An Amish Family Reunion Page 27

  Phoebe did the same, but somehow she had managed to stay much cleaner. “I’m glad to help, but I thought Aunt Julia was serving hamburgers, hot dogs, and bratwursts at the weekend reunion. Why do we need all of these?” She didn’t mention the cakes, cookies, and muffins they planned to bake tomorrow.

  Hannah called Ben inside to carry their pans to the basement refrigerator before answering Phoebe’s question. “Simon and Henry will grill for the main meal, but folks are arriving early Saturday and staying all day. Many who live far will spend the night and attend preaching on Sunday morning. Some will sleep here and others at the Hostetlers’. You might eat like a chickadee, but that’s not commonplace in our district.” She laughed with her usual abandon. “Folks will eat several times on Saturday and Sunday, beside us Millers, who will still be cleaning up come Monday.”

  “Aren’t families bringing side dishes to share?”

  “You know they will. Don’t worry, dear girl. If too much food is left over, we can always send some home with guests.”

  “Maybe I could deliver some to the Riehls, in case they don’t show up.”

  “They have been invited. Haven’t you heard from Eli?”

  “Not yet, although he probably just got my note of apology. I included a separate invitation to the reunion picnic, so he can see Matthew and Martha if for no other reason.”

  “I’m sure he’ll come if he’s able.” Hannah handed the last pan of stuffed cabbages to Ben, who waited at the top of the stairs.

  “Since we finished cooking and we’re having leftover soup for supper, would you mind if I took the buggy to the library? There’s plenty of daylight left.”

  Hannah’s face filled with pity. “I know it’s Wednesday, but I doubt Eli will show up. He has so many responsibilities on the farm—”

  “That’s not why I’m going. Mrs. Carter is working today, and I have an idea I’d like to discuss with her, as long as I can still have one afternoon in town a week.”

  “I’ll mention it to your daed, but I think it’ll be fine.” Hannah’s expression brightened considerably.

  Within ten minutes Phoebe had changed her dress and kapp and was headed to Winesburg in the open buggy. No more hiding in the high pasture with the sheep and her sketch pads. She’d discovered she liked people more than she realized, children in particular. And even if she never published a single artistic creation, she didn’t want to live like a scared rabbit anymore.

  Worry is the handiwork of the devil. Those who have faith walk boldly.

  She took her first bold step across the library threshold. “Hello, Mrs. Carter,” she greeted. “How have you been?”

  The bespectacled librarian’s head bobbed up. “Fine, and you, Miss Miller? Where is your friend Eli? Any news yet on the book?” Once Phoebe had broken the conversation ice, the woman’s questions flowed like a river.

  “I’m well, thank you. Eli is tied up with chores. I sent the book proposal to the list of publishers we compiled. And I’ve heard back from one that it’s under consideration.”

  Mrs. Carter clapped her hands, causing quite a racket considering their surroundings. “That’s wonderful news—a step in the right direction.”

  Phoebe nodded in agreement. “The other day I sent the editor a letter explaining that I’m Amish.” She felt a blush climb up her neck into her face. “I neglected to mention that in my proposal. I was afraid they wouldn’t consider us.”

  “I would think that would add credibility to your farm tale.”

  “Maybe so. And Eli wanted no false pretenses about our ability to market the book on the Internet, besides our limited access to telephones and computers for revisions or e-mails. It might make a difference whether they want to publish the book.”

  “If it does, it would be their loss.”

  “Thank you.” Phoebe wiped her sweating palms down her skirt and glanced around at the other patrons. “Actually, I had another reason for visiting today.”

  The librarian rose to her feet, looking puzzled. “Let’s talk at a table. I need a break away from this desk anyway.”

  Once they sat down at the same table she’d shared with Eli, Phoebe asked the questions she rehearsed on the ride to town. “Do you still have that story time I saw advertised on a flyer? If so, do you ever let other people read to the children? And do you think I could be a reader sometime?”

