Sarah's Christmas Miracle by Mary Ellis Page A

dinner rolls, and a bag of shriveled apples he’d bought at the outdoor market. He tossed the eggs and milk into the garbage bag without bothering to sniff, his stomach still churning from the previous onslaught. Then he scrubbed out the appliance’s interior with bleach water.
    Wouldn’t mamm be surprised to see me on my hands and knees, cleaning? Another thought struck him. Wouldn’t she be ashamed at how low I’ve sunk into despair?
    Being out of work and broke were states many men found themselves in at some point in life, but behaving woefully was another matter. Cal let days go by without bothering to shave, shower, or to put on clean clothes. A person without a job should have plenty of time to take care of himself and sweep the floor and dust his apartment.
    He rose to his feet, tied the garbage bag shut, and headed down the steps to the alley. After ridding his home of rotten food, he vowed to pull himself together. He had sunk just about as low as a man could go. Considering the food he’d last consumed, he would have to look up to see bottom.
    Pete had said things in the construction industry might turn around in the spring. Cal sure hoped that was true, because gazing in the mirror was becoming harder to do. Before climbing the stairs to his apartment, he remembered to check his mailbox in the front hallway. He unlocked the metal cubicle and pulled out flyers and a few bills. When one official-looking letter caught his eye, he lowered himself to the dusty steps to open the envelope. He was among the minority collecting unemployment benefits without access to a computer. The bureau mailed out his biweekly checks promptly; however, other communications were often delayed by processing. Cal scanned the sheet, hoping for an extension of benefits or an increase in the amount. Neither was forthcoming.
    Just when he thought life couldn’t get any worse, the devil stepped in to illustrate how foolishly he had been thinking. His benefits, barely adequate to pay rent and keep the utilities connected, were about to run out. He had exhausted his share of the pie designed to bridge the gap between his former job and the next.
    He should have looked harder for work.
    He should have shown up at the union hall regularly.
    Because as grim as his housing situation was, it sure beat living in a cardboard box under the Memorial Shoreway Bridge.



T WELVE

     
    S arah squirmed and fidgeted during the entire bus ride from Canton to Cleveland, unable to read her book or nap. She nibbled a sandwich mamm had packed, grateful for her foresight. And she had time to think long and hard about her mother, Mrs. Pratt, and Adam. An Amish girl was expected to marry, and if God was willing, bear children. If she possessed so many doubts now, maybe she wasn’t cut out for a woman’s noblest calling.
    As houses, factories, and endless commercial strips passed beyond her window, the one person she didn’t dwell on was Caleb Beachy.
    Best to leave meeting him in God’s hands.
    She couldn’t turn back now as the bus pulled into the Greyhound station’s parking lot. After retrieving her bag, she headed inside and found the snack bar, ticket counter, and ladies’ room in the airy terminal. Her grand adventure had begun. People waiting to board buses or looking for anticipated loved ones eyed her curiously as she gazed around the room. She doubted they saw many Amish folk in Cleveland, especially not a single woman traveling alone.
    A kind-looking woman at the information counter smiled as Sarah approached. “May I help you?” she asked, perusing her clothing. “Where did you come from, miss?”
    “Fredericksburg,” Sarah answered cheerily.
    “Virginia? I have a sister living in Richmond.”
    “No, Fredericksburg, Ohio.” Upon the woman’s perplexed expression, she added, “It’s a small town south of Wooster.”
    “I see, but actually I should be asking where you’re headed. Do you need to make a connection?”
    Sarah withdrew