“A rock?”
Ben held out his hand. “Get ready.”
Linda held her arms perpendicular from her body, as if she needed extra balance to catch a chocolate chip in her mouth. Ben gently tossed a chocolate chip about three feet into the air. Linda kept her gaze glued to the chocolate chip, bent her knees slightly, and caught the chip in her mouth. It pinged against her teeth and nearly bounced out, but she clamped her lips around it.
“Yes!” Ben yelled, as if he’d just run some world championship race.
“Woohoo,” Linda squealed. “That was amazing.”
Cathy stuck her head around the corner from the living room. “Is everything okay in here? Do you need my help?”
Ben couldn’t help but laugh. Cathy was just so nosy and so pushy. And so yellow.
“We’re fine,” Linda said. “We haven’t even put the cookies in the oven yet.”
The wrinkles deepened around Cathy’s eyes. “Okay then. I’m just three steps away if you have an emergency.” She pulled back but reappeared a second later. “Don’t eat the raw cookie dough. You’ll get Ebola.”
Linda pressed her lips together as if even the thought of eating raw cookie dough would never cross her mind. When Cathy went back into the living room, she glanced at Ben. “I suppose we should try to perfect our chocolate chip trick later. These cookies are much better with chocolate chips in them.”
He nodded. “There’s plenty of rocks outside we can use.”
She scrunched her lips together. “Not unless you want to break a tooth. Sounds like you had an interesting childhood. I’d like to hear about it sometime.”
“I’m sure you would.”
She poured the rest of the chocolate chips into the bowl. “What does it feel like to swallow a rock?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. I guess it passed right through me.”
She held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear it, unless there’s a possibility that rock is still rolling around in your stomach. That would make you a much more interesting person.”
“I’m not a very interesting person, even with an assortment of rocks in my gut.”
She looked at him as if he’d just said something outrageous. “Of course you’re an interesting person.”
His lips curled involuntarily. “I am not.”
“You’re interesting, just not obvious like other boys.”
“Obvious? I don’t know what you mean.”
“It takes time to get to know you. To understand you.”
“There’s nothing to understand. I’m just another Amish boy with a boring life.” He most certainly didn’t want Linda to truly understand him. She’d turn and run the other way as fast as she could, and try as he might, he couldn’t talk himself into wanting her out of his life, disagreeable and troublesome as she was.
Smiling, she took his spoon and stirred the chocolate chips into the dough. “That’s what you want people to think, but you’re not just any other Amish boy. You’re deep, like a treasure buried in a field.”
He snatched his spoon back. That dough was stiff. His arms were much stronger for stirring. “Sometimes you make no sense.”
“Ach, vell, there’s the side you show to the gmayna. The boy who doesn’t care about anything or anyone, the boy who gets into mischief with his friends. I don’t think that’s who you really are.”
Ben stabbed at the dough with his spoon, the panic rising inside him. “Why do you care?” He tried to sound flippant and disinterested, but he only managed to sound defensive.
She either didn’t notice his prickly tone or she ignored it. Laughing, she pried the spoon from his fingers. “Ben, Ben. The dough is already dead. You don’t have to kill it again.”
He cracked a smile. This was safer ground, and that was where he wanted to stay. “I was just trying to be a gute stirrer so you’d let me have a bathroom break.”
Linda rummaged through Esther’s drawers. “Here we go,” she said, holding up a tiny ice cream scoop.
Ben widened his eyes. “There’s ice cream?”
Linda giggled. “Nae. This is a cookie dough scoop so our cookies are uniform.”
“I’ve never cared about my cookies being the same size.”
She pretended to be shocked. “It’s gute one of us cares or these cookies would be a disaster.”
“I’m just as happy to eat the uncooked dough.”
Cathy’s voice carried all the way from the living room. “Don’t eat raw dough. You’ll get salmonella.”
