by Mary Ellis
“I’ll try to keep that in mind, danki.” He applied salve to some old fly bites that had never healed properly and then released the horse from the cross ties. After latching the stall gate behind him, he stood with his daed in the main walkway. Simon stared up at the ceiling where doves cooed in their rafter nests. Matt turned his gaze upward too. Both men loved the evening barn sounds while critters were settling down to sleep and the flies flew off to wherever pesky creatures go at night.
“You’ve got plenty of time, son. You’re still young.”
Matthew shuffled his feet in dirt. “I’m nineteen. I’ll be twenty soon. I’ll probably take the classes and get baptized this fall. I have no reason to wait longer.”
Father and son walked out into the warm evening air. The sun had dropped behind the western hills, casting long shadows across the lawn. Swifts headed for the loft door while purple martins soared and swooped into landing patterns toward the multiunit birdhouse.
“Not much of a Rumschpringe, then.” Simon’s words were more statement than question.
“Jeff Andrews taught me to drive his pickup during our lunch break at work, back in the days when we got along. I drove it around the farm roads and I got pretty good with the clutch and shifting gears.” They had reached the porch but didn’t enter the house. Matt sat down on the steps while Simon leaned his weary back on the porch post.
“Wha’cha think? About driving, I mean?”
“Oh, it was fun. I liked the heater and the AC and getting places quicker. But when Jeff had to buy gas in town, it would cost him fifty bucks to fill the tank.” Matt shook his head. “Fifty bucks,” he repeated.
Simon nodded sagely. “If you had to buy your hay, they charge five bucks a bale down at the elevator these days. And horses do love to eat, don’t they?”
Matthew could feel his daed’s gaze—studying him, assessing his reactions.
“Then it’s a good thing we raise our own hay and oats and have plenty of fine pastureland. That way we don’t have to pay those prices.” He stretched out his legs in the walkway gravel.
“Do you miss Macintosh Farms?”
Matthew thought before answering. “I do sometimes. That place was so beautiful, and everything was either brand new or at least top-notch. The stable ran like a clock too. And most of the time they did good by their horses. Jah, I miss it.” He peered up into his father’s eyes. “I know I’ll never have a farm like that, no matter how hard I work or how good I get at training.”
Simon lifted off Matt’s straw hat, tossed it on the chair, and patted his head the way he had done when his boy was a child. “There are more important things than fancy ranches and expensive saddles and tack. And, you know, those horses you love don’t care much one way or the other.”
With the back of the buggy packed with baked goods, Leah headed to Winesburg to work. Feathery white clouds danced across the clearest, bluest sky…or so it seemed to Leah as her spirits soared this perfect July Wednesday. Did her upcoming outing with Jonah Byler have something to do with her exceptional good mood? Two weeks ago they had shared a wonderful holiday—listening to music, people-watching on the street, and finally enjoying the fireworks in the park. The six of them had found a hillside with an unobstructed view of the pyrotechnics for their lawn chairs. The deafening cacophony had reverberated up and down the valley.
Because horses didn’t appreciate loud booms, Leah had never seen fireworks up close. After the first rocket launched into the night sky, Jonah had taken her hand and held it during the twenty-minute display. Somehow his dry skin and rough calluses felt soothing, especially since his large hand enveloped her smaller one. During the walk back to the van, he seemed to be studying her in the near darkness. On the ride home they had shared the backseat, but two kinner were wedged in between them, fast asleep. When Jonah walked her to the back door, he formally asked her for a second date.
Leah had said yes without a moment’s hesitation. This Friday, a farm near Jonah’s was hosting a hot dog roast and bonfire. Leah planned to ride there with the Hostetler sisters, but she hoped to come home with Jonah. And during the time in between, she wanted to hear about new calves or special batches of hot pepper cheese or any other topic, as long as he did the talking in his wonderful husky voice. She could think of little else yesterday while baking and washing clothes. Jonah had occupied her thoughts while weeding the garden, helping mamm clean windows, and cooking supper. At least with three days of work between now and then, time would pass quickly.
