Seasons of the Heart
Book 3
Winter of Wishes
By
Charlotte Hubbard
Chapter 1
As Rhoda Lantz
stood gazing out the window of the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café, her mood matched
the ominous gray clouds that shrouded the dark, pre-dawn sky. Here it was the day
after Thanksgiving and she felt anything but thankful. Oh, she’d eaten Mamma’s
wonderful dinner yesterday and smiled at all the right times during the
gathering of family and friends around their extended kitchen table, but she’d
been going through the motions. Feeling distanced . . . not liking it, but not
knowing what to do about it, either.
“You all right,
honey-bug? Ya seem a million miles away.”
Rhoda jumped.
Mamma had slipped up behind her while she’d been lost in her thoughts. “Jah, jah. Fine and dandy,” she fibbed.
“Just thinkin’ how it looks like we’re in for a winter storm, which most likely
means we won’t have as many folks come to eat today and tomorrow. It’s just . .
. well, things got really slow last year at this time.”
Her mother’s
concerned gaze told Rhoda her little white lie hadn’t sounded very convincing.
Mamma glanced toward the kitchen, where her partner, Naomi Brenneman, and
Naomi’s daughter, Hannah, were frying sausage and bacon for the day’s breakfast
buffet. “Tell ya what,” she said gently. “Lydia Zook left a phone message about
a couple of fresh turkeys still bein’ in their meat case. Why not go to the
market and fetch those, along with a case of eggs—and I’m thinkin’ it’s a
perfect day for that wonderful-gut
cream soup we make with the potatoes and carrots and cheese in the sauce. I’ll
call in the order, and by the time ya get over there they’ll have everything
all gathered up.”
“Jah, Mamma, I can do that,” Rhoda
murmured. It meant walking down the long lane with the wind whipping at her
coat, and then hitching up a carriage, but it was something useful to do.
Useful. Why is it such a struggle lately to
feel useful? I wish I knew what to do with my life.
Rhoda slipped her
coat from the peg at the door, tied on her heavy black bonnet, and stepped
outside with a gasp. The temperature had dropped several degrees since she’d
come to the café an hour ago. The chill bit through her woolen stockings as she
walked briskly along the gravel lane with her head lowered against the wind.
“Hey there, Rhoda! Gut mornin’ to ya!” a voice sang out as she passed the smithy
behind the Sweet Seasons.
Rhoda waved to Ben
Hooley but didn’t stop to chat. Why did the farrier’s cheerfulness irritate her
lately? She had gotten over her schoolgirl crush on him and was happy for Ben
and Mamma both, but as their New Year’s Day wedding approached they seemed more
public about their affections—their joy—and
well, that irritated her, too! Across the road from the Sweet Seasons a new
home was going up in record time, as Ben’s gift to her mother . . . yet another
reminder of how Rhoda’s life would change when Mamma moved out of the apartment
above the blacksmith shop, and she would be living there alone.
As she reached the
white house she’d grown up in, Rhoda sighed. No lights glowed in the kitchen
window and no one ate breakfast at the table: this holiday weekend, her twin
sister Rachel and her new groom, Micah Brenneman, were on an extended trip
around central Missouri to collect wedding presents as they visited aunts,
uncles, and cousins of their two families. Rhoda missed working alongside
Rachel at the café more than she could bear to admit, yet here again, she was
happy for her sister. The newlyweds radiated a love and sense of satisfaction
she could only dream of.
Rhoda hitched up
the enclosed carriage and clapped the reins across Sadie’s broad back. If
Thanksgiving had been so difficult yesterday, with so many signposts of the
radical changes in all their lives, what would the upcoming Christmas season be
like? Ordinarily she loved baking cookies, setting out the Nativity scene, and
arranging evergreen branches and candles on the mantle and at the windowsills.
Yet as thick, feathery flakes of snow blew across the yard, her heart thudded
dully. It wasn’t her way to feel so blue, or to feel life was passing her by.
But at twenty-one, she heard her clock ticking ever so loudly.
God, have Ya stopped listenin’ to my prayers
for a husband and a family? Are Ya tellin’ me I’m fated to remain a maidel?
