As her grandmother headed toward the refrigerator, Lillian shook her head while trying to quickly swallow the above-average bite of brownie. “No, no,” she said, gulping the last of the warm dessert down. “This brownie is fine for me.”
“I should have offered you some supper, I suppose, before brownies,” her grandmother said, sounding regretful. She returned to one of the long wooden benches facing Lillian.
“Propane gas, Lilly,” her grandfather belted out, seeing her eyes go to the gas bottle next to the refrigerator. “We use propane. No electricity. No connection of wires to the outside world.”
“Oh.” Lillian glanced upward at the gas lantern hanging above the table.
“We have an indoor bathroom,” her grandmother added. “In case you were wondering.”
“Yes, I remember that.” The old outhouse was still outside, but she remembered indoor plumbing from her last visit.
“How did you get here, after your plane flight and train ride?”
Lillian recalled her journey with fondness. “I took a bus to Paradise and then Samuel Stoltzfus brought me in his buggy.”
It was hard to miss the look of bewilderment on both their faces.
“Really?” her grandmother asked, her eyes lighting up with interest.
Lillian shrugged. “I guess he took pity on me when he saw me walking down the road with only one shoe on. I must have looked a mess. But the Amish boy in town said this farm was ‘down yonder a spell.’ Uh, it was considerably farther than I thought.”
“Samuel Stoltzfus is a gut man,” her grandma said. “He was a fine husband. His son works here in the afternoon on most days. Now that school is out, he’s able to put in a few more hours. He chops wood, mows . . . the things Jonas and I can’t get to anymore.”
“That’s a shame about his wife.” Lillian took a sip of her lemonade.
“You talked about Rachel?” Grandma seemed surprised.
“Not much.”
“It was God’s will,” her grandfather said softly.
“I guess.” Lillian said and got questioning looks from both her grandparents. It didn’t seem like God’s will to take a man’s wife at such a young age. “She must have been young. How’d she die?”
“The cancer got her, just like it’s gonna get me,” Grandpa said matter-of-factly and seemingly with no bitterness.
“Maybe not,” Lillian said, not looking at him. She knew her grandfather had bone cancer and that it was a painful way to go. Grandma had mentioned the cancer in her last letter to Mom. The thought of anyone going through that kind of agony bothered her immensely.
“God has blessed me with a gut woman in Irma Rose. It’s God’s will that she will have to bury me first.”
“Now, Jonas, you don’t know that.”
“She’s right, Grandpa. They come out with new treatments all the time for cancer patients.” Surely her grandpa would be open to every available option.
It felt strange to call her grandfather “Grandpa,” but what else should she call him? That’s what she’d called him when she was ten. The look on his face told her that he picked up on it and was pleased.
It seemed even stranger to call her grandmother “Grandma.” Lillian felt sure Grandma had some strong reservations about her being here. And that was fair. Lillian had her own strong reservations about being here. Her worldly ways were as foreign to them as the lantern dangling above the table was to her.
It was a tiny bedroom, and Lillian slept like a rock. She probably would have kept sleeping if her cell phone hadn’t started ringing. She peeled back the quilt on her bed and reached for the phone atop the nightstand.
“Hello.”
“Are you okay? I didn’t hear from you.” The connection was a bit crackly, but adequate.
“Hi, Mom. I didn’t know I was supposed to check in.”
“How is your grandpa?” Mom went on, ignoring Lillian’s irritated tone.
“He seems okay. He looks a lot older than Grandma, who by the way seems okay too.”
“Well, I still can’t imagine why you would want to go and live there, Lillian. You will never make it in their world. I’m staying with Paul, and he said you’re welcome to come stay here.”
“Mom! Why would you do that? Paul treated you like dirt when you were dating him before!” Lillian sat up and pushed back tangled strands of hair. “Why do you keep choosing the wrong men?” Wondering if this wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black, she was determined to learn from her mistake with Rickie.
“Lillian, things are different now.”
