a letter, Rachel found herself alone on the sun porch. The new pen and paper waited before her as snow billowed outside the window. She noticed the calendar on the wall, stood up and pulled it off the hook.
Scanning back through the months, she marveled at all that had happened. If she had known what she would endure, she might have hidden upstairs the entire year. But those trials had brought her Caleb, and she would never wish away the times they had shared. She carried the old calendar to the desk, opened the drawer and pulled out the new one that her father always picked up at the hardware store. Opening it, she saw a beautiful sunrise over fields laden with snow. Across the bottom was printed:
Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering, “It will be happier.”
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Did she believe that? Could she trust Gotte that this New Year would be happier, would be better than the last?
She stared out the window, glanced back at the calendar. She prayed, she doodled and finally the words began to flow.
January 1
Dear Caleb,
You must think terribly of me, since I’ve yet to write. I received your postcard and your letter. Thank you so much. I’ve wanted to write to you, but when I try, my thoughts and feelings become tangled. Do you think that what we feel for each other could be situational? Do you worry that when I regain all of my memories, and life finally returns to normal, when spring comes and you are busy with your alpacas and farming...do you think we will feel the same?
Please give my best to your parents.
Sincerely,
Rachel
She sealed the envelope, carried it out to the mailbox and tried to fill the rest of the day with useful activities. The hours seemed hollow, though. She felt as if she was walking in a dream that she couldn’t quite wake from.
Caleb’s reply arrived so quickly that she marveled at the efficiency of the postal service. Her mother handed her the letter and nodded toward the sunroom. She settled at the desk and tore it open with shaking hands.
January 6
Dear Rachel,
I check the mailbox each day, sure that I will find a letter from you, and today that dream came true.
I am pleased to hear that you do have feelings for me, and I am sure that the love I feel for you is genuine and lasting. It may have begun when I picked you up out of the snow, but remember I didn’t even like you very much then. I hope that line made you laugh or at least smile.
The alpacas don’t seem to mind the snow. Their coats have become quite thick. I’m looking forward to the first shearing.
My regards to your family and my deepest feelings for you,
Caleb
A week later, she received a nice fat envelope from Montgomery, Indiana. In it was a circle letter from Ida to Deborah. Ida spoke of her crochet work, updated Rachel on the families she’d met in the area and asked what types of flowers they planted in the spring. John wrote a half a page below that, the comments directed more to Rachel’s father, although one line assured Rachel that they continued to pray for her each day.
And below both of those messages were two pages from Caleb. He spoke to Ethan about the alpacas. Rachel hadn’t realized Ethan was interested in the animals. Her mamm paused in reading the letter as Rachel told them how she’d named each one, and how they acted when they were spooked, and how gentle they could be if you fed them carrots.
“Can we get one?” Becca asked.
“We’ll help. We promise we will,” Clara chimed in.
At the bottom of Caleb’s writing, he wrote a personal line to each person in the family. The letter surprised Rachel. Though his tone was informal, it reminded her of the letters her friends had received, years ago when she was first out of school. They would hear of a boy in another community, or perhaps the boy had visited a relative in their area, and the boy would begin to write—not merely to the girl, but to the family. It was a sort of long-distance courting, this getting to know one another.
Was Caleb courting her?
Is that what his letter meant?
Her mamm was holding up another envelope, but Rachel had missed whatever she’d said.
“What?”
“There’s another letter here.”
“It’s for me?”
“Seems to be. It’s a smaller envelope that was inside this large one, and your name is on the outside.”
Her younger sisters began making kissing sounds, Ethan asked to see the portion about the alpacas and her father picked up The Budget after winking at her.
As if she was in a dream, Rachel stood, walked across the room and accepted the small envelope. Her fingers traced her name on the outside. She glanced up at her mamm.
“Perhaps you’d like to read it in the sunroom.”
“Ya. I would.”
Which caused Clara and Becca to fall into a fit of giggles.
Rachel paid them no mind. Caleb had written to her before. She’d lived with his family for nearly a month. Why did this seem different? Why was her heart hammering and her pulse racing?
She hurried to the sunroom and sat in the rocker, near the small heater, which she cranked to high.
The room was cheery even on a dark winter evening. Her mamm had used yellow and green and blue fabric to sew several lap throws that were scattered around the room. An afghan made from variegated purple yarn was folded and placed in a basket near her feet. She pulled the afghan across her lap and opened the envelope.
Dearest Rachel,
I hope you enjoyed my letter to your family. I suppose it might appear quite old-fashioned, to write to a girl’s family, but as you know I’m an old-fashioned sort of guy. Your letter caused me to realize that perhaps I haven’t made my intentions clear. Oh, I blurted out my feelings casually enough, no doubt flabbergasting you as you stood under the overhang of the store on a snowy Christmas morning. I meant what I said then, and I’ll say it again here—I love you, Rachel Yoder, and I’d like to court you. I realize long-distance relationships are difficult, and I know that you are still recovering from your accident. I’d like to hear more about the things you are remembering, the things you worry about and how well you are settling in. I want to know everything about you, Rachel.
It occurs to me that we barely know one another, and yet I remain affectionately yours,
Caleb
She read the letter twice more, and then she moved to the table in the corner of the room, pulled her stationery toward her and began to write. She poured out her heart in a way that she hadn’t in the first letter. She found herself filling page after page, telling him about her mother’s seasonal depression, that she might suffer from the same, and describing the sunroom to him. She held nothing back, and why would she? If he cared about her, then he wouldn’t run from such revelations. And if he did run, then he wasn’t the man she thought he was.