Rhoda winced at
the thought. She gave the mare its head once they were on the county blacktop,
and as they rolled across the single-lane bridge that spanned this narrow spot
in the Missouri River, she glanced over toward the new gristmill. The huge
wooden wheel was in place now, churning slowly as the current of the water
propelled it. The first light of dawn revealed two male figures on the roof.
Luke and Ira Hooley, Ben’s younger brothers, scrambled like monkeys as they
checked their new machinery. The Mill at Willow Ridge would soon be open to
tourists. In addition to regular wheat flour and cornmeal, the Hooley brothers
would offer specialty grains that would sell to whole foods stores in
Warrensburg and other nearby cities. Mamma was already gathering recipes to
bake artisan breads at the Sweet Seasons, as an additional lure for
healthy-conscious tourists.
But Rhoda’s one
brief date with Ira had proven he was more interested in running the roads with
Annie Mae Knepp than in settling down or joining the church any time soon. Ira
and Luke were nearly thirty, seemingly happy to live in a state of eternal rumspringa. Rhoda considered herself as
fun-loving as any young woman, but she’d long ago committed herself to the
Amish faith. Was it too much to ask the same sort of maturity of the men she
dated?
She pulled up
alongside Zook’s Market. This grocery and dry goods store wouldn’t open for a
couple of hours yet, but already Henry and Lydia Zook were preparing for their
day. Rhoda put a determined smile on her face as the bell above the door
jangled. “Happy day after Thanksgivin’ to ya!” she called out. “Mamm says you’ve got a couple turkeys
for us today.”
“Jah, Rhoda, we’re packin’ your boxes
right this minute, too!” Lydia called out from behind the back counter. “Levi!
Cyrus! You can be carryin’ those big bags of potatoes and carrots out to
Rhoda’s rig, please and thank ya.”
From an aisle of
the store, still shadowy in the low glow of the gas ceiling lights, two of the
younger Zook boys stepped away from the shelves they had been restocking. “Hey there, Rhoda,” ten-year-old Levi
mumbled.
“Tell your mamm we could use more of those fine
blackberry pies,” his younger brother Cyrus remarked as he hefted a fifty-pound
bag of potatoes over his shoulder. “That’s my favorite, and they always sell
out. Mamm won’t let us buy a pie unless they’re a day old—and most of ‘em don’t
stay on the shelf that long.”
Rhoda smiled
wryly. Cyrus Zook wasn’t the only fellow around Willow Ridge with a keen
interest in her mother’s pies. “I’ll pass that along. Denki to you boys for loadin’ the carriage.”
“Levi’s fetchin’
your turkeys from the fridge,” their dat
Henry said from behind his meat counter. “Won’t be but a minute. Say—it sounds
like ya had half of Willow Ridge over to your place for dinner yesterday.”
Again Rhoda smiled
to herself: word got around fast in a small town. “Jah, what with Ben and his two brothers and two aunts—and the fact
that those aunts invited Tom Hostetler and Hiram and his whole tribe to join
us—we had quite a houseful.”
“Awful nice of ya
to look after Preacher Tom and the bishop’s bunch,” Lydia said with an
approving nod. “Fellows without wives don’t always get to celebrate with a real
Thanksgiving dinner when their married kids live at a distance.”
“Well, there was
no telling Jerusalem and Nazareth Hooley they couldn’t invite Tom and the Knepps,” Rhoda replied with a chuckle.
“So there ya have it. They brought half the meal, though, so that wasn’t so
bad.”
“Tell your mamm we said hullo.” Henry turned back
toward the big grinder on the back table, where he was making fresh hamburger.
“Jah, I’ll do that. And denki for havin’ things all set to go.”
Jonah Zook stood
behind his dat’s counter trimming
roasts. Rhoda met his eye and nodded, but didn’t try to make small talk. Jonah
was a couple years younger than she, and had driven her home from a few Sunday
night singings, but he had about as much sparkle as a crushed cardboard box.
And goodness, but she could use some sparkle
about now . . .
Rhoda glanced out
the store’s front window. Levi and Cyrus were taking their sweet time about
loading her groceries, so she wandered over to the bulletin board where folks
posted notices of upcoming auctions and other announcements. No sense in
standing out in that wind while the boys joshed around.
