An Amish Family Reunion

by Mary Ellis

  Martha rose to her feet with dignity, although the brittle glint in her eyes was gone. “Please put your bowl in the sink when you’re done, ehemann. I’ll wash it tomorrow. I’ll be upstairs.”

  Matthew leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling for answers. The stew had hardened into a thick plaster that could patch holes in drywall, but he didn’t care. He was no longer hungry…except for a way to make his impossible-to-please wife happy.

  Winesburg

  With spring-cleaning behind her, Julia knew what she needed—an afternoon at her sister’s house. Sipping coffee, eating sweets, and chewing the fat often cured what ailed a woman better than a doctor’s pills or therapies. She had sent a note to Hannah early that morning that she would be coming over after lunch and to be prepared. She was in the mood to gab.

  After fixing sandwiches and fresh berries in cream for Simon and Henry, Julia ate her sandwich with one eye on the wall clock.

  “Are we keeping you from an important engagement, fraa?” asked Simon, brushing crumbs from his beard into the palm of his hand.

  Henry grinned while grabbing his second turkey-and-Swiss. “I know what ren-dez-voo she has cooked up. I delivered her note after breakfast.” He pronounced the foreign word exactly how it looked, yet Julia couldn’t imagine where he’d seen it in print.

  “I have a date next door with my sister. And a spice cake is in the oven. That’s why I’m clock-watching.” She got up to crack open the oven door for a quick peek. Satisfied, she pulled out the Bundt pan and set it on the cooling rack.

  “Spice cake? You baked a spice cake while your son and I suffer with tiny strawberries that could have benefited from more time on the vine?”

  “Suffer with?” Julia wrinkled her nose. “One would think a deacon wouldn’t throw around that word so lightly.”

  Simon leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling. “True enough, yet I would think a good wife and mother would cut a couple slices of fresh-baked cake for her hardworking menfolk.”

  “A good wife might do just that, but I intend to take an intact cake next door. Goodness, Simon. It would look as though I stopped for a snack along the way.” She reached for her plastic cake tote from the cupboard.

  Henry winked at his father. “If you’ll share your dessert, mamm, I’ll drive you to Aunt Hannah’s and come back at four to pick you up.”

  Julia pondered that for a moment and then reached for a knife. “Make it three thirty. I have a pot roast for supper that’ll need two hours in the oven.” She whacked two fat slices from the tubular cake and then shoved the ends together to form a smaller circle.

  “Well done, son.” Simon retucked his napkin into his shirt. “I suggest you hurry back from Seth and Hannah’s.”

  Henry scrambled toward the door as Julia set the cake into the tote. “Be back soon, daed. Please don’t eat both pieces.”

  Julia appreciated the ride to her sister’s. After her son had thoughtfully helped her from the buggy, she carried her disfigured dessert up the steps to enter Hannah’s kitchen. She sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “Peach cobbler?” she called.

  “What a nose!” Hannah said, laughing as she delivered a baking pan to the table trivet. “The market had ripe Florida peaches on sale. I bought a half bushel since ours are still green.”

  Julia retrieved cups, the coffeepot, and a pitcher of milk before settling onto a tall-backed chair. “Where’s Phoebe?”

  “Checking on my new lambs in the high pasture. She took her tablet, so it will probably take hours to count the flock.”

  “And Seth?”

  “Gone to the grain elevator with a load of hay.”

  “Gut, we’re alone.” Julia removed her spice cake from the carrier. It listed badly to one side.

  Hannah studied it curiously. “What happened here?”

  Julia sliced two large pieces. “Cake thieves—right here in Winesburg. The area is swarming with them, but it shouldn’t affect the taste any.”

  Hannah sampled a forkful and smacked her lips. “Oh, this is yummy! You must give me your recipe.”

  “I will, if you give me some advice about my Leah.” Julia tried a forkful of cake and smiled. The sour cream did make a big difference.

  “It’s a deal. How are the Bylers since the passing of Amos?”

  “Joanna is planning to travel to Wisconsin to visit her sister. Jonah wants to go with her and wants Leah there too.” Julia pulled over the peach cobbler and began slicing it up. “Leah thinks she should stay home to run Joanna’s cheese business and keep baking.”