  Mrs. Carter leaned back in her chair. “Goodness, you said more in one mouthful than everything I’ve heard you say thus far.”

  Phoebe ducked her head. “I’m trying to break out of my shyness.”

  “Good progress so far. And to answer your questions—yes, we still have story hour on Friday mornings. I would love to find a volunteer to read to the kids. With budget cutbacks, I lost my part-time helper. So if you read the stories, I could use the time to shelve books or request new releases from the main branch.” She drew a small notebook from her pocket. “Could your parents spare you Friday mornings instead of Wednesday afternoons?”

  “Yes. I know my mother won’t mind giving me a morning off. I’ll get up early for chores before I leave. She wants me to mingle more with other people.” Phoebe glanced at the two young Amish men who’d walked through the door, momentarily stopping her heart. Unfortunately, neither had long silky blond hair hanging in his eyes. She refocused on Mrs. Carter. “I love little kids and I love stories, so I know I would enjoy doing the story hour.”

  The librarian stuck out a hand to shake. “Write your name, address, and an emergency phone number in my book. If you can’t come some morning, don’t worry. I’ll always be here to take over, but if you’re agreeable, be here by ten o’clock each Friday.”

  Phoebe pumped hands energetically, something Amish young women seldom did. Then she remembered the big party in three days. “May I start next week instead? This Friday I must help set up for the Miller family reunion to celebrate my cousins’ visit from New York.”

  “That will be fine. Could you bring your tablet of drawings too? I know the children would enjoy seeing your pictures. Most of them love to color.”

  Phoebe momentarily froze before responding. Show her artwork, her personal creations to a group of youngsters and their mothers? What if the Englischers started asking questions? What if they found fault with her liberal use of color for clouds, landscapes, and animals? What if they thought art a superficial pastime for an Amish gal to pursue?

  With a jerk of her shoulders, similar to old Miss Bess up in Uncle Simon’s high pasture, she shook off her doubts and insecurities. “I’d be happy to bring my sketch pads for whatever value they might have during story time.”

  “Wonderful! You’ll never know if there are budding artists in the group who might be encouraged.”

  “Will you select the books for me?”

  “You could sort through the stacks right now if you like.”

  Phoebe glanced at the chair once occupied by her former best friend—the man who made her feel it was okay to be different, who told her she was both talented and pretty—and felt an overpowering sting of sorrow. What if no one ever felt that way about her again?

  Mrs. Carter was watching her. Before she regretted taking on a volunteer who might be a tad off-kilter, Phoebe blurted out, “I’m sorry. I just really miss Eli. We had a falling-out, and I’ll probably never see him again. So if you would pick out the first books, I’d be grateful.”

  Where is all this true confession coming from? It is so…English.

  Mrs. Carter offered a maternal smile. “No problem. I’ll select the stories to start you off. But I wouldn’t worry about never seeing Eli again—we live in a very small town.” She laughed and, surprisingly, so did Phoebe.

  “You’re right about that. See you in nine days. And thank you.”

  All the way home Phoebe planned and schemed. She wouldn’t leave life up to chance regardless how small Winesburg was. She would take the Riehl family a basket of leftover food after the last person had gone through the buffet line.
She would ask—no, beg—him to take her back as a friend. And she would tell him she would love to attend social events in the future.

  He didn’t have to stay forever.

  He could decide at any time she wasn’t worth the trouble.

  But in the meantime she planned to enjoy herself.

  This is the day the Lord has made. And we haven’t been promised any others. God’s plan for her would unfold whether she were hiding behind a rock or attempting the impossible.

  “Git up there.” Phoebe slapped the reins over the mare’s back. “I need to bake something special to take to the Riehls,” she said to the horse. Cousin Leah believed the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. If that was true, it was time for the Phoebe Miller lemon cake with lemon zest icing—her one and only specialty. And she prayed that what had worked for Leah would work for her.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Winesburg—Last Saturday of August

  Thank You, Lord!” Julia’s exclamation guaranteed that none of the Millers still slept on the long-waited day of the reunion. She didn’t need a high-paid, overdressed weatherman to tell her there would be no rain today. The sky was a clear, infinite shade of blue—as though you were looking into heaven itself. A few lacy clouds, harmless and benign, scudded by on the breeze.

