by Amy Clipston
Emily chuckled. “It wasn’t much of an idea, but I think it will work.”
“I can’t wait to get home and go through Mamm’s recipes,” Rachel said, rubbing her hands together as excitement seized her. “Would you help me choose one?”
Emily shrugged. “Sure. We can head home now if you want, since neither of us is playing volleyball.”
“Great!” Rachel hopped up. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 7
AFTER STOWING THE HORSE AND BUGGY AND HANGING UP her sweater, Rachel hurried into the family room where her parents were sitting in their favorite chairs. Her mother read a Christian novel as her father quietly snored with a copy of the Budget spread over his middle.
“You’re home early,” Mamm said quietly.
Rachel beckoned Mamm to follow her. Mamm placed her book on the end table and walked with her to the kitchen, where Emily was already sitting at the table.
“What’s going on?” Mamm looked back and forth at each of them. “Why did you leave the youth gathering early?”
Rachel grinned at Emily. “Em gave me a great idea, and I couldn’t wait to get started on it.” She pointed to the kitchen table. “Let’s sit and talk.”
Rachel sat down across from her sister and mother, then shared the story she’d told Emily earlier.
Mamm gaped as she stared at Rachel. “You went to visit John’s guardian?” When Rachel nodded, Mamm continued, “Why would you deliberately go against the school board’s rules?”
Rachel nodded and frowned as shame crept up on her again. “I know now it was a bad decision.”
“You realize a teacher isn’t supposed to behave that way,” Mamm began, disappointment overtaking her expression. “Teachers are always supposed to discuss problems with the school board chairman, and teachers never speak to a parent directly.”
“I know,” Rachel said, scowling. She couldn’t stand the idea that she’d let her mother down. “I’m ashamed.” She cleared her throat. “I want to make it right. I’ve already written him a note of apology in the journal, but he hasn’t responded. Emily came up with a great idea.”
Emily sat up taller and smiled. “What if Rachel sends a few meals over to Mike and John? It will take the pressure off his cousins, and it will also show Mike that Rachel understands their situation and wants to help.”
“Right,” Rachel chimed in. “I could send a couple of meals home each week. I can take a cooler and ice to the school to keep the food fresh.”
“That’s a very nice idea.” Mamm smiled. “I love it.”
“Danki.” Rachel nodded with emphasis and hoped her mother would no longer be disappointed with her. “I just need to find something to send the meals home in.”
“What about a basket?” Emily asked with a shrug. “Didn’t Veronica say she saw one in the attic when she was cleaning it out last year?”
“That would be perfect!” Rachel jumped up. “I’ll go look for one.” She took a Coleman lantern from the mudroom and rushed up the stairs.
“Don’t clean,” Mamm called after her. “It’s Sunday.”
“I know,” Rachel responded as she climbed the spiral staircase in the old farmhouse that had been in her father’s family for four generations. She continued up the stairs, passing the second floor, where her bedroom, Emily’s room, Veronica’s former room, and the sewing room were. When she reached the third floor, she pulled open the old door, which creaked loudly in protest, revealing the large, open attic that spanned the top floor of the big, white, clapboard house.
The heavy scent of dust blended with stale air filled Rachel’s lungs. She held up the lantern as she surveyed the haphazard sea of boxes, old oil lamps, furniture, and toys. She wondered for a moment if she should wait until the morning to search for the basket, but she had to leave early to get to school in the morning. She either had to find one now or look tomorrow night, but she was too excited to wait until tomorrow. She wanted to start planning the meal she would send to Mike on Tuesday. She hoped this gesture would make things right between them. She didn’t want to add to his stress or his pain any longer.
Rachel scanned the attic. Finding no basket, she began to cross the floor, weaving past various boxes and random items. She saw a box marked “Dolls,” and then climbed past two marked “Books” before finding an empty area. She wondered if that was where her mother’s hope chest used to be.