Ben choked on his laughter when he tried to swallow it. Linda clapped a hand over her mouth. “Cathy has a lot of health problems,” she whispered, “but there’s nothing wrong with her hearing.” She pulled a cookie sheet from above the fridge and started making perfectly round balls of dough with the cookie scooper.
Ben watched her work, mesmerized by her long, thin fingers and her fluid movements as she turned lumps of dough into cookie balls. “You’re wonderful gute at that.”
“Years of baking.” She nudged him with her elbow. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable when I talked about buried treasure.”
“You didn’t,” he lied.
She smiled like she didn’t believe him. Of course she didn’t. She knew him too well already. “I understand you better than I did, and I’m surprised that I like you so much.”
Ben didn’t know whether to be offended at her surprise or overjoyed that she admitted to liking him. Or wary. Did she really like him, or was she just trying to be nice to a poor, misguided youth? He hadn’t known her long, but Linda didn’t seem like someone who was nice just to be nice. She was more plainspoken and hardheaded than that. So . . . she liked him? That was big news.
“There’s a whole treasure buried under there somewhere,” Linda said. “I’m curious.”
He shrugged, trying not to let her concern get to him. “It’s just a bunch of rocks.”
Amusement danced across her face. “Are you talking about your stomach now or your person?”
“Both.”
She glanced toward the living room, took a spoon from the drawer, and scooped a small glob of dough from the bowl. “Here,” she whispered. “Before Cathy sees you.” She raised the spoon to his lips. Never pulling his gaze from her face, he opened obediently and let her feed him. His senses reeled as if he’d been hit over the head with a two-by-four. How could something as simple as a spoonful of cookie dough be so unsettling? Esther fed Winnie all the time. Neither of them seemed to have a problem with it.
“What do you think?” Linda watched him expectantly.
What did he think? He thought he should probably get out of here before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “Ach, vell. I . . . I don’t know.”
Linda drew her brows together. “Isn’t it good?”
Ach. The cookie dough. What did he think about the cookie dough. He cleared his throat. “It’s wonderful gute. Do you think I’ll get Ebola?”
“Probably. But it will only make you more interesting.”
He chuckled to hide the fact that he felt so off-kilter. “Sick people are not interesting.”
Linda slid the cookie sheet into the oven and set the timer. “Only a few minutes now.”
She scooped more cookie dough onto another cookie sheet with her handy-dandy tool while Ben washed dishes and wiped the table. He even wiped the legs of Winnie’s highchair because they never got cleaned, and he ran a damp paper towel on the floor around the table. He wasn’t usually so tidy, but maybe today he felt like being helpful. And maybe he was hoping Linda would feed him some more cookie dough.
He glanced at her and swallowed hard. Or maybe he didn’t care if she did or not. Linda wasn’t his friend or anything. Wally and Simeon were the only true friends he had.
“I’m going to make you more tea while we’re waiting,” she said.
When the timer rang, Linda pulled the cookies out of the oven and set them on top of the stove. They smelled appeditlich, almost as good as her h
air.
Linda handed him a cup of tea and two cookies. “The tea will probably overpower the taste of the cookies. Maybe you should drink it first.”
Ben did as he was told, sipping his tea quickly so he could get to those cookies. The first bite melted in his mouth. “Soft,” he said. “I like them soft.”
“It was your gute stirring,” Linda said, pouring them both a glass of milk.
Ben laughed. “I like to think I was important to making these cookies, but you could have done it yourself.”
“I could not. They really are hard to stir, and you were very kind to stick with it.”
She was teasing, but Ben didn’t mind. Maybe he had helped her just a little.
Linda finished her third cookie and set down her empty glass. “I have something else for you.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “If it’s more essential oils, I’ll pass. I already smell like a candle store.”
“Maybe, but who doesn’t like a candle store? How’s the headache?”
“It’s gone, but I think it was the cookies.” Or maybe it was Linda. The minute she’d walked into the house, he’d forgotten all about the need to smoke.
