An Amish Family Reunion Page 20

  “Or it could mean it doesn’t take long to read a twenty-five-page story. But I’m happy that the right people will at least be evaluating it.” Eli leaned back and stretched out his long legs. “Now this next stage will probably take a while, especially since neither of us has an e-mail account. Riehl and Son Swine and Beef has a phone line, but we didn’t put it in the letter.”

  Phoebe lowered her head and peered from under her lashes, using every dramatic gesture she knew. “Don’t worry about that. I supplied Miss Heather Duncan with both a phone number and an e-mail address.”

  “And just how did you manage that?” His excitement seemed to slip a notch.

  “I wrote to her and provided our next door neighbor’s phone number. Mrs. Lee doesn’t mind getting messages to us. Then I could return the editor’s call as soon as possible.” Phoebe folded her hands primly on the table.

  “And the e-mail address? Did you use Mrs. Lee’s for that too?”

  “No, I used your friend’s e-mail—the woman who lives in Kidron. Since she kept copies of your story and my artwork, she would be able to resend anything that the publisher might need.”

  Eli scratched her head. “How did you know what it was?” His tone sounded a hair above accusatory.

  Phoebe’s confidence faltered. “It was on one of the papers in the file folder you gave me. I didn’t think she would mind since she’s been so helpful up till now.”

  Eli’s eyes turned round as an owl’s. “Did you contact Sarah and ask for permission?” Upon her shaking her head, he said in a low tone, “You shouldn’t have done that, Phoebe, not without securing permission first. She is Rose’s friend. I don’t know her that well and would prefer not to take advantage of her generosity.”

  Phoebe dropped her chin to her chest and focused on her skirt. “I’m sorry, Eli. I let my excitement carry me away. I wrote to Great Beginnings Publishing the same night I received their letter and mailed it the next day.”

  Eli tipped up her chin with a single finger. “You did mention to the editor we’re both Amish, didn’t you?”

  “No, I saw no need for that.” Phoebe fought back unbidden tears.

  “I think they should be fully aware of our situation and possible… limitations.” He sounded only patient and gentle. “But I shouldn’t work myself up about this. There’s probably little need to worry about imposing on Sarah.”

  “You’re not angry with me?” she asked. “Because I thought we could go to supper at that restaurant you liked to celebrate the good news. They have such good food. Plus, my parents are busy at my aunt and uncle’s house since my cousin is visiting from out of town. Oh, I do want you to meet Matthew while he’s here, but tonight I’d—” Phoebe halted mid-sentence, realizing she was running on like a magpie.

  “Whew! Are you making up for lost time during your silent years?” He threw his head back and laughed. “No, I’m not mad at you, sweet peach. But in the future, let’s remember to consult each other before making big decisions, okay?”

  “Agreed. I’ll treat you to supper to rectify my misjudgment.”

  Eli ran his fingertips lightly down her cheek, as tender as the brush of a feather. “What a gracious offer, but I must decline. I need to go home early. How about a celebratory ice-cream cone instead? My treat, as a gentleman doesn’t allow a lady to pay.” He winked with great exaggeration.

  Phoebe’s breath caught in her throat from his touch. “All right, ice cream it is. Shall I follow you to the shop in my pony cart?”

  “No, ride with me in my buggy, and I’ll bring you back here afterward.” He lifted her chin a second time. “I’m happy about the news. Make no mistake about that. We’re on our way, Miss Miller. There’ll be no stopping us now.” He hesitated briefly, and then he leaned over and brushed her lips with a kiss.

  The kiss left her speechless. They were in a public library for one thing. And a kiss didn’t reflect a business partnership. It spoke of a relationship she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

  If someone would have asked her the next day what flavor of ice cream she had eaten or what stimulating topics they discussed on the ride to the shop, Phoebe couldn’t have answered. Her mind swam with more ideas than migratory salmon facing their trek upstream in the wildest rapids.