But as she pulled into the parking lot of Leah’s Home Cooking, daed’s warning came to mind: A gal has only one reputation; take good care of it. As much as Jonah fascinated her, she wasn’t sure about courting anybody seriously. Work was still exciting, and her newfound independence felt wonderful. She’d better enjoy Jonah’s company within a group, so nobody would get premature notions.
Leah put her horse into the paddock and entered the diner through the back door. Packing crates were stacked beneath the window where she had perched to spy into the restaurant and then been discovered. That seemed so long ago but in truth, only five months had passed. Slipping on her full-length apron, she washed her hands and entered the kitchen, which was already fragrant with the scents of sizzling bacon and sausage.
April was chopping vegetables for omelets, and she glanced up with a smile. “Good morning,” she greeted. “How was your weekend?”
“Very nice,” Leah said. “We spent Sunday afternoon with Aunt Hannah and Uncle Seth. Their little boy is so smart for a three-and-a-half-year-old. He can name every plant in the garden. How about you? What did you do?”
“We drove to my in-laws on Sunday for a barbeque. It’s nice when someone else does the cooking, no?”
“Jah. Aunt Hannah had a new recipe for stuffed peppers with rice and ground pork. She used green peppers along with sweet yellows and hot peppers too—something for everyone’s taste. I cooked nothing but a pot of coffee, which I better get started here or customers will be banging their mugs on the counter.” She plugged in the coffee-maker and the smaller decaf pot and took orange juice out to defrost.
“Coffee is something I sure need to get moving,” said April.
Leah spotted dark circles under her partner’s eyes and tiny red spider veins on her eyelids. Maybe the busy weekend hadn’t allowed enough hours of sleep. If there was another reason for her exhausted appearance—an argument with her husband or maybe a sick child—Leah didn’t wish to add to her woes. But on the other hand, it was time this half of the partnership knew what was going on.
Once the blueberries were washed and sugared and the creamer pitchers filled, Leah joined April at the griddle to pour the first batch of pancakes. “Say, April,” Leah began. “I was wondering…is everything okay on the money end of things?” Her words sounded painfully childlike, as though asked by a nosy youngster. “Like the rent and utilities, and what about those picnic tables we ordered from the carpenter in Shreve? Have we paid him yet?”
For a moment anxiety flashed across the older woman’s face, but it was soon replaced with confusion. “What brought this on? Yes, as a matter of fact Mr. Jenkins stopped in the diner a couple weeks ago and picked up his rent check. He saved me a stamp and a trip to the post office.” She smiled indulgently before turning back to the sizzling bacon. “And I ran into that nice carpenter in town and wrote him a check then and there.” She lifted the skillet to drain off grease into a large pickle jar. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no particular reason. I’m just a worrywart. That’s what my mamm calls me, anyway.”
“Well, you just worry about what the lunch special will be. It can’t be egg salad—we don’t have enough eggs. And it’s too hot for sloppy joes, chili, or meatloaf.” April breezed out of the kitchen into the dining car without a backward glance. The subject had been dropped and the matter was closed, as least as far as April was concerned.
But despite her boss’ attempt to assure her that everything was fin
e, Leah didn’t feel reassured. She’d seen the initial look of panic in her eyes. Although she believed April would not outright lie to her, sometimes withholding the whole truth could be just as bad. She remembered the desk drawer filled with bills and invoices, some stamped with “second notice,” and they continued to trouble her. But how could she ask April directly about them? She would sound petty and insecure. Business partners needed to trust each other.
After lining up three types of bread next to the toaster, taking butter out to soften, and mixing another batch of pancake batter, Leah headed into the diner to greet their first customers. And by ten o’clock she felt much better. Regulars like her elderly Englischer and carloads of tourists down for an enjoyable day in the country had a way of doing that to a person. Business was brisk at both breakfast and lunch, and they managed to complete the shift without turning the kitchen into a disaster zone.
But the best news came later, right at closing time—better than paid-up rent or a tidy kitchen. The postman stuck his head in the door, hollered “Hello,” and left a bundle of flyers, bills, and junk mail on the counter. April quickly ruffled through the stack and held up one yellow vellum envelope. “Miss Leah Miller,” she read. “It’s a letter for you, dear girl, delivered here to the diner instead of to your home. The return address is Pillsbury Corporation, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Do you suppose this is that contest you entered?” Her green eyes sparkled with delight.
