by Kelly Long
“Tell what?” Mammi said.
Katie’s smile grew in strength. “Do you have shortening?”
“I eat it on my toast every morning,” Dawdi said.
“Instead of butter?” Katie said.
Dawdi shrugged. “They taste the same to me.”
Katie glanced once again at the clock. “I might have time. . . .”
“I’ll help you any way I can,” Mammi said.
“What do you want me to do?” Titus chimed in. He’d do anything to keep that smile on Katie’s face.
Katie’s gaze was as soft and mushy as chocolate pudding. “You want to help?”
“Of course. I’m gute at celery. I once chopped ten pounds for my cousin’s wedding.”
Katie’s eyes pooled with moisture before she looked away and swiped her hand across her face.
A lump grew in his throat, and he couldn’t swallow. He was always saying the wrong thing. “I don’t have to chop celery if you don’t want me to.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “I don’t mind. I’m just missing home, I guess.” She picked up her small travel bag, pulled out a light pink apron, and put it on. On the bib of the apron were three embroidered hearts, one red, one pink, and one purple. “I think I’ll make chicken potpies. Do you . . . do you think that’s good enough?”
“I love chicken potpies,” was all Titus could think to say. His arm was still tingling from where she had touched him, and he felt a little dizzy in the head, as if his brother Ben had smacked him in the head with a two-by-four—which had actually happened once.
Titus slipped outside and quickly put Bethlehem in the barn, then he sprinted back to the house to help Katie with dinner. She needed him. He didn’t want to spend an extra minute lollygagging in the snow.
He carried a bag of flour from the cellar for Katie’s piecrust, and she smiled at him as if he’d done something really important. She wasn’t mad at him for the celery remark, because she asked him to chop the celery and the carrots and didn’t boss him around or tell him he was doing it the wrong way.
Katie worked with sure purpose, rolling out the dough while Mammi sprinkled flour and measured the peas. Katie obviously wanted to impress Adam Wengerd. They must be very close cousins.
Katie kept glancing at the clock, but it seemed like she dreaded the passage of time rather than anticipated it. Once the pies were in the oven, Titus washed dishes while Kate dried and Dawdi swept the floor.
Titus had just drained the sink and wiped his hands as a knock came at the door. Katie stiffened beside him and turned as pale as that apron she had on. She really must have been anxious to see her cousin. Titus felt sort of sorry for her. Maybe Adam was a cousin like Norman. Norman had once told Titus that Titus’s brains must have fallen out of his ear as a baby. It sort of put a damper on their relationship.
Mammi and Dawdi smiled as if they were very excited about Adam’s visit, but they made no move to answer the door, and Katie looked to be in no condition to answer it, either. Titus glanced down at his hands, wrinkly from being submerged in the water so long. Norman would make fun of him for wrinkly hands. What would Adam say?
It didn’t matter, because Katie needed help, and Titus was the one to give it, wrinkles or no wrinkles. He glanced at Katie and flashed a reassuring smile. Adam was a nice person. He wouldn’t be anything like Norman.
Adam stood on the porch, a smile stretched across those brilliant white teeth. “Titus Helmuth,” Adam said, “Wie gehts?” Without waiting for an answer, he strolled into the room as if the house were his. “So, where is the girl I’ve been waiting for?”
Katie didn’t even smile. She stood behind the counter as if she was afraid to come out from its protection.
Titus was pretty sure she was going to faint.
And he was pretty sure Adam’s eyes were going to fall out of his head. “My mamm said you had turned out well, Katie, but I told her I wouldn’t commit to anything until I saw for myself.”
Katie still didn’t move a muscle, though Titus might have seen her lip twitch slightly. Mammi and Dawdi stood silently as if they were watching one of their grandchildren perform in a school program.
Couldn’t Mammi and Dawdi see how upset Katie was? Somebody had to do something to help her feel more at ease with her cousin. “Would you like to see my Christmas goat, Adam?” Titus said. “It’s in the barn.”
“What’s a Christmas goat?”
Katie forced a smile, which came out more like a grimace. At least she was able to find her voice. “It’s . . . it’s a special Helmuth Christmas tradition.”
Adam patted Titus on the shoulder. “Maybe later, kid. It’s cold, and I’m hungry.”
