by Marta Perry
* * *
Saturday was a perfect spring day for the school picnic; the sun shone, and there was a slight breeze to keep everyone from getting overly warm. All of the parents and most of the relatives and friends who lived in the community turned out, as well as the young people’s groups from two other churches.
Before picnic baskets were brought out, there was a volleyball game between the girls and boys. The bonnets won, hands down, because the bishop decreed that all the straw hats would have a handicap. The boys had their ankles tied together with lengths of corn string, so that they were hobbled. It made for many tumbles and even more laughter. After that came an egg and spoon race, adult men against their wives, and then men had been forced to use raw eggs. The losing team, consisting of fathers and grandfathers, would have to serve the children’s lunch and clean up afterward.
Roman brought his red cart and driving goats, so that all the small children got rides. There was hymn singing by grades one through three, and a greased pig contest for boys between the ages of four and ten. After a hilarious contest and many near-misses, one of Lydia’s children caught the pig and got to keep it, much to the delight of his mother.
“Roast suckling pig for Christmas dinner,” she’d shouted. “Yum!” But everyone knew that they wouldn’t really eat his pig. Samuel had promised to trade the greased pig, a male, for a young sow. The boy would use that pig to start his own breeding project. If he was diligent, he’d have the start of his own herd and be earning money from the animals by the time he was a teenager.
Throughout the afternoon, Ruth had stayed near Mam, helping to organize the games and prepare for the pie auction. She hadn’t taken part in the volleyball because she didn’t want to be anywhere near Eli. She’d taken enough teasing from her sisters about sitting in the porch swing with him, and she wasn’t about to provide entertainment for the whole community.
Eli, thankfully, realized her reluctance to be seen talking to him and kept his distance, but that didn’t keep him from watching her. Her cheeks burned from the intensity of his stare. No matter how busy she was, she couldn’t ignore his scrutiny, and Miriam and Johanna had enjoyed every minute of her discomfort.
The day had gone well, but Ruth dreaded what was yet to come. As she’d suspected, her pie-making had been a disaster. She’d made a cherry pie, and when she’d put it in the oven, it had looked respectable. But the cherry filling had bubbled up, the crust had cracked down the middle and burned on the sides. Anna’s pies were as perfect as the ones for sale behind the glass cases at Spence’s Auction. Mam’s pie was beautiful, Miriam’s perfectly adequate. Hers was a disaster. And now everyone in the neighborhood would see what a terrible hand she was at baking, and she’d be teased for the next six months—maybe for the rest of her life.
Ruth had been tempted to stay up late and bake a half-dozen pies, hoping that at least one would turn out right, but she’d known better. With luck, no one would bid on her contribution and she could cut it into slices for the children’s table. That way, she could discard the burned spots. Kids wouldn’t care. They ate anything and didn’t know the difference.
The problem was that every unmarried girl between the ages of fifteen and seventy had brought a pie and a picnic lunch that she would have to share with whichever man paid the most for her dessert. Of the older women, there was only Salome Byler and Gret Troyer, both widows and over sixty. Salome’s pie was certain to be purchased by her brother Amos, out of pity and to see that no one was poisoned. He was used to her cooking. Salome had outlived three husbands, and Amos claimed that her pies had done in at least two of them. Gret was being courted by her third cousin, Jan Peachy, and Jan was sure to outbid anyone for her strawberry cream delight.
Everyone’s eyes would be on her and Dorcas, both single, both old enough for people to whisper that it was time—high time—that they found a husband. Charley might give something for her pie, but Charley was such a tease. If he didn’t like it, he’d let everyone know. And he would tease her worst of all. There were a couple of boys in Charley’s gang, boys that she’d known all her life, some she even liked. But they’d not bid if Charley bid. And if he did or if he didn’t, there was Eli. And who could guess what he would do?
Out of sheer cowardliness, Ruth hid her lunch basket and her pie under the table and covered them both with a spare tablecloth. Then she wandered away from the table, gathered up Johanna’s baby girl and edged her way to the back of the crowd, near the buggies. Her stomach clenched and moisture dampened the hairs on the back of her neck. If only Mam and Samuel got so caught up in auctioning off the pies on the table that they’d forget all about hers. She could only hope luck was on her side.