Leah snatched the letter from April’s fingers. “Danki!” she cried and ran down the back steps. Standing in the middle of the parking lot, she pulled the single sheet from the envelope. After skimming the addresses and salutation, her gaze fixed on the body of the letter. “We are pleased to announce that you have been selected as a finalist in this year’s Bake-Off competition. Your recipe for Peach Parfait Supreme pie has been entered in the sweet treats category.”
In her initial excitement over the good news, Leah didn’t notice that the selection process involved an appearance with her pie before a panel of judges. Or that this year’s final round would take place in Orlando, Florida. She ran back inside to hug her partner, and then the two women jumped up and down like puppies just released from their crates.
She barely remembered the drive home from work that day.
Perfectly uniform peach slices and softened cream cheese were dancing through her head like sugar plums on Christmas Eve.
Leah had little time to contemplate the letter from Pillsbury or her date with Jonah during the next few days. But each remained in the back of her mind like a secret cache of chocolate…a future pleasure to ease life’s minor irritations. Once or twice she’d considered telling her mother about the contest. After all, she would have to now that she’d been named a finalist. But she decided to wait for the right moment. Mamm was up to her elbows in tomatoes to be cleaned, chopped, and canned. She wouldn’t consider leaving the county, let alone the state, with so much garden produce to put up. But after the harvest, the idea might sound more appealing.
In their corner of the world early August was famous for low, heavy skies and thick, humid air, with the next thunderstorm just around the corner. But that Friday dawned sunny and clear, while a cool breeze blew from the south. Because many Amish went to Sugar Creek for the auction, few customers showed up at the diner. Leah appreciated the less hectic pace as it allowed time to plan her evening. Thoughts of what to wear, what to talk about, and what to eat that wouldn’t be too messy filled her mind in between breakfast and lunch. April seemed quieter than usual, but Leah chose not to question her. Sometimes a woman needed to be alone with her thoughts.
After they closed for the day, Leah ran to the paddock to hitch up her horse. Fortunately, the mare didn’t seem to mind the faster pace home. As a reward, Leah fed her several carrots before turning her out to the pasture. After her brother’s instruction, she now allowed the horse to eat apples and carrots from her hand. In the past she would throw treats over the fence and retreat quickly. Considering the size of horse teeth, she still shivered with the feel of a wet muzzle in her palm. Leah patted the mare’s neck once more and hurried to her chores.
Because mamm was busy in the garden, Leah had dinner to fix, sheets to take down and fold, and the bathroom to scrub, but she finished with enough time for a soak in the tub. Emma’s old peach bubble bath and body lotion from her courting days soothed Leah’s dry skin, but she had never developed a curiosity for cosmetics. Blushers and tinted lip gloss looked silly with Plain clothes. Besides, she had more natural color to her cheeks than her pale blond sister had. Emma had come to mind a dozen times this past week. Her turbulent Rumschpringe and heartache after falling in love with an Englischer didn’t prod Leah to start courting, but Jonah wasn’t like other boys, and that made her want to know him better. Still water ran deep, her grandmother used to say. She’d never understood what that meant until she met the cheese-maker from Wisconsin.
Martha and Sarah picked her up promptly at six o’clock, saving her a trip around by the snake-infested bog. Emma had loved it by the pond, often taking a book down there to read. How she wasn’t eaten alive by mosquitoes remained a mystery.
Wearing her favorite dress and a big smile, Leah squeezed into the one-seat buggy.
“What did you make for the dessert table?” Rachel asked.
Leah laughed at her friend’s question, bypassing a standard greeting. “Just my regular walnut brownies, a double batch.” She patted her basket containing the pan. “I didn’t want to show up the nonprofessional bakers and have you going home in tears,” she said with a wink. Rachel pinched her arm and made a face.
Martha shook the reins lightly. “Do you suppose your bruder will be stopping by at the cookout?” she asked in barely a whisper.