Kid? Had Adam forgotten that he and Titus were the same age? Titus chewed on his toothpick. Didn’t Adam remember all those games of softball at recess? Didn’t he notice that Titus was a good four inches taller than him?
Adam sniffed the air. “Mamm says you’re a fine cook, Katie. It smells gute enough to eat.”
Katie’s fingers were clenched so tightly together, Titus feared her circulation would be cut off. “Denki. I made chicken potpie.”
“And snickerdoodles,” Titus volunteered. He loved snickerdoodles.
Adam puckered his whole face until he looked like a shriveled apple. “Ach. I hate chicken potpie.”
Katie seemed to wither like a flower in the heat. “I’m sorry.”
Oh, sis yuscht. If Adam turned out to be like Titus’s cousin Norman, poor Katie didn’t stand a chance. “I love chicken potpies,” Titus said. “Can I eat yours?”
For the first time since Adam had come in, he seemed to sense Katie’s discomfort. He smiled at her. “I’m just teasing. I can tolerate chicken potpies as long as they don’t have carrots. I hate cooked carrots.”
It was Titus’s turn to wither. If only he hadn’t been such a gute chopper....
Katie glanced at Titus with a look of sympathy in her eyes. He stood up straighter and winked at her. He didn’t want her to think he was upset. Something told him it would only make her more nervous.
“Katie has made chicken potpies for dinner,” Dawdi said. “I have a box of Bran Flakes in the cupboard if you’d rather eat those. They’ll keep you regular.”
Adam glanced around the room and gave Dawdi an awkward laugh. “I suppose I could pick out the carrots. I do that all the time at home.”
Adam stuck out his hand toward Titus. Titus figured Adam wanted him to take it. He did. Adam’s handshake was firm and determined. “Nice to see you again, Titus. Tell that Christmas goat hello for me.” He chuckled, and Titus got the very unchristian impression that Adam was trying to get rid of him.
Titus felt his face get warm. He had overstayed his welcome. Adam and Katie wanted to catch up with each other without Titus’s interference. He slowly backed up toward the hook that held his coat and the Viking beanie Mammi had made for him. “I suppose I’ll be going, then.”
“But, Titus,” Katie said, fingering the ties of her apron, “you can’t go. I made one for you.”
Warmth twisted up Titus’s spine like a strand of chocolate-flavored licorice. Katie had been in a hurry with dinner, but she had still found the time to make him a potpie—probably his favorite food in the world.
Adam squinted and pressed his lips together. “Ach, vell. I had hoped it could just be Katie and me. I mean, so we can get to know each other better.”
Didn’t they know each other well enough already? Titus was pretty close to all his cousins. Even the ones who lived far away. Pretty close to all of them but Norman, and Norman had once told him he was dumber than a post.
Adam smiled like a tomcat. “Do you think you could all find somewhere else to go, and let me and Katie be alone? We’ve only got a month.”
Dawdi’s beard twitched slightly. “I always enjoy eating my dinner in the bedroom.”
“Do you, Felty?” Anna said. “I never knew.”
Titus didn’t want to be in the way, but Ka
tie looked positively terrified, as if being alone with her cousin was worse than being alone with a roomful of goats. He swallowed hard. Adam wasn’t going to like it. “I’d better stay. Who else will eat your leftover carrots?”
Katie’s gaze flew to his face, and she smiled. “Jah. Titus should eat all the leftover carrots. We don’t want them to go to waste.”
* * *
Adam did most of the talking during dinner, speaking as if he were applying for a job while the rest of them ate. He sat between Titus and Katie and across from Mammi and Dawdi. Titus’s grandparents stared at Adam as if they weren’t quite sure what to do with him. It was the way Titus’s mamm looked at him when he tried to fold laundry.
“I like hunting,” Adam said, “but I don’t like fishing. I shot a four-point buck in October. My dat wanted to mount its head in our kitchen, but my mamm said she didn’t want a dead animal looking down on her while she ate. I said if she didn’t like it looking down on her, then she shouldn’t look up.”
“I suppose that would solve the problem,” Mammi said.
