An Amish Christmas Promise. Jo Ann Brown

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      Sliding Rose Anne off her lap when her niece began to wiggle, Carolyn told her to stay in sight. The little girl nodded and began to jump from one black tile to the next on the checkered floor.

      “I appreciate you staying here, but it’s not necessary,” Carolyn said, keeping her eyes on the child who could scurry away like a rabbit running from a dog. “I’m not sure I want the time to go faster.”

      “Nervous?” Disbelief deepened his voice. “Why? These people are here to help you.”

      “It’s not easy to ask others for help.”

      “I get that.” He leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and stretched his long legs out, much to Rose Anne’s delight as she began to leap over them. “But you’ve got to think about your kinder—I mean, your children.”

      “They’re pretty much all I think about.” She wondered why it was so easy to be honest with Michael, whom she hadn’t known two days ago. “I’d do anything to make sure they’ve got a safe place to live.”

      “Even deal with bureaucrats?” He reached out to steady Rose Anne when she almost tripped over his boots.

      Carolyn smiled. “When you put it that way, going through this meeting isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

      “Only you can answer that.”

      “I thought I did.”

      His laugh resonated down the otherwise empty hall. “Do you always speak plainly?”

      “No.”

      “I guess I should feel honored.”

      “I guess you should.” She was about to add more, then realized the little girl was partway around a corner. Calling Rose Anne back, she said, “I shouldn’t have given in to her make-believe sore throat this morning. I should have insisted she stay at day care.” She crooked a finger at her niece who was edging toward the end of the hall again. “They’re accustomed to having me around, especially Rose Anne. She’s been going to nursery school, but it’s not the same as being left at the day care center all day, every day.”

      “So she convinced you to let her come with you.”

      “She didn’t have to try hard.” She held out her hand, and her niece ran over to take it. “I like spending time with my Rosie Annie.”

      The little girl giggled as she leaned on Carolyn’s knee. “I’m sweat smelling, like a rose. That’s what Mommy always says.”

      “Maybe not always, but you do smell sweet today.” She ruffled the child’s silken hair. Rose Anne had no memories of her real mother, and Kevin seemed to have forgotten Carolyn was his aunt. She thanked God every morning and night for that, though she prayed there would come a time when she could be honest. “Last night, you were dirty. It took a while to get you clean so you smelled as sweet as a rose again.” To Michael, who was grinning at how Rose Anne had called herself “sweat smelling,” she added, “We’re pretty much limited to a bucket of water each.”

      “When can I take a big-girl bath again?” Rose Anne’s voice became a whine. “I miss my bath tube and my floatie fishies.”

      She means bathtub, Carolyn mouthed so Michael could read her lips. When he nodded his understanding, she said aloud, “I can’t tell you when, but it’ll be...” She didn’t want to give the child a specific date because she didn’t have any idea how long it would take to build their new house. And she didn’t want to talk about the plastic toys Rose Anne called her floatie fishies. They had washed away with everything in the house.

      Michael stood, then dropped to one knee beside her niece. That brought his eyes almost level with Rose Anne’s. “I can tell you when your new house and new bathtub will be ready. It’s going to be right after Christmas.”

      “Christmas is a loooooooong time away,” Rose Anne argued.

      “No, it’s not. Today is October twenty-fifth, so Christmas is exactly two months away.” Holding up two fingers, he lowered first one, then the other. “One-two. See? Quick like a bunny.”

      “That’s what Mommy says. Quick like a bunny!” Rose Anne bounced with excitement. “Mr. Michael knows quick like a bunny, too.”

      “I know.” As the little girl danced and twirled along the hall, Carolyn asked, “‘Mr. Michael?’”

      “One of the ladies working at supper last night called me that, and the kids started using it.”

      “You’re good with children. Do you have any?”

      “No, but my brother has year-old twins, and there are plenty of kids in our settlement.” He surveyed the hall before adding, “My brother has his life set for him...as you do.”

      She was amazed at his wistful tone. Michael had seemed so sure of himself. Was there a tragedy in his past, too, or did he have another reason to envy his brother’s choices in life?

      The woman who’d stood by the gym doors came out and called, “Carolyn Wiebe? They’re ready for you.”

      A shiver of anxiety trilled down her back, but Carolyn stood. When Rose Anne rushed to her side, she wasn’t sure if the little girl was aware of her agitation or wanted a change of scenery after exploring every inch of the hall. Carolyn glanced at Michael who’d gotten up, too, and she knew she wasn’t hiding her nerves from him.

      But he didn’t offer her trite consolation. Instead, he motioned for her to lead the way.

      In the gym, four round tables with plenty of chairs had been placed between the two sets of bleachers. Mats remained under the basketball hoops. Rose Anne took off her shoes and ran to join the other children playing on them.

      “The kinder are having gut fun,” Michael said as the woman led them toward the most distant table.

      Carolyn recognized fellow residents who’d lost their homes, and she guessed the others were volunteers like Michael and his friends. To avoid any chance of eavesdropping on their conversations, she replied, “The kids are having more fun now than we had the first night after the flood. For lots of us, those mats were our beds. We were so exhausted we would have slept on the wood floor.”

      “Glen,” the woman with the clipboard said, “here’s your client. Carolyn Wiebe.”

      Trying not to bristle at the woman’s tone that suggested Carolyn was an unworthy charity case, she was glad when the woman walked away.

      “I’m Glen Landis,” said the man who was as thin as the hair across his pate. “The project director.”

      “We’ve met,” Carolyn replied, pulling her tattered composure around her like a comfortable blanket. “About a year and a half ago, you came to speak at the Evergreen Corners Mennonite Meetinghouse about your experiences.”

      “In the recovery efforts after Hurricanes Katrina and Harvey?” He smiled as Michael’s two friends jogged across the gym to join them. From his speech, she’d learned he considered rebuilding СКАЧАТЬ