An Amish Second Christmas by Gray Shelley Shepard; Johns Patricia; Wise Virginia

Author:Gray, Shelley Shepard; Johns, Patricia; Wise, Virginia
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-08-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

Christmas morning, Maggie got up early to light the stove. Then she pulled her heaviest shawl over her shoulders and marched out into the winter darkness to gather eggs. She hadn’t slept much last night. It had been difficult to try to seem cheerful while the rest of the family laughed and played card games around the table. She’d managed to turn her back to the family while she cleaned up; then she’d slipped away to bed while Amos won his third round of Dutch Blitz and everyone groaned.

This morning, she felt tired and her throat was sore from her tears last night. She loved him. . . . Why couldn’t she have gotten over this man? He didn’t want her—not all of her. He wanted a life that all Amish men wanted and she didn’t blame him, but she wouldn’t become like Waneta, spent and tired and angry. She wouldn’t be that cautionary tale the younger people whispered about—the kind of wife to avoid.

Although she was already a tale told by mothers to daughters—what happened when a woman couldn’t keep her peace, stay quiet, know her place.

The moon was low in the sky, wisps of cloud blocking some of the light. She stood in the cold, her heart heavy.

“Maggie?”

It was Daet, and he stood on the steps, pulling on his own gloves for morning chores. Christmas Day or not, the work carried on.

“Yah, hi, Daet,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Wait, Maggie. I want to speak with you.”

She’d been trying to avoid this, but she stood still, waiting as her father’s boots crunched through the snow. He stopped at her side and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Happy Christmas,” he said with a worried smile.

“Yah, Happy Christmas, Daet.”

“You are not my happy daughter,” he said. “What has happened to you? Since yesterday evening, you’ve been a well of sadness. You’ve always loved Christmas. . . . ”

“I’m not a kinner.” She sighed.

“No, but you’re not an old woman, either,” he retorted. “Now, I heard of a widower who is very interested to meet you—”

“No.”

“You haven’t met him. Some men my age seem much younger, Maggie. I’m no catch, but he might be. I’ve heard that he’s in good shape. He’s kind, too.”

“I don’t want him, Daet!” she said, and the tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t love him. . . . I don’t know him!”

“But you do love someone,” her father said with a decisive nod. He pulled her into his arms and patted her back like he did when she was a little girl. Maggie sniffled against his coat, then pulled back. “Who is it, my girl?”

“Who it’s always been,” she whispered. “Atley.”

“And he came just in time to ruin your Christmas,” Daet said, then sighed. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

“He didn’t ruin it,” she replied. “He convinced the bishop to let me write my column, and then he told me that he loved me.”

Daet froze. “Wait—so you’ve got a proposal and you’re acting like someone died?”

“It isn’t so simple!” she said.

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