But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.’” – Luke 15: 32
A soft knock sounded on the freshly closed door. Rebekah sniffled and thought for a moment. I could hide under the bed. Jump out the window. Just not answer at all.
Instead, she sighed. “Who is it?”
“I will give you a hint. It is your brother from Texas.” He sounded more Englisher than Amish in his words.
She sat down on the bed, defeated. “Bruder from Texas? I have no idea who that could be.” A small smile played at the corners of her lips. “Komme in then.”
Peter peeked inside, a silly look on his face.
Rebekah dipped her head and chuckled. “You are really terrible at guessing games, you know.”
“You are right, I am.” He walked inside. Lil’ Bit was snuggled down in the crook of his muscled arm, sound asleep.
“You got him to sleep so fast.” Rebekah shook her head. “I cannot do that.”
“It is just the gift of being an oncle.” He pushed the door shut and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Katie is giving my bruder-in-law a hand in the kitchen making dinner. Seems you aren’t quite up to snuff yet, are you?”
“No. No snuff.”
Peter bent and plopped Lil’ Bit, who somehow got himself wrapped tightly in a quilt, into his cradle. Her bopplin simply sighed and adjusted ever so slightly, but miraculously stayed asleep.
“We brought him that quilt as a welcome to the world gift. Handmade by the Mennonite women of Old Amarillo, Texas.” Peter shrugged and squatted next to the cradle. “I reckon they must have sewed some sleeping powders into it or something.”
Rebekah’s heart sank again. “Danki, Peter. But I did not know you were coming, so I did not prepare a gift for bopplin Ruth.”
“We did not come for gifts, Sis, you should know that.” Peter traced his finger along the smooth rim of the cradle and studied its craftsmanship. “This is a fine cradle.”
“Samuel made it.” Rebekah looked down at her bopplin sohn. Her soul filled with love and heartbreak, all at once. It was as confusing an emotion as anything else swimming around in her head. “Every time I put Lil’ Bit into it, he just screams.”
Peter chuckled. “No worries. He was just waiting for his Oncle Peter to get here. He will settle now.”
Tears streamed down her face without warning and her lower lip quivered, but she was not sure why. She bit into it to still it.
Peter sat beside her. “You were probably too young to remember, but we had an Oncle Dan with us on the wagon train where we were attacked by Indians. He loved you so, never put you down. He was my favorite relation.” Peter nudged his sister. “And Lil’ Bit looks just like him.”
Rebekah hiccupped and leaned into his shoulder.
He put his arm around her. “There now, Sis. Oncle Dan was a handsome fellow. No need to cry.”
But cry she did. She could not even fully appreciate Peter’s ribbing. Instead of laughing and rejoicing that her brother was here with her, telling her jokes, sob after sob roiled out without warning.
Peter held his sister close. “It’s oll recht, Sis. These bopplin blues will pass.”
“Bopplin blues?”
“Ja. Feeling down after the baby comes. Happens to lots of women. Our ma—” He stopped short. “You know what I mean, no offense to Elnora. But our ma, she had the bopplin blues terribly after you were born. Felt like she could not feed you, could not care for you, nothing. She was not herself at all, I remember.”
Something in Rebekah’s soul, deep down and almost unreachable, stirred. “Ma had this, too?”
Peter nodded. “She did. I remember her crying herself to sleep at night and refusing to leave the bed in the morning. Said her body ached, her heart hurt, and she felt like a no-account mother. One time…” Peter let his words trail off.
“One time what?” Rebekah dabbed at her cheeks with the back of her hand.
He dropped his voice low. “One time, she even said it out loud. ‘I bet there’s another mother out there who could mother this baby better than me.’”
Rebekah sat in stunned silence.
“Who knew that would be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Another mother did mother you. I wouldn’t say better, though. Just different.”
Rebekah sniffled. “What was Ma like?” She forced her shoulders to go back down to their normal position, not stay hunched up around her ears. “I do not remember her at all.”
“She was quiet. Calm. But you were a very, very hard birth, Rebekah. I don’t know how having you did not kill her.” Peter looked at her with sad eyes. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
“Please, tell me. Mine was a hard birth, too.”
Peter patted his sister and stood up. “Well, they claimed it was a miracle that either of you two survived. But the birth made a real mess of her body. She bled for a long time and the doc said she wouldn’t be able to have any more babies.” He strode over to the window. “That saddened me because I wanted lots of brothers and sisters to play with.”
“And torment,” Rebekah whispered. She flickered a smile at her brother.
“See? You understand me so well.” He pushed up the glass and a cool breeze filled the room. It smelled sweet. Like a tulip tree in full bloom.
“Long story short, Ma never really recovered.” He looked at Rebekah, hard. “But don’t make no mistake. She loved you with all the fierceness of a mama bear. Nobody, not even me, could love you more than Ma did.”
Rebekah felt the blood drain from her face. “Mater bear?”
“Yes. And everybody knows how protective they are of their cubs.”
