Christmas Comes to Morning Star Read online

“You know everything, Pete!” Billy Jay piped up from his chair across the table. “When I grow up, I wanna be just like you and build houses!”

  Everyone laughed and encouraged the boy, which gave Pete a chance to retreat more gracefully from the conversation. As the evening continued, however, his doubts took root like weeds in his fertile imagination.

  Did Molly really refuse my offer of a truck ride on Sunday because she’s got her eye on Glenn? Maybe her noodle pudding was a farewell gift—a way to rub my nose in it because I’m no longer living at their place.

  Or maybe she’s thinking about the fact that Glenn will soon have a brand-new house, while I can’t offer her anyplace to live. He’s a family man, after all—a church member who accepted adult responsibilities long ago . . .

  Chapter 6

  “I hope you know what you’ve set us up for, sister!” Marietta blurted as she entered the noodle factory on Wednesday morning. “I was just out checking the message machine for phone orders, and Glenn has accepted your invitation to live here. Do you realize what this means?”

  Molly looked up from watching the big batch of noodle dough in her mixer. “What does it mean?” she asked, trying not to laugh.

  Thoroughly infuriated by her twin’s attitude, Marietta measured the flour for her own batch of dough. “It means four more people to feed and clean up after!” she retorted. “It means that once Glenn takes Billy Jay to school, we have to deal with a tiny baby and a fellow in his eighties while we make more noodles than ever before! All things considered, life was a lot easier when Pete and Riley lived here.”

  “And who ever thought you’d be saying that?”

  Frustrated, Marietta threw a cup of flour into the big mixer bowl—but missed. As fine, white particles filled the air, a sneezing fit made her dash away from her sanitized mixer. She slipped in the flour on the floor and grabbed for the supply cabinet, barely catching herself before she fell.

  Molly rushed over, wrapping Marietta in her embrace. “Hey, no need to get all upset about—”

  Marietta sneezed again. After feeling so strong of late, she was suddenly aware that her muscles hadn’t regained as much strength as she’d believed. With her sister’s help, she righted herself physically—but she was still as mad as a wet cat.

  “What’s up with you, Molly?” she demanded breathlessly. “Have Pete’s reckless ways rubbed off on you? What possessed you to invite the Detweilers to stay with us? And without even mentioning the idea to me first?”

  Her sister sighed contritely. “Okay, so I should’ve thought the idea through before I shot my mouth off to the bishop. I’m sorry, Marietta,” she said. “I had no idea you’d get so worked up about it. I—I was just trying to help those guys, and to make things easier for Margaret.”

  Marietta inhaled deeply, struggling to compose herself. “I know that,” she admitted. “It’s just that—well, we’re so used to our own routine that the thought of having two little boys and poor old Reuben around—”

  “Reuben’s doing better than folks give him credit for.”

  “—not to mention dealing with Glenn, who’s like a big, black cloud ready to rain on whoever’s in the room—”

  “And you know all about dealing with depression and loss, ain’t so?” Molly challenged gently. “Think about where you were emotionally, last year at this time. You’re a survivor, Marietta. Your inner strength might be exactly what Glenn needs after yet another disaster has struck him down.”

  Marietta blinked. Had her sister changed her matchmaking tactic? Or was Marietta missing Molly’s message in this situation—that she could weave her ordeal with cancer into an emotional blanket that might comfort a family who’d suffered an incredible number of losses lately?

  “I thought you and I had agreed that we’ll be looking after each other rather than thinking about marriage,” she protested. But her words were losing steam.

  Molly’s eyes widened. “I never said you had to marry Glenn. But you could be his friend while he’s rebuilding his life, jah?”

  Marietta’s shoulders relaxed. She wasn’t convinced Molly was finished with her matchmaking scheme, but she listened anyway.

  “As fast as Pete and our other carpenters completed The Marketplace’s renovation, they’ll probably have the new Detweiler house enclosed in a couple of weeks,” her twin continued earnestly. “Weather permitting, the family could move in sometime after the holidays, jah? Glenn’s happiest when he’s working with wood, so putting the finishing details on his new home will surely lift his spirits—and he’ll be motivated to move in as soon as possible, don’t you think?”