“They’re always different, Mom.”
“Just come home.”
“I don’t have a home, Mom.”
“I will get you back all the money I borrowed, Lillian. I promise. Then you can start fresh somewhere. Although I think it was a mistake leaving Rickie. He took such good care of you.”
Lillian threw herself across the bed in disgust. If you only knew. “Why don’t you just come here, Mom? Spend some time with your parents and find some peace.” She knew it was a safe request. Her mother would never come, nor did she want her to.
“Is that what you’re doing, Lillian? Looking for peace?”
Lillian bristled. “I don’t know what I’m looking for, Mom. I just needed to get away, and I’m broke.”
“Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“I wish you meant that.”
“You’re my daughter. Of course I mean that. But just remember that you have options. You can always come and stay with Paul and me and—”
“Good-bye, Mother. I’ll talk to you later.” Hanging up on her was better than enduring a full-blown fight. It was too early in the morning. She pulled the quilt over her head and buried her face in the pillow.
“Shame on you, Irma Rose,” Jonas whispered with a chuckle as he passed her in the hallway outside Lillian’s room. “That looks like eavesdropping to me.”
“I was just wondering if the child was still alive. It’s nearly seven o’clock. She missed breakfast hours ago. And she’s either talkin’ to herself or she’s on a portable telephone.” She continued to press her ear against the door.
“I’m going to hope it’s a mobile telephone,” Jonas said jokingly, then paused. “Give her some time, Irma Rose. I think our Lilly has had a hard life. God sent her to us for a reason. You can’t expect her to give up all her worldly possessions overnight.”
“Ya, I know. I really do, Jonas. But she said in her letter that she wanted to find peace in her life. If she meant that, I’d think she might try to live our ways while she’s here. You’re probably right, though. It’s going to take her some time.”
As Jonah kissed her on the cheek and headed down the hallway toward the bathroom, Irma Rose stood there trying to shift doubt to hope. Just because Sarah Jane wasn’t happy here didn’t mean Lillian couldn’t be.
“Is that Samuel’s son outside?” Lillian asked her grandma as she sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of oatmeal. The blinds were open, and she could see the boy chopping wood off to the side of the barn. She wished her grandfather would join them. Felt like less tension when he was around.
“Ya. He’s been a huge help ever since Jonas got down.” Her grandma walked to the window and watched the boy. “He’s a fine lad.”
“His father seems like a nice man too.”
“Ya. He’s been a good father to the boy since his mamm died.” Lillian saw her grandma taking note of her attire. Blue jeans and a white T-shirt. She’d purposely not packed any of her flashier clothes and had thought her attire plain enough, but Grandma seemed to have her nose turned up a tad.
“I hung some dresses on the peg in your room. I thought they might be more appropriate for our community.”
Lillian had seen the dresses the night before. She couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of having to wear them and wondered if Grandma intended her to do so. Evidently. Plain dark-colored dresses that would hit her about mid-calf. Ug
h. She was more comfortable in her own traditional attire. Plus, blue jeans seemed much more practical for farm life. Although maybe Grandma would be embarrassed to introduce her to the community dressed in blue jeans? Might bring forth questions Grandma didn’t want to field. She’d think about it, but for now she decided it best to change the subject.
“I’m sorry I slept so late this morning. I know you get up early and we have lots of chores to do. I don’t want you to think I’ll do this every morning—sleep late. I was just really tired from the trip. But I’m a pretty good cook if you’d like for me to cook supper tonight.”
Grandma straightened the black apron atop her dark-brown dress and turned to face Lillian. Her sheer exhaustion was apparent, along with doubt Lillian could do the job. “Well, I wouldn’t know how to act if I was given a break in the kitchen.” She paused and considered the idea. Then shook her head. “It’s a mite challenging to cook on a wood-burning stove. And Jonas likes to have things a certain way. I don’t know . . .”