  The following day, when Phoebe wasn’t dwelling on Eli and his spur-of-the-moment kisses, she was debating when and what she would tell her parents. Thus far she hadn’t mentioned the letter from the publisher. She was usually the one to fetch mail from their roadside box, and the day of the letter’s arrival had been no exception. She’d tucked it into her apron pocket as though it were a deep, dark secret, even though she’d already told her parents of their plan to submit the story. But she felt better if few people knew the status of their project, as least for now. Rejection could come any day. And licking wounds might prove easier without tons of questions or commiserations from well-intentioned loved ones.

  Eli had been displeased she hadn’t been up-front with the editor. And he also felt she’d overstepped her bounds with Sarah of Kidron. So Phoebe didn’t wish to also anger her parents by being secretive. After all, Mrs. Lee could send for her at any time to return a phone call. Or she might need to arrange a trip to Kidron to work on additional artwork or make changes to illustrations already submitted.

  But in the meantime, she needed to finish picking the blackberries before scratches completely covered her forearms and face. Hannah planned to bake a cobbler with the last of the fresh berries. Phoebe stepped back from the prickly briars to gauge the sun. Both its position over the livestock barn and her rumbling stomach signaled it was almost suppertime. She quickly topped off her bucket with a few more easy-to-reach fruit and headed toward the house, swinging her pail like a nursery rhyme character. Once she reached the kitchen, she found her mother packing food into a hamper while her father filled a jug with just-brewed tea.

  “There you are,” said Hannah. “I thought you’d picked your way up to Orrville, you’ve been gone so long.”

  “I did as much thinking as picking, and it slowed me down.” Phoebe washed her hands and then dumped the berries into a colander to rinse and sort. The faucet blast sprayed the front of her dress and face.

  “That thinking stuff is hard work,” said her dad. “I tried it once or twice myself and barely got my chores done that day.” He tugged on one of her kapp ribbons.

  Hannah chuckled. “Your father’s in a good mood today. He just delivered the final load of spelt to the grain elevator and earned a decent price.” She set a tray of warm cornbread atop the hamper of fried chicken.

  “Now that we’re rich, I’m ready to take my family on vacation to any exotic locale they choose, providing it’s still in Holmes County.” He snapped his suspenders like a teenager. “How ’bout the flea market in Berlin?”

  “You had better get bragging out of your system now. You know how your brother feels about prideful talk, even if it is in jest.” Hannah perched one hand on her hip.

  Phoebe wheeled around from the sink. “We’re going to Uncle Simon’s again for supper?” she asked, drying her hands on a towel.

  Hannah turned from her boastful husband to her clueless daughter. “Jah, we are. I usually don’t use a hamper to carry food to the table. I fried the chicken and cornbread, while your aunt made the potato salad, coleslaw, and baked pies. We’ll eat outdoors in the shade. Kitchens are too hot this time of year to sit around in.”

  Phoebe smiled weakly. “I thought maybe you were carrying supper to our own picnic table under the willow.” She slouched with disappointment.

  “You will not faint if forced to be sociable, Miss Hermit. I thought you enjoyed the company of Martha Miller and her little ones.”

  “I do, mamm, very much, but I had something to discuss with you and daed—something I don’t want to talk about in front of every other Miller.”

  “I see,” said Hannah. Then she hollered over her shoulder, “Ben, we’re ready to go. Come down right now.�
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  Seth reached for a jar of balm from the windowsill, which served as an excellent mosquito repellent. “You’re in luck, daughter, because we’re walking to Simon and Julia’s. It’s too nice an evening to hitch up the buggy to go next door. We’ll take the back path around the duck pond and through the bog.” He hefted the hamper brimming with chicken. “So you’ll have plenty of time to bare your soul.” He opened the door with a flourish.

  Phoebe lifted her shawl from the peg and grabbed her water bottle. Uncle Simon and Aunt Julia might live next door, but the back path was at least a mile long. Ben suddenly appeared right behind her. He was fully dressed, but water still dripped from his wet hair. Apparently he’d waited for the last minute to take his shower. She grabbed the pan of cornbread to carry as the foursome trooped out the door.

  As soon as Ben had wandered sufficiently ahead of them, Phoebe broached the subject. “I heard from a publisher about our children’s book idea. Miss Duncan, the head editor, said she liked Eli’s story and my illustrations. Now it’s up to her bosses if the book will get published or not.”