Mam held Dorcas’s raisin pie high over her head.
“What are we bid?” Samuel called in his deep auctioneer’s voice. “Something in this lunch basket smells awfully good. Is that your mother’s roast goose, Dorcas?”
“One dollar!” Charley shouted.
“None of that,” Samuel flung back. “This is for the school, and we know your pockets are weighed down with greenbacks. We’re starting this bidding at five dollars! Who’ll say six?”
Six came and then seven. Amid good-natured catcalls and laughter, the price rose to nine dollars. Samuel brought the hammer down and handed Dorcas’s lunch basket to a blushing boy from the north district. Dorcas took the pie, and the two went off amid whistles and hoots to find a place to spread their dinner cloth in the shade.
One after another, the pies went. They fairly flew off the table as money jingled and rustled into Mam’s fire-fund tin oatmeal box. Amy’s chocolate pie sold for twelve dollars, and then Charley bought Miriam’s for fourteen dollars. Samuel claimed a frog in his throat, got the bishop to stand in for him as auctioneer and got a roar of approval when he successfully bid on both Anna’s apple-cranberry pie and Mam’s honey-pear, paying thirty dollars for the two of them.
“After all this shouting, I’m hungry enough to eat both lunches,” Samuel bellowed. Everyone clapped. Last year, Anna’s blackberry pie had brought only three dollars, and the boy that won the bid had been thirteen years old. Sharing lunch with her mother and her mother’s beau and knowing hers was probably the tastiest pie of all might be a little disappointing to Anna, but she could take pleasure in knowing that she’d brought in so much for the school repairs.
One more pie went to one of Charley’s buddies, and when the table was empty, Ruth thought she was home free. But then Mam whispered to Samuel, and he went back and pulled her pitiful cherry pie from its hiding place.
“Ruth Yoder made this one,” Samuel said. “We all know what delicious pies those girls bake. Last chance here. Who’s going to give me ten dollars for it?” He gave a quick glance at the pie and put it into the lunch basket.
“Fried chicken, coleslaw and potato salad,” Johanna called. “Sweet pickles, corn bread and strawberries.”
No one offered a bid.
“Ten dollars,” Samuel said. “You won’t regret it. I’ve eaten Ruth’s fried chicken. And her corn bread is so light, you have to hold it down to eat it.” Nothing.
She’d hoped no one would buy her pie. But she hadn’t imagined how bad she would feel when there were no bids at all. Dorcas would never let her live it down.
“All right, you high rollers,” Samuel said. “Nine dollars. Nine dollars for a pie you’d pay twelve for at Spence’s.”
“Ruth’s was raw last year,” Charley said. “How do we know what it tastes like?”
“As if you’d know,” his mother chimed in. “You’d eat a dead horse if the buzzards didn’t get to it first.” That drew more laughter from the onlookers, but no offers for her pie.
Ruth wanted to crawl under the nearest buggy.
“Eight, eight. Who’ll give me eight?”
“I will.” Eli raised his hand. “But if I die of food poisoning, I’m blaming you, Samuel.”
“Eight, eight. We have eight dollars from the young fellow from Bel
leville. Who’ll give me nine?” Samuel chanted. “Nine dollars for fried chicken lunch and cherry pie.”
“Might be burned cherry pie,” Charley reminded them.
Snickers rippled through the audience.
“Going once,” Samuel shouted. “Last chance, boys. I can taste that fried chicken.” He lifted the lid on the lunch basket and peered inside. “Looks fine to me. Going twice. Any more takers?” He brought the hammer down with a bang. “Sold to Eli Lapp!”
Eli made his way through to the table and Samuel passed her lunch basket to him.
“Enjoy,” Samuel said. “You got a real bargain.” He glanced around. “Ruth! Where are you, Ruth? Pass that baby and come get your pie. This young buck has paid his money and wants his dinner.”
Reluctantly, Ruth stepped forward.
Eli grinned.
