Plain Perfect & Quaker Summer 2 in 1

by Beth Wiseman; Lisa Samson

  Foregoing her preparation of the salad, Lillian bolted toward the screen door, then turned back to face her grandma. “I thought maybe I’d invite Samuel and David for supper. Is that okay?”

  Grandma’s face scrolled into a questionable expression and Lillian feared she might be going to nix the idea, so she added, “Or, maybe, since Grandpa isn’t feeling well today, it might not be a good day for . . .”

  “I think that’s a nice idea,” her grandma interrupted. “I’ll finish the salad. You go talk to Samuel and the boy.”

  “Great!” She flew out the door to catch Samuel before he carted David away.

  Irma Rose dragged her tired body off the bench and started slicing the tomatoes. She peered out the window as Lillian jetted off toward Samuel and David. The glow in the girl’s eyes had been unmistakable at the mention of Samuel’s name. Now, her brow furrowing, Irma Rose watched her granddaughter near Samuel. Widowers Samuel’s age were rare in their Old Order district. Choosing not to remarry by now was even rarer. It had been almost two years since Rachel’s passing. Samuel should have already found a good Amish woman and remarried. That’s the way it was done—to move on as quickly as possible. She’d hate to see a good man like Samuel get distracted.

  Tending to a farm and raising a child was more than a fulltime job. Samuel needed a good woman. An Amish woman. But as she watched her Englisch granddaughter through the window, laughing with Samuel and David, pangs of worry gnawed at her insides.

  Samuel looked distracted indeed.

  3

  SAMUEL HEARD THE SCREEN DOOR OF THE FARMHOUSE slam and looked up to see Lillian darting across the yard toward them. He helped David stack the last of the chopped firewood, but his eyes remained on the Englisch woman.

  “She’s real pretty, Pop. Just like you said.”

  Samuel glanced over at his son, who was also watching the approaching woman. “And she’s very different from us, David.”

  “And we’re different from her,” David said shrugging. “So?”

  Samuel didn’t say anything but waved at Lillian as she drew nearer.

  “Hello!” she called out, catching her breath as she came to a stop before them. “I thought you both might like to stay for supper. I cooked a roast.”

  The woman was clearly proud of her work in the kitchen, and her bubbly spirit made the offer tempting. He and the boy hadn’t eaten roast in a long time.

  “Roast sounds real gut,” he said. He put a hand on David’s shoulder. “Are Jonas and Irma Rose up for it?”

  “Grandma said you are both welcome.”

  “What do you think, David?” Samuel asked.

  “Are you kidding me? That’d be a real treat. Danki, Ms. Lillian!”

  “Go get cleaned up, David.” Samuel motioned David toward the watering pump near the barn.

  “How old is David?” she asked.

  “He’ll be twelve come August.” Samuel started toward the farmhouse.

  Lillian’s face registered a variety of questioning expressions, and he assumed she must be curious about the Amish ways.

  “I suppose he has a few years, then, before his rumschpringe,” she said confidently, as if to impress him with her Pennsylvania Deitsch. Although . . . she was looking a bit too smug . . .

  “What’s a rumschpringe?” he asked.

  Her face went blank. “Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe I pronounced it wrong or got it confused with something else. I thought it was when an Amish person turned sixteen and ventured out to explore the world, leading up to courtship.”

  She looked so confused, but he was having fun. He nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm, never heard of it.”

  As they neared the front porch, she turned toward him and planted her hands firmly on her hips. “Well, I could have sworn that’s what rumschpringe was and—”

  She caught sight of his face. “Are you messing with me, Samuel Stoltzfus?”

  At her expression, he couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Shame on you,” she fussed. But her eyes twinkled.

  “I might be Plain, Lillian, but I do have a sense of humor, no?” He opened the door and motioned her inside ahead of him, grinning all the while.

  Lillian placed the platter of roast surrounded by potatoes and carrots on the table. Grandma brought the salad and some chowchow. Once they were all seated—all but Grandpa—Lillian enthusiastically motioned toward the food, “Dig in!” She was anxious to see how everyone liked the meal.

