by Mary Ellis
“This is the best-tasting corn all season,” Leah declared after the first bite. She started to lick her buttery fingertips until she remembered her manners.
“I agree,” said Jonah. “They soaked the cobs overnight so the corn would steam inside the husks. Then they roasted them beneath a layer of ash and coals. That way you can cook dozens for a big party without having to shuck the corn first.”
“And they’re more tender than boiling atop the stove.” Leah bit down on the inside of her cheek. The last thing she wanted to talk about with Jonah was cooking. No man appreciated a steady stream of work stories.
Once they finished eating and clearing the table, Jonah gazed toward the stand of trees and the western hills beyond. “How about a stroll to work off supper? We need to make room for dessert.” He lifted an eyebrow playfully.
“You two go ahead,” said Rachel. “There’s Sarah Mast, and I need to speak to her.” Not waiting for a reply, she bounded toward a group of girls talking in the garden.
“Doesn’t she ever walk?” asked Jonah, after Rachel departed.
“I can’t remember her ever walking,” Leah said. “She has the energy of five women.” She didn’t know what to do with her hands so she clasped them behind her back.
“Well, how about it? Want to take a stroll to the river?”
Leah blushed again, but she nodded. “You know, I think I would like to stick my feet in cool water for a while. I haven’t done that yet this summer.”
“You’re kidding, right?” he asked. “You haven’t been swimming or wading in the pond after a hard day of feeding hungry customers?”
“No, I’m not much of a hot weather person. I know it makes me an oddball, but summer is my least favorite season.”
As they walked along the pasture fence, grasshoppers jumped before each footfall, while the tall weeds crackled with the sounds of a variety of insect life.
Jonah turned his cool blue gaze on her. “An oddball? I wouldn’t say that, but I’d love to hear why you don’t like summer.” He took hold of her elbow, even though the lane was fairly rut free. “Don’t you like nights with the windows open, listening to owls and tree frogs serenading you to sleep?”
His words, wafting on the summer breeze, sound like a serenade. “I guess so, but mosquitoes find their way in through the smallest tear in the screen. And the upstairs rooms get too hot for a good night’s sleep. I toss and turn and wake up groggy the next morning,” she said, while a red-tailed hawk studied them from a tree branch.
“But isn’t it nice going places without first bundling in layers of wool, along with hats, scarves, and gloves?” Jonah asked.
“Maybe, but our Plain clothes get too warm on humid days, and I don’t like to perspire.”
“What about walking barefoot through the cool morning grass?”
“I’ve stepped on far too many bees as a child.”
“How about the longer hours of daylight?”
“Jah, I suppose that’s helpful for people coming home in the evening. But I love eating supper by lamplight. My sister still eats dinner by candlelight, even though her New Order district allows electricity. She says food tastes better that way.”
Jonah laughed good-naturedly. “Your sister sounds like a newlywed.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” Leah protested, but she had to chuckle in spite of herself.
When they had reached a stand of willows growing along both sides of the river, they both spotted a log projecting over the rocky bank. It would provide a perfect foot-dangling place to sit.
Jonah jumped down to the creek bed and reached out to her. “So how about spring, when the world comes back to life after the long cold winter?”
Leah took his hand and stepped down as gracefully as possible. “Spring is pretty, I agree, especially the flowers and tree blossoms. But all that pollen makes my hay fever go crazy. And there’s usually too much dust in the air from spring plowing.”
Jonah shook his head. “Good grief. You’ve given this matter serious thought.”
She felt embarrassed by her negativity, as though she were a hard-to-please fussbudget nobody invites to Sunday dinner. “I warned you I was an oddball,” she murmured. Leah settled herself on the mossy log, refusing to contemplate what crawly things lurked beneath her skirt.
“Why do you like winter?” he asked. “Give me five good reasons, and maybe you can change my mind.” He held up a hand and wiggled his five fingers. He ticked off each reason as Leah began her list.
