An Amish Christmas Read Online Free PDF

holes.”
    “Oh, that’s a shame—”
    He left the room before she could complete her sentence. Meg dragged the washcloth up and down one arm. When it came to whatever it was that was troubling her husband, she was at a total loss. James was clearly going through some problem, but he refused to answer any of her questions. Initially, he had tried distracting her or jollying her along with humor, but he had given that up entirely; he had simply withdrawn. He came home early from the office, or ridiculously late, with no explanations. In the past few weeks, even the children commented on his irritability. She tried to gloss over it with meaningless phrases about how hard he was working.
    Meg had repeatedly asked, cajoled, and demanded an explanation. Was he in love with someone else? Having problems at work? Was he sick or addicted to drugs or alcohol? She reminded him that he could tell her anything and she would do anything to help him. She got no response to her entreaties. In fact, he no longer turned to her in bed or showed her any affection at all. It was as if he wanted to be totally alone with his misery. At a loss by this point, Meg decided she would wait it out. Either he would manage whatever was bothering him, or, eventually, she would force him to confide in someone—if nother, then a professional of some kind. She was giving it until New Year’s.
    When Thanksgiving Day arrived, James’s mood hadn’t improved, but Meg had pushed ahead with her annual dinner for the neighbors. Eighteen people would be coming over at four o’clock to share in the feast. She had started cooking the previous Sunday, and today she was right on schedule. At noon she began setting the table, which consisted of their dining room table with all four leaves in it, plus two rented tables extending out from either side. Under duress, Lizzie and Will helped spread out the white tablecloths and napkins and carried in chairs from other parts of the house. Sam retrieved all the sterling silver flatware and ornate serving pieces from the basement closet.
    Meg liked to do the final setting of the places herself. She enjoyed arranging the silver, china, and crystal, everything sparkling and gleaming. Next she had huge bouquets of flowers in water-filled buckets to arrange and two dozen candles to set out.
    “Mom, no one does this anymore, you know.” Lizzie paused on her way past the dining room, observing her mother adjusting the positions of multiple sets of salt and pepper shakers. “You don’t have to make such a fuss.”
    Meg laughed. “C’mon, Lizzie, you know I do.”
    Her daughter smiled. “Yeah, I guess you do. Some people never learn.”
    Meg hastened back to the kitchen to baste the turkey, which had been roasting in the oven for hours. The juggling actwould come later, when she was trying to heat up the enormous quantities of sweet potato pie, plus the peas and mushrooms, and extra stuffing beyond what the bird held. At the same time she needed to mash the cooked potatoes. She consulted her list for the meal. Hors d’oeuvres, spiked punch for adults, soda for children, cranberry sauce, whipped cream for the pies—all ready.
    She decided she had earned a break. Pouring a glass of water, she moved to look out the window. The backyard always provided her with a feeling of serenity, its flat expanse of greenery surrounded by tall, shade-providing trees. The family had spent countless evenings grilling and eating dinner on the patio, and those times were among her favorites. She had also put many contented hours into nurturing the flower beds behind the house and along the lawn’s perimeter. It gave her tremendous satisfaction to do something with her hands that created so much beauty virtually out of thin air. Try as she might, she couldn’t interest any of her children in gardening, and James never had the time or inclination. It didn’t bother her, though; she liked having something that was exclusively hers.
    She took a