Wendy was drying the last dish from supper when she heard the doorbell ring. Her mother was in the living room, and while it would take her more than a minute or two to get up out of her chair and answer the door, Wendy let her. Mom was independent to her core, a trait she’d passed down to her daughter. While being self-reliant was a good thing, Wendy was realizing how nice it was to have and give help, something she infrequently had and did when she was living alone in New York City, apart from working for her clients.
She hung the damp towel on the hook near the sink and headed for the living room. They rarely had company in the evening, although Mom’s friend Susan sometimes stopped by and stayed for supper and to play cards. Wendy wasn’t interested in playing gin and usually took Monroe on a walk during that time. When she entered the room, she was stunned to see the dog was seated at Barnabas’s feet.
“We’ve got company.” Mom grinned as Monroe wagged his tail and stared up at him. Then she turned to Wendy, her left eyebrow lifted in a questioning arch.
Barnabas gave him a quick pat on the head. “Sorry for dropping by like this.” He turned to Wendy. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Of course.”
Mom pushed her walker toward her recliner. “You two go on into the kitchen. Don’t mind me. Come here, Monroe.”
Monroe obeyed and plopped down next to Mom’s recliner. But his gaze never left Barnabas, his tail swishing across the wood floor.
After they entered the kitchen, Wendy said, “Would you like some coffee or tea? Water?”
“Water sounds good.” He glanced around the small kitchen, shifting his feet as he stood next to one of the four chairs surrounding the table.
Wendy quickly filled a glass with tap water. She used to insist on bottled or filtered water, but the water in Marigold tasted just as good as what she bought in the store. She walked over to the table, gesturing for him to sit down. His brow furrowed as he sat, his shoulders rounding forward. Not only did he look tense, but she could feel frustration radiating off him. She set the glass in front of him and sat in the opposite chair.
“What brings you by?”
His gaze jumped to hers. “Remember that offer you made the other day?”
“Regarding conflict mediation?”
“Yeah.” He pushed the heel of his hand back and forth on the table. “I’d . . . I’d like to take you up on it. If you’re still willing.”
She listened as he explained what had happened after his daughters’ fight and at the supper table. “All they do is argue now. They don’t talk to each other. They don’t listen to what the other has to say. And they definitely don’t listen to me.” He sighed. “This is my fault.”
“They’re adults. They need to own their behavior.”
“But they wouldn’t be like this if I’d—”
“Barnabas.” She reached out to touch his arm, then stopped herself. She didn’t go around touching her clients. Or men, for that matter. She put her hands in her lap. “Right now, the goal is for Ella and Junia to be civil to each other. Concentrate on that, not on the past.”
He nodded, meeting her gaze again, but her words didn’t alleviate the pain she saw there. Her heart ached for him. Again, another surprise, and this one was stronger than all the others combined. Over her years as a lawyer, she’d always been able to distance herself from her clients’ issues. Her mother always said she had a gift for compartmentalizing, an advantageous skill in the legal profession. But for some reason she couldn’t put Barnabas and his agony in separate boxes.
“I’ll try.” He took a gulp of the water. “There’s one thing you and I need to settle before we start resolving things, though.”
Inexplicably, she gripped her hands together. Had her expression or tone revealed too much? Could he tell she was struggling with keeping objectivity when all she wanted to do was comfort him?
“I want the conflict stuff to be biblical. We have to follow God’s word, not man’s.”
That caught her off guard, and it also helped shift her emotionally charged thoughts to more practical ones. “Yes.” She stood. “I’ll be right back.”
She went into the living room to get the Bible from the coffee table. She made a mental note to get her own print copy, discovering that she enjoyed the feel of the book in her hands as opposed to holding her phone. Mom looked up from the large-print book she was reading. Monroe rolled over on his side.
“Everything all right?” Mom asked. The brow lifted again.
