Winter of Wishes

by Charlotte Hubbard

“Oh, that subject’s come up, for sure and for certain!” Ira replied with a laugh. “And Hiram was bendin’ our ears about that—amongst other things—the other day when we were settlin’ into our rooms above the mill.”

  Again, Ben noted that the bishop had made his visit while he wasn’t there. “Funny you should say so,” he remarked in a lowered voice. “He didn’t by chance ask ya how much the mill was costin’? Or tell ya he thought the Brenneman boys made the place fancier than it needed to be?”

  Luke’s and Ira’s exchanged glance told Ben these subjects had indeed been discussed.

  “Truth be told, Hiram did seem to be snoopin’,” Luke said. “Didn’t want to bother ya with this, knowin’ how he’s been keepin’ such close tabs on you and Miriam.”

  Ben smiled to himself. Luke was adept at selling prospective farmers and storekeepers on the idea of raising specialty grains and carrying the milled flours in their stores: his head for business had earned him enough money to fund the Mill at Willow Ridge without needing a loan—no small accomplishment for a man who’d recently turned thirty. “So ya handled the bishop’s questions all right? Didn’t get riled up about him nosin’ into your business?”

  Luke shrugged. “First time we met Hiram, his feathers were ruffled about us buildin’ the mill on Miriam’s land, maybe cheatin’ her out of property that had been her husband’s,” he recalled. “So from the get-go, I figured him for a fella who’d make it his business to watch my business.”

  Ben nodded. “Which, most likely, is why you’re seein’ Annie Mae. Keeps things more interesting than if she was an ordinary man’s daughter, ain’t so?”

  His brothers snickered. They both had a bit of the daredevil in them, like Dat, and they refused to be intimidated by bishops or other men who told them how to behave. “That’s partly it,” Ira admitted as he grabbed a picnic hamper with each hand. “But there’s also the way Annie Mae’s been known for galavantin’ around with a certain Yonnie Stoltzfus, who’s supposedly up to no gut, as well.”

  “So I haven’t left her any time to see Stoltzfus these past few weeks,” Luke continued. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

  Once upon a time Ben, too, had talked with such a swagger in his attitude. That was the way of it while Amish fellows were still in their rumspringa, or running-around years. “Next time Hiram comes around askin’ questions, feel free to refer him to me. I’d just as soon squelch whatever schemin’ Hiram might be doin’.” He glanced down the long lane lined with carriages, toward the skeleton of a new house across the county road. “That place is my gift to Miriam, and I don’t want her happiness spoiled by a fella who’s peeved that she’s marryin’ me instead of him.”

  “See there?” Ira teased. “We’re not the only ones stirrin’ the pot! You’re way ahead of us at doin’ that, Bennie-boy.”

  As they stepped back into the heavenly warm kitchen, which was bustling with women, Aunt Jerusalem met them. “Denki, boys, for bringin’ this stuff inside,” she said. She took a triple pie carrier from Ben and set it on the nearest table. “Seems Hiram’s gone off in a snit again, despite my talkin’ to him about showin’ more humility during his shunning. But it is what it is, his attitude,” she added with a touch of starch in her voice. “Miriam’s invited us all for Sunday dinner next week, bless her heart. If he refuses to sit at his own little table, as he’s supposed to during the ban, he’ll miss out on a wonderful-gut meal.”

  “Jah, he wasn’t keen on his separate seating at Thanksgiving,” Ira recalled.

  “None too thankful, for sure.” Luke glanced toward the bustling front room, where the younger girls were setting out plates and silverware. “But enough about Hiram. Any time Miriam invites us over to eat is a day to be thankful that Ira’s not cookin’.”

  Their steely-haired aunt laughed heartily as she cut the three pies. “Miriam’s mighty excited about havin’ everybody. Her Rebecca’ll be joinin’ us—and she’s soon to move upstairs with Rhoda, above the smithy. She’s ready to start some sort of computer business, and meanwhile she’s helpin’ at the Sweet Seasons,” Aunt Jerusalem went on with a rise in her voice. “That’ll be somethin’, havin’ her English daughter livin’ with them after all those years they’d figured she was gone forever.”

  Ben nodded. Miriam was indeed ecstatic that her lost-and-found daughter wanted to live with her Plain family. Meanwhile his two younger brothers exchanged a purposeful look, as though they had their own ideas about what Rebecca’s presence in Willow Ridge might mean.

