by Mary Ellis
“Now that you’ve helped Mrs. Lambright avoid jail for writing bad checks, what do you plan to do next?” Julia asked.
Leah stared blankly. “I…I don’t know what you mean. I know there are more problems at the diner other than debts, but until April clues me in, I’m not sure how to proceed.” She peeled her pear in one continuous strand.
Julia peered over her half-moon glasses. “There’s more to worry about than your empty savings account, young lady. Your reputation is sullied, same as Mrs. Lambright’s. But she’s not concerned with courting anymore. She has a husband and children.”
Leah swallowed hard. With the diner padlocked, her opportunity to spend her life cooking for other people looked grim. And any thoughts of Jonah Byler filled her heart with unbearable sorrow. “What can I do? I’m open to suggestions.” She glanced at Emma, who lifted her shoulders in a shrug.
“You saw how the women acted toward you at quilting, especially those your age. You need to appear at every social event and explain that you’re doing everything possible to right the situation. Your daed will talk to the bishop and ministerial brethren too.” She tossed one particularly withered piece of fruit into the slop bucket. “This is no time to hide your head. If folk think you tried to cheat people, no man will choose you for his wife.”
Leah concentrated on cutting a small wormhole from her pear. “There’s only one man whose opinion I care about.”
“Who?” Emma asked, her paring knife stalled in midair. “Is my little sister en lieb?”
“I was in love with Jonah Byler, the grandson of Amos Burkholder. He moved here almost a year ago from Wisconsin. He asked to court me but then this happened.”
Emma looked at her mother while Julia stared at Leah. “What has he said about all this? I saw Joanna Byler’s name on your list already crossed off, so I know you stopped there.”
“I need to put water up to boil.” Leah filled two huge Dutch ovens and set them on the stove. When she returned, the other Miller women were waiting for her answer. “Jah, I stopped at his farm to pay Mrs. Byler, but he wasn’t home. He’s helping an uncle in Wisconsin bring in the harvest. Joanna wasn’t sure when he would come back to Ohio.”
“Have you written to explain what has happened?” Julia asked. “I shouldn’t be butting in, but you’re so naive, Leah. I don’t think you understand the seriousness of this.”
That got Leah’s goat. “I understand just fine. I know that Jonah told me to come forward and confront April a while ago, but instead I dawdled and made excuses. Maybe I couldn’t have changed the outcome, but at least I would have acted. Now he’ll think I’m irresponsible, unreliable, and too stubborn to accept advice. He just started getting to know members of our district, and he tangles up with a headless chicken.”
Emma frowned at the unpleasant mental picture. “At least you discussed your suspicions with him. I think you should write him tonight…or tomorrow…or at least within the week—whenever we finish canning all these pears.”
Leah managed a smile.
“Write to him, jah, but keep your letter focused on the diner fiasco,” said Julia. “Don’t talk about your courtship. This kind of scandal gives him the option to court someone else. It’s up to him from here on out.”
Leah didn’t need that to be pointed out so succinctly. She’d already come to the same conclusion. She would write to Jonah tonight and bring him up to date on the demise of Leah’s Home Cooking. She had such high hopes and had enjoyed both the work and the attention she’d received. But the praise for her culinary creations had gone to her head. That girl at quilting had been right—if she hadn’t been lapping up the attention, she might have noticed April’s tricks. Jonah had seen her for what she was. Only time will tell if he saw any positive characteristics worth suffering turmoil for.
After a sandwich break at lunchtime, the Miller women processed pears all afternoon. At least the kitchen didn’t grow oppressively hot in October as it did when canning at the height of summer. Conversation around the table centered mainly on Emma’s amusing tales of adjustment to her New Order district. Leah started a kettle of beef vegetable soup for supper. The kitchen smelled wonderful from the variety of cooking scents. Leah began to relax as they cleared off the table and rang the farm bell to call the men.
Simon entered the house wearing a scowl. His sons followed on his heels looking only marginally less dismal. “Matthew’s friend from Wooster stopped over to see the new horses,” said Simon, “and he brought some pretty disturbing stories, daughter.” He focused on Leah as he and the boys took seats at the table.