Linda shook her head, always so sure of herself. “It was the oils.” She reached down into her canvas bag, pulled out a straw hat, and set it between them on the table.
Ben’s face got warm remembering what had happened to his last one. “You . . . you didn’t have to get me a new hat.”
She laughed and pulled his ruined hat out of her bag. The cap was flat like a pancake, and a black tire mark cut a diagonal path across the brim. “I felt so sorry about how this one died. Being run over by a truck is a horrible way to go.”
Ben rolled his eyes. He slid the new hat closer and pressed his fingers along the brim.
Linda tilted her head to one side so she could look him in the eye. “I know you don’t like to be laughed at, but it was funny how your hat blew off your head.”
“I guess it was. But you laughed at me in front of my friends.”
“Didn’t your friends think it was funny?”
Ben shrugged. “They made fun of me for snowshoeing.”
“Ach, vell, that’s just silly. They’ve obviously never tried it.” She pressed her lips together and giggled with her mouth closed. “And then Raccoon Girl ran over it.”
“Raccoon Girl?”
Linda’s lips formed into an O, as if she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “That was mean and judgmental. I’m sorry.”
“Who is Raccoon Girl?”
She turned her head, but looking away did nothing to hide her smile. “That girl driving the truck. Her eye makeup was so dark, she looked like a raccoon or someone with severe hay fever. I do have an essential oil blend for allergies.”
Ben cracked a smile. Zoe liked to layer on the makeup. “She does sort of look like a raccoon.”
“Or someone who is sick with the plague.” Linda grimaced. “I’m sorry. Raccoons are cute animals. She probably thinks she looks really gute.”
“She wants to shock people. She likes it when people look at her funny. I think she likes annoying her mom too.”
Linda’s smile faded, and she dipped her head and looked at her hands. “Now it sounds like we’re talking about someone besides Raccoon Girl.”
Ben pretended not to know what she meant. He just stared at his new hat, unable to thank her because of the thick wall of disapproval between them.
She gritted her teeth. “Ach. I’m being judgmental again. I blurt out what I’m thinking and usually end up offending somebody. I’m sorry.”
“You say ‘I’m sorry’ too much.”
Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “It’s important to admit to your mistakes. I’m not too proud to apologize.”
Ben straightened. “That’s not what I mean. If you tried to be considerate and hold your tongue more often, you wouldn’t have to apologize so much.” Her piercing, thoughtful look made him want to squirm, but he held his ground and stared right back at her.
“You’re right.”
He leaned closer to make sure he’d heard her correctly. “I’m right?”
She couldn’t stay somber for long. A grin played at her lips. “Well, partly right. I like to laugh, and people usually laugh with me. But with you, I rarely know what’s going to offend you until I say it. Sometimes I think things are funny that you won’t even smile at. So in a way, it’s your fault that I have to say ‘I’m sorry’ so often.”
He couldn’t stay mad at her, not when she had that playfully sweet glint in her eyes. He raised his hands as if stopping traffic. “My fault? Don’t put this on me.”
She propped her elbow on the table, rested her chin in her hand, and glued her gaze to his face. “Okay then. I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t want you to be offended because I’m not trying to offend you, and seeing as you don’t like me to say ‘I’m sorry,’ I’m not going to apologize.”
“Okay,” he said. What was it about Linda that made him uneasy and eager at the same time?
“Did you have fun with those Englisch kids on Saturday?”
He tensed. “You’re judging me again.”
“I’m not judging, just asking.”
“Of course it was fun,” he said, because what else did he want Linda to think?
“I’m froh it was fun. You just . . . you just . . .”
“What?”
“You seem so angry.”
Ben shifted in his chair. “I have fun with my friends. I’m mad at everybody else.”
He saw real concern in her eyes. “Why?”
Vell, if Linda couldn’t take the truth, she shouldn’t ask dumm questions. “Why do you ask so many questions?”