  As he carried two pies out to the tables, Ben smiled. It seemed stirring the pot was becoming everyday behavior among the Hooleys and the Lantzes. But then, from the first time he’d laid eyes on Miriam, he’d known his life would never be dull again.

  Rhoda was placing silverware alongside the plates Annie Mae had set on the long tables, when she heard thundering footsteps and loud laughter upstairs, a sure sign that some of the kids had slipped away to play. Not that playing was a bad thing, but there was a time and a place for it. As she headed for the stairway, she couldn’t help thinking that Brett and Taylor Leitner would never make so much racket indoors—

  Or maybe ya haven’t seen that side of them yet. Kids’ll be kids.

  She smiled as she pictured Taylor’s mop of flyaway curls and Brett wearing those glasses with the dangling fake eyeballs. Had they gone to church today? Was Andy home with them, or did he have to work a shift at the hospital? While it wasn’t the Plain way to labor on the Lord’s day, hospital patients depended on Andy and their doctors every day of the week.

  Rhoda stopped at the top of the stairs, crossing her arms. Sure enough, Josh and Joey Knepp were positioning themselves to race down the long hall while Levi and Cyrus Zook egged them on. “There’s plenty of room outside to be runnin’ your races, boys. Snow or not, you’ve got no business horsin’ around in other people’s homes,” she stated.

  “Better get outta our way,” one of the twins challenged, “or we might just run ya down, Rhoda Lantz!”

  “Jah, you can save your orders for those English kids you’re watchin’,” his brother joined in. “Dat says you oughtn’t be workin’ for that fella in New Haven.”

  Rhoda set aside the bishop’s opinion. If anyone had boys who needed a firmer hand, it was Hiram Knepp. “That’s neither here nor there. You boys can take your game outside with the other kids—”

  “And I’m just the man to escort ya there.” Ben ascended the last two steps and stood beside Rhoda in the hall. “Let’s go, boys. When I tell Jerusalem you were runnin’ races down the hallway, she’ll make sure ya know better than to do it again, ain’t so? The four of ya can gather up the dirty dishes and carry them to the kitchen after we eat, instead of makin’ the girls do it.”

  The five-year-old twins rolled their eyes, but they knew not to sass Ben or to test Jerusalem Hooley’s patience. The Zook boys, who were plenty old enough to behave better, followed Josh and Joey down the stairs.

  “Thanks, Ben,” Rhoda murmured. “Rachel and Micah have brought home a lot of nice wedding gifts from their weekend visits to family, and I saw no need for those four monkeys to break anything.”

  “I wasn’t so different at their age,” he recalled, “but my dat would’ve smacked my backside had I been racin’ down the hallway or snoopin’ around somebody else’s house.”

  As Rhoda returned to the expanded front room, where the tables were nearly ready for folks to be seated, she again wondered about the Leitner family. Did Andy discipline his kids? If she corrected them, would he support her or take the kids’ side? No doubt that situation would arise one of these days . . .

  As she took her place at a table between Annie Mae and Nellie Knepp, Rhoda wondered how much their dat had discussed her new job at the Leitners’. These two girls, Hiram’s oldest, had been raised with a firm hand while their mother was alive. They’d taken over most of the baby tending when Hiram’s second wife, Linda, had borne the twins, Sara, and Timmy in rapid
succession before she died—which probably explained why Annie Mae showed no inclination to join the church so she could marry and start a family of her own.

  After Bishop Shetler called for the silent grace, Annie Mae caught sight of Luke Hooley across the crowded room. She wiggled her fingers at him.

  “So what’s your dat say about ya goin’ on dates with Luke?” Rhoda asked.

  Annie Mae, who was nearly eighteen, let out a short laugh. “What can he say? Rumspringa is for tryin’ wild and crazy things before ya settle down—and Luke Hooley is one wild and crazy thing!”

  On the other side of Rhoda, Nellie shook her head. “My sister’ll catch a cartload of trouble for tellin’ Dat and Jerusalem she won’t sneak out anymore, only to do that very thing that very night,” she muttered. She stabbed a slice of ham and passed the platter to Rhoda. “She’d do better comin’ to our crochet club instead of temptin’ a devil Luke’s age. My stars, he’s thirty and still hasn’t joined the church.”