  Marietta’s thoughts settled into a more orderly flow. Maybe she’d blown this situation out of proportion after all. “In the grand scheme of things, I guess having them here for a month isn’t such a long time,” she admitted. “But I was really looking forward to celebrating this Christmas—and our birthday!—doing things we love to do. Promise me we won’t allow Glenn’s dark moods to overshadow our holiday, sister.”

  “I’m with you a hundred and fifty percent on that,” Molly said with a nod. She stepped back over to her mixer, checking the readiness of the noodle dough. “And who knows? Maybe having a little boy here these next few weeks will make this Christmas season more fun than it would’ve been with just you and me. So—did we have any new orders when you checked the phone messages?”

  Marietta chuckled. Wasn’t it just like Molly to steer their conversation back to business when it suited her? “Just our usual amount this week for the two bulk stores we supply.”

  “All righty then,” her twin sang out. “Let’s get those orders filled so we can focus on stocking our store at The Marketplace. Sleigh bells won’t be the only jingle we hear this season!”

  As Molly turned on her noodle roller, Marietta fetched a broom to sweep the flour from the floor. They worked in comfortable silence, with only the whir of her big mixer and the sound of Molly’s roller filling their work space. It was a blessing that the two of them had always been able to settle their minor squabbles by talking them through, and for that Marietta gave thanks.

  After all, where would she be if her sister hadn’t driven her to her chemo treatments? And who else would’ve seen to her every need when she’d felt so sick, and made her laugh when her spirits had sunk? Only Molly—spontaneous, fun-loving, spirited Molly—would’ve sacrificed her long, glossy hair in open defiance of the Ordnung just to make Marietta feel better about her own appearance while she’d recovered from breast cancer.

  She denies that she’s sweet on Pete, too, but I know better!

  Marietta smiled as she watched the large batch of dough taking shape in her mixer. Maybe it wouldn’t be such an inconvenience to welcome Glenn and his family for a while. After all, it wasn’t as though such an attractive man would ever give a damaged body like hers a second glance, so she could indeed simply be his friend while he rebuilt his home and his life.

  And while the Detweilers were arranging their new future, she could foster a romance between her sister and the cute blond carpenter who’d been gawking at her during the entire church service on Sunday. Pete didn’t have the wherewithal to build a house, so Marietta could hint that he and Molly would be welcome to live on the Helfing farm if they got hitched—and that would mean Pete would join the church, which would make Bishop Jeremiah and Margaret very happy.

  And if Pete and Molly married, Marietta could surely remain in her lifelong home, as well. Then everyone would be happy.

  Satisfied that she had a workable, worthwhile plan, Marietta smiled. The Christmas season was already shining brighter, and she couldn’t wait to celebrate the way everything would surely fall into place over the next few weeks.

  * * *

  Jo’s scarf flapped in the wind as she strode to the mailbox. Even though the snow from Sunday was still ankle-high, she relished having a few moments of fresh air and exercise—and silence. Mamm had fussed all morning about the number of cutout sugar cook
ies she’d been baking and decorating, claiming that she had no space to cook proper meals because Jo’s Marketplace goodies were always in the oven or covering the countertops. When Jo had offered to bake the cookies in her shop kitchen instead, Mamm had immediately protested about being left alone for hours on end—left to do all the household chores herself.

  “Lord, give me patience,” Jo muttered as she approached the road. “Seems no matter what I do or say lately, it’s wrong.”

  The mailbox held the usual assortment of mail-order catalogs, their festive covers advertising Christmas gift ideas. Although Jo loved the holiday season, she felt none of her usual excitement, because Mamm’s negativity was wearing on her. When a white envelope addressed to her dropped out from between the catalogs, however, Jo’s breath caught.

  The return address was in Queen City. And the handwriting was Michael’s.

  Suddenly energized, Jo ducked into the phone shanty to enjoy her mail privately. She’d intended to check their messages anyway, so if Mamm was peering out the window, she wouldn’t question Jo about pausing inside the little white building. Before she allowed herself to tear open the envelope, Jo listened to a message about the church ladies signing up to provide meals for Glenn and his family as they moved into the Helfings’ dawdi hauses, as well as hot lunches for the construction crew as they began building his new home.

