Chapter Eight
Katy slipped her sweater over her dress and dashed across the yard toward the barn. Caleb Penner’s sedan blocked the path, forcing her to take a detour. But she wouldn’t complain! The chilly wind chased her though the big door. She scurried into the tank room, where milk flowed through clear tubes into the large refrigerated tank. When Katy was little, she liked to pretend the tank was a hippopotamus. Sometimes she wished she were still little. Life had been a lot less complicated back then.
She tapped on the thick glass window that offered a view into the milking room. Both Dad and Caleb lifted their heads from the milking machines. Even the cows hooked to the machines looked up. Katy grinned at the curious bovine faces then focused on Dad. She mimed lifting a spoon to her mouth then pointed to the back of her left wrist to ask when he would be ready to eat. Usually he and Caleb were finished milking by 6:30, but it was already 6:45, and a few cows still waited in line outside the barn.
Dad balled his fists and flashed his fingers twice, telling Katy he needed twenty more minutes. She tried not to frown. Her meatloaf would be dry and flavorless by then. Before she could acknowledge his response, he pointed at Caleb and held up three fingers. Katy got the message: set three plates because Caleb was staying for supper. Another frown tried to curl her lips downward, but she managed to hold it at bay and scurried out of the barn back to the kitchen.
The good smells from the oven turned her stomach inside-out with hunger when she entered the house. She wished she could go ahead and eat. The meatloaf, fried potatoes, and canned peas were ready. And if she ate now, she wouldn’t have to sit at the table with Caleb, listening to him smack his food. Why hadn’t Mrs. Penner taught him better manners? But Dad wouldn’t approve of her eating ahead of him and their guest, so she pushed her hunger aside and removed another plate from the cabinet.
As she plunked the plate and silverware on the table, she muttered, “At least I’m not setting a plate for Mrs. Graber.” A second thought immediately followed. With Caleb as their guest this evening, she had the chance to show Dad she could be a gracious hostess, something most girls learned from their mothers. Dad will see I already have the skills needed to host guests at our table—one less reason to need Mrs. Graber.
Humming, Katy scuttled to the glass-front china hutch her mother had left behind and retrieved their best napkins, ones Gramma Ruthie had embroidered for Katy’s parents as a wedding gift. She folded them into neat triangles and arranged the silverware in precise rows on the creamy linen. Then she scrounged in the highest cabinet for a pretty bowl. She couldn’t put a vase of flowers in the middle of the table, but the bowl filled with red and green apples from the refrigerator would make a nice splash of color against the plain brown wood of the table. She arranged the apples just so, balancing the two colors perfectly against each other.
Instead of leaving the food in the cooking pans, the way she always did when it was just her and Dad at the table, she transferred the meatloaf to a plate and scooped the potatoes and peas into serving bowls. She even put ketchup for the meatloaf and potatoes in a little bowl with a spoon instead of plopping the plastic bottle on the table.
She had just finished filling the glasses with milk when the back door opened and Dad and Caleb pounded into the room. They carried the smell of the barn with them, and Katy almost wrinkled her nose. But she caught herself in time, whisked off her apron, and invited, “Wash up at the sink, then we can eat. Everything’s hot and ready to go.”
She waited until Dad and Caleb sat before sliding into her seat. Dad said grace, then she offered him the platter of sliced meatloaf. She turned to Caleb. “Help yourself to the potatoes, Caleb.”
Caleb snatched up the bowl and dumped half of its contents onto his plate. Instead of handing her the bowl, which would have been the polite thing for him to do, he put it back on the table and looked around, his forehead scrunched into a frown. “Do you have any bread? I like to sop up the grease from fried potatoes with bread.”
Katy nearly shuddered in revulsion. But she forced a smile. “Why, certainly.” She skipped to the breadbox and pulled out the plastic bag of bread. She stacked several slices on a dessert plate and carried it to the table. “Would you like butter too?”
Caleb gawked at the plate. “Store-bought bread?”