“I love our woodstove with a pot of herbs simmering to scent the room, warm apple pie with mugs of hot chocolate, sleigh rides and making caramel apples, less tourist traffic on the roads, sleeping snugly under a warm quilt, no humidity to make my scalp itch, no bugs bites, no steamy kitchens from cooking, walks in the winter woods and following animal tracks through the snow.” Leah paused and glanced up.
His expression was one of sheer amazement. “I’ve run out of fingers on both hands.” He wiggled his ten digits.
Leah felt a surge of joy, as though finally somebody understood. “Everybody loves long summer days, but give me wintertime any day,” she said. “Once I came upon a doe and fawn sleeping in the woods. The doe was as surprised to see me as I was to see her, but she didn’t bolt as you would expect. She looked up with those big brown eyes and somehow knew I wasn’t a threat. Then she laid her chin down on her fawn while I crept away. The fawn never woke up.” Leah’s heart swelled remembering the once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Jonah crossed his arms over his black mutsfa. “You’re right. Deer wander closer to the house in winter; a person never gets to see them in summer. I do believe you have gained a convert to your side.”
“I’m not even close to finished,” she said. “But I’ll skip ahead since I saved the best for last—Christmas. I love when relatives come to visit, and making gingerbread men, and hearing the story of the Savior’s birth. When I was little, my dawdi carved me a wooden manger set that I wanted to keep out all year. But mamm said it wouldn’t feel special if I saw it every day. So I take in out on December first and put it away in January.”
Jonah took her hand and covered it with his larger one. “I could look at you every day and it would still feel special.”
Leah almost fell off the log. She yanked her hand back as though touched by a toad. “You mustn’t say things like that.” Her expression turned cross.
“Even if it’s the truth?” His soft voice caressed like a mythical siren’s song.
“It’s better to keep silly nonsense to yourself. I’m trying to overcome my fondness for flattery. My daed warned that I was becoming bigheaded, so please don’t make things worse.”
He opened his mouth to speak but closed it abruptly. He appeared to be pondering her request. “I’ll not contribute to your weakness, Leah. I know just how hard it is to regain a sense of grace.”
“Are you trying,” she whispered, “to regain your faith?”
Crows above their heads stopped cackling as though they also waited for his answer.
“I’ve returned to preaching services, haven’t I?”
“You could be figuring out your fall harvest schedule instead of paying attention, for all I know.”
His smile revealed perfectly straight teeth. “I think I need to get up earlier in the morning to deal with you, Leah Miller. But in the meantime, what would you suggest?”
She thought to assemble her words carefully. “Every night before you blow out your lamp, open the Bible to a random spot, a different one each day. Read the chapter that you happened upon. It will contain something useful. Then ask God to guide you with His Word.”
Jonah’s eyes clouded over before he focused on the ground. “It’s an idea, I suppose, but we had better head back to the fire. We don’t want folk to talk.”
The subject dropped like a hot potato as Jonah closed himself off. Leah jumped off the log and climbed the bank without his help. As they returned to the group, Jonah to
ld her of the birth of twin Holsteins and the exceptional growing season for alfalfa. He spoke of a new cheddar cheese that they had been aging for two months. Leah listened with interest yet her heart remained troubled. To be separated from God was to be alone in this world, even if your house was full of people. She would do whatever necessary to help him.
“Look.” Jonah pointed with an index finger. “Isn’t that Matt talking to Martha?”
Leah craned her neck left and right to assess the young man with his back turned. One glance at his slouchy posture told her he was not Matthew. She felt a pang of sorrow for a bruder who worked too hard for his own good. Hopefully, Martha’s companion was only a passing acquaintance or maybe a distant cousin. “I don’t think so,” she said, not wishing to stare at the pair. “Shall we try some dessert?”
“I thought you would never ask. I’m going to sample everything on the table.”