“I’ll be glad to give it a shot, Grandma. Cooking is the one thing Mom did really well, and I learned early on how to prepare a meal. You said you and Grandpa eat at four thirty. I can have it ready.”
“Your mamm is a gut cook?”
Lillian sensed her need for a yes. “She is. She said she learned from you.”
Grandma’s face flooded with emotion. “And she taught you to cook . . . like we do?”
“I suppose I didn’t know it at the time, but yes. I made my first shoofly pie when I was nine. And I know how to make apple butter.” Lillian was about to tell her grandma those types of delicacies were few and far between, but when she saw the elated look on her grandmother’s face, she held her tongue.
“There are a few meats in the freezer above the refrigerator. We keep the bulk of our meats in a freezer at Kauffman’s Market in town. And there’s plenty of canned goods in the basement. You’ll see them long ’bout the far side on some shelves. If you need anything extra, I—”
“I’m sure I can find everything. I just might need you to show me a little bit about cooking on this woodstove.” Lillian studied the ancient piece of equipment. “Take a break, Grandma. Let me help you some while I’m here.”
Lillian washed her cereal bowl, thinking how worn out her grandma looked. Twice she’d heard her up during the night with her grandpa. It sounded like he was vomiting. She’d thought about going to see if she could help, but her grandpa seemed like such a proud man, and she didn’t want to embarrass him.
“I think I’ll go introduce myself to David,” Lillian said as she dried her hands on the dish towel. She headed toward the door, then impulsively turned around. “Grandma, is Grandpa okay this morning?”
“Your daadi had a bad night. He ate a little breakfast and went back to bed.”
“What about chemotherapy? Would that help him?”
“He’s chosen not to have any such thing.”
“If it’s an option, did he consider it?”
“He’s on medications for the pain. Jonas says it’s God’s will and that he will ride it out at home, as best he can.”
“Oh,” Lillian said. She wanted to argue that God—if there was a God—would want him to fight. But it seemed she and her grandmother might be moving in a positive direction amid very different worlds. Offering to prepare supper earned her some points. She hated to rock the boat, especially about God.
“You start work early,” Lillian said when she walked up behind the boy busily chopping wood. The sun was still working its way upward, and dewy droplets speckled Lillian’s tennis shoes as she walked across the freshly cut yard. “I’m Lillian.”
David removed the oversized glove on his right hand and extended it. “Nice to meet you. I’m David.”
As he removed his straw hat with his other hand in a polite gesture, David’s traditional bangs fell forward and his bobbed haircut came into view, a lighter shade of brown than his father’s. He had inherited Samuel’s handsome square jaw and natural good looks.
“I’m Jonas and Irma Rose’s granddaughter.” Lillian moved toward the boy and shook his hand.
“Ya, I know,” he said, smiling. He put his glove back on and motioned for her to step aside as he drew the axe back and swung at the log centered before him.
“Oh, they told you about me?”
“No, my daed did.” He placed another log on the pile and prepared for another split.
Lillian waited for him to swing the axe before she spoke. “Really? So, your dad mentioned me?”
“Ya.”
David looked about eleven or twelve years old. Old enough to interpret any interest she might have in his father. She’d have to be careful. “Did he tell you I came here all the way from Texas?”
His expression shifted to contemplative, and his tone took on a hint of mischief. “He said you were real pretty, like my mamm.” Grinning, he heaved another log on the pile.
The compliment made her stomach flip. “I’m sorry about your mother,” she said softly.
“It was God’s will.”
She grimaced, thankful the boy’s back was to her. How could they all accept tragedy as simply being anyone’s will? His mother must have been in her twenties when she died of cancer. How horrible to be taken from your husband and child at such a young age, whatever the motivation of a suspected Higher Being.
Knowing it was best to leave it alone, she said, “Well, I just wanted to come and introduce myself. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”
David nodded and tipped his hat in her direction.
Samuel finished plowing for the day and headed to the house to clean up before picking up David. He wondered if his son had met Irma Rose and Jonas’s granddaughter. He wondered how her first day had gone without the modern conveniences she was used to.