  “I thought Jonah employed several workers.” Hannah took a small piece of cobbler.

  “Jah, three. They can run the dairy fine while Jonah’s gone. And check that Joanna’s cheeses stay at the correct temperature for proper aging. But Leah says she must fill her pie orders.”

  Hannah shook her head. “This advice will be easy, dear schwester. Your daughter should start packing her bags. First, her place is with her husband, and he wants her in Wisconsin. Second, the county can survive a few weeks without her pies. Absence might make hearts grow fonder…and waistlines slimmer. And third, that gal needs a break from her kitchen. Sometimes Leah acts as though she’s fifty-three instead of twenty-three. A change of scenery might do those two some good.” She lightly patted her belly.

  Julia chuckled, knowing the gesture had nothing to do with desserts. “We are in complete agreement. While my pot roast is in the oven, I’ll tell her so in a letter. Henry can still deliver it tonight before he sleeps. One of those rescued horses is bound to be fast.” She refilled her mug from the coffeepot. “Then I’ll sleep better tonight too. That girl has been on my mind lately—ever since she started acting strange at Amos Burkholder’s funeral.”

  NINE

  Winesburg

  It didn’t take long for Eli Riehl to get back into the swing of things… about five hours, to be exact. One of his older sisters picked him up in downtown Berlin and brought him home. The bus from Niagara Falls dropped him off before ten o’clock, but it was well after midnight by the time their buggy rolled into the barnyard.

  At five a.m., before the crow of the irritating rooster, his dad was knocking on his bedroom door. “Eli, get up, son. It’s time for milking. Your vacation is over.”

  Indeed. Eli buried his head deeper under the pillow. Three days and two nights did not constitute a vacation. What did the Englischers call it—a getaway weekend? But it sure had been nice to get away… and to meet Phoebe Miller. He’d fallen asleep last night seeing her smile and hearing her soft voice in his head. Where had she been his whole life? His mom was right. He should get off the farm more often.

  “Eli! Do you hear me, boy? Wake up! I’m heading out to the barn. If you’re not down in five minutes, I’m sending in one of your sisters with a bucket of cold water.”

  He bolted up and threw off the covers. “I’m coming, daed. Give me a chance to dress and eat something. I’ll be right out.” He listened to the sound of his father’s work boots clunking down the stairs. Eli washed his hands and face at his basin with a pitcher of cold water, saving a hot shower for work’s end. If his sister had dumped a bucket on him, it probably wouldn’t have felt any different. However, this way he denied them the pleasure of startling him. His sister Rose would find the task especially appealing. As fate would have it, Rose was at the stove when he arrived in the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed in his oldest work clothes.

  “Thank goodness you’re up and not sick in bed. I feared you might have caught your death gallivanting so far from home. One of those strange diseases like bird flu or mad cow disease.” Rose dumped the remaining pancakes on a plate unceremoniously, and then she added five shriveled sausage links.

  “I remain with the living, and a good morning to you, dear Rose.” Eli filled the largest travel mug he could find with coffee. “I imagine a person could catch those ailments just as easily in Ohio as in New York.”

  She plopped his breakfast down
and tossed a bag of store-bought bread on the table. “Certainly not in Holmes County.”

  He frowned as he withdrew a few stiff slices. “Did this come from the day-old rack? Isn’t there any homemade bread left?”

  “All gone, sorry. Better get up earlier if you’re that picky. I bought that loaf to make stuffed chicken tonight for supper.”

  He did his best imitation of an angry bull facing a bright-red cape, but he wasted his efforts. Rose was already filling the sink to wash dishes and ignoring him. Eli poured maple syrup on his pancakes and began to devour the food.

  “I’m so glad to see you home, little bruder, that I could almost hug you.”

  Her back was turned toward him, but the voice definitely belonged to Rose Riehl. He almost choked on a sausage. “Why would that be? Did you need someone to pin your dress pattern to, or maybe try out a new recipe for pickled herring ice cream?”

  She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Did you lose your mind while at Niagara? Maybe you dropped it into the river, and it went over the falls like driftwood.”