  All three of them stared blankly at her.

  “Did I forget something?” She didn’t think so.

  With a significant look, her grandmother bowed her head, followed by Samuel and David. Ouch. Chagrined, she lowered her own head as Grandma blessed the food.

  Following the prayer, Samuel seemed to sense her embarrassment and gallantly began a conversation. “David, it’s been a while since we’ve had such a fine meal laid before us.” He winked at Lillian. Or did he? It was quick, but she sure thought it was a wink. Her stomach flipped again. She could feel a blush building in her cheeks.

  “Ya, Ms. Lillian, this is a fine meal,” David said, stuffing a bite of potatoes in his mouth.

  “Thank you, David. I wish my grandpa was well enough to join us, but he—”

  They all heard a loud, gruff voice at the bottom of the stairs. “The smell of gut food and the promise of gut company ain’t gonna keep me away.”

  “Jonas, I declare,” Grandma reprimanded. “You should have let me help you down those stairs.”

  Giving her an incredulous look, he asked, “What for?” When he reached the kitchen, he rubbed his forehead and looked hard at Lillian and then at Samuel. “What have we here?”

  Feeling the need to defend her invitation, Lillian began rambling like a crazy person. “I, uh, invited Samuel and David for supper. David has been working so hard, and I figured Samuel probably worked hard all day too. And . . . and . . . maybe a good meal would be good for both of them. And I haven’t had anyone to cook for in such a long time. And, uh, Grandma looked tired. And, by gosh . . . I don’t know much about sewing, working in a garden, or much of the Amish ways . . . but I can cook!”

  Lillian drew in a breath and held it. She wanted to crawl in a hole. Forks halted midway to mouths. No one was moving or talking. They were all just staring at her as if she was nuts. Maybe she was.

  Grandpa’s tired face rolled into the biggest smile Lillian had ever seen. “I meant . . . what have we here? What’s for supper?”

  Samuel and David sat motionless. Lillian glanced at her grandma, pleading for assistance.

  “Lillian prepared supper, Jonas. She cooked a roast with potatoes and carrots.”

  “Our Lilly can cook?” Grandpa took a seat at the chair on the other end of the oblong table, across from Grandma.

  “She’s a gut cook too,” Samuel said.

  “Danki,” Lillian said sheepishly.

  “Gut! You’re learning the Deitsch wege,” Grandpa said. He helped himself to a slice of roast. “I told you, Irma Rose. The girl will come around to our ways in no time.”

  Lillian suspected her grandma doubted any type of transformation was in the works.

  A distant trill sounded. Oh, crud! There couldn’t have been a worse time for her cell phone to start ringing. Maybe no one had noticed.

  “Is that a telephone I hear?” David asked, glancing toward the stairway.

  “It’s probably Mom.” Lillian said sheepishly as the phone continued to ring. She hoped it was Mom and not Rickie. Mom being the lesser of the two evils. “I’ll get it later.”

  Her grandmother looked up at her and started to say something, then hesitated. Lillian assumed Grandma was about to reprimand her for having the phone in the house, but evidently that wasn’t what was on Grandma’s mind.

  “How is . . . um . . . how is your mamm?” Grandma looked back at her plate and shuffled her food around a bit.

  “Same as always,” Lillian said, knowing it was an undignified response. “I mean, she�
�s fine.”

  Grandma nodded. An awkward silence followed. Everyone ate.

  It wasn’t long, though, before Grandpa spoke up. “So how was your first day, Lilly?”

  “Well, I slept too late. But otherwise I tried to help out the best I could.”

  “Lillian had a gut first day. Cooking supper was a mighty big help too.” Grandma smiled in her direction as she took a bite of carrots. “And the meal is delicious.”

  “Appeditlich it is!” Grandpa said. “But tomorrow maybe you should go to the neighboring town of Intercourse. There is lots to see in town, and you can pick me up some of that special root beer I like.”

  “Sure, that’d be great.”