The old corkboard
was pitted from years of use, and except for the sale bills for upcoming
household auctions in New Haven and Morning Star, the yellowed notices for
herbal remedies, fresh eggs, and local fellows’ businesses had hung there for
months. Rhoda sighed—and then caught sight of a note half-hidden by an auction
flyer.
Need a compassionate, patient caretaker for
my elderly mother, plus after-school supervision for two kids. New Haven, just a
block off the county highway. Call Andy Leitner.
Rhoda
snatched the little notice from the board, her heart thumping. She knew nothing
about this fellow except his phone number and that he had an ailing mother and
two young children—and that he was surely English if he was advertising for
help with family members. Yet something about his decisive block printing told
her Mr. Leitner was a man who didn’t waffle over decisions or accept a
half-hearted effort from anyone who would work for him. He apparently had no
wife—
Maybe she works away from home. Happens a
lot amongst English families.
—and
if he had posted this advertisement in Zook’s Market, he surely realized a
Plain woman would be most likely to respond. It was common for Amish and
Mennonite gals to hire on for housework and caretaking in English homes, so if
she gave him a call she could start working there, why—as soon as tomorrow!
How many of these notices has he posted?
Plenty of Plain bulk stores to advertise in around Morning Star, plus the big
discount stores out past New Haven. And if he had run ads in the local
papers, maybe he’d already had dozens of gals apply for this job. But what
could it hurt to find out?
Pulse
pounding, Rhoda stepped outside. “You fellas got all my stuff loaded, jah?” she demanded. Levi and Cyrus were
playing a rousing game of catch with a huge hard-packed snowball, paying no
heed to the snow that was falling on their green shirt sleeves.
Levi,
the ornerier of the two, poked his head around the back of the buggy. “Got a
train to catch, do ya? Busy day chasin’ after that Ira Hooley fella?” he
teased. “Jonah, he says ya been tryin’ to catch yourself some of that Lancaster
County money—”
“And
what if I have?” Rhoda shot back. “Your mamm
won’t like it when I tell her you two have been lolligaggin’ out here instead
of stockin’ your shelves, ain’t so?”
Levi
waited until she was stepping into the carriage before firing the snowball at
her backside. But what would she accomplish by stepping out to confront him?
Rhoda glanced at the two huge turkeys, the mesh sacks of potatoes, carrots, and
onions, and the sturdy boxes loaded with other staples Mamma had ordered, and
decided she was ready to go. “Back, Sadie,” she said in a low voice.
The mare whickered
and obeyed immediately. Rhoda chuckled at the two boys’ outcry as she playfully
backed the buggy toward them. Then she urged Sadie into a trot. All sorts of
questions buzzed in her mind as she headed for the Sweet Seasons. What would
Mamma say if she called Andy Leitner? What if a mild winter meant the breakfast
and lunch shifts would remain busy, especially with Rachel off collecting
wedding presents for a few more weekends? Hannah Brenneman had only been
helping them since her sixteenth birthday last week—
Jah, but she got her wish, to work in the
café. And Rachel got her wish when she married Micah. And Mamma got more than
she dared to wish for when Ben Hooley asked to marry her! So it’s about time
for me to have a wish come true!
Was
that prideful, self-centered thinking? As Rhoda pulled up at the café, she
didn’t much worry about the complications of religion or the Old Ways. She
stepped into the dining room, spotted her cousins, Nate and Bram Kanagy, and
caught them before they went back to the buffet for another round of biscuits
and gravy. “Could I get you boys to carry in a couple of turkeys and some big
bags of produce?” she asked sweetly. Then she nodded toward the kitchen, where
Hannah was drizzling white icing on a fresh pan of Mamma’s sticky buns. “Ya
might talk our new cook out of a mighty gut
cinnamon roll, if ya smile at her real nice.”
Nate
rolled his eyes, but Bram’s handsome face lit up. “Jah, I noticed how the scenery in the kitchen had improved, cuz—not
that it isn’t a treat to watch you and Rachel workin’,” he added quickly.
“Jah, sure, ya say that after you’ve
already stepped in it.” Rhoda widened her eyes at him playfully. “Here’s your
chance to earn your breakfast—not to mention make a few points with Hannah.”