As he bathed, thoughts of the Englisch woman filled his mind. Reaching for the bar of soap, he pondered what would bring an outsider into their world. To be Amish for a while, she’d said. Interesting. Maybe trouble had found her. The Englisch Samuel knew always seemed to seek out Amish ways when they were in trouble. Although her spirited laugh led him to believe the woman didn’t have nearly a care in the world.
It had been a long time since he’d laughed.
Samuel knew it was always best to keep a comfortable distance from the Englischers. And practicing separation from the rest of the world came easy to him . . . most of the time.
Lillian was glad she’d offered to prepare supper that evening, but she was exhausted from the daily chores that Grandma evidently struggled with every day. Normally a night owl, Lillian felt sure she’d hit the bed by sunset. Otherwise, she’d never make it up by four-thirty to start all over again. Her face twisted in disbelief that she hadn’t thought out more carefully her choice to come here. And this was only day one.
But given the day’s events, preparing supper was the right thing to do. She had watched her grandma take numerous trips up and down the stairs to take care of her grandfather, patiently instructing Lillian as to the daily chores in between. The dark circles under her grandmother’s eyes were testimonial to her exhaustion, but she never complained.
Grandma obviously enjoyed the hard work, taking pride as she instructed Lillian on how to use the treadle machine for sewing, how to fire up the gas-powered washing machine, the proper procedure for hanging clothes on the line, and which strawberries were ripe for picking in the garden. Grandma had also managed to knock out three loaves of homemade bread and bake a rhubarb pie while Lillian watched.
She’d said she didn’t want to overwhelm Lillian with too much work on her first day. Surely she was kidding.
“I’m on a light load,” her grandma had said earlier that afternoon. “I thank the Good Lord for sending us David to help with the outside chores. And we gave up our milk cows when Jonas got too sick for us to milk twice a day. And goes without sayin’ that we don’t harvest the fields anymore. We have a small garden and plenty of meat in the freeze
r. And the gut people in our district never let us go without.”
Lillian was worrying what the next day would bring when Grandma offered up the information. “Tomorrow, we’ll add some canning to the other chores, and we’ll see ’bout picking some peas,” she’d said merrily. “We’ll start out slowly.”
Forcing an enthusiastic smile to match her grandma’s eagerness, Lillian wondered if she’d even make it to sunset this evening.
After locating a rump roast in the freezer, along with some potatoes and carrots, Lillian was now topping off the meal by preparing a salad, along with laying out some applesauce and jellies, which Grandma said was a necessary part of every meal. In between one of her many trips upstairs, Grandma had laid out one of the loaves of homemade bread on the table.
As the roast and vegetables simmered atop the wooden stove, Lillian wondered if coming here had been a bad idea—for several reasons. Evidently her grandfather was sicker than she suspected. Sickness made her uncomfortable. Cancer made her even more uncomfortable. People with cancer died. And death . . . well, death was something she hadn’t come to terms with.
“Lillian, it sure does smell gut in here.” Grandma had returned from another trip upstairs. Her hair was in the traditional bun beneath her white prayer Kapp, and several strands of gray had fallen forward.
“I hope you like it.” She took a break from chopping the tomatoes for the salad and checked on the roast. “Grandpa’s having a bad day, isn’t he?”
Her grandma took a seat on the wooden bench and rested her head in her hands. As if sensing Lillian’s fears, she said, “Ya, he is. But they’re not all bad days. Some days he does real gut. Then he gets down for a spell. Maybe tomorrow he’ll be better.”
Lillian didn’t say anything. She was at a loss for words.
“Ah, there is Samuel to pick up the boy.” Grandma nodded toward the window. The blind was open, and Lillian looked past the blooming begonias along the windowsill above the sink. She heard the clippity-clop of hooves and then Samuel directing Pete with a “Whoa, boy.”
Plain Perfect & Quaker Summer 2 in 1 Page 3