  Lillian looked up to catch Samuel gazing in her direction. Then felt another set of eyes on both of them. She shot a look in Grandpa’s direction. He was grinning like a fat cat.

  “Maybe Samuel can show you around? It’s a far piece to town and I don’t think you’d better be headin’ off in the buggy so soon.” He lifted his chin slightly, putting the question to Samuel.

  It was hard to miss the look Grandma fired in her husband’s direction. But before she could say anything, Samuel stepped up to the plate.

  “I’d be happy to show Lillian around.”

  Irma Rose began clearing the dishes, watching Samuel and David thank Lillian for the meal and say their good-byes. She feared trouble was brewing—a concern that intensified as she watched Lillian head out the door with them toward Samuel’s buggy.

  While the thought of Samuel and their granddaughter developing a courtship was a farfetched notion, stranger things had happened in their district over the years. And now, thanks to her husband, a date was set for the following afternoon. She couldn’t help but think of what the Good Book said: “Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?”

  Someone would have to be pretty thick to miss the looks going on between Lillian and Samuel. They’d taken a bit of a fancy to each other. She would like nothing better than to see Samuel settle down with a good woman and for Lillian to settle down with a good Amish man and become part of their community. But such things just didn’t happen. As much as she’d like the chance to make up for her failures with Sarah Jane, she knew anything more than a friendship between Samuel and Lillian was wrong. They were just too different. She’d need to keep a close eye on this and pray about it.

  Lillian watched Samuel and David climb into the box-shaped gray buggy, which was unlike the topless two-seater she’d ridden in with Samuel the day before. What was it about Samuel that piqued her interest so? The fact that he was Amish and mysterious to her way of life, or the fact that she was wildly attracted to him?

  Not that it mattered much either way. She planned to be Amish to some extent—to avoid the use of modern conveniences, work hard, and find some sort of peace in her mixed-up mind. A quiet lifestyle far away from Rickie and her mother, void of the complications of the city, would bring her peace. She’d just wait for it to come. In the meantime, having a new Amish friend would be nice. But nothing more than that.

  “See you at four-thirty tomorrow?” Lillian asked, reaffirming their plans for Samuel to pick her up the following day.

  “What about me?”

  “You can come too,” Lillian said quickly, thinking it would seem less like a date with David along. She glanced at Samuel.

  “David, you have evening chores to do.” Samuel settled into his seat and prepared to give Pete a flick of the reins.

  “I promise I’ll get them all done.” The boy glanced at Lillian, his eyes coaxing her to come to his defense.

  “We don’t have to stay too long, Samuel, if David needs to get home to do his chores.”

  Looking defeated by the two of them, Samuel nodded. “Then I will pick you and David up at four-thirty when he finishes his chores here. Since it’s suppertime ’bout then, we can eat at the Family Cupboard Restaurant between Bird-In-Hand and Intercourse, if you want. Me and David treat ourselves every couple of weeks anyway. They sell the homemade root beer Jonas talked about near there. ”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Danki again for supper!” David yelled as Samuel turned the buggy around and headed down the dirt drive.

  “I like Lillian, Pop,” David told his father as they both walked up the stairs to bed.

  Samuel started to tell his son he was sure Lillian was a fine woman but not to get any ideas.

  David caught his hesitation. He nudged his father in the arm and snickered. “You like her, too, no?”

  Samuel knew where his son was heading. “Of course I like her. She seems like a fine woman.”

  “No. I mean you like her,” David said as he reached the door to his bedroom.

  Might as well nip this right now, Samuel thought. “David, listen to me. The Englisch woman seems nice enough, but don’t be gettin’ any ideas. It’s not like that. We’re just gonna show her around town. She’s Jonas and Irma Rose’s kinskind, and it’s a favor to them.”

  He could tell by the grin on David’s face that he wasn’t buying it. “She’s funny. She’s got lots of energy. And she sure is pretty.”

  “David, I already told you . . . Lillian is not like us. So get any crazy notions out of your head, boy.” He tried to keep his tone firm. Last thing he needed was for his son to take a fancy to an Englisch woman. No question, the boy needed a mother. But while Levina and Sadie might not fit the bill, Lillian was certainly no better for him and his son. Maybe agreeing to show Lillian around town tomorrow was a mistake.