  Jo sat down on the straight-backed wooden chair, her fingers trembling as she opened her mail. Why would Michael send her a letter? He and Nelson would be coming on Friday night—

  “Oh my word, would you look at that!” Jo whispered. She gazed at a glossy, printed postcard that pictured hundreds of blooming red poinsettias. She turned it over.

  Thought you’d enjoy seeing the photo a local fellow took of our greenhouse, which we use to advertise our poinsettias. The invitation for you to see them in person still stands.

  Michael

  Was she being a goose, reading between the lines to find a romantic motivation for Michael’s sending this card? He’d surely tucked it into an envelope to keep her mamm’s prying eyes from seeing his message. That alone made Jo feel that she and Michael shared a delicious secret—and the potential for spending more time together during the Christmas season.

  She inhaled deeply to still her runaway pulse, savoring a few moments to reread the crisp lines of black script that were as slender and angular as the young man who’d written them. Jo tucked the postcard back into its envelope, which she stuffed deep into the pocket of her apron. She hoped she could hide the excitement on her face when she entered the house, because Mamm would surely quiz her about it—and then cut her hopes and dreams to pieces with her sharp tongue.

  Jo walked back to the house, planning how she’d answer any questions her mother might ask. As she hung her black coat and bonnet in the mudroom, she breathed deeply—and envisioned Michael seated across the table from her sharing a plate of fresh sugar cookies and a pot of tea.

  “What was in the mail?” Mamm called out from the kitchen.

  “Catalogs, mostly,” Jo replied truthfully. “And there was a phone message saying the local ladies are taking food over to the Helfings while Glenn and his family stay there, as well as providing meals at the Detweiler construction site. Sounds like they’ll be starting the new house within the next day or two.”

  Before she entered the kitchen, she smoothed the front of her apron to conceal the outline of Michael’s envelope. On a sudden inspiration, Jo opened the cabinet beneath the sink, where they kept the wastebasket. “This is getting pretty full,” she remarked. “I’ll gather the trash from the other rooms, and then it’ll be about time for lunch, ain’t so?”

  Mamm shrugged. “It’ll be that split pea soup I made yesterday.”

  “Sounds gut.” Jo pulled the half-full sack out of the plastic wastebasket, feeling downright devious as she held it in front of her until she could remove Michael’s envelope in her room.

  When she got upstairs, however, another surprise awaited her: as she emptied the wastebasket beside Mamm’s sewing machine, several bright, shiny pieces of a postcard fluttered out.

  Jo’s eyes widened. As she plucked the scraps from the floor, she realized that Mamm had torn up an envelope and a poinsettia postcard just like the one she’d received—except the handwriting was different. And one of the corner pieces had Nelson’s signature on it! Before her mother came to see what she was doing, Jo pieced together enough of the postcard to read what Michael’s dat had written.

  Would you like to see our greenhouses, Drusilla?

  Let’s talk about it Friday when we get to your place.

  Nelson

  A shimmer of excitement shot up Jo’s spine as she stuffed the postcard pieces into the trash bag. It seemed the Wengerds were working together to coax her and Mamm to come for a visit—and her mother had ripped the invitation to shreds without saying a word about it. Jo knew better than to mention what she’d found, just as she instinctively knew to tuck Michael’s postcard in her bottom drawer beneath her black stockings and the newer kapps she kept for special occasions.

  It seemed her mother was keeping the same secret she was—but reacting differently to it.

  As Jo went back downstairs, she kept a straight face as best she could. Nelson and Michael had heard Mamm’s objections to a trip to Queen City weeks ago. It would be interesting to see what happened when the Wengerds arrived in time for supper on Friday, as they’d been doing since they’d opened their Marketplace shop and started renting Mamm’s dawdi haus.

  Who knows? Maybe if the three of us keep working on her, we’ll come up with the right words—the right Christmas spirit—to change her mind. It’s the season of miracles, after all.