Leah remained rooted to her square of linoleum. “What did he say?” she asked.
“Oh, Simon, can’t this wait until after supper?” asked Julia. “Let’s have a quiet meal.”
“Ach, all right.” Simon grunted in agreement.
Once everyone was seated, they bowed their heads in silent prayer. Emma served the soup, ladling each bowl to the brim while Leah sliced and passed fresh-baked bread. During the meal no one spoke as the gloom of bad news hung over the meal like a dark cloud. Finally, as bowls were scraped with crusts of bread, Leah blurted, “Please, daed, tell me what was said. I can’t wait another moment.”
Simon’s spoon clattered into his bowl. “Bob heard that Mrs. Lambright is putting the blame for the fraud squarely on your shoulders. She’s saying you were the one in charge of Leah’s Home Cooking—that it was your restaurant. Why did you let her put your name up there on the sign?” His cheeks flushed as his blood pressure rose.
Leah pushed away her remaining soup, her appetite gone. “It seemed like a good idea at the time because my pies were so popular.”
“Does it seem that way now, Leah?”
She tried to hold back her tears. “It truly does not.” One tear fell on the smooth oak tabletop.
“Plain folk will know it’s not true,” Julia interjected. “A single Amish woman would never enter into leases and business contracts as Mrs. Lambright had.”
“I thought of that,” said Simon, “but why would she say such things?”
Leah remembered April’s fear of her husband and thought she knew the answer. But too many suppositions were being tossed around as truths, so she didn’t add hers. ”I don’t really know.” She dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief.
Simon shook his head. “Let’s get back to work, sons. We have more temporary pens to put up before dark.”
With the men gone, work resumed on the pears with a subdued mood in the chaotic kitchen. More fruit was carried in, additional jars sterilized, and pears seemed to be everywhere. Even the windowsills became lined with jars set to cool. One Starlight peppermint was placed into each jar of pears before sealing. It added extra sweetness and a hint of mint. Because two bushels yielded twenty-seven quarts, by the time they finished for the night, every surface downstairs was covered with quarts of pears. They would be used in cobblers, strudels, and pies, as a side dish with pork roasts, and as a topping for pancakes and waffles. Jars would become gifts to new brides, new mothers, and new neighbors. Jars would be given to visiting friends and relatives to take home, as well as the milkman, propane deliveryman, and every shopkeeper in town. Emma planned to take several jars to the mission outreach, the ladies’ jail, and to the women in her Bible study group.
Leah had far fewer ideas on how to spread the bounty. In fact, she had no thoughts about anything other than her former beau, Jonah Byler. After she and Emma showered and slipped on flannel nightgowns, sleep refused to come despite their exhaustion. Both lay awake staring at the ceiling.
“Thinking about Jamie?” asked Leah.
“Jah,” Emma replied. After half a minute, she asked, “Thinking about what daed said?”
“Can’t think about anything else. I have disgraced my family. Now Jonah will no longer want to court me.”
Emma sat up and lit a candle. In the thin wavering light, she turned to face her sister. “You listen to me—you’ve done nothing but
cook, bake wonderful pies, and try to make customers happy. One would think you had no faith by how easily you’ve given up. April’s words are untrue and will soon die on the vine the way all lies eventually do. Pray to God for guidance and for His will to be done. And in the meantime, tell the truth when asked and hold your head up high. Things will work out, Leah. Now stop worrying and go to sleep.” For a minute, the sisters watched the flickering light and shadows dance across the bedroom ceiling.
Then Leah whispered, “Danki, Emma. I love you.”
Emma blew out the candle. “I love you too.”
It wasn’t Emma’s habit to look out the window the moment she awoke, but she did so the next morning. A shiny green truck stood parked in the turnaround. “Oh, good grief,” she muttered under her breath. “Jamie and Kevin must have left the house before dawn to be here already.” After washing and dressing, she threw her things into her overnight bag as quickly as possible and hurried downstairs. Her stomach churned, not from hunger but from nervous apprehension. Her one-day visit had turned into three. What if Jamie was angry with her for fleeing their home without explanation? She loved him so much and had thought about little other than her marriage since she arrived in Winesburg.