Titus glanced at Katie. She had relaxed enough that her knuckles were no longer white around her fork, but she was still staring faithfully at her plate. Titus might have thought she was studying the pattern if not for the fact that the plates were plain white. She certainly wasn’t very comfortable with her cousin. Titus again wished he could think of something that would help her not be so homesick.
Mammi skewered a carrot with her fork. “This chicken potpie is delicious, Katie. Don’t you think it’s delicious, Titus?”
“It’s my favorite food ever,” he said, taking a hearty bite just to prove his point. If that didn’t cheer Katie up, he didn’t know what would.
“My favorite food is chocolate cake,” Adam announced, methodically separating the cooked carrots from his potpie and sliding them onto Titus’s plate. “One of the children in my class brought me a whole cake as a gift last year at the end of school.”
Katie perked up a bit, as if she finally had something to say. Even though her lips were quivering slightly, she smiled at Adam. “My mamm told me you are a teacher. My sister is a teacher.”
“I have twenty-nine students,” Adam said.
Katie seemed to be trying real hard to find something to say. “Do you enjoy being a teacher?”
“It’s not a bad job, but I’m quitting after this school year. I can make more money shingling roofs. I like being outside.” He wiped his face with one of Mammi’s cheery yellow napkins. “Do you like being outside, Katie?”
“Jah. I like—”
“Though I guess it doesn’t matter. I don’t suppose you’ll ever want to go hunting with me. Girls kind of slow you down on a hunting trip.” Adam leaned over and elbowed Titus’s arm. “Right, Titus?”
“I don’t hunt,” Titus said. Dawdi didn’t like killing animals. Titus had taken after him.
One side of Adam’s lip curled. “Not a hunter? It’s because you haven’t done it before. I’ll have to take you out sometime.”
It was wonderful nice of Adam to offer, but Titus wasn’t interested. Could he tell Adam no without hurting his feelings?
Once Adam had cleaned his plate and stacked his carrots onto Titus’s, he laid his fork and knife on the table, laced his fingers together, and stared at Katie as if she were a horse he was thinking of buying. Did Adam always inspect his cousins this way? “Tell me about you, Katie. I’ve hardly been able to get you to say a word this whole time. What do you like to do?”
Katie looked as if she’d rather chase Beth around Huckleberry Hill than have to answer any more questions. Titus gave her a slight nod of encouragement. Mammi and Dawdi were about as fearsome as two fuzzy white kittens, Titus already thought she was wunderbarr, and surely there was nothing to fear from her cousin Adam.
“I like to cook,” she said softly.
“You’re very gute at it.” Titus said, nodding again just in case she hadn’t seen his first nod. What the world needed was a lot more nodding.
“Except for the carrots,” Adam said, folding his arms across his chest. “Next time remember about the carrots.”
Katie lowered her eyes. “I won’t forget.”
“You’re a wonderful-gute cook,” Adam said. “I couldn’t be happier about it. Except for the carrots.”
If Titus had a toothpick in his mouth, he would have broken it in half with his teeth. Couldn’t Adam stop with the carrots? Katie looked as if she were about to cry.
Cousins could be so thick in the head.
Titus retrieved a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “You can’t make a chicken potpie without carrots. It would be like eating apple pie without cheese or a peanut butter sandwich without potato chips on top.”
Adam gave Titus the look that Norman often gave him. “Whatever you say, kid.” He grinned at Katie and winked as if she were in on some secret.
But Katie wasn’t even looking at Adam. Her eyes were squarely focused on Titus, and behind the distress in her eyes, he could see a little sparkle, too.
It might be a gute idea to change the subject, just in case Adam decided to cast aspersions on the celery next. “So, how are you two related?” Titus asked. “On your mater’s side or your fater’s side?” He furrowed his brow. Maybe he should have said “Adam’s mater and Katie’s mater,” or “Adam’s mater and Katie’s fater” or the other way around. There were actually several ways Katie and Adam could be cousins.
He gazed around the table. Even Adam had fallen silent, and all eyes were on Titus, including Mammi’s and Dawdi’s.
“Who do you mean, Titus?” Mammi prodded.
Titus hesitated. He was always saying the wrong thing, but he couldn’t think of a reason why his question should offend anyone. “Adam and Katie. Are they cousins on their mamm’s side or their dat’s side?”
