An Amish Wife For Christmas

Moonlight reflecting off the snow outside cast a large rectangle of light through the window. It fell across his desk and empty chair. She walked to the chair and laid her hands on the back of it. The wood was cold beneath her fingers. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The smell of the oils he used, the old leather chair and the cleaning rag that was still lying on the desk brought his beloved face into sharp focus. Tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids and ran down her cheeks. She wiped them away with both hands.

“I miss you, Daadi. We all miss you. I know you are happy with our Lord in heaven and with Mammi and Mamm. That gives me comfort, but I still miss you.” Her voice sounded odd in the empty room.

Opening her eyes, she sat in his chair and lit the lamp. The pieces of a watch lay on the white felt-covered board he worked on. His tiny screwdrivers and tools were lined up neatly in their case. Everything was just as it had been the last time he sat in this chair. The cleaning rag was the only thing out of place. She picked it up to return it to the proper drawer and saw an envelope lying beneath it. It was unopened. The name on the return address caught her attention. It was from Michael Shetler of Sugarcreek, Ohio.

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