Chapter Twelve
“I think there’s a patch of shade under that old apple tree,” Eli said as he took the picnic basket. “This feels heavy.” He flashed a grin. “You brought lots of food. Good. I could eat a horse and chase the carriage.”
“You might be better off with the horse,” she answered. Her cheeks were burning. People were laughing and watching her. Even Susanna was giggling. “I’m not the best pie baker.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. It’s cherry, isn’t it?”
“Cherry crisp, more like it,” she replied. She followed him, keeping her eyes on his back, trying not to make eye contact with her neighbors. Soon everyone would see just how pitiful a pie Eli had spent his money on. Then they’d all start talking about how it was just as well that she didn’t want to marry, because who would want a wife who couldn’t make a simple cherry pie?
Families and couples everywhere were spreading cloths to share their lunches. Samuel’s twin sons were racing around Mam’s basket, and his younger daughter Lori Ann had a thumb in her mouth and was hiding behind his legs. She was a shy little thing who stuttered and suffered from the loss of her mother. Maybe the neighbors were right about it being time for Samuel to put off his mourning and remarry. But why did he have to choose Mam?
Ruth couldn’t see her mother accepting Samuel as the new head of the household. It was right that the husband and father assume that place, but Mam had her own way of doing things. They were making out so well that Ruth couldn’t imagine Mam or the rest of them adjusting to a new husband’s and stepfather’s ways. Home wouldn’t feel the same.
“How’s this?” Eli’s question tugged her back into the moment.
“Oh, fine.” She would have preferred sitting in the apple orchard alone with Eli, just to escape the stares, but that wasn’t an option. She dreaded opening the picnic basket. Everyone would see her poor excuse for a pie and the teasing would start all over again. They’d poke fun at her and at Eli for buying it. She didn’t know why she’d let Anna pack it. They should have left it at home or thrown it to the chickens. “I still think you wasted your money,” she ventured. “Even if it was a donation for repairing the school.”
Eli waited expectantly for her to take out the tablecloth and spread it on the ground. Everyone else was already eating, and if they were too slow, they’d miss the children’s sack races later.
“Let’s see Ruth’s pie!” Charley called from where he sat on a blanket beside Miriam, only a few feet away. He was already halfway through one of her ham sandwiches. “If it’s too tough, you can always use the crust for a wagon wheel.”
Eli threw him a look that could have scorched paper.
Ruth kneeled on the tablecloth, shut her eyes and lifted the lid. What a coward I am, she thought as she fumbled for the pie. She didn’t want to see how ridiculous the burned crust looked, compared to all the pretty pies.
“Careful,” Eli warned. “You wouldn’t want to drop it.”
She glanced down. She had the pie firmly in her hands, but it was all she could do not to gasp for air like a landed fish. This wasn’t her pie!
This crust was full and golden brown, rising high and dimpled with a pattern of cherries cut into the top, each cut just wide enough to allow the rich red filling inside to bubble up. The edges around the pie were neatly scored, not burned, but perfect and appealing. Ruth could never, in a million years, have made such a beautiful pie.
In an instant, she realized that Anna must have substituted Ruth’s ruined pie with one of her own before they left the house. She didn’t know when her sister had done it, but it was clear that she had. Had Anna really thought anyone would believe Ruth had made this? But the look on Eli’s face answered her question. He was smiling with admiration—at the pie and Ruth.
She placed the picture-perfect pie in the center of the checkered tablecloth before glancing across the school yard to see if Anna and her mother were watching. They were talking with Samuel’s children, paying her no attention. Now what? Did Ruth just blurt out the truth? It would be dishonest to pretend that she’d baked the pie when she hadn’t, but if she came clean now, Charley would make her the butt of his jokes at every gathering for years.
As if thinking about him had drawn him closer, Charley gave a sharp whistle. She looked up to see him standing over her picnic basket. “Would you look at that?” he said, making a show of rubbing his eyes. “Ruth’s pie isn’t burned this year.”
Around her, heads were turning. Dorcas’s lunch partner stretched his neck to stare at them.