  Other than the caws of crows and the incessant drone of insects from surrounding shrubs, not a sound could be heard as they strolled along the trail. Her parents remained silent for so long, she thought perhaps neither heard a word. Finally, Hannah spoke. “That’s good news. You and Eli must be quite pleased.”

  “I still think you should discuss this with the bishop,” groused her father. “Tonight would be a fine opportunity to run this scheme by your uncle.”

  Phoebe paused almost as long as they had before replying. “Okay, if you think I should. I also wanted you to know I gave the publisher Mrs. Lee’s phone number in case they need to speak to me.” She swatted at a deerfly, seemingly unaffected by the bug balm.

  “Phones are permitted only for emergencies, not to advance your little hobby.” Seth didn’t hide his irritation.

  “The bishop allows plenty of folks to use phones for business, as long as the phone isn’t inside their house.”

  “But you haven’t asked permission of anyone, have you, Phoebe? Thus far, you and Eli have operated solely by your own counsel.”

  She swallowed hard, deciding not to mention the possibility of working in Kidron on a computer. “I’ll talk to Uncle Simon tonight after supper, and if he advises, I’ll speak to the bishop after Sunday’s service.”

  “All right, then,” said Seth, followed by another grunt.

  “I don’t know why you’re so against the idea, daed. We only want to help little children with stories that contain a moral lesson. This is a Christian publisher who might be interested in our books.”

  “Books?” he asked, halting on the path. “As in more than one?”

  Phoebe almost ran into his backside. “Probably only one unless they clamor for more, which is unlikely.”

  Seth might have debated the topic further, but Ben interrupted. “Look there! That red-tailed hawk is carrying a rabbit in its mouth.” As the four Millers watched grimly, the rabbit slipped from the hawk’s talons into the shallow water of the pond. After a splash, they heard it scamper to safety in the tall reeds.

  “Oh, good,” murmured Hannah. “I know hawks must eat too and bunnies wreak havoc in my garden, but I’d rather not witness survival of the fittest firsthand.”

  Soon Uncle Simon’s barn loomed into view and Phoebe’s appetite rose in leaps and bounds. “Aunt Julia is carrying out the food. We’re just in time.”

  Ahead, Henry and Matthew carried benches and extra chairs to the long tables that had been set up in the shade. Blue-checked cloths covered the tables, while stacks of plates and bowls waited for hungry diners. A ceramic frog kept a pile of paper napkins from blowing away.

  When Hannah joined Aunt Julia at the table with her hamper of fried chicken, Phoebe headed to the tall oak where Martha was pushing little Noah in the tire swing. Martha greeted her with a pleasant smile and pointed to the baby carrier near the tree trunk. “Finally asleep,” she said. “That child has squalled all day.”

  Phoebe crept closer to peer into the carrier. Pink-faced Mary napped with the beatific expression of an angel. While Martha pushed her son in the tire, Phoebe watched the infant sleep, utterly content. Babies were such magical creatures—true gifts from God. But Phoebe’s hunger pangs soon became downright distracting.

  When Aunt Julia finally rang the farm bell, everyone scurried to eat. After their silent prayer, Phoebe noticed no one sat at the head of the table. “Where’s Uncle Simon?” she asked, accepting the bowl of coleslaw from her cousin Henry.

  “Good question,” said Julia. “He went to town on district business hours ago, but I expected him home long before this.”

  Seth’s eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “Would you like me to look for him?”

  “I wouldn’t even know which direction to send you. Let’s be patient. He probably started jawing and lost track of time. But there’s no reason to hold up supper any longer. Folks are hungry, so let’s dig in. I’ll reheat his plate later.”

  “That’s assuming there’s anything left.” Matthew took three pieces of chicken and was reaching for a fourth when Martha placed a hand discreetly on his arm.

  Phoebe relaxed and began eating with full enjoyment. There might be no opportunity tonight for a heart-to-heart chat with her uncle.