  “Ya think he’s mighty cute, Sister,” Annie Mae retorted as she grabbed the bread basket. “And you’d give your eye teeth to be goin’ out with Ira—or anybody who’d give ya a second glance.”

  “When I’m sixteen and out of school, I’ll do just that!” Nellie fired back.

  Rhoda knew better than to take sides when these two sisters unsheathed their claws. She and Rachel had rarely bickered . . .

  What’ll it be like when Rebecca moves into the apartment? What if she dates all sorts of fellas and I’m left at home, while Rachel and Micah are spendin’ their evenings here and Mamma and Ben play the newlyweds in their new house?

  But then Andy Leitner’s handsome face came to mind . . . his low, pleasant voice echoed in her ears as he told her what good work she’d done for him.

  Rhoda smiled. No harm in thinking about Andy this way, keeping her special daydreams to herself. Tomorrow afternoon she’d be going there again, and she couldn’t wait to see him! She had just the right surprise in mind.

  Chapter Eight

  After a harrowing stint in the emergency room, Andy entered the house and fell against the front door to shut it. Images of two teenagers who’d been riding tandem on a motorcycle still haunted him: when they had skidded through an icy intersection and spun out, it was a miracle they’d both lived . . . if living was what they’d do after all of their internal injuries became evident. Sometimes surviving such an accident wasn’t the luckiest thing.

  He’d vowed not to bring such tragedies home with him, though, so he stood for a moment, listening for the kids . . . getting a sense of whether his mom was up and around.

  Cookies. He inhaled the sugary-cinnamon scent that filled the room. It smells like absolute heaven in here.

  When Andy started toward the kitchen, craving all the sweetness he could get his hands on, Rhoda peered out the kitchen doorway. “I was hopin’ that was you comin’ in,” she teased. “Better join us, or there won’t be any left!”

  It was a fine sight that greeted him. His mother sat at the table, spooning up cookie dough with her good hand and pushing it onto a cookie sheet with the spoon in her weaker hand. Taylor and Brett stood at the counter measuring flour into another bowl.

  Nothing short of a miracle, he almost said, but that would ruin the mood Rhoda had once again set so effortlessly. Total cooperation . . . his kids working together while his mother regained her motor skills and manual dexterity.

  When Rhoda approached him with two chunky, warm cookies, all Andy could think of was how sweet she was. Unassuming and compassionate, as though she’d known exactly what sort of therapy he needed. “Oatmeal raisin,” he murmured. “Wow, do these look awesome.”

  “Rhoda’s oatmeal cookies!” his son exclaimed as he looked up from reading another recipe. “What do you think, Dad? Did we do good?”

  Andy bit into the soft, chewy cookie, still warm, and let out a low moan. “You did good, kids,” he replied, but his eyes were on Rhoda. “Can we keep a copy of this recipe? It’s not an old family secret, is it?”

  “Puh!” Rhoda waved him off. “I make these a couple times a week for the Sweet Seasons. Got the recipe memorized, but I can write it down, if ya want.”

  “Tell me! I’ll write it,” Taylor said as she scrambled for paper and a pencil. “Rhoda was teachin’ us about fractions while we were measuring out all the stuff for these cookies. Kitchen math is a lot funner than doing it on paper for school.”

  “I bet she’s doing a better job with fractions than I could, too,” Andy admitted. “That wasn’t your favorite math lesson, last time we tackled it.”

  Right now, however, math—and highway catastrophes—seemed miles away. As he bit into his second cookie, Andy poured a glass of milk and sat down beside his mother. She looked delighted to be helping with these cookies even though she’d never been one to bake a lot. How it soothed him to listen as Rhoda patiently dictated her recipe and then helped Taylor spell the ingredients. And was that Brett so carefully pouring vanilla extract into a measuring spoon? Ordinarily, his son flitted from one activity to the next, not finishing what he started—and definitely not doing girlie stuff in the kitchen.

  “So what are you stirring up there, Brett?” Andy asked.

  “These ones are gonna be chocolate chip cookies! Rhoda says it’s just as easy to bake a couple batches, while we’ve got the stuff out, so we can freeze some,” his boy replied with a big grin. “Then, whenever we’re ready for homemade cookies, they’ll be ready for us!”