Wendy smiled. She could tell her mother was dying of curiosity but had the good grace not to ask questions while Barnabas was still here. But it was guaranteed she’d cross-examine her after he left. “Just need the family Bible,” she said. “And yes, everything is fine.”
Mom nodded and went back to her book. But Wendy didn’t miss the faint smile on her face.
Barnabas’s glass was empty when she returned to the kitchen. “Would you like more water?” she asked.
“No. I’m filled up, thanks.”
She got a pad and a pen from the junk drawer and sat down. “I think it’s wise we start with some verses before we come up with a plan.”
“We?”
“I could make a basic resolution plan, but without your input, it won’t be as effective as you want. Or need.” She opened the cover and turned to the book of 1 Thessalonians. “The key component of resolving conflict is communication. That includes stating facts and feelings, and active listening.”
“Good luck getting them to do that,” he mumbled.
“With prayer and a biblical perspective, we won’t need luck.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, his shoulders relaxed. “You’re right. We won’t. I’m not sure why I even said that.”
Poor man. He was so discombobulated over the situation. But that only showed how much he cared about his family. Because he did, she had to be honest with him. “That doesn’t mean it will be easy.”
“I’m sure it won’t be. But I do have some hope . . . now. A few minutes ago, I didn’t have any.” He smiled. “Thank you, Wendy. Even if this doesn’t work out and I gotta come up with something else, I’m grateful for your help.”
She smiled back. “Anytime, Barnabas. Anytime.”
* * *
Nelson held up his glass of milk and a small plate above his head as he threaded through the crowd—otherwise known as his family—in his parents’ living room to the last empty chair. Several conversations were going on at once, and everyone except for him was talking to someone. He sat down with his milk and a pile of snickerdoodles, ready to feast as his eldest brother, Devon, made a huge batch of popcorn—the third one that night—while his wife, Nettie, corralled their three young girls. Adults, teens, young kids, and toddlers and babies filled the room. And his ears. It was getting loud in here.
But his parents loved it, and Nelson did too, despite the crowded clamor. It was Christmas Eve, and Devon and Nettie were visiting from Fredericktown. His other married siblings—twins Zeke and Zeb, Owen, Ezra, and Jesse—had brought their wives and kids, and his younger brothers Perry, twins Mose and Mahlon, and the youngest, Elam, were scattered around the room. Phoebe and Jalon were here with Malachi and his younger sister, Hannah. Nelson didn’t bother to count heads. Ezra’s wife, Katharine, was expecting, and possibly Charity, so the number would change soon anyway.
He glanced at Malachi, who was seated at a portable card table playing Dutch Blitz with Perry, Zeb, and Mose. It was toasty warm in the room, but Junia’s scarf was wrapped around Malachi’s neck. Nelson wondered if he even took it off to bathe. He was sure he slept with it, considering he hadn’t seen his nephew without it since Junia had given it to him last week. When Nelson started working on his temporary bedroom in the warehouse, Malachi had come by to “help,” invariably ending up at E&J’s Grocery or Junia’s house less than an hour after he arrived.
At first he was irritated because it would have been nice to have some actual assistance, although it wasn’t necessary right now. The real work would start in January, and he was just about done making an acceptable bedroom in the cavernous building. But he didn’t like being used as an excuse. Love was making Malachi not only ab im kopp but also a little self-absorbed.
One person he hadn’t seen much of was Ella. Except for that one evening when she was walking behind the warehouse, she’d been scarce. He did see her at the grocery store the three times he stopped by, but she’d been busy with customers. Even Junia had been working, checking out groceries at the counter. The last time he’d made a purchase, she said in a sticky-sweet voice, “How’s Malachi? Will you tell him I miss him?”
Blech.
“Are there any snickerdoodles left?” Phoebe appeared next to him and gave his shoulder a small push with her hip.
“Three, to be exact.” There were plenty more and she knew it. She’d made four dozen of them. He moved to stand up. “Want a seat?”