She laughed, thinking that he was joking. Within minutes she realized he wasn’t. Never before had she witnessed such an appetite in someone without an ounce of excess body fat. She could feel her own waistband grow tight just watching him eat poppy seed horns, pecan tarts, Apple Betty bars, and oatmeal cookies. Leah tried one of Rachel’s mini cheesecakes and pronounced them delicious.
They carried cups of cider back to the fire, where a few couples sat holding hands. Many girls were singing songs they knew by heart, but Leah was content to watch night fall in the valley, turning the pastures deep violet with a thousand points of light from flickering fireflies. The air remained warm, the breeze cool, and surprisingly not one mosquito feasted on her arms or ankles.
Why can’t this night go on forever? But knowing her workday started early, Leah perused the circle of familiar faces once more and reluctantly rose to her feet. “As much as I’ve enjoyed myself, I’d better head for home. I’ll go look for Rachel.”
Jonah scrambled up and grabbed her forearm. “May I take you home, Leah?”
“You live just down the road from here. Why would you go out of your way?”
He leaned close to her ear. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe my mind has been addled by too much sugar.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling a rush of exhilaration. “But I need to tell Rachel and Martha while you hitch up the horse.” She hurried off before she lost her confidence. What would her girlfriends say about them going home together? What would her daed?
Rachel and Martha were outside the barn when Leah found them. They barely lifted a brow when she told her news. The slouchy young man who had been hanging around Martha was nowhere around, and Martha seemed annoyed and eager to leave. However, Rachel was exuberant because her dessert pan was completely empty while Leah’s still contained several brownies.
Leah hugged her friends goodbye, grabbed her baking pan, and headed for the buggies. When she found Jonah’s at the end of a long line, a fluttery sensation began to build in her stomach. It felt similar to the time she rode in the backseat of Mr. Lee’s van. She took his outstretched hand as she climbed inside while insecurities swirled through her mind. Is this a mistake? What if I can’t think of a single thing to say?
Jonah remained quiet as he handed her the lap robe. The evening was still warm but she clutched it for security. “There are still four brownies left. Would you like them for tomorrow?”
“Sure, I’ll take them off your hands.” His lips formed the smallest smile possible.
As the buggy rolled down the driveway and turned onto the pavement, the silence between them grew unbearable.
“Tell me about yourself,” she blurted. “You know plenty about me and my tastes. You’ve visited my restaurant and sampled my handiwork.” She turned to face him on the bench. “What about you? What are you looking for in life?”
He leaned back and didn’t reply right away. “I guess I’m content raising dairy cows. I’d like to build a bigger herd and sell more milk to the cheese producers. Maybe I’ll build mamm a bigger facility on the farm for her specialty cheeses. Other than that, I’d like to get married and raise a family—six boys and six little girls would be just about perfect.”
“A dozen kinner?” she asked with a voice rough and scratchy.
“Jah, a good round number, don’t you think? The boys would help me around the farm while the gals could help…whoever is lucky enough to become my wife.”
Leah couldn’t see his expression in the darkness, but she distinctly heard him chuckle. She’d never given much thought to her future. She’d assumed she would marry some day and bear children, but this man’s expectations unnerved her.
How would she work at Leah’s Home Cooking once those bopplin started arriving? The obvious answer was she wouldn’t. If she were to marry Jonah, her job would become a distant, pleasant memory. She knew she was getting way ahead of herself, but just the same…
Maybe she wasn’t a good match for Jonah Byler after all. And that thought ruined an otherwise enjoyable ride home.
They don’t call them the dog days of summer for nothing.
Emma swiped off her wide-brimmed bonnet to scratch her scalp for the third time that morning. She’d been picking tomatoes and peppers for hours and had plenty of mosquito and deerfly bites for her efforts. She didn’t mind the hot sun, but the humidity sapped her energy and made her feel wilted. Straightening her spine, Emma shaded her eyes to scan the distant fields for a sign of Jamie.
