Love Inspired November 2013 #2

by Emma Miller

  “Gut, Dat!” Amelia hopped from one foot to the other, wriggling with joy. “But you forgot to count. Now my turn. You take turns.” She gathered up the beanbags and moved back about three feet. “One...zwei...three!” She burst into giggles as she successfully got one of the three into the target.

  “A tie,” Rebecca proclaimed, and when he looked at her in surprise, she said, “Amelia gets a handicap.” She shrugged and gave a wry smile. “Both on the English and on her aim.” Rebecca stepped to a spot near the utility room door, a little farther from the colander than he stood, and lobbed all of the bags in. She didn’t forget to count in English.

  “Rebecca wins!” Amelia declared. “She beat you, Dat. You forgot to count.”

  Caleb grimaced. “I did, didn’t I?”

  Rebecca nodded. “You did.”

  “The lamb’s tail,” Amelia supplied and giggled again.

  “Comes last,” Rebecca finished for her.

  He chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. It was good and strong, the way he liked it. But there was something extra. He sniffed the mug. Had Rebecca added something? “Vanilla?” he asked.

  “Just a smidgen,” Rebecca admitted. “My father liked his that way.”

  Caleb nodded and took another sip. “Not bad,” he pronounced, and then said, “Since I’m new at this corn-bag tossing, I think I deserve a rematch.”

  “The champion sits out,” Rebecca explained merrily. “So you have to play Amelia.”

  Caleb groaned. “Why do I think that there’s no way I can win this?”

  “I go first,” Amelia said, scooping up the bag. “Eins.” She tossed the first.

  “One,” Caleb corrected. “You have to say it in English, remember?”

  “Two! Drei!” she squealed, throwing the third.

  “Three,” he said. “One, two, three.”

  “I got them all in,” Amelia said. “All drei.”

  “She did,” Rebecca said. “All three in. That will be hard to beat, Caleb.”

  He pretended to be worried, making a show of staring at the colander and pacing off the distance backward. Amelia giggled. “Shh,” he said. “I’m concentrating here.” When he got back to his spot by the window, he spun around, turning his back to them and tossed the first beanbag over his shoulder. It fell short, and Amelia clapped her hands and laughed.

  “You forgot to count again,” she reminded him.

  Caleb clapped one hand to his cheeks in mock dismay. “Can I try again?”

  “Two more,” Amelia agreed, “and then it’s my turn again.”

  He spun back around and closed his eyes. “Two!” he declared and let it fly.

  There was a plop and a shocked gasp. When Caleb opened his eyes, it was to see Martha Coblentz—the other preacher’s wife—standing in the doorway that opened to the utility room, her hands full, her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish.

  Well, it should be, Caleb thought as familiar heat washed over his neck and face. The beanbag had landed on Martha’s head and appeared to be lodged in her prayer kapp. The shame he felt at being caught in the midst of such childish play was almost as great as his overwhelming urge to laugh. “I’m sorry,” he exclaimed, covering his amusement with a choking cough. “It was a game. My daughter... We... I was teaching her English...counting...”

  Martha drew herself to her full height and puffed up like a hen fluffing her feathers. The beanbag dislodged, bounced off her nose and landed on the floor. “Well, I never!” she said as her gaze raked the kitchen, taking in Rebecca, the colander, the biscuits on the stove and the pumpkin lollipop on the table. Martha sniffed and sent the beanbag scooting across the clean kitchen floor with the toe of one sensible, black-leather shoe. “Hardly what I expected to find here.” Her lips pursed into a thin, lard-colored line. “Thought you’d want something hot...for your supper.”

  Caleb realized that Martha wasn’t alone. A younger woman—Martha and Reuben’s daughter, Doris, Dorothy, something like that—stood behind her, her arms full of covered dishes. She shifted from side to side, craning her thin neck to see past her mother.

  “Come in,” Caleb said. “Please. Have coffee.”

  “Aunt Martha. Dorcas.” Rebecca, not seeming to be the least bit unsettled by their arrival, smiled warmly and motioned to them. “I know you have time for coffee.”

  “Your mother said you were only here while Preacher Caleb was at the shop,” Martha said. “I didn’t expect to find such goings-on.”

  “We came to bring you stuffed beef heart.” Dorcas offered him a huge smile. One of her front teeth was missing, making the tall, thin girl even plainer. “And liver dumplings.” The young woman had a slight lisp.

  Caleb hated liver only a little less than beef heart. He swallowed the lump in his throat and silently chided himself for being so uncharitable to two of his flock, especially Dorcas, so obedient and modestly dressed. He had a long way to go to live up to his new position as preacher for this congregation.

  “And molasses shoofly pie,” Martha added proudly, holding it up for his approval. “Dorcas made it herself, just for you.” She strode to the table, set down the dessert and picked up the questionable pumpkin lollipop by the end of the ribbon. Holding it out with as much disgust as she might have displayed for a dead mouse attached to a trap, Martha carried the candy to the trash can and dropped it in. “Surely, you weren’t going to allow your child to eat such English junk,” she said, fixing him with a reproving stare. “Our bishop would never approve of jack-o’-lantern candy, but of course, I’d never mention it to him.”

  “Pumpkin,” Rebecca said, defending the lollipop. “We were going to wash off the face.”

  Martha sniffed again, clearly not mollified.

  Amelia’s lower lip quivered. She cast one hopeful glance in Caleb’s direction, and when he gave her the father warning look, she turned and pounded out of the room and up the stairs. Fritzy—cowardly dog that he was—fled, hot on the child’s heels.

  Rebecca went to the stove and turned off the oven. “You’re right, Aunt Martha,” she said sweetly. “It is time I went home.”

  Martha scowled at her.

  “Eight on Monday?” Rebecca asked Caleb.

  “Eight-thirty,” he answered.

  Rebecca collected the colander and the beanbags, made her farewells to her aunt and cousin and vanished into the utility room. “See you Sunday for church.”

  Martha bustled to the stove, shoved Rebecca’s pan of biscuits aside and reached for one of the containers Dorcas carried. “Put the dumplings there.” She indicated the countertop. “They’re still warm,” Martha explained. “But they taste just as good cold.”

  Probably not, Caleb thought, trying not to cringe. He liked dumplings well enough, although the ones the women cooked here in Delaware—slippery dumplings—were different than the ones he’d been served in Idaho. He certainly couldn’t let good food go to waste, but he wasn’t looking forward to getting Amelia to eat anything new. The beef heart would certainly be a challenge. His daughter could be fussy about her meals. Once she’d gone for two weeks on nothing but milk and bread and butter. That was her “white” phase, he supposed. And the butter only passed the test because it was winter and the butter was pale.

  “