She shook her head, crouching next to him, her gaze on Malachi as he dipped his chin into the scarf. “What am I going to do with him?”
“Let him be?” Nelson dipped a cookie into the milk. “That’s always an option.”
“I have a bad feeling about his relationship with Junia.”
“Still worried they’ll do something they’ll regret?”
“Somewhat. I’ve been praying for God to help with that. No use borrowing trouble.”
“Amen.” He shoved the cookie in his mouth.
“But this is moving so fast. It’s like he’s obsessed with her. I see him writing notes all the time, and he disappears whenever he has a chance. I think they’re trading letters. Probably talking on the phone too.” She sighed. “Ever since I asked you to chaperone him, he won’t talk to me about her.”
“Can you blame him?”
Phoebe filched a cookie off his plate. “Nee. I guess not.”
But Nelson was a little concerned too. Malachi had always been precocious. He was also thoughtful, and he and Phoebe were extremely close. Maybe that’s why she was having such a hard time with Malachi pulling away, but that wasn’t the case for Nelson. The tension between Ella and Junia in E&J’s was palpable. All families had their problems, including theirs, but the fact that the two women couldn’t even look at each other was a bad sign. Did Malachi even know how estranged they were? Or was he so caught up with Junia he didn’t care—about that or anything else?
She looked at the cookie but didn’t take a bite. “He said he was going to help you build the butcher shop.”
Sure he is. “You still want me to keep an eye on him, ya?”
“Please. It would make me feel better.”
He turned to her. Saw the worry in her eyes. And swallowed what he’d planned to say—that she needed to let him live. He wasn’t a parent and couldn’t fully comprehend why she was so worried, but that didn’t mean he should dismiss her misgivings. Then there was that great mystery of life—female intuition. Maybe she was sensing something more troubling than he was noticing. Other than his farm duties, his time had been consumed with plans for the butcher shop. Only his scarce Yoder sister sightings and Malachi showing up supposedly to help, then vanishing within thirty minutes, put that situation on his radar. “Sure,” he said. “Whatever you need me to do.”
She grinned. “Danki. Now you’ll get two gooseberry pies.”
“You still haven’t made me the first one.”
“Make that three, then.” She stood, touched his shoulder, and polished off the cookie as she went to the card table and stood behind Malachi, watching the game.
Nelson munched on the rest of his snack as he watched his family. The scents of cinnamon-flavored apple cider and fresh popcorn mingling with the wood fire and pine boughs decorating the expansive living room filled the air. Normally he found them comforting, and he always looked forward to the family getting together and celebrating the Savior’s birth. He still did, but this time it was to a lesser extent than usual. Six months ago, he’d planned to share this Christmas with Norene as a married couple, or at least an engaged one. Instead, he was alone with a roomful of people. And although he loved them all, there was a dull ache in his chest.
He shook his head, mentally stopping the heartache before it consumed him. He was over her, and over women—all women.
Yet the yearning in his heart that appeared when he met Miriam, and was even stronger when he was with Norene, had never fully disappeared no matter how much self-talk he engaged in. Malachi wasn’t the only one who wanted a family of his own. Now that seemed a distant, if impossible, goal. He’d fallen in love twice. He wasn’t sure he could handle opening his heart a third time, even if that meant the alternative was being alone. Somehow he had to figure out how to accept that reality.
His father stood in the middle of the room and whistled, the yearly signal that it was time to read the Christmas story in Luke. Nelson finished his milk as all the kids gathered around on the floor, their parents behind them, and the rest of the men and younger teen boys scattered around the room. Everyone grew quiet as Daed started to read:
“‘Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed wife, who was with child. So it was, that while they were there, the days were completed for her to be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.’”
Nelson listened to the story with rapt attention, even though he’d heard it every Christmas since he could remember. He glanced around the room, his emotions settling. Regardless of what his future held, he had his family and his faith—and he was grateful.