The trouble with Hollyhock Farms was it was too big to keep track of one’s spouse. Her mamm usually knew the whereabouts of daed—either in the hay, corn, or wheat fields, the cow pasture, or in the barn. But the Davis family owned frontage on eight different township or county roads. A network of gravel lanes might allow easy movement of farm equipment, logging trucks, or livestock haulers, but finding someone wasn’t easy.
Sticking your head out an upstairs window and hollering was pointless.
Even their big iron farm bell was more for decoration than function with the pagers and cell phones of English agriculture. Her own cell phone sat in the pocket of her apron with a dead battery. Placing the device into the charger each night still wasn’t second nature to her. Not that she often called Jamie anyway. The woodlot and high pastures had no service. Even reception near the house was spotty and unreliable.
Emma assessed her bushel baskets and declared them adequate for a morning’s work. Carrying them one at a time to the back door, she planned what to fix for lunch. Maybe she would pack a hamper of cold chicken sandwiches and a thermos of iced tea. The foreman would know Jamie’s location. She could hike to where he was working, spread her checkered cloth on a grassy hillside, and share the noon meal with him. Hollyhock offered spectacular vistas of the hills and valleys of southern Holmes County, especially on a day this sunny and clear.
However, her impromptu plan proved short lived. Barbara Davis was buzzing around the kitchen with twice the normal energy of a woman her age. “Ah, there you are, Emma. I was just going to look for you. I’ve got lunch all ready—tomato soup with toasted cheese sandwiches.” Deep lines set off her blue eyes when she smiled.
“Isn’t it a bit warm for a hot lunch?” Emma asked, walking to the sink to wash up. She swallowed down her frustration like a bitter pill.
“Do you think so? I enjoy a bowl of soup no matter what the weather is like. Come, sit, and start eating. I have plans for us for the afternoon.” Mrs. Davis ladled soup into their bowls. Their sandwiches sat on paper plates, already garnished with bread-and-butter pickle chips.
Emma slipped into a kitchen chair feeling twelve years old. “Shouldn’t we wait for Jamie and Mr. Davis?”
“Oh no, dear. They’re cutting hay. With this stretch of hot weather, cut hay will dry quickly. The men won’t stop until they finish all the eastern fields. But don’t worry. We’ll see them at suppertime.” She sounded as cheery as one of those people on TV trying to sell you something.
Emma tried her soup, but burned her tongue with the first spoonful. “What are your plans for us?” she asked, pi
cking up the sandwich instead.
“Today is my day to lead the Bible study group at the women’s correctional facility in Canton.” Her face shone with enthusiasm. “I would love it if you came to help out. It’s a wonderful opportunity.”
“What?” Emma croaked. The melted cheese stuck to the roof of her mouth and had made speech difficult. Her singed tongue didn’t help much, either. “You want me to correct other women?” She put the sandwich back on the plate.
Barbara laughed wholeheartedly. “A correctional facility is just another name for a jail, dear. We have a Saturday Bible study group that’s gaining in numbers each week.”
Emma couldn’t understand why Englischers insisted on changing the names of things, as though a “reclamation landfill” smelled any better than the “town dump.” She tried the soup again. “Why do we have to read the Bible to these women? They can’t read the Good Book for themselves?”
Her mother-in-law paused with the spoon midway to her mouth. “Well, almost all can read, but most of them don’t. They’ve never been taught the habit or might not have their own Bible. Some of the women have never been inside a church in their lives.” She returned the spoon to her bowl still full of soup.
Emma lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t they have church services at this jail?”
“Yes, they hold Sunday services, but sitting around a table in small groups makes it easier for people to grasp the message. They can ask questions about words or ideas they don’t understand.”
Emma pushed away the plate with the sandwich. The melted cheese had cooled and turned rubbery. “Seems to me that if these gals are just starting to learn about God they should get their lessons from a preacher, not from the two of us.”
