Christmas in Sugarcreek by Shelley Shepard Gray

the dish from the five-year-old’s small, chubby hands. “Sorry,” he muttered to her.
    A shy one, Maggie turned away and simply reached for another plate.
    “You’ve outdone yourself tonight, Irene,” Mrs. Allen said. “Roast chicken, potatoes, peas and carrots, cornbread, and cranberry salad! It’s a feast.”
    “You brought the chocolate-peppermint cake and the cranberry Jello-O and pear salad. Don’t forget that, Barb.”
    As food continued to get passed and compliments abounded, Ben tried to remember if he’d ever had such a big meal. If he’d ever been a part of such a joyous, happy group.
    He didn’t know who he was trying to kid. Of course he hadn’t. Dinners at his house—when there had been dinner—had involved silence and the barest of meals. They hadn’t had much money for a bountiful table.
    When everyone had finally been served, Mr. Graber said, “Let us give thanks for all our blessings.”
    As silence filled the air, Ben bowed his head and closed his eyes and prayed. Of course, there wasn’t enough time for him to count all his recent blessings. He’d have to visit with the Lord late that night when he had all the time in the world.
    But still, he thanked the Lord for the meal and the hands that made it, and of course, for the Grabers. When he lifted his head, he felt Judith’s gaze on him.
    “What?” he asked.
    She shook her head. “Nothing. Please enjoy the meal.”
    He would’ve been more self-conscious if he’d felt that more of the people were paying attention to him. But in truth, no one really was. Clara and Tim were speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Graber about Christmas preparations, while Mrs. Allen was laughing with Ty and Anson about a sled crash they’d recently had.
    Toby was showing Caleb a cut on his finger, and Judith was carefully cutting her chicken.
    “You like?”
    To his surprise, it seemed little Maggie was the only person interested in him. “Do I like what?”
    She pointed to her pile of peas and carrots. “These.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
    Making him laugh. “ Jah. You don’t?”
    After covertly glancing her mother’s way, she shook her head. “Nee,” she whispered. Like she was sharing the most daring of secrets.
    Feeling slightly silly, he said the thing he was supposed to say. Well, what he thought he was supposed to say, anyway. “You should like them. Vegetables make you stronger.”
    “Like you?” She pointed to his arm—to his bicep—with wide eyes. “You’re mighty big.”
    To his astonishment, he found his cheeks turning hot. How sad was that? He was that unused to even the smallest of praise. “ Jah, like me.”
    “You’re gonna have to lift a mountain of peas to look like Ben,” Anson said. “His arms are huge. Way bigger than Caleb’s.”
    Caleb glared at his little brother. “Ben’s older. Of course his arms are gonna be bigger.”
    Ty Allen joined in. “Do you lift weights?”
    One by one, all the occupants looked at him. Right on cue, he felt his cheeks heat. “No,” he said. “When I was with my aunt, I, uh, farmed a lot. It was hard work.”
    To Ben’s relief, Tim leaned close to his wife and flexed his arm playfully. “See, Clara? You chose well. Us farmers are a hardy lot.”
    “You’re going to need those muscles to carry around twins,” Mr. Graber quipped.
    “Clara thinks I’ll do. Right, wife?”
    Laughter erupted around the table as Clara teased him right back. Now that the focus was off him again, Ben leaned back in his chair.
    Maybe he should have never agreed to take Judith home. He was poor company, that was for sure. Of course, if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to see she got home safe . . . or to enjoy the delicious meal.
    “You’re doing good,” Judith said, leaning his way. “Please don’t worry.”
    Embarrassed, he was about to tell her that he was definitely not worried. That he didn’t need her support . . . but when he looked into her eyes, he knew he wasn’t