Nearly a year ago, her sister Veronica had been cleaning the attic when she discovered their mother’s cedar hope chest and found a recipe for raspberry pie that had belonged to their grandmother. Veronica began making the pies, and they were so popular that she’d opened a bake stand to sell them. Rachel scanned the attic again, but she didn’t see the hope chest. Where had it gone? She didn’t recall Mamm asking Dat to move the chest for her, but it seemed to have disappeared. She’d have to ask Mamm what had happened to it.
Rachel glanced toward a shelf on the far wall behind her and saw a beautiful picnic basket that had to be the one Veronica found. When she reached the shelf, she examined the large, brown, woven-wood basket with a two-hinge lid and two handles. When she lifted the lid, the inside looked as if it were large enough to hold a Pyrex serving dish.
Rachel smiled. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, and her smile widened with excitement. Then she noticed something written on the inside of the lid. In neat, familiar penmanship, she read, 2 Corinthians 1:7: And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.
A chill skittered up Rachel’s spine. Not only was the basket perfect, but the verse was exactly what Mike needed. She ran her fingers over the worn, woven wood and closed her eyes. She hoped this basket would be a blessing to Mike and his family.
Rachel carefully navigated through the cluttered attic with the lantern in one hand and the basket in the other. Setting the basket down momentarily, she closed the attic door behind her. When she descended the stairs, she found Mamm and Emily sitting at the kitchen table and drinking tea.
Mamm’s glance settled on the basket, and her eyes widened. “Where did you find that?”
“It was on a shelf at the far end of the attic.” Rachel set the basket on the table. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s so schee.” Emily ran her fingers over it. “It just needs to be wiped off a little.” She lifted the lid. “Ya, this is perfect.”
“Look at the Scripture verse written inside the lid,” Rachel said.
Emily read the verse aloud and then turned toward Mamm. “Is that Dat’s handwriting?”
Mamm nodded and sniffed. Her eyes suddenly looked teary.
“Did Dat make this for you?” Rachel asked, sinking into the chair beside Emily.
“I don’t think he made it, but he wrote the verse in it.” Mamm cleared her throat. “He used to bring me meals in it.”
“Dat cooked for you?” Emily chimed in, sounding equally surprised.
Mamm stood and picked up a dish towel. “Your dat is a very gut cook.” She went to the sink to wet the towel, wrung it out, and then returned to the table. “He brought me meals.” She began to gently wipe off the basket. “I had forgotten about this basket. It brings back memories.”
Rachel and Emily shared curious expressions.
“Dat used to bring you meals?” Rachel asked again. “That’s unusual.”
Mamm kept her focus on the basket as she cleaned it.
Emily got up and took a notepad and pencil from the counter. “So what do you want to send over to Mike first, Rachel?”
“I was thinking about making a tuna casserole for them.” Rachel tapped her chin with her finger. “I suppose I should find out what they like first.”
“That’s a gut idea. You can ask John.” Mamm opened the basket and wiped the inside.
Rachel studied the Scripture verse. “Why did Dat choose that verse for your basket?”
Mamm stopped wiping and stared at the verse. “It always had a special place in my h
eart.”
Rachel took in her mother’s blue eyes, longing for her to elaborate on the basket’s story, but she didn’t. Her mother gently touched the basket, and it was obvious it was special to her. There seemed to be a significant story behind the basket, and Rachel longed to know what it was. But perhaps her mother wasn’t ready to share it.
“Mamm,” Rachel began, “are you sure it’s all right if I use this basket to send meals to the Lantz family?”
Mamm met Rachel’s concerned expression. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“The basket seems to be very important to you.” Rachel touched the handle. “If you’d rather I put it back in the attic, I will.”
“I’d be froh if you used it.” Mamm smiled. “It’s not doing anyone any gut by sitting in that dusty old attic.”
“Danki.” Rachel ran her fingers over the basket and smiled.