  Chapter 7

  Glenn felt exhausted and rather nervous Thursday morning as he and Bishop Jeremiah stepped onto the Helfings’ front porch. Dat followed a few steps behind them, hunched against the wintery wind. Levi squirmed against Glenn’s shoulder, fussing about the blanket draped over his head to protect him from the cold.

  Or maybe, like me, he feels the strain of all this shifting around. I’m not looking forward to bunking with the boys—and Dat—in a dawdi haus, but it’s an inconvenient time to be underfoot at the Shetler place. So here I am, coming to Marietta with my hat in my hand.

  Jeremiah knocked on the front door. “If nobody answers, we’ll need to go around back to their noodle shed.”

  “If they peek out and see who’s here, they might pretend they’re not home,” Dat joked as he stepped up behind them. “We Detweilers are a ragtag bunch these days.”

  “You’re as well dressed as Alvin Helfing ever was,” Jeremiah pointed out.

  Glenn sighed. Showing up in clothes the twins’ father had worn—possibly even garments that Molly or Marietta had sewn—was yet another thing that bothered him.

  When the door swooshed open, Levi started crying so loudly that Glenn couldn’t hear himself think. As Marietta peered out at them, her smile appeared as tentative as the one on his own face.

  “Gut morning—come in, come in,” she added, stepping aside.

  Why had Levi chosen this moment to cut loose? The boy had amazing lung capacity for one so small—and Glenn had changed and fed him before they’d left the Shetler place so he’d be at his best.

  “We brought our own siren,” Dat teased as they entered the warmth of the Helfing home.

  “We’ve also got some large jars of goat’s milk in the rig, along with boxes of clothes and toys,” Jeremiah said beneath the baby’s squalling. “And Mamm sent along a casserole in the pan your noodle pudding was in—which was fabulous, by the way.”

  Marietta was nodding, straining to take in what the bishop was saying as the baby wailed. Molly appeared at the doorway to the kitchen, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of them.

  Glenn suddenly couldn’t subject these generous young women to the discomfort his family was already causing them. He turned and hurried back outside, muffling his so
n’s cries against his shoulder. Why had he thought it was a good idea, disrupting the Helfing twins’ quiet lives with two noisy boys, a lonely old man, and a guy who was so deep in grief that he didn’t know up from down—

  “Glenn, wait!”

  He turned to be sure he’d heard a real voice rather than a phantom call.

  Marietta’s green eyes dominated her thin face as she gazed at him. She’d dashed outside without a coat, yet she didn’t seem to feel cold. “Bring Levi inside and—and get warm,” she insisted. “It—it just occurred to me that our dawdi hauses don’t have stoves, so you’ll need to come to the house whenever you heat his milk. You folks could use a couple of the spare bedrooms instead of—”

  “Oh, I couldn’t expect you and Molly to—”

  “Jah, you could.” Marietta grasped his arm, tugging him toward the house. “Let’s talk about this over cocoa. Our house has plenty of rooms to go around.”

  Glenn was so flummoxed, he couldn’t protest. The slender hand that remained in the crook of his arm felt surprisingly strong—and he didn’t want Marietta to catch a chill, so he did as she’d suggested. When he stepped inside again, the aroma of something warm and sweet welcomed him.

  In the kitchen, Bishop Jeremiah was helping himself to an oatmeal raisin cookie. Dat had settled into a chair at the table before he’d even taken off his coat.

  “Look at these, Glenn!” he said as he snatched two from the plate. “You know these girls bring the best cookies on the planet to church—and they’ve made some just for us! How wonderful is that?”

  As Glenn headed for the table, he almost forgot that Levi was crying.

  Lo and behold, Marietta held out her arms. “Why don’t I take the baby while you relax with a snack?” she asked shyly. “And if the bishop will bring his milk inside, we’ll see if we can settle him down. Warm milk makes everybody feel better, ain’t so?”

  Was that a knowing smile on Molly’s face as she poured their cocoa? Glenn was too surprised to question it—or to refuse Marietta’s offer. He loved his baby boy more than life itself, but being a single parent was a daunting job he hadn’t ever expected to take on . . . just as he’d never guessed that a shy, unmarried woman would relieve him of his wailing son so he could enjoy cookies and cocoa.