Read Online Christmas Visitor by Linda Byler - Free Book Online Page A

folding tables end to end and covered them with her good tablecloths. Then she had loaded them with Tupperware containers and plastic ice cream buckets full of her Christmas cookies. Large containers each held five gallons of piping hot coffee, and there was Coffee-mate creamer and sugar and a basket containing napkins and plastic spoons all set out in a manageable order.
    Bags of pretzels and potato chips, deep bowls of homemade Chex Mix, platters of cheese and German ring bologna, dips and vegetables — loads of food appeared as if by magic as happy, festive women offered their contributions and delivered them to their proper places on Mamie’s tables.
    â€œRuth!” Mamie bore down on her, a locomotive of suppressed energy bristling with excitement.
    â€œMamie! Everything looks so nice. Your table is all decked out, and the coffee ready. You must have worked hard.”
    â€œOh, I did. I’m ready to drop. Then Waynie was a mess with his teething, and Fannie had to go wash for Elam sei Katie. She has Lyme disease, you know. Hiya, Benjamin! Hiya. Come here, you sweet bundle. Oh Ruth, he’s so cute. Gel, Benjy? Hi, Lillian. How’s her head? Komm, Lillian. I want to see your head. Gooka-mol (Let me see).”
    Lillian stood stock-still as Mamie’s fingers explored the surface of the little skull, her eyes lifted solemnly to Mamie’s kind face.
    â€œThe bump went away now, so it’s better,” she announced solemnly.
    â€œAch ya, gel?”
    Mamie sat down, unwrapped little Benjamin, took Lillian’s proffered coat, and left Ruth to search the room for other familiar faces.
    The men were assembling on folding chairs, their beards wagging as they talked. They were dressed in colorful shirts, pastel blues and beiges with an occasional navy or burgundy. They smiled as they greeted one another with firm handshakes or familiar claps on the shoulder.
    Ruth turned away, the loss of Ben — the raw absence of him — so unbearable when his brother, Sam, arrived. He smiled, then caught her eye and waved. So much like Ben. No one could ever replace his memory, she knew now. That knowledge was engraved into her being, like the words that were etched on his perfect gravestone.
    â€œRuth, what? A shadow just passed across your face. You’re missing Ben, gel? Ach my, Ruth. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. You poor thing. I can’t stand it. Komm, sits ana (sit down).”
    Mamie slipped a heavy arm around Ruth’s drooping form, and the hurt was replaced by her friend’s pure kindness along with the scent of her lack of a good antiperspirant — the only blight on their friendship. Ruth had never worked up the audacity to mention it. She winced now but resigned herself and chose to accept the kindness, regardless of the less than fresh Mamie.
    â€œIt’s okay. I’m just being childish,” Ruth whispered.
    The two greeted others who came by to shake hands, give an occasional hug, and offer words of friendliness. They asked how she was, always. And always, Ruth would smile and say, “Goot (Good),” nod her head, and hope the person holding her hand would believe it.
    No, I’m not always goot. My money is all but gone once again, Lillian is driving me batty, and I miss Ben so much right this minute, I could just run home and wrap up in a blanket and turn my face to the wall. My spigot leaks — the one in the laundry room — and a section of spouting is loose. So don’t ask me how I am, because I’ll just have to put on that false veneer of shining goodness that comes from generation after generation of pasted smiles and hidden suffering.
    Ruth knew the Amish were always expected to be goot. It is bred in them, this taking up of their crosses, bowing of their heads, and repetition of “Thy will be done.” They carry on, and when the load becomes unbearable, they still endure it. It is the Amish way. The Lord giveth, and