Adam exploded into loud, uncontrollable laughter, throwing his head back so far, Titus feared his chair might tip over backward. Dawdi looked mildly surprised, and Mammi smiled that grandmotherly smile that meant that no matter what he did, she still loved him. Katie’s eyes were full of worry, as if he’d just told her he had some dreaded disease.
Titus had obviously said something very funny. Adam was laughing so hard, he couldn’t speak for several seconds. After sitting up straight in his chair, he wiped the tears from his eyes and stifled the chuckles. “We’re not cousins. It wonders me what gave you that idea.”
Titus’s heart suddenly felt as heavy as Katie’s suitcase full of gadgets. Whatever it was, he’d made a horrible mistake. “I thought you said . . . maybe I heard you wrong.”
Adam smirked and laid a hand over the one Katie was resting on the table. “Katie and I aren’t cousins. We’re sweethearts.”
CHAPTER 4
Katie stuffed a hearty bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth and gagged it down with a swig of goat’s milk. By drowning the mouthful with milk, she barely noticed how the slimy, undercooked eggs slid down her throat and came to rest in her stomach. Right after breakfast, she would volunteer to take over all the cooking for Anna.
“How are your eggs, dear?” Anna said, spreading a dollop of jelly on her toast.
“Best I’ve ever tasted,” Felty said. He was on his second helping, shoveling eggs into his mouth like a starving man. “You are the best cook in the world, Annie.”
Katie could barely keep the surprise from showing on her face. Did Felty really like the eggs, or was he just pretending? He must be pretending. Katie loved him instantly for that alone. Nothing made a cook feel so happy as knowing someone liked her food, and nothing made her so miserable as thinking her food tasted terrible.
“And what about you, Katie?” Anna said, turning her bright eyes to Katie. “Are your eggs the way you like them?”
“Delicious,” Katie said, sure that Gotte would forgive her for fibbing to spare Anna’s feelings. “Nothing like farm-fresh eggs.” Katie gave up on trying to eat something so runny with a fork. S
he picked up her spoon, determined to finish every bite, no matter how unpleasant.
How had Anna raised thirteen children without ever learning how to cook? Perhaps it was her children who had needed to learn something—like how to eat barely edible food and still be grateful and kind to the cook. Kindness and gratitude were never wasted lessons.
She polished off her eggs, every bite, then stood and collected the plates from the table. Anna got up to help her, and Katie waved her back down. “You made a wonderful-gute breakfast,” she said. “The least I can do is clean the kitchen.”
Anna tapped her finger to her chin. “It will give me more time for crocheting. I’m making a surprise for someone special.”
“For Christmas?” Felty said.
Anna grinned. “You’ll see.”
A stiff and cold wind blew into the house as Titus opened the door. Wearing the beanie with horns, he stomped the snow off his boots and came into the kitchen. Before he could shut the door, Beth galloped in with him and clomped around the great room as if she were frolicking in the pasture.
“Titus!” Anna squealed. “The special Christmas goat is not allowed in the house.”
Sparky, the dog, yelped, shot onto Felty’s recliner, and barked at Beth as if her life depended on it.
“I’m sorry, Mammi,” Titus said over the din of goat hooves and barking dogs. “She keeps sneaking out and following me.” Titus slammed the door, waved hello to Katie, and chased the goat around the room. His winter boots slowed him down, and Beth would not be caught. She dodged his every attempt to catch hold of her and ran this way and that, upending the magazine rack next to Felty’s recliner, bumping into the walls, and nearly toppling over the propane floor lantern.
Katie gasped as Titus caught the toe of his boot on the rug and fell hard. He rolled over onto his back and groaned. “Ow.” Beth hopped right over him. Titus had been right. Bethlehem seemed to enjoy watching him run.
“Oh dear, Felty. Help!” Anna said, scurrying to her rocker and gathering up her crochet hook and three balls of yarn.
Felty leaped from his chair, surprisingly spry for an eighty-six-year-old, and joined Titus in the chase. Bethlehem jumped up and ran across the sofa, her hard hooves sinking into the stuffing with each step. The special Christmas goat was a very gute runner. Sparky was nearly hysterical, climbing onto the recliner’s headrest and barking with all her might.
