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Authors: Lurlene McDaniel
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“It won’t be much. Probably a plastic toy or some candy.”
Ethan nodded, and Rebekah carefully pulledoff the paper, her movements slow and deliberate—so different from the other kids, who were ripping paper and ribbon to shreds to get to their gifts. Inside hers was a plastic doll. “I like Rose better,” Rebekah said solemnly, handing the doll to Leah.
“You can keep it,” Leah said. “It’s a present.”
Rebekah shook her head. “No, thank you. She is not right for a plain person.”
Later, Leah had asked Charity, “What could be so awful about taking a plastic doll?”
“We do not believe in collecting material things. Rebekah has a doll. Why does she need two?”
Eating cookies and cake and drinking punch were much more to their liking. They all loved sweets, and Ethan ventured a grin of approval when he bit into a powdery white butter cookie decorated like a snowman.
Charity whispered, “Oma makes wonderful gingerbread, but I like this very much. Maybe even better.”
A nurse stepped forward with a guitar and invited the audience to join her in singing Christmas songs, including “Frosty, the Snowman,”“Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and “Jingle Bells.”
The Amish listened, and Leah tried to imagine what it must be like to hear these songs for the first time. When the nurse began to lead the group in singing carols, Leah glanced at Charity to see if she knew the words. Charity knew them well, and even Ethan and Rebekah sang along. Leah sang too, even though for her, the carols were simply a tradition of the season. For the Amish, singing the words had religious meaning.
When “Silent Night” was played, Charity sang softly in German. As the beautiful music played, Leah felt a lump rise in her throat, in spite of herself. The shimmering tree, the music and children’s voices gave her goose bumps. When her gaze fell on the Christmas angel atop the tree, she deliberately glanced away.
After the party, Leah and Rebekah returned to their room and said goodbye to Charity and Ethan. This time Rebekah didn’t cry at being left, but Leah felt pangs of regret. She caught Ethan’s gaze, and their eyes held. For an instant she thought he might give her a farewell hug. But he didn’t. She felt disappointment, althoughshe hadn’t really expected him to do something like that.
“Good night, Leah,” he said softly.
“But you will come back?”
“On Monday.”
“My biopsy—”
“I will be here when you wake up from your surgery.”
“Do you promise?”
He touched her cheek. “Yes, I promise.”
Long after they were gone and Rebekah slept, Leah lay awake, listening to the night sounds of the hospital. She wished she could sleep away the night and the whole next day. She wanted the biopsy to be over. She wanted Ethan to return.
She sighed and threw back the bedcovers. Perhaps a walk to the rec room would make her feel sleepy, or at least help pass the time.
The rec room was deserted. The aroma of the Christmas tree filled the room, and although its lights had been turned off, it still looked magnificent.
She stood in front of it, fingering the fragrant pine needles and remembering other trees and other Christmases. The tree comforted her. She imagined the woods it hadcome from. The tree too had been snatched from all that was familiar and thrust into a world that was completely foreign.
Behind her she heard the door open, and she turned to see a nurse silhouetted in the doorway. Leah squinted, then recognized her. “You’re Gabriella,” she said. “Rebekah talks about you. I’ve seen you in our room at night.”
Gabriella’s auburn hair was short with long fringy bangs, and her eyes were dark brown. “She is a precious child, but I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’ll bet you’re doing bed checks and found mine empty. Sorry about that, but I couldn’t sleep.” Leah expected a lecture about being out of bed in the middle of the night.
“I knew where to find
Ethan nodded, and Rebekah carefully pulledoff the paper, her movements slow and deliberate—so different from the other kids, who were ripping paper and ribbon to shreds to get to their gifts. Inside hers was a plastic doll. “I like Rose better,” Rebekah said solemnly, handing the doll to Leah.
“You can keep it,” Leah said. “It’s a present.”
Rebekah shook her head. “No, thank you. She is not right for a plain person.”
Later, Leah had asked Charity, “What could be so awful about taking a plastic doll?”
“We do not believe in collecting material things. Rebekah has a doll. Why does she need two?”
Eating cookies and cake and drinking punch were much more to their liking. They all loved sweets, and Ethan ventured a grin of approval when he bit into a powdery white butter cookie decorated like a snowman.
Charity whispered, “Oma makes wonderful gingerbread, but I like this very much. Maybe even better.”
A nurse stepped forward with a guitar and invited the audience to join her in singing Christmas songs, including “Frosty, the Snowman,”“Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and “Jingle Bells.”
The Amish listened, and Leah tried to imagine what it must be like to hear these songs for the first time. When the nurse began to lead the group in singing carols, Leah glanced at Charity to see if she knew the words. Charity knew them well, and even Ethan and Rebekah sang along. Leah sang too, even though for her, the carols were simply a tradition of the season. For the Amish, singing the words had religious meaning.
When “Silent Night” was played, Charity sang softly in German. As the beautiful music played, Leah felt a lump rise in her throat, in spite of herself. The shimmering tree, the music and children’s voices gave her goose bumps. When her gaze fell on the Christmas angel atop the tree, she deliberately glanced away.
After the party, Leah and Rebekah returned to their room and said goodbye to Charity and Ethan. This time Rebekah didn’t cry at being left, but Leah felt pangs of regret. She caught Ethan’s gaze, and their eyes held. For an instant she thought he might give her a farewell hug. But he didn’t. She felt disappointment, althoughshe hadn’t really expected him to do something like that.
“Good night, Leah,” he said softly.
“But you will come back?”
“On Monday.”
“My biopsy—”
“I will be here when you wake up from your surgery.”
“Do you promise?”
He touched her cheek. “Yes, I promise.”
Long after they were gone and Rebekah slept, Leah lay awake, listening to the night sounds of the hospital. She wished she could sleep away the night and the whole next day. She wanted the biopsy to be over. She wanted Ethan to return.
She sighed and threw back the bedcovers. Perhaps a walk to the rec room would make her feel sleepy, or at least help pass the time.
The rec room was deserted. The aroma of the Christmas tree filled the room, and although its lights had been turned off, it still looked magnificent.
She stood in front of it, fingering the fragrant pine needles and remembering other trees and other Christmases. The tree comforted her. She imagined the woods it hadcome from. The tree too had been snatched from all that was familiar and thrust into a world that was completely foreign.
Behind her she heard the door open, and she turned to see a nurse silhouetted in the doorway. Leah squinted, then recognized her. “You’re Gabriella,” she said. “Rebekah talks about you. I’ve seen you in our room at night.”
Gabriella’s auburn hair was short with long fringy bangs, and her eyes were dark brown. “She is a precious child, but I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’ll bet you’re doing bed checks and found mine empty. Sorry about that, but I couldn’t sleep.” Leah expected a lecture about being out of bed in the middle of the night.
“I knew where to find
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