Store-bought won’t absorb grease? Katy nearly bit her tongue in two, holding the sarcastic comment inside. “Yes, Dad bought a loaf at the store.”
“Ma always bakes our bread.” Caleb stared at the bread like he expected it to jump off the plate and attack him.
She tightened her fingers on the plate to keep from bopping him over the head with it. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t home this past Saturday to bake.” Amazing how sweet she sounded considering her extreme aggravation. Good job, Katy. Smile. Be pleasant. Dad’s listening. “Do you still want some, even though it’s store-bought?”
Dad cleared his throat. “I’ll take some. And some butter. Thanks, Katy-girl.”
Katy gave Dad the bread and retrieved the butter dish from the refrigerator. She sat back down and carefully smoothed her napkin over her lap. Caleb had tucked his napkin into his shirt collar. No manners whatsoever…She filled her plate with the now cold meatloaf, potatoes, and peas. She also took a piece of bread, slathered it with butter, and smiled as she bit into it. She would eat every bit of the bread even if it was as flavorless as a tissue.
“Milk production’s down about five percent,” Dad commented. He took another bite of meatloaf, chewed, and swallowed. “’Course, I expect that to happen when the weather cools down.”
“Less milk means less money.” Caleb spoke around a huge bite of potatoes.
Katy almost rolled her eyes. Any idiot could reach that conclusion. She glanced at Caleb. A blob of ketchup decorated the corner of his mouth. She quickly looked at Dad. “We’ll be fine. We always have been.”
“My dad gets less business during the winter months too.” Caleb’s words slurred around the peas in his mouth. He shoveled in another scoop. “But he’s smart. He puts aside extra money during the summer so he won’t have to worry when things slow down.”
Katy bristled. Was Caleb insinuating that Dad was too stupid to take care of his own finances? She gritted her teeth before she said something she’d regret.
“Oh, I think most of us around here know to do that.” Dad replied in a calm tone. “But I do need to let you know I plan on having Katy help me during her Christmas break from school, so you’ll get a little break too.”
Caleb licked his lips, removing most of the ketchup. “You sure? I don’t mind coming over.”
“I know, and I appreciate it,” Dad said. He winked at Katy. “But she won’t have homework during the break, so she can help me.”
Katy battled conflicting emotions—elation that she’d get a break from Caleb coming to her house every day and disappointment that she’d be stuck out in the dairy barn twice a day during her break. She had hoped to spend that extra time catching up on her journal writing and maybe sewing a new dress or two. But she smiled. “That sounds fine, Dad. I’ll be glad to help you.”
Caleb shot her a doubtful look. “Well, Mr. Lambright, I guess you know what you’re doing, but a girl…”
Had Caleb forgotten that a girl was Dad’s only help before Dad hired him? The cows hadn’t seemed to mind being hooked up to the machine by a girl. She snorted, then covered the sound by coughing lightly into her napkin. She turned her sweetest smile on Caleb. “Thank you for your concern, but you don’t need to worry. I’m stronger than I look, and I’m very familiar with milking.” Dull. I’ve only grown up on this dairy farm, you freckle-faced doofus. You’re the newcomer around here. “You just enjoy that break with your family.”
Caleb sighed. “Oh, I’ll enjoy the break, but I’ll miss the paycheck. Can I have more of that meatloaf?”
“May I have—” Katy started to correct Caleb, but then she realized what she was doing. With a quick glance at Dad,
she finished, “The honor of serving you?” She stabbed a slice of meatloaf and held it toward Caleb’s plate. He picked up his plate and let Katy place the meatloaf next to his remaining potatoes. “Would you like some ketchup?”
“Yeah.” Caleb spooned several dollops of the red paste onto the meat. “It needs it. It’s good but kind of dry.”
Katy swallowed a yelp. Dad covered his mouth with his napkin. His shoulders shook slightly. She looked at Dad closely. Was he laughing? She didn’t know what aggravated her more—Caleb’s bad-mannered behavior or Dad’s amusement.
Drawing in a deep breath, she lifted her chin. “It had to stay in the oven a little longer than usual since dinner was late tonight. I’m sorry.”
