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

the Lord taketh away. Ruth allowed a small sigh to escape.
    As the girls filed in, shaking hands and greeting the women with polite smiles, Ruth turned her attention to look with interest at the different colors and styles of the dresses as well as the hairstyles. She noted which ones were neat and which could use a little work.
    How well she remembered the anticipation of each hymn singing when she was young. Would this be the evening Ben would notice her? Would he be seated close by or much too far away toward the other end of the table?
    Always, there had been Ben. She was fifteen when she spoke to him that first time. She’d fallen hard and had never been the same. It was at a volleyball game on a lovely summer evening. She was not yet sixteen, so she wasn’t actually rumspringing, but he’d come over to her and Rachel and said, “Hello, Ruth, how are you?”
    Their time together had been so short, and yet her mind was packed with many memories of their love. It remained a wondrous thing to file away those golden mental files that hung neatly in her special place labeled “Marriage, a heaven on earth.” For she had loved him, given herself to him, and adored the ground he walked on.
    Could she ever love again, in that same way? No. A steely resolve closed her heart to the thought. It seemed wrong somehow. She felt sure Ben would not want her to consider a second love.
    You need to care for our children, Ruth.
    Ruth blinked, frightened, her eyes wide. Who had spoken?
    She looked left, then right, and then straight ahead and directly into the deep brown eyes of that bachelor who was single but dating Anna — Paul King’s Anna. Ruth tried to look away, but she was held by his gaze that was asking her questions again.
    How can eyes speak? she wondered much later that night. Those eyes had asked, Who are you, Ruth? How can I ever get to know you?
    At the moment, because she had felt flushed and brazen and was still pondering whose voice she had heard speaking to her about the children, she had finally lowered her head. Her downcast eyes and the heavy lashes sweeping her softly blushing cheeks — none of it was lost on Mamie, who sat straight up and blinked. She pursed her lips, clasped her hands firmly in her lap, and knew.
    The singing rose and fell. The lovely old hymns of the forefathers were coupled with choruses of English songs as the men’s deep voices blended in complete harmony with the lighter tones of the women.
    Ruth cuddled Benjamin, bent over him, and kissed his downy cheeks as she pondered her explosion of emotion, masked, of course, by her steadiness of character.
    The coffee was piping hot, and the assortment of cookies and bars and pretzels and cheese and popcorn passed from person to person in a steady stream as the voices of young and old raised in cheery banter during the fellowship that always followed an shoene singin (a nice singing).
    Eventually the horses were brought and attached to cold buggies, the headlights illuminating the person connecting the britchments and leather pulls to shafts. Friends called out their well wishes, and a few men hurried to help an insecure sixteen year old with a rowdy, misbehaving horse. This was common on cold, late evenings when the horses were tired of standing tied side by side in unfamiliar barns or along cold fences.
    Ruth hurried the children along, careful to hold Benjamin close, warning Elmer to keep hold of Lillian’s hand.
    Suddenly a dark figure emerged and stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
    She stopped, hesitant.
    A deep, craggy voice spoke out of the blackness.
    â€œMay I ask your name?” He was breathing too fast.
    Startled, not thinking, she said quickly, “Ruth Miller.”
    â€œThese are your children?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSorry if I appear rude. I’m John Beiler.”
    He extended a hand. Ruth shifted Benjamin, found the stranger’s hand, and shook it