Emma inhaled a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. Jamie sat at the table drinking coffee. “Hello, fraa, did you miss me? I sure have missed you.” His sea-blue eyes sparkled to match his brilliant smile.
“Jah, I have.” Emma ran and threw herself into his lap.
“Hey, Em, what’s new?” asked Kevin, in between bites of bacon and scrambled eggs.
“Hi, Kevin,” Emma managed to say.
“Does this mean you’re not staying for day two with the pears?” Julia asked from her position at the stove.
Jamie tried to turn in his chair to gaze around the room. “Don’t you ladies think you’ve canned enough yet?”
Julia set a plate of food in front of her son-in-law. “Oh, no. We have four more bushels of fruit to go.”
“Can you manage without Emma? I can’t live another day without my wife.”
Emma, whose face was buried in his neck, thought her heart would burst.
“It’ll be a struggle, but Leah and I will manage.” Julia smacked Emma’s head with her pot holder. “Sit in your own chair, daughter, and let this man eat his breakfast before it gets cold. And I want you to eat too so you don’t get carsick. How about more sausage, Kevin?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kevin held up his plate with both hands like a character in a Charles Dickens novel.
“We’re starving,” called Henry and Matthew, stomping in from the back hall. Simon followed on their heels. With their ruckus Emma was able to extricate herself, fetch more chairs, and sit down to her own breakfast without anyone noticing her reddened eyes.
She and Jamie left soon after the meal. Leah still hadn’t come downstairs yet. Emma wrote Leah a quick note to say goodbye, kissed everybody else, and then climbed in Kevin’s truck. Wedged in between the two brothers, she chewed on her lower lip. With Kevin driving, they couldn’t very well air their marital laundry.
After a few silent miles, James had his own ideas. “Speak your mind, Em. Tell me what’s bothering you. I know you stayed to help your mother with canning, but that’s not why you left in the first place. My mom said you were homesick and needed a day with your family. Is there more than that?”
“Shouldn’t we wait to have this conversation?” She angled her head toward Kevin, who seemed amazed by the passing scenery out the window.
“No,” Jamie said. “My brother thinks you’re practically an angel sent from heaven. He’ll have a hard time finding a wife and will be doomed with unrealistic expectations if we don’t disabuse him of that notion.”
“Disabuse him? You’re no longer on the campus of OSU,” she said and they all laughed.
“Just tell me what’s wrong.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders to offer encouragement.
Heartened by his touch, Emma forged ahead. She realized they would find little more privacy at the Davis home. “It’s me, Jamie. I get really out of sorts with your family. I wasn’t exactly a model of cooperation with your mamm, and I picked an argument with Lily over what she does for a living, of all things. I can’t seem to get along with anybody.”
“You haven’t fought with me yet,” Kevin said quietly.
“Only because you’re almost never home. Just stick around a while and see what happens.”
The Davis brothers laughed, but Emma folded her hands in her lap. “It’s true. I’m a crabby old woman.”
When the snickering died down, Jamie said, “Why do you suppose that is, Em?”
She didn’t answer right away but thought carefully and chose her words, “I’m frustrated. We have so little time alone. We rarely share a quiet dinner, and at lunch it’s hard to track you down for a picnic. Your farm is so large I never know where you are. Even when your mamm’s at work the kitchen is never without people—friends, relatives, workmen, horse buyers, trainers, church folk, vets, deliverymen. Once I was in the Akron train station and it wasn’t as busy.”
With that much off her chest she relaxed against his shoulder. “I hope I don’t sound like a spoiled little girl, because I’m not. I was raised in a family of six with one bathroom, but somehow we weren’t always in each other’s way. I feel like I’m always in your mother’s way…and I don’t like it.”