  Eli grinned at the mental image. Rose might be surly at times, but she was the only one of his sisters with an imagination and a sense of humor. “Not that I recall. I tried not to lean too far over the rail.”

  “I’m glad to see you because now I can get back to my own work. My sewing basket overflows onto the rug. Last Friday Dad made me drive a team pulling a cutting blade in the hayfield. Then on Saturday I followed behind his baler to rake up whatever he missed into piles from sunup until sundown. I was never so tired in my entire life. Thank goodness we didn’t have preaching yesterday, or I would have been snoring by the second sermon.”

  “That’s the kind of work I do every day.”

  “But you’re a man and you enjoy it.”

  Eli mopped up the syrup with a stale bread crust. “Jah, I’m a man, but no, I don’t enjoy it. My back hurts too after a day like that. I do it because I’m a farmer.”

  Rose wiped her hands on a towel and then hung it up to dry. “Is that what this trip was about—checking out the English world to decide if you’ll stay Amish? Because I never needed to spend two hundred dollars before I got baptized and joined the church. My rumschpringe consisted of buying a bicycle to ride on back roads wearing blue jeans.”

  She met his eye, and her earnestness nearly broke his heart. All Rose had ever wanted since that bicycle was to get married, set up her own home, and start having babies. But the right man hadn’t shown up on their doorstep yet. “Rest easy, sister. I have no inclination to turn English. I plan to join the Amish church by and by. Give me some time. I like being Amish. It’s tending cows and pigs that sometimes gets on my last nerve.”

  Rose topped off his travel mug. “An Amish man can’t make a living telling stories, Eli, no matter how good he is with words.” Her declaration sounded gentle and sympathetic, not cynical.

  He smiled. “I know, but because our parents didn’t have the forethought to have at least one more son, my fate is sealed. I will help Dad until he retires, and then I’ll assume full management of the farm. I’ll be stuck here until my flesh rots into additional fertilizer for the soybeans.”

  Rose pulled a sour expression. “Don’t talk like that. Besides, as soon as you meet a girl and fall in love, having your own farm will sound better and better.”

  Eli tried, but he couldn’t prevent his face from turning the color of strawberry jam. He scrambled to his feet, snapping on the lid to his mug.

  Rose—better known as “Eagle Eye”—didn’t miss the alteration. “Are you blushing, little brother? Oh, my. Did you meet someone on the bus trip?” She closed the distance between them in three strides. “Who? Who is she?”

  “Are you a barn owl, Rose?” he asked, settling his hat on his head. “Because you sure sound like one.”

  “You met a girl on that trip! I know it. Where does she live?” Then suddenly, her exuberance drained away. “She does live in Ohio, jah? And she is Amish?”

  “Yes, to both questions. Stop worrying. I told you I’m not planning to jump the fence.” He tried to walk out the back door, but she threw herself into his path.

  “I’ll bake your favorite cookies, do all your darning first, and help you with one chore if you tell me who she is.” After a moment she added, “One chore, as long as it doesn’t involve farm animals.”

  “Why are you so sure I met a young lady?” Her perceptiveness unnerved him. That’s all he needed with five sisters.

  “Because never in your life have you turned that shade of purple. You go around embarrassing people with your quick wit, not the other way around.” She grabbed hold of his shirt. “Please tell me, Eli. I need some good news, and I won’t breathe a word to anyone. This will be our little secret.”

  She smiled so sweetly he fell into her snare like a hapless rabbit. “I met Phoebe Miller from the other side of Winesburg. I guess one or two districts east.”

  Rose’s expression couldn’t have been more shocked. “Phoebe Miller—Leah Byler’s cousin from over on Route 505? She went to Niagara Falls on this trip?”

  “Jah, or at least a person claiming to be her did.” Eli sighed impatiently. He needed to get to the barn before Dad became angry.

  “Leah says Phoebe rarely leaves the farm except for church. She hates sewing, so she won’t come to quilting bees unless she happens to be good friends with the bride-to-be.” Rose’s pursed lips revealed her opinion of those who disdained needlework. “She takes little interest in baking either, despite numerous attempts on Leah’s part to teach her culinary skills. And she doesn’t much care for shearing, spinning, or weaving wool, according to Emma Davis, Leah’s sister. Of course, I can’t blame Phoebe for steering clear of sheep. Have you ever noticed how dirty and smelly those creatures get in the spring?” She scrunched her face with distaste.