  Guests would soon start arriving by the buggy load, bringing food and drinks and a desire to socialize, no matter what the weather. But a rainy day forced women to cluster on porches and inside the house, while men congregated in barns and outbuildings. Still doable—country folks always found a way around bad weather—but nowhere near as enjoyable. And a house would stay cleaner with the majority of people outdoors. Groups of chairs had been set up in the shade for conversation. Paths into the cool dark woods provided opportunities for courting couples to find privacy. A clear, spring-fed pond for swimming or dangling one’s feet beckoned, while horseshoe pits and volleyball awaited the athletically inclined.

  Julia peered out the back window. Sure enough, Henry and Matthew were setting up the volleyball net, using a can of yellow spray paint in the short grass to mark the court’s boundary lines. Serious play called for serious attention to detail. She enjoyed seeing her sons involved in relaxation for a change. The two had huddled in deep discussion for the past month, deciding how to turn Henry’s save-the-horses project into a profitable enterprise. Those conversations made Simon a happy man. Lately, he’d started dropping not-so-subtle hints, such as “Have you noticed the price of oats at the elevator lately?” Or, “How can anyone charge six dollars for a box of wood shavings? The furniture makers would just throw them out if not used for bedding material.” And, “Having a horse lover like Lily Davis in the family sure is a blessing. Otherwise, the bills from any other vet would have put us in the poorhouse long ago.”

  Julia chuckled to herself. There was no such thing as an Amish poorhouse, but her ehemann loved that English term just the same.

  “Is everything all right?”

  The female voice from over her shoulder didn’t startle Julia the way it should have. She’d been expecting someone to interrupt her few minutes of peace and solitude in the kitchen, but she hadn’t expected her daughter-in-law. Martha had stayed as elusive as a rabbit in a forest loaded with coyotes.

  “Yes, child, everything is right as rain. Just enjoying a cup of coffee before the busy day begins.”

  Martha walked to the cupboard for a mug. “You haven’t had a moment to yourself since Matthew and I arrived. What with Emma coming with her boys and Leah here as often as not, your house has been busier than the Greyhound station in Cleveland.” She filled her cup so high she had to bend low to sip it down.

  Julia waited until Martha straightened and then looked her in the eye. “Other than we could have used another bathroom, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I loved having everyone here these past weeks. I wish Emma, and especially you and Matthew, lived closer.” She watched the twenty-four-year-old face crumple with misery. Martha’s large, luminous eyes filled with tears that quickly overflowed and streamed down her face.

  She set down the mug and ran to Julia, throwing her arms around her waist. “I’m so sorry, mamm Miller. I owe you a big apology. I’ve been horrible since I arrived.” She buried her face into Julia’s shoulder, sobbing like a child.

  Mamm Miller? She could only remember one other time Martha referred to her as such, and that had been on her wedding day. She’d always used her given name.

  “What is it, dear? What’s bothering you?” Julia had a good idea what it was about, but she decided to let this rose unfold on its own.

  “I’ve taken the kinner across the street every chance I got, almost every day. You’ve hardly spent any time at all with Mary and Noah.” Her face remained obscured while the sobbing continued unchecked.

  “Understandable, I suppose. The Hostetlers are your family, Martha. Your mamm loves her kinskinner.” Julia allowed the charitable side of her nature to surface.

  “Jah, that’s true, but that’s not the whole reason I’m never here.” Martha pulled back and brought up her apron to dab and hide her face. “I hate living in New York. I’m lonely when Matthew’s gone all week at that fancy horse stable. And I’m frightened that something will happen to Mary and Noah while he’s gone that I won’t know how to handle. Every weekend when he comes home we’re so busy running errands in town, or doing chores around the house, or socializing with our new district that we have no time for each other. Before I can blink twice, it’s six o’clock Monday morning and he’s headed back to work.” She stepped away from Julia and sank into a chair. “I want to move back to Ohio so much.”