There it was—the honest truth. Maybe Jamie would regret that he didn’t postpone the conversation.
Kevin looked over at her with sympathy. After another moment, Jamie said, “That’s it? That’s what’s making you unhappy?”
Emma peered at him suspiciously. “Jah…”
“You aren’t sick of my snoring, or the way I smell like farm animals most of the day? Or tired of my habit of lateness, or the way I wolf down food like I haven’t eaten in days?”
She smiled. “No, none of the above. I’m used to my bruders.”
“Well, fraa, your days of misery are numbered. That’s all I have to say.” He stared out the window until Emma slapped his knee.
“What are you talking about? Please tell me.”
“I wanted this to be a secret, a surprise for you, but with you running away from me, I’d better not wait another day.”
She choked back the taste of guilt in her mouth. “Go on.”
“My father had a surveyor stake out a nice eight-acre homesite for us. When you drive up Hollyhock Lane, you’ll turn down a road on the right and drive up close to that pinewoods you’re so fond of. We’ll start building our new home next week. The foundation walls have already been poured; the well and septic are in. We should have it framed, exterior walls and windows in, and the roof on by December first, unless we get an early blizzard. My dad hired two farmworkers who know carpentry to help me all winter until spring planting. What do ya think?”
Emma had to swallow twice. “You were going to surprise me? But then your spoiled brat of a wife threw a fit and ruined everything?” she asked, burying her face with her hands.
James gently pulled her hands down. “I prefer to phrase it as my dear wife couldn’t wait another day to have me all to herself.”
“Oh, Jamie.” She blushed as joy surged through every blood vessel down to her toes.
“Oh, Emma!” He tugged one kapp string.
“Well, you two haven’t exactly disabused me of any notions. You’re still tops in my book, Em.”
“Just stick around a while longer,” they both said together.
From the moment the eleven new horses marched down the trailer ramps at the Miller farm, Matt had his hands full. Simon insisted they be kept separate from his horses until checked out by the vet. Then Simon had begun to suggest potential diseases no one had heard of in twenty years. Not only did the new arrivals have to be segregated from Simon’s stock, they didn’t seem to care much for each other, either. To prevent confrontations, Matthew and Henry erected temporary pens within the paddock un
til temperaments could be assessed. That would have to wait until they were groomed, had their hooves trimmed, sores salved, tails clipped, infected eyes and ears medicated, and in most cases, fed plenty of quality grain to fill out bony frames.
But Henry’s enthusiasm knew no bounds. At first Matthew couldn’t leave Henry alone with them or he would have been knocked down, bitten, or gut-kicked. But once Henry learned how to approach wary beasts, how to read body language, and employ some basic safety rules, he proved to be a natural. His sensitivity and gentleness seemed to be recognized by the neglected horses. Matthew knew he’d found the perfect partner when the horses began to respond as well to Henry as to himself.
Even Simon warmed up to the forsaken lot—once the initial shock of Matthew’s impetuous purchase wore off. Up until then he walked around muttering, “I would’ve expected such a stunt from your Aunt Hannah, but not from my two practical sons” at least half a dozen times.
Henry didn’t think much about practicality.
And by the following week Matt no longer viewed his action as the sentimental whim of a spoiled Englischer. He began to see potential in every one of his acquisitions. With patience, some could be retrained as buggy horses, while others would make acceptable riding stock for those not interested in looks or blood lines. Others could become pets to a family who couldn’t afford worthier horses, while the three elderly mares could live out their days in the company of old Belle.
But in the meantime the Miller brothers worked from before dawn until well after dusk. They still had their regular chores, such as mucking stalls, milking cows, feeding chickens, and harvesting the last of the garden. Their father needed help with the repair of buildings and equipment, besides fertilizing the fields to prepare for winter. So when Saturday dawned clear and bright, Matthew and Henry marched out of the house early with buckets, scrub brushes, and the garden hose. The newcomers would get baths in the warm sunshine. Nobody would refer to them as smelly old nags ever again. With their concentration fully on the skittish horses, neither young man heard the sound of footsteps.