Rhoda
went back outside to grab one of the lighter boxes. Then, once Nate had
followed her in with bags of onions and carrots, and he was chatting with
Hannah and Mamma, she slipped out to the phone shanty before she lost her
nerve. Common sense told her she should think out some answers to whatever
questions Andy Leitner might ask, yet excitement overruled her usual
practicality. Chances were good that she’d have to leave him a voice mail,
anyway, so as her fingers danced over the phone number, her thoughts raced.
Never in her life had she considered working in another family’s home, yet this
seemed like the opportunity she’d been hoping for—praying for—of late. Surely
Mamma would understand if—
“Hello?”
a male voice came over the phone. He sounded a little groggy.
Rhoda
gripped the receiver. It hadn’t occurred to her that while she’d already worked
a couple of hours at the café, most of the world wasn’t out of bed yet.
“I—sorry I called so early, but—”
“Not
a problem. Glad for the wake-up call, because it seems I fell back asleep,” he
replied with a soft groan. “How can I help you?”
Rhoda’s
imagination ran wild. If this was Andy Leitner, he had a deep, mellow voice.
Even though she’d awakened him and he was running late, he spoke pleasantly.
“I, um, found the notice from an Andy Leitner on the board in Zook’s Market
just now, and—” She closed her eyes, wondering where the words had disappeared
to. She had to sound businesslike, or at least competent, or this man wouldn’t
want to talk to her.
“You’re
interested in the position?” he asked with a hopeful upturn in his voice. “I
was wondering if the store owners had taken my note down.”
Rhoda’s
heart raced. “Jah, I’d like to talk
to you about it, for sure and for certain,” she gushed. “But ya should understand
right out that I don’t have a car, on account of how we Amish don’t believe in
ownin’—I mean, I’m not preachin’ at ya, or—”
She winced. “This
is comin’ out all wrong. Sorry,” she rasped. “My name’s Rhoda Lantz, and I’m in
Willow Ridge. I sure hope you don’t think I’m too ferhoodled to even be considered for the job.”
“Ferhoodled?” The word rolled melodiously
from the receiver and teased at her.
“Crazy
mixed-up,” she explained. “Confused, and—well, I’m keepin’ ya from whatever ya
need to be doin’, so—”
“Ah, but you’re a solution to my problem. The
answer to a prayer,” he added quietly. “For that, I have time to listen, Rhoda.
I need to make my shift at the hospital, but could I come by and chat with you
when I get off? Say, around two this afternoon?”
Rhoda
grinned. “That would be wonderful-gut,
Mr. Leitner! We’ll be closin’ up at two—my mamm
runs the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café on the county blacktop. We can talk at a
back table.”
“Perfect.
I’ll see you then—and thanks so much for calling, Rhoda.”
“Jah, for sure and for certain!”
As
she placed the receiver back in its cradle, Rhoda held her breath. What would
she tell Mamma? She felt scared and excited and yes, ferhoodled, because she now had an interview for a job! She had no
idea about caring for that elderly mother . . . or what if the kids ran her so
ragged she got nothing done except keeping them out of trouble? What if Andy
Leitner’s family didn’t like her because she wore Plain clothing and kapps?
What have ya gone and done, Rhoda Lantz?
She
inhaled to settle herself, and headed back to the café’s kitchen. There was no
going back, no unsaying what she’d said over the phone. No matter what anyone
else thought, she could only move forward.
And wasn’t that
exactly what she’d been hoping to do for weeks now?
Steven Estes is a pastor who has known “better Decembers
with my family than either Currier or Ives,” but also understands a gray
Christmas. A Better December
draws on Estes’ twenty-three years of counseling church members through
the holiday season as well his other writings on the topic of human
suffering. He teaches a preaching class at Westminster Theological
Seminary (Philadelphia) where he completed his M.Div and Th.M. degrees.
Estes is a conference speaker and on the board of the Christian
Counseling & Educational Foundation (CCEF). Estes is the author of Called to Die (the story of slain missionary Chet Bitterman), and co- author (with friend Joni Eareckson Tada) of When God Weeps and A Step Further. He and his wife, Verna, have eight children. Learn more about Estes and his books at www.steveestes.net.