She curled her lips. “I’m curious.”
“My parents hate me.”
“And you’re mad at them for hating you?”
He leaned back and folded his arms. “At least you didn’t try to convince me that my parents don’t hate me.”
“Ach, I do disagree with you. I’m sure they don’t hate you, but if that’s what you believe, I would be foolish to try to talk you out of it, even though I think it’s silly.”
“You think a lot of things are silly. That doesn’t make you right.”
She shrugged. “I guess not. So you’re mad at your parents for hating you, and you want to make them feel as bad as you’re feeling. Is that right?”
She was too smart by half. “I guess so.”
“But when they feel bad, they make you feel worse, and then you want to make them feel even worse, and then they make you feel worse. It sounds like you’re going around in circles.”
He shook his head. “I have no idea what you just said.”
“I’m hoping you’ll just give up and agree with me.”
He smiled grudgingly. “I’ll agree with you if you promise to stop talking. My headache is coming back.”
Cathy sidled around the corner as if she’d been standing outside of the kitchen for ever so long. “Are you doing drugs? Because that’s sure to give you a headache.”
Linda had her back to Cathy. She drew her brows together and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
Now she was apologizing for other people. Ben stifled the urge to laugh at the expression on Linda’s face. Cathy was a busybody, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. He purposefully hadn’t given anybody a reason to think better of him. Of course Cathy thought he was doing drugs. His parents probably assumed that too, but he didn’t care what they thought of him. Their opinion of him was already so low, an ant couldn’t get all the way under it. He certainly wasn’t going to break his back trying to make them love him. It was wasted effort. They’d never see him as anything but a rebellious son who broke their hearts every day.
Ben’s gaze shifted to Linda. Did she assume he was doing drugs? What exactly did she think of him? Did she care about him or was he a project to her, like sweeping the floor or cleaning the toilet? He didn’t want to be on an
yone’s to-do list, even at the top. Things to do today: Feed the chickens, milk the cow, convince Ben Kiem to change his ways.
“Of course Ben isn’t doing drugs,” Linda said, so confidently that Ben wanted to give her a hug. Maybe she truly thought better of him, even though she’d already told him she thought he was stupid for smoking.
Cathy placed a hand on the table and stared into Ben’s eyes. “I guess you’re right. He doesn’t have that glassy stare, and he’s not drooling.”
Linda gave Ben a secret smile. “I didn’t know using drugs made you drool.”
Cathy nodded. “Oh, yes. I know all about it. I watch Dateline every week. I know as much as any doctor does.”
“For sure and certain you do,” Linda said, her smile curling higher onto her face. “I always know to ask you all my medical questions.”
“You should. I don’t charge money for my advice.” Cathy picked up a cookie and examined it. “These look good, but you’ve underbaked them. Nobody likes a soft cookie.”
Linda laced her fingers together, not the least bit upset that Cathy had criticized her baking. “I’ll remember that.”
Cathy glanced at Esther’s clock. It had quilt blocks where the numbers were supposed to be, and it said TIME TO QUILT. “Well, we’ve been here longer than either of us planned. We’d better go before we get roped into another project.”
Linda’s smile faded, as if she was slightly disappointed to be leaving. Ben was slightly disappointed to see her go, but not very disappointed. He didn’t need her hassling him about his friends or throwing chocolate chips in his face or painting his neck with essential oils. But she had really nice eyes, and she made him laugh, and she cared enough about him to try to cure his headaches. Linda wasn’t too bad. As long as she didn’t try to change him or save his soul, they might be friends.
Linda handed him the little bottle with the orangey oil. “Rub this behind your ears and on your throat whenever you feel a headache coming on. And take the peppermint and lemon oils. Make yourself some tea to help that cough.”
“Denki,” he said. Even though he didn’t believe in essential oils, it was nice that she cared.
The Amish Quiltmaker's Unruly In-Law Page 11