  And God, in His mysterious plan for our lives, did circumvent the dreaded conversation, but not for any reason she would have chosen. Uncle Simon returned home just as the apple pies were being sliced and handed around the table. He lumbered with weariness, looking more forlorn than Phoebe could ever recall. As Henry led off the horse and buggy, Simon washed up at the old-fashioned hand pump in the yard, usually used for filling watering cans for the garden. He approached the family with a solemn demeanor.

  Julia clutched her throat as Simon slumped into a chair. “What is it? Has there been an accident?”

  “No, no accident, fraa,” he said. Silently, Hannah filled his glass with iced tea. “The bishop heard from one of Robert Riehl’s daughters,” continued Simon. “Bob has been taken to the Canton hospital by ambulance. Apparently his son found him in the barn, not breathing. Eli resuscitated him and started his heart beating again.” Simon lifted his chin high. “He read about how to do it in some book—can you believe it? The ambulance driver said it looked like a heart attack and that young Eli saved his life.” Simon shook his head and took a long swallow of tea. “Read it in a book,” he repeated. “Doesn’t that beat all?”

  Everyone at the table started chattering with theories and conjectures…except for Phoebe. She sat looking as though she might faint, and it had nothing to do with having to be sociable.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Winesburg—The Byler Dairy Farm

  Yoo-hoo, Leah.” A musical voice wafted through the kitchen window. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  It took Leah a long moment to match a name to the voice, during which time she frowned with annoyance. She was up to her eyelashes in flour, sugar, and shortening. There wasn’t a bit of air circulating through the open windows, her overly snug dress was glued to her back with perspiration, and she hadn’t a clue where her mother-in-law was. Then the identity of the cheery visitor hit her like a freight train—a sole passenger car and a red caboose, to be exact. April Lambright—her Mennonite friend and former business partner—and as it turned out, her partner in crime. Who knew running a charming diner for locals serving only breakfast and lunch would land them in so much hot water with the IRS and the Ohio Department of Taxation? Leah dropped her mixing spoon and ran out the door. “Stop peeping into my kitchen, missy, before I send for the sheriff!”

  April stepped back from the window and smiled gloriously. “But isn’t that exactly how you and I met?”

  Leah remembered the day she spotted the dilapidated train cars. She’d nearly broken her neck trying to view the remodel work going on inside. The two friends hugged hard enough to leave both brea
thless and teary-eyed. “It’s good to see you in person, instead of corresponding by notes passed back and forth through Tom.” Although Leah still supplied the restaurant with pies, April’s husband picked them up on his way home from work. The women had seldom seen each other since Leah had sold her share of the partnership to April’s sister, May. Leah pulled back suddenly. “What day is it? Did you close April’s Home Cooking just to pay a social call?”

  “No, I closed the diner today for other reasons. But do you expect me to tell the story standing here on the porch?”

  “I have a pot of coffee still warm. Come inside and take a load off.”

  April followed Leah into a kitchen that certainly looked to be in the throes of baking day. “What happened? Did a storm touch down at the Bylers’ that missed the rest of the county?” She peered around the room, wide-eyed.

  “Very funny. Now you see what it takes to create my masterpieces.”

  “That’s why I’ll stick with Sara Lee.”

  Leah looked around the room with an objective eye. The Byler kitchen was huge, yet some part of pie making covered every available inch of the flat surfaces. Bowls of fresh fruit and jars of canned; open bags of flour, sugar, cornmeal, and spelt; tubs of shortening, butter, and whipping cream; and spices, nuts, and spilled milk littered her work area, while a fine haze of flour hung in the humid air. She seldom baked in such disorder. “Ach, this is truly awful. I was so busy I hadn’t noticed.” She slumped into a chair. “I’m way behind on my pie orders.” Weariness punctuated each one of her words.

  “Never fear, April is here! And I can stay the whole day. I would love to give you a hand.”

  “Danki. You’ve been sent by the angels.”

  “We’ll see if that’s your opinion by the end of the day. But first, we’ll have that cup of coffee while I tell you my news.” April grabbed the pot and two mugs from the dish drainer. “I wanted you to be first to hear that May and I have sold the diner. We signed the final papers yesterday. It’s closed for a few days, but the new owners plan to reopen by the weekend.” She hesitated, allowing time for a reaction.