Leah had no good news. “Probably not. He’s working at that big stable in Sugar Creek that gives trail rides. He won’t be home for a while, and it’ll be too late to come out.”
Martha didn’t hide her disappointment. “Maybe he won’t think it’s too far.”
Rachel and Leah exchanged glances. “I made mini strawberry cheesecakes in silver cupcake wrappers,” Rachel said. “We’ll just see who’s taking home an empty baking pan at the end of the evening.”
“Stop competing with one another, you two,” Martha said irritably. “God’s people shouldn’t try to feel superior over anyone. Nothing good could be gained by that.”
Leah’s grin vanished and she remained quiet for the rest of the drive. She wondered what Martha would think of her entering the bake-off. For the first time, she wondered what the bishop’s reaction might be, or that of the rest of her district. Her deacon father might not view this as quite the accomplishment, either.
But as they arrived at the cookout, her worries vanished. At least thirty young people milled around the picnic tables in the backyard. More were already roasting hot dogs using long willow sticks that had been soaked overnight. Some girls were playing a game of croquet; others had squared off over the badminton net, while a few couples strolled toward the slow-moving river. Leah recognized everyone, but the face of handsome, blue-eyed Jonah Byler wasn’t among them. Just when she thought he might not have come, she spotted him walking toward her with the loose-limbed grace of someone accustomed to hard work.
“Hi, Leah,” he said. “I’ve been watching and hoping you’d get here soon.” He patted his washboard flat stomach.
“I gather you’re hungry?” she asked, turning her face up to his.
“I was born hungry, and most likely I’ll die that way. I already sharpened our hog dog sticks. Are you ready to try some of my cooking for a change?” He tipped up the brim of his hat.
“Sure. I like my hot dogs burned, but could you find a third stick?” She hooked her arm with Rachel’s, out of friendship and to bolster her courage.
“No problem. Good to see ya, Rachel. I’ll whittle another stick while you go find a log big enough for three. I’ll meet you over there.” He nodded toward the fire and heade
d toward the willows along the riverbank.
The two girls exchanged grins on the way to the fire pit. “I see why you haven’t been thinking straight lately,” Rachel said as soon as he was out of earshot.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Big rounds of tree trunks had been set in a circle around the blaze. Leah moved three of them close together and then perched daintily on the middle seat. Girls and boys leaned toward the heat to cook but retreated each time the wind shifted the flames. Before Jonah returned, Leah had to move her stump back twice.
“Here we are,” he said, handing out sticks. Each stick had been loaded with two hot dogs. “You girls get them started, but I’ll take over if it gets too hot. I believe I can manage all three.” He winked at Leah.
“August is too early for a bonfire,” Leah said, trying to get close enough to cook her hot dog. She began to perspire within moments. “I think I’d rather eat mine cold.” She moved away from the blaze with watering eyes and a dress already sticking to her back.
Jonah pulled the stick from her hand and reached for Rachel’s too. “Some of the roast corn is done. Why don’t you girls shuck a few ears and find us a place in the shade to eat?”
“Okay, we’ll get our side dishes. I know you love just about everything,” Leah said with a sly grin.
“Good idea. I’ll have these burned to perfection in no time.”
At the food table, Leah and Rachel filled three plates from bowls of coleslaw and cucumber and potato salads. After quickly shucking four ears of corn, they found seats under an oak tree.
When Jonah arrived, he carried only four hot dogs. “Sorry,” he said. “I dropped two into the fire. Apparently I’m not quite the chef I thought I was.”
“Not so easy cooking for a crowd, is it? But don’t worry, with the side dishes one will be enough for Rachel and me.” She reached for the mustard bottle the same time as he and their fingers touched. She couldn’t stop a blush, and if her red cheeks weren’t bad enough, she realized she was sweating. Maybe it was from the fire, but more likely it was because Jonah kept watching her while they ate. Making eye contact while eating might be normal behavior, but it made her hands tremble. At least Rachel kept up a steady stream of chatter to help relieve Leah’s anxiety. Jonah ate supper seemingly without a care in the world.
