Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(46)

Today, however, was Christmas shopping, a special treat that required no other passengers. They knew the driver, John Arnold, a retired farmer, well and were at ease in his presence.

“Good morning, my ladies!” he boomed. “How’s Sadie coming along?”

“I’m doing much better, thank you!” Sadie answered, although she already felt a bit lightheaded after swinging between the crutches.

“So where we going?”

“To the mall in Critchfield!” they echoed as one.

John Arnold grinned, put the van in gear, and said, “Waiting time is $20 an hour!”

And they were off, down the winding drive and along country roads until they came to the state road leading to the populated town of Critchfield. Traffic was heavy this close to the holidays. The occupants of cars looked a bit harassed as they waited at red lights, made U-turns, and tried passing just to arrive a minute before anyone else on the road.

At the mall, a huge lowlying structure made of steel and bricks, the vast parking lot was filled with vehicles of every shape and size imaginable. Christmas music already filled their ears as the girls hopped out of the van.

“How long?” John Arnold asked. “All day till ten tonight?”

“No-o!” the girls chorused.

“’Til four or five?” Rebekah asked.

“Sounds good. I’ll be back around four.”

“Thank you!”

“Take care of your cripple here,” he called.

The girls waved, the van moved slowly out of the parking lot, and they were on their own. What a wonderful feeling to be free and able to browse the stores completely at ease, spending all these hours Christmas shopping!

“Listen to that song!”

“Oh, it’s so beautiful it gives me goose bumps!”

“I love, love, love to go Christmas shopping!”

“One love would have been enough! We get the point!”

Laughing, they entered the huge glass doors of the mall. Immediately, they were surrounded by sights and sounds that took their breaths away—bright electric lights, Christmas decorations, beautiful music wafting in the air, real Christmas trees lit with brilliant, multi-colored lights. The wonder of the season, coupled with the achingly beautiful music in the air, brought unexpected tears to Sadie’s eyes.

Christmas music did that to you, especially the instrumental music the Amish were not accustomed to. It elicited emotions of pure joy, lifted your spirits, and elevated you in almost every way. It was enough to bring forth thanks, a gratitude as beautiful as new-fallen snow, for the wondrous gift of the baby Jesus. He was born so humble and poor, wrapped only in swaddling cloths, which Mam told them was a type of long diaper that served as clothing as well.

God was, indeed, very good.

Ezra’s death was still painful, but it was accepted now, unquestioningly, in the way of the Amish. There was a reason for his death, and they bowed to God’s will. So be it. Heartaches were borne stoically without complaint, as was the heartache of Mam’s illness.

Dear, dear Mam, Sadie thought. Her heart filled with love as she listened to the swelling strains of the Christmas songs.

I wish you could be here with us and have your poor, battered spirits revived again.

With Reuben in mind, they entered a sports store and had too much fun dashing here to this gigantic display of skateboards, then there to the tower of footballs, then back again to the baseball section. Their red and green dresses swirled, faces flushed, voices chattered—brilliant birds with white coverings.

They chose an expensive football for Reuben. They discussed at length the merits of a skateboard, but decided against it, opting for a new set of ping-pong paddles to go with the football. Reuben had acquired a mean serve, Anna informed them, shaking her head with wisdom beyond her years.

Next stop was JC Penney where the girls oohed and aahed, fussing in Pennsylvania Dutch—the Ohio version, where they rolled their “r’s” into a soft “burr.” Giggling, they loaded up with a new sheet set in beautiful blue for Mam and good, heavy Egyptian cotton towels for their bathroom in blue and navy. They were sure this would please their mother.

They found a package of good, warm socks for Dat and two soft chamois shirts, one in dark brown and another one in forest green.

“Who’s going to volunteer?” Rebekah asked slyly.

“Volunteer for what?”

“You know, remove these pockets.”

Sadie groaned from her perch on the rented wheelchair.

“Probably me, since I sit here all the time.”

“Why don’t Amish men wear pockets on their shirts?” Anna asked.

“Dunno!”

“Some people just sew them shut.”

“Not at Dat’s age. The older men should be an example to the younger ones, so we need to take off these flaps over the pockets for sure.”

“‘We?’ You mean, me!” Sadie said.

“Why do we have an Ordnung?” Rebekah asked. “The English people dress any way they want, and we have to sit with a razor blade and remove a stupid old pocket from a perfectly nice shirt.”

“Rebekah! That is so disrespectful,” Leah scolded, crossing off Dat’s name on their list.

“The Ordnung is like anyone else’s rules. The world has rules, too, and police officers enforce them. Our rules are according to Biblical principles—about dressing modestly and being old-fashioned in thoughts and attitudes. I would never want to be anywhere else but right here in the Amish church in Montana. I love our way of life,” Sadie said.