Emily wrote on the notepad. “I’ll buy all the ingredients for the tuna casserole tomorrow when I go to the grocery store. What else do you think you might want to make this week?”
As Rachel thought through the shopping list, at the same time she hoped this gesture would help Mike forgive her.
MONDAY AFTERNOON RACHEL STOOD AT THE DOOR AND waved good-bye to the children as they filed out of the trailer. When John started out, Rachel placed her hand on his shoulder.
“John,” she said. “I want to ask you a question.”
He placed his straw hat on his head as he looked up at her. “Ya, Teacher Rachel?”
She bent down and smiled at him. “What do you like to eat for supper?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I like anything, really.”
“Do you like tuna casserole?”
John tilted his head with curiosity sparkling in his pretty blue eyes. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had it, but I think I like tuna. My cousin Marie has made me tuna fish before and put it on one of her homemade rolls.”
“If you like tuna fish, then I imagine you’d like tuna casserole. Do you know if your dat and bruder like tuna?” she asked, excited.
“Ya.” John lifted his lunch pail and tote bag to get a better grip. “I think they do.”
“Gut.” Rachel removed her hand from his shoulder. “You have a nice evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As John trotted down the rock pathway toward his waiting van, a smile spread on Rachel’s lips. She couldn’t wait to get home to make the tuna casserole. She only hoped Mike would be grateful to receive her gift.
MIKE STEPPED INTO THE MUDROOM AND YAWNED. HE WAS thankful he’d survived another long and arduous day at the store. After finishing the two gliders he was building, he stayed late to work on the accounting books, but he was thankful to still be home early enough to spend some time with his brother and father. He pulled off his work boots, placed them under the bench, and hung his straw hat and jacket on the peg on the wall before stepping into the kitchen.
The aroma of tuna drifted over him as he crossed the kitchen to where Marie stood at the sink, scrubbing a pan.
“Hi. Another long day?” She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a bleak smile.
“Ya.” He leaned a hip against the counter as he surveyed a half-empty serving dish with tuna casserole. He bent down and inhaled the scent of tuna. “It smells appeditlich. I haven’t had tuna casserole since my stepmother died.”
“It’s very gut.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel and then scooped a large chunk of casserole onto a plate.
“How was Dat’s dialysis treatment today?” he asked.
Marie shrugged. “I suppose it went better than most. He’s been worn out since he got home. It takes so much out of him.”
“I know.” Mike sat at the table. “I worry about him. I find myself waiting for the phone to ring with bad news.”
“You need to expect good news instead of bad news, Mike. Have faith.” She turned toward the sink and began washing a handful of utensils.
“I know. I do.” After a silent prayer, he forked a large bite of the casserole into his mouth and closed his eyes as the delicious food began to satisfy the hunger that had been gnawing at him all evening. He never seemed to plan for his late evenings at the shop, and he was always famished when he arrived home. “This is fantastic, Marie.”
“I’m glad you like it.” She turned toward him. “Your dat ate a little bit of it. He wasn’t very hungry after his dialysis treatment. John enjoyed it too. In fact, I had to tell him to slow down because he was eating it so quickly.”
“Danki for making it.” He forked another bite.
“As I said, I’m glad you like it, but I didn’t make it,” Marie said simply as she placed the utensils in the drain rack.
“You didn’t make it?” He looked up at her as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Did Janie make it?”
“Nope.” Marie pointed toward a large, woven-wood basket sitting at the end of the counter. “John’s teacher sent it home with him. She left a note in the basket for you.” She dried her hands on a towel and brought the basket to him.
Mike stared at it. “Malinda sent home a meal for us?”
“It wasn’t Malinda.” Marie returned to the dishes.
“Rachel sent this?” he asked, dumbfounded. The teacher who had accused him of neglecting his brother had sent a meal. He scowled. Did she send food because she thought John was too skinny and wasn’t eating right? The delicious tuna casserole suddenly tasted like sawdust in his mouth.