Caleb shrugged and forked up a big bite. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Katydid. If you put in more onions next time, it’ll keep it from drying out. That’s what my mom does. Her meatloaf is tops.”
Soft grunts came from behind Dad’s napkin, and Katy knew he was laughing. If only she hadn’t decided to be the gracious hostess, she’d let both men have an earful! But all she could do was smile.
Dad dropped his napkin back into his lap and continued eating. A funny grin twitched on the corners of his lips, but he didn’t do any more laughing. When he’d emptied his plate, he said, “Did you make dessert, Katy?”
There was ice cream in the freezer, but Katy decided she didn’t want to prolong dinner if she could avoid it. The sooner Caleb left, the better. She might not be able to hold her tongue much longer. “Not tonight. Sorry.”
“That’s all right.” Dad plucked a green apple from the bowl in the middle of the table. The others tumbled together, ruining the perfect balance of colors she’d created. “Get me a paring knife, and I’ll just slice up an apple for dessert.”
“Me too.” Caleb grabbed out a red one.
Katy fetched two paring knives, nearly groaning in frustration. Why hadn’t she just served the ice cream? It would take less time to eat a bowl of ice cream than it would to peel, slice, and eat an apple. By the time Caleb finished and used the napkin to clean the remaining ketchup from his mouth, Katy was ready to collapse from the strain of being pleasant. But she still managed to walk him to the door, wait while he zipped up his coat, then hold the screen door open for him.
“Good-bye, Caleb. Enjoy the rest of your evening now.”
“Yeah, I will.” He started out the door, but then he turned back. “Oh, Katydid?”
“Yes?” Would he finally thank her for the meal? It might erase some of her irritation with him.
“This coming Saturday, the Brauns are planning a singing and popcorn-stringing party over at their place. Do you wanna go with me?” Caleb’s face glowed so red his freckles almost disappeared.
Katy stared at him in amazement. After he’d suggested she wasn’t capable of seeing to the cows, insulted her cooking, then failed to offer a polite thank-you for feeding him, he had the nerve to invite her to a party?
Dad’s chair legs scraped against the wood floor. He crossed behind Katy and put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll talk about it and let you know tomorrow, Caleb. Good-night now.”
“Oh, okay. Sure. Tomorrow then.” Caleb scuttled out the door.
Dad stepped around Katy and closed the door behind Caleb. Then he faced Katy. He chuckled. “So do you want to go to the popcorn-stringing party with Caleb?”
Katy folded her arms over her chest and let her expression provide the answer.
Dad’s chuckle rumbled again. “That’s what I thought. Okay, I’ll tell him tomorrow that it isn’t going to work for you to go with him.”
Katy sighed. “Thanks, Dad.”
Dad reached out and tugged Katy into a hug. “I know he bothers you, but he’s young yet. When he finally grows up, he won’t be so annoying.”
She didn’t know if she believed that Caleb would ever become less annoying, but it felt good to have Dad understand her feelings. Katy burrowed into his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.
He patted her back and released her. He frowned at the table. “I guess you’ve got a mess to clean up now, huh? Do you want some help?”
Oh, to have help with all those dishes! But she couldn’t accept it—then she’d seem incapable of handling it alone. She shook her head so hard her ribbons flew. “No, I’m fine. You go read the paper or something.”
“All right then.” He smiled down at her. “I was proud of you tonight. Thank you for being so courteous even though it was hard for you.” He ambled toward the living room.
Katy watched him go, her ears ringing with his praise. Dad 1 -Katy 2. Those were the words she wanted to hear. She should have celebrated that her plan worked to show Dad how grown-up and mature she could be. But instead, tears stung. Why did she feel guilty instead of happy?
Chapter Nine
Katy settled at the desk in her room. She needed to do homework—instead, she reached for her journal. She thought back on the evening with Caleb at the table, and in spite of her earlier irritation, she giggled. Almost without effort, she formed a poem on the page.
Ode to an Unpleasant Night
He was sitting at the table,
But it might have been a stable
The way he gnawed and smacked and chomped his food.