“You’ll be burned if you don’t get back here and eat my pie,” Miriam said, loud enough for those around her to hear.
Everyone laughed, turning the joke on Charley as he hurried back to his own picnic lunch.
Ruth began removing the sugared peaches and potato salad from the picnic basket, still in a dilemma as to what to say. “Charley’s okay,” she answered. “He just likes to tease. Isn’t he a cousin of yours? Your mother was a Byler, wasn’t she?”
“If Charley’s a cousin, he must be a fourth or fifth cousin. Not close enough to count. Not when he still has his eye on this pie.”
Ruth met his gaze and they both chuckled. Suddenly she felt shy, and she busied herself preparing the feast. He sat, stretching long legs out while she still knelt. “You didn’t have to buy my lunch, you know,” she said. She’d tell him about the pie when no one was watching them. She unfolded foil-wrapped chicken and passed Eli a plate and several paper napkins.
“Looks like I got the bargain here and the prettiest girl to share my lunch with.” He sprinkled salt and pepper on a chicken leg and looked up at her. “No need to get all red-cheeked and flustered. It’s just eating on the ground. We’re not breaking any rules.”
“Ne, we are not.” In spite of her fears, she was having a good time with Eli. He didn’t seem like a flirt or a fast boy today. He felt like someone she’d always known, someone she could be comfortable spending the afternoon with whether it was having a picnic lunch or working on the farm. Still, what she was doing—taking credit for her sister’s baking—wasn’t honest. She should explain to him what had happened this instant. She started to say something, but Eli spoke first.
“This is nice, being here with you. I’m glad I came, Ruth. And I wouldn’t have let anybody else win that bid if I’d had to go to thirty dollars.”
“Thirty dollars? That would be too much,” she protested, but tingles of delight ran up her spine to think that he would do such a thing for her.
“Why not? I earn my wages with my own two hands, the same as anyone else here. I have no one to support. Why shouldn’t I spend what I like to support the school? And you,” he added. “Mostly you.”
Ruth bit off a small piece of chicken and chewed, but she didn’t taste it. Eli made her feel the way she had felt the day years ago when she’d climbed Aunt Martha’s big oak tree on a dare. From the top branch, she’d been able to see the farms all around. She was so high that the cows had looked as small as geese. She’d been so dizzy-headed that she’d been both thrilled and afraid. She had stayed there for an hour, too scared to climb down. Yet it gave h
er a thrill whenever she remembered it. Sitting here with Eli as her date was like that. Just looking at him made her giddy. More than that, Eli didn’t talk nonstop like Charley. Eli didn’t mind letting her just catch her breath and enjoy the sunshine and the day.
She glanced across the school yard at her mother. Irwin was standing beside Mam. Ruth couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Anna handed him a plate of food, and the boy sat down in the grass beside Mam’s spread.
Maybe her mother was right about the boy, Ruth thought. Perhaps he was lonely and misunderstood. But as she watched, the minute Mam walked away, Irwin stuck out a foot and tripped ten-year-old Rudy. He fell on his face, smashing his muffin, and Irwin laughed.
Ruth was about to get up when Mam started to give Irwin what for. She didn’t need to raise her voice. When Mam was angry, her eyes said it all. A few words from her were worse than any spanking Ruth had ever gotten from Dat.
“Ruth? Are you listening to me?” Eli asked.
She glanced at him. “Irwin just—”
“Samuel and your mother can handle Irwin.”
He was right. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
Eli’s expression was serious. “I want to talk to you about us. You can’t pretend that what happened in the movies or the orchard or your porch swing wasn’t real.”
She looked down at her chicken leg, all too aware of how deeply she’d allowed herself to feel for him.
“I’ve never felt this way about a girl before,” he continued. “And I think you like me.”
She sighed and laid the chicken on her napkin. Suddenly, explaining about the pie switch didn’t seem all that important. “I do like you. It’s just more complicated than you make it. Liking you isn’t enough.”
“Was it wrong of me to come here today? Don’t you want me here?”
She looked into his blue eyes. “I do want you here, Eli, but even more, I want you at church tomorrow. Don’t disappoint Mam.”