Mike studied the basket and silently debated whether he should read the note from Rachel.
“Mike?” Marie faced him. “Is everything all right?”
“What does her note say?”
“It’s really sweet. She says she’s been thinking of you and your family and thought she could help lend a hand. She sounds like a really nice maedel.”
He lifted a suspicious eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Just read it.” She opened the lid on the basket and handed him a note written on plain white paper. “I know you always say you don’t need any help, but she’s reaching out to you. She seems very kind and thoughtful.”
Mike took the note and unfolded it.
Dear Mike,
I hope this note finds you well. I’ve been thinking of you and John since we talked that day at your shop. I wanted to do something to help you both, so I thought I could send you a meal a couple of times a week to help lighten your load.
I’ve been working one-on-one with John, and he’s improving both with his behavior and his classroom work. I’ve written about it in his journal, but I’m not sure if you’ve seen my notes since your cousins have been responding to them.
I know you are very busy, so I understand if you can’t respond to the journal. I just wanted you to know John is making progress every day.
I hope you enjoy the casserole.
Most sincerely,
Rachel Fisher
Mike rubbed his chin. This note didn’t sound like it came from the irate teacher who had berated him in his shop a couple of weeks ago. What had caused her change of heart?
“Isn’t that nice?” Marie asked. “And I love the basket. Look at the Scripture verse written inside the lid.” She pointed toward words written in nice penmanship. They were a bit faded, but could still be clearly read.
When Mike read the verse, he felt a pang in his chest. It was as if the Lord were speaking directly to him. He let the words roll through his mind, and they warmed his soul.
“She sounds very sweet,” Marie said, interrupting his thoughts. “I assume she’s single, ya?”
“Please don’t start.” Mike shook his head and frowned. “You sound like your bruder.”
“Really?” Marie sat on the chair across from him, and her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What did Sam say?”
Mike speared more casserole. “Sam asked me if I was dating Rachel the day she came to the shop and complained to me about John’s behavior.”
Marie looked confused. “S
he came to the shop?”
“I figured Janie had told you what happened.” When Marie shook her head, he ate more casserole and wiped his mouth before sharing the story. Her expression became more and more bewildered as he spoke.
“I’m surprised Janie didn’t tell me. Maybe she mentioned it to Mamm and Mamm forgot to tell me. Anyway, I had no idea Rachel complained about John and criticized you. That doesn’t sound like the teacher who has been writing in the journal.” She fished the journal out of John’s tote bag and then handed it to him. “Read what she’s written since then.”
Mike chewed on more casserole while he flipped through the journal. He read her apology twice before finding page after page of positive comments about John, detailing his improved behavior and attitude in the classroom and on the playground. He shook his head with amazement. Why had Rachel’s attitude changed? Was she still afraid he would call the school board chairman and report her, which would cause her to lose her job?
“Was iss letz?” Marie asked.
“I don’t understand it,” Mike said, still studying one of Rachel’s notes from last week. Her handwriting was perfect—neat and tidy. The notes sounded like something a teacher would write. He imagined her sitting at the desk in the classroom while writing them.
“Aren’t you thankful he’s doing better?” Marie prodded, looking bemused.
“I am, but this sounds like a different teacher wrote them. Rachel had nothing nice to say about John when we spoke at the shop.” He closed the journal and pushed it over to her.
Marie shrugged. “She’s changed her opinion of him. I think that’s a gut thing.” She stood and put the journal in the tote bag before returning to the sink.
John appeared in the doorway. “You’re home, Mike.” He crossed the kitchen and sat down across from his brother. “Did you like the food Teacher Rachel sent home?”
Mike nodded while chewing another bite. “It’s very gut.”
“She asked me yesterday if we all liked tuna. I told her we did.” He rested his chin on his palm. “She said she’s going to send something else home later this week if it’s okay with you. I’m going to tell her it’s fine.”