  “Sounds like a great plan.” Again Andy marveled. While engaging his kids in making cookies, Rhoda had given them lessons in fractions, home economics, and working together as a team. It was something Megan had never—

  Let her go. No use in rehashing the past.

  Andy blinked. It seemed such messages came to him a lot these days, thoughts about moving forward rather than dwelling on a marriage that hadn’t been happy for more years than he cared to count.

  “And for supper,” Taylor chimed in, “we’re makin’ pizza, Dad! Well—Rhoda’s makin’ the crust and we get to put on the toppings. Rhoda says if we use some whole wheat flour and put on lots of sauce and veggies, pizza can be a healthy meal with all of the basic food groups.”

  Rhoda says . . . Rhoda says . . . Andy didn’t even mind that his kids were showing more enthusiasm for their new housekeeper than they did for him most days. Rhoda Lantz, in her wine-colored dress, white apron, and pleated white kapp, with her hair pulled up into a bun and not a hint of makeup, was turning his house into a home again. And for that, he was so thankful his eyes stung.

  He blinked back tears. It wouldn’t do to get all emotional, because that led to floundering in doubt and fear and inadequacy, as he had when Megan had walked out. He had no time for that. He had an internship to complete and exams to pass and—

  Rhoda’s smile made him forget those pressing obligations. “What do ya like on your pizza, Andy?” she asked. “So far, we’ve got sausage and cheese and green peppers and black olives. We’ll make two big pizzas, so ya can warm up what’s left over for another meal tomorrow.”

  “Pizza for breakfast,” he murmured before he even thought about it. “Now there’s a treat! Can we put bacon on one of them?”

  When her eyes twinkled with approval, Andy realized they were the same blue as a springtime sky.

  “Now you’re talkin’!” She removed two sheets of cookies from the oven and then slid in the two sheets his mom had just filled. “Rachel and Mamma and I make one with bacon and onions and extra cheese, and another with bell peppers and sausage—”

  “Say no more!” Andy closed his eyes in ecstasy. “We’re talking about waaay too much fat and cholesterol, but I’m going to enjoy every bite!”

  A couple of hours later, as he raised his first slice of bacon pizza to his mouth, Andy thought he’d died and gone to heaven: tender, chewy crust . . . thick, gooey cheese . . . salty-sweet bacon . . . tomato sauce seasoned with garlic and herbs. As the kids and his m
other were oohing and aahing, he held Rhoda’s gaze across the table.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed.

  She smiled shyly. You’re welcome, came her silent reply.

  It occurred to him that after only two visits, he was hooked on this young woman in a dangerous way: if for some reason Rhoda had to stop coming, returning home to find his kids fighting and his mother lying despondently in bed again might well overwhelm him. He’d already grown so accustomed to the order and harmony this young woman had brought into his home that he couldn’t—didn’t want to—consider his life playing out any other way.

  Andy snatched a piece of the sausage and veggie pizza—because if he devoured all of the bacon pie, he wouldn’t be able to have any for breakfast, would he? Wouldn’t be able to savor this deliciousness again tomorrow morning as he anticipated what wonders Rhoda would work after she arrived on Tuesday . . .

  An hour later as she dried her hands, satisfied that the kitchen was tidy enough, Andy took her aside. The kids were in their rooms choosing their clothes for tomorrow—yet another fine idea Rhoda had suggested—and his mom sat on the couch watching TV, so he had a few private moments while she waited for her ride.

  “Rhoda, we really love all the cooking you do, but—” Andy barely stopped himself from laying his hands on her shoulders. “Well, I never intended for you to work so hard, or to see that we had meals for the next day, or—”

  Rhoda’s brow furrowed. “Ach, I’ve done nothin’ but what I’d be doin’ at home. If ya don’t want me to cook—”

  “Oh, please don’t stop!” He took money from his wallet. “But you’re spoiling us. We—we could get by with canned soup or frozen lasagne or—”

  Her crestfallen expression told him he’d just made a mess of this conversation. Andy sighed. “It’s just that you work so hard at putting the house to rights, and paying attention to my kids, and—”

  “When I’m doin’ that here, for you, it doesn’t seem like work,” she murmured. Her sincere blue-eyed gaze nailed him. “I feel like I’m helpin’ your family. I feel like I’m . . . needed here.”