An Amish Christmas Quilt Read Online Free PDF Page B

“What happened in the bathroom that made you say uh-oh ?”
    Lucy stopped but didn’t turn around. Her little shoulders rose as though she anticipated a scolding. “Nothin’,” she insisted. “I was helpin’ you. Washin’ diapers.”
    What might the rest of the story be? Lucy was an earnest helper and seemed especially fascinated as she watched Mary empty and rinse Emmanuel’s cloth diapers in the toilet before soaking them in the diaper pail. “ And? ” she asked in a purposeful voice.
    Lucy remained in place, still facing the opposite wall. “It went down. With the poop.”
    Mary’s pulse accelerated. “The diaper went down the toilet? Lucy, how did—”
    But the little girl’s shoulders were shuddering and she began to wail—which seemed to be her response when anything went wrong, maybe because her dat had turned into a cream puff at the first sign of her tears?
    â€œOh, Lucy, I’m not mad,” Mary murmured with a sigh. “I’m just—”
    Helpless. Clueless. Restless. Lost. Even more the outsider now that Elmer’s gone.
    But such a downward spiral of depressing thoughts would only make her cry right along with Lucy. It had been inevitable that something would go wrong while she and the kids stayed with Miriam and Ben, so there was nothing to do but face up to it. Mary dabbed at Emmanuel’s lips, desperately wishing she could be drifting off into a sated, blissful sleep, the way he was. When she’d laid him in his crib, she went into the bathroom.
    There was no sign of a diaper in the toilet. Had Lucy really flushed one down by accident? How had the whole diaper gone down, as large as it was? Or . . . was Lucy fibbing again? Mary had caught the little girl in a few whoppers, so it was possible that Lucy had made up this story to get attention while her baby brother nursed.
    There was only one way to find out.
    Mary held down the flush lever. The water whirled in the bowl but it didn’t go down.
    Oh, this isn’t gut, she thought. But if there was a diaper down in the pipes, maybe one more flush would wash it along . . . before other waste could get caught in it and clog the pipe completely. Mary recalled seeing a plunger in the hall closet, so she fetched it. After she pumped it up and down vigorously, she flushed again.
    The water rose to the top of the bowl and began spilling over onto the floor.
    â€œOh! Oh, no, this is—” Grabbing towels from the linen cabinet, Mary dropped them to the floor to sop up the water, once again aware that the men in her life had always dealt with these emergencies. When the toilet had stopped overflowing, she pondered her options. She didn’t dare leave Lucy here with Emmanuel while she called Miriam from the phone in the barn . . . and by the time she went that far, she might as well go across the road to the café.
    â€œLet’s get our coats on,” she told Lucy. “We have to tell Aunt Miriam or Uncle Ben about the toilet so they can get it fixed.”
    Lucy’s eyes widened and she began to cry more loudly. Mary badly wanted to join her, but that wouldn’t solve their problem, would it? She tucked Emmanuel into his padded carrier basket, and by the time the three of them were at the door where the coats were hung, he was wailing, too. He’d been sleeping so soundly—the day had been going so well until Lucy had—
    Lord, don’t let me hold this against her. She was trying to help . . . I think. Truth be told, I’m so tired from Emmanuel’s wee-hour feedings, I’m not sure I can think anymore. . . .
    They made a woeful little parade as they crossed the county highway, and it didn’t help Mary’s mood that little snowflakes floated in the November air. When they entered the Sweet Seasons, Mary spotted Aunt Miriam cutting pies at the back kitchen counter. She kept her head down as she went through