  Julia glanced out the window for the whereabouts of her sons. They were both still working in the yard, building up a pile of branches for the evening bonfire and marshmallow roast. Matthew wouldn’t appreciate his fraa pouring out her heart to his mamm. “Have you discussed this with him? Let him know how you feel?”

  “Many times. He insists we must stay where the pay is better to save money for a down payment on a farm of our own. Land ain’t getting any cheaper or more plentiful,” she mimed in a masculine tone of voice. She sat down at the table and slumped forward, placing her forehead on the hard wood surface. “I’d rather live in a chicken coop at my parents’ or in one of yours than return to New York. Folks in our district are nice enough—it’s not that—but they’re not family and we’re not home.” The young woman began to cry again as though her heart would rend in half. Then, suddenly, she bolted upright, drying her face for a second time. “But I didn’t look for you this morning to pour out my troubles. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry I took my frustrations out on you just because I was angry with Matthew. We’ll be heading back to New York come Monday, and I’ve deprived you of your chance to spend time with your kinskinner. That was selfish and I’m ashamed of myself.” She met and held Julia’s gaze.

  Julia heard the sound of little feet on the steps, signaling they soon would be interrupted. Shuffling to where the younger woman sat, she placed a hand on her shoulder. “I understand and forgive you, but I wouldn’t give up hope yet. I know Simon had a heart-to-heart with Matthew a short time ago. He might have needed time alone to think matters through.”

  Martha’s face began to clear. It was easy to see why her son fell head over heels in love with the girl—she truly was pretty with a gentle heart, despite their recent friction. “He did? About what?” Hope curtailed the river of tears.

  “I don’t know exactly, only that he wanted to make sure both his sons had their priorities straight.”

  Jamie Davis and Noah Miller bounded into the room with typical childlike exuberance. “Go wash your face, Martha, and be strong. God will make this and all things right again. I’ll feed bowls of cereal to these two. We have a busy day ahead of us.” She smiled at her daughter-in-law, who immediately did as instructed.

  Soon the early bird buggies would arrive, mostly friends of Matthew’s to help set up tables in the barn a
nd take benches off the church wagon. Women would come to mix large batches of sun tea and lemonade, and carry the desserts and baked goods to where they would be eaten later. Her daughters would soon return from morning chores to organize keeping cold all the appropriate side dishes. But just for a few minutes, Julia scooped two bowls of oatmeal for her grandsons, and then she drew big thick hearts on the surface with Hershey’s syrup. Neither boy’s mother was present to witness Julia serving chocolate for breakfast. But after all…she was a grossmammi and planned to enjoy every single minute of it.

  Matthew spotted his wife in the sea of women moving like ants between the house and the main outbuilding. They were hauling foam plates, cups, and baskets of plasticware, along with bowls of fruit, chips, and whatever else didn’t need to be kept cold until mealtime. This would be the best chance he would have before her sisters and friends arrived to occupy every remaining minute with gossip or tales of their children’s exploits. With the speed of a determined man, he ran to cut in line just before she entered the building with a platter of sliced watermelon.

  “May I have a word with you, Martha?”

  Either the sun had blinded her or she was shocked by his appearance. She blinked several times and stared at her husband, gape-mouthed. “Jah, sure. Let me set this on the table.” When she returned a few moments later, her composure had not improved. “What is it? Is there something I can get for you?” She glanced nervously over her shoulder.

  “I’d like you to take a stroll with me.” He tucked his hands under his suspenders.

  “A stroll? It’s not yet noon, and I should help the other women prepare lunch.” She crossed her arms, uncrossed them, and then recrossed them as though she didn’t know what to do with her appendages.

  “Look around. There must be twenty ladies here, all trying to help my mamm. And here comes your mamm and sisters up the driveway now. I’d say my mother has more help than that kitchen can hold.”