  “Rose, much as I’d love to visit with you rather than muck out hog pens, I must get to work.” He slipped around her and out the door.

  “If it is the same Phoebe Miller, what was she doing during the drive up?”

  Eli halted on the bottom step—curiosity replacing his better judgment. “She was sketching people and landscapes,” he said, turning back.

  “Jah, that’s her. Leah said being an artist is the only thing that interests her younger cousin—a totally useless skill for an Amish person.” Rose tapped her thin lips with a finger. “But now that I think about it, this girl sounds absolutely perfect for you, Eli.” Clutching her belly, Rose giggled, making no effort to speak quietly.

  So much for keeping confidences under her hat. “I’m glad I have your approval should I run into Phoebe again. And don’t forget about this being our little secret.” He shook his finger at her before marching off toward the barn.

  Rose hollered as though using a megaphone. “Don’t wait for her to get sociable. She’s as much of a hermit as you. You’ll have to track her down like a private detective.”

  He heard her uproarious laughter until the screen door slammed shut. Eli remembered a character from a magazine with a plaid hat and a huge magnifying glass. He was still chuckling when he joined his father near the horse stalls.

  “Something funny, son?” Dad’s tone didn’t encourage agreement. “Because I didn’t think it would take twenty minutes to finish a few pancakes.”

  “Sorry, daed. Rose had some questions about my trip and I couldn’t break free from her.”

  “That trip is over with. Start cleaning the horse and pigpens, and once I finish milking the heifers you can sterilize the equipment. Then I want you to wash down the concrete floors with bleach.” He sucked in a mouthful of air. “This afternoon, we’ll be cutting and raking hay until sunset.” Dad focused his attention on filling feed buckets with grain from a burlap sack.

  “I’ll get right to it.” Eli grabbed his rake and the handles of the wheelbarrow.

  He smelled the hogs long before he arrived at the indoor home of six sows and their broods of piglets. “Good mor
ning, ladies. Your cleaning service is here. Ready for a little freshen-up to your accommodations?” Eli wished his sense of smell wasn’t so acute as he prodded the porcine families into their outdoor pens.

  Memories of a wild raging river, breathtaking waterfalls, and a beautiful dark-eyed girl began to fade away. How would the sole son of a farmer find time to play Sherlock Holmes?

  Hancock, Wisconsin

  When the bus stopped at a rest area, Leah contemplated hiding in the ladies’ room until it pulled out without her. As much as she wanted to please Jonah, she hated long bus trips. All the bumps in the road jarred her kidneys, while the twists and turns upset her belly. Her mother-in-law harped that she should eat more to settle her stomach, but how could a person eat when they were already nauseated?

  Jonah did the best he could. Each time they stopped he brought her a bottle of ginger ale and, finally, a package of Dramamine. He also bought her a paperback book from the spinner rack entitled Secrets to Becoming a Better Wife. Before her spine could stiffen, he showed her his own selection for betterment: Secrets to Becoming a Better Husband by the same author. “We each have our pleasure reading,” he said, opening the book to chapter 1.

  Leah hadn’t been able to read a word. She’d kept her eyes closed for most of the trip, trying to nap, but instead she mulled over the conversation with her former business partner. April wasn’t pleased about her impromptu vacation to the cheese-producing capital of America.

  “What am I going to do without your pies?” she squawked. “You don’t think folks stop at April’s Home Cooking for my soups and sandwiches, do you?”

  “You and your sister know how to bake apple, cherry, and chocolate cream,” Leah insisted. “That’s all you need to get by until I return home.”

  “Fine, run off. Have fun, but if an out-of-business sign is hanging on the diner door when you return, it will be on your conscience.” April had only been half-joking. Business had been off ever since another tourist buffet had opened in town. The diner’s tiny kitchen mandated an equally small menu. Even a salad bar was out of the question, and most Englischers loved variety.