With freckles his nose dotting
And ketchup his mouth blotting,
Oblivious, he ruined his hostess’s mood.
He dared to offer insult
With an unexpected result—
Her father recognized how rudely crude
Was this dinner guest’s behavior.
And then to her great favor
Right out the door the bumbling pest was shooed.
She covered her mouth to hold back her laughter. If Dad heard her up here laughing, he might investigate, and she didn’t plan to share this poem with anyone. Except maybe Shelby. Shelby would see the humor in it. She drew little curlicues around the edges, decorating the poem, but as the pencil traced whirls on the page, she remembered her strange reaction to Dad’s compliment.
She stilled her pencil. She bit down on her lower lip, odd emotions nibbling at the edges of her mind. Turning to a clean page, she haltingly wrote a different poem.
So many feelings inside of me.
I don’t know…who should I be:
A girl who pleases everyone else
Or one who only serves herself?
My conscience bids me do what’s right,
But frankness begs to be given flight.
Inside I long to rant and rage
Against the rules that form my cage.
But if I break from these restraints,
Will I find freedom…or merely pain?
She stared at the words, seeking answers to the questions the poem raised. Showing herself competent and too grown-up to require a mother’s care remained her goal. Dad’s reaction to her performance as the perfect hostess this evening proved she could do it. But Annika had said pretending was the same as lying, and Katy didn’t want to be a liar. No one trusted a liar. Besides that, the Bible told stories about God’s judgment falling on those who practiced dishonesty.
Katy wondered: Was keeping Dad from marrying Mrs. Graber worth risking God’s wrath?
Wednesday morning, before the opening school bell, Katy joined the student Bible study group in the home economics classroom. The group had gained several new members since the weather had turned cooler, and Katy suspected a few of the people were only there to avoid standing outside. When she said as much to Shelby, Shelby laughed and replied, “Well, if they’re here listening, maybe they’ll pick up on something good. You never know!” Katy hoped Shelby was right.
Today’s reading came from Second Corinthians, chapter five, and verse seventeen in particular pierced Katy’s spirit. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation—the old has gone, the new has come!” Katy knew she was a new creation in Christ—she had accepted His gift of salvation when she was eleven
years old. But she still struggled against the old, selfish spirit. Why did it have to be so hard to be a new creature?
At the end of the study time, the leader asked Bryce to close the meeting. Katy lowered her head and listened as Bryce stammered out a quick prayer. Katy wondered why someone who was so eloquent in a debate round had so much trouble expressing a simple prayer. But speaking was different than praying. She’d never prayed aloud in a room full of people—the men in her church fellowship always offered the public prayers. She might stammer too.
“Amen,” Bryce said, and everyone gathered their backpacks to leave. Katy flung her flowered backpack over one shoulder, the way the other kids carried theirs, and headed for the door.
Bryce sidled up next to her. “You weren’t at debate practice last night. How come?”
“Mr. Gorsky said I won’t be able to participate in any other meets, so it was okay if I just went on home.”
“That makes sense.” Bryce shifted the weight of his backpack, bumping her lightly with his shoulder. “But it’s too bad.” He grinned. “I got kind of used to seeing you in debate. I missed you.”
Katy thought her heart might fly right out of her chest. “Really?”
“Really. You’re the only girl in debate a guy can talk to without feeling like an idiot.”
A lot of the time, Katy was uncomfortable around the other debate kids. They kept their distance from her, probably because of her Mennonite dress and cap. But Bryce wasn’t Mennonite. Why would he feel like an idiot talking to Marlys, Vicki, or any of the other girls? She wanted to ask, but her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she couldn’t form the question.
They reached the lockers, and Bryce lifted his hand in a wave. “Oh, well. I’ll still see you around, right? And you’ll be participating in forensics?”
Katy nodded. She’d definitely be in forensics.
“Okay then. Have a good day, Katy.” He jogged to his locker and began talking to a couple of other kids.
Katy's Debate (Katy Lambright Series, The) Page 6