  In an attempt to practice the Amish lifestyle and help Grandma more, Lillian got up and headed downstairs for breakfast at fourthirty. She cheated, though, setting the alarm on her cell phone. That was the one modern convenience she wasn’t ready to give up—it was her only connection to the outside world. But the phone was slowly losing the charge.

  She didn’t hear Grandma get up with her grandpa during the night, and she was glad to see him joining them for breakfast.

  “Guder mariye, Lilly,” he belted. His jolliness so early in the morning warmed her heart. But then she saw Grandma’s disappointment at her choice of attire. What was the problem with blue jeans and a T-shirt? Scowl away, she thought. I’m not wearing one of those frumpy dresses on the peg upstairs.

  “Why doesn’t my bread look as pretty as yours?” Lillian asked that afternoon. She and her grandma stood in the kitchen making bread.

  “Maybe you didn’t knead it enough.”

  “I sure thought I did. I pounded on that dough till my elbows couldn’t take it anymore.”

  Grandma smiled. “I’ve had years of experience, Lillian. You’ll get it with time. It’s only your second day here and the first time to make bread, no?”

  “Yeah, but I’ve always thought of myself as a pretty good cook.” She glared down at the lopsided mound before her and frowned. “I’m sure disappointed in this bread. Might have to feed mine to the birds or something.”

  Grandma laughed. “The bread is fine, Lillian. I’m sure it tastes mighty gut.” She patted Lillian on the arm.

  “Where’s Grandpa?”

  “He’s resting.”

  “Did he have a better night last night?”

  “Ya, he did.” Grandma popped another loaf into the wooden stove. “As I said, he has gut days and bad days.”

  “Grandpa’s funny. He makes me laugh.”

  Her grandma closed the door on the stove and turned to face her. “You’re a lot like him, Lillian. You have the fire in your belly, a zest for life.”

  Hmm. A compliment from the woman who seemed more than a little apprehensive she was there . . . with her blue jeans and cell phone in tow.

  “Why did my mom leave, Grandma?”

  Lillian wished immediately that she hadn’t brought up the subject. The pain registered instantly on her grandma’s face.

  “Your mother was of age to choos
e whether or not to seek baptism into church membership. She chose to seek out the world.” The tone in her voice indicated she’d rather not elaborate.

  “But isn’t that pretty rare?”

  “‘Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it,’” her grandma said softly. “I suppose we failed.”

  “It was her choice, Grandma. That doesn’t mean you failed.” Lillian took a seat at the kitchen bench, hoping her grandma would take a break and do the same. But she stayed occupied at the kitchen counter, rinsing dishes and avoiding Lillian’s gaze.

  “Your mother wasn’t shunned, Lillian. She could have come to visit any time.” She paused. “But we saw very little of her over the years. I wrote letters to her, but . . .”

  “Mom made a lot of bad choices over the years, Grandma. It’s just hard for me to understand how she grew up in such a faithful home and then turned from it. She never even took me to church.”

  Her grandma bent slightly over the sink, shook her head, and reached for her chest as if Lillian had stabbed her in the heart.

  “I mean, I went to church with friends when I was growing up. I just didn’t have any formal religious education.”

  This wasn’t going well. The woman remained hunched over the sink, and Lillian was afraid she might be crying. “Grandma?” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just have a lot of questions where my mother is concerned.”

  Her grandma slowly turned to face her. “As do I,” she said softly, forcing a half smile before changing the subject. “Now, let’s get this next loaf of bread into the oven.”

  Lillian headed to the woodpile where David was diligently splitting wood.

  “Your dad should be here soon.” She walked up behind David, who was stacking the chopped logs.

  The boy spun around. “Hi, Lillian.” Breaking from the chore at hand, his eyes were dancing with curiosity.

  “What is it?” she asked as he stared a hole through her.

  The boy hesitated, tilting his head to one side, pushing back his straw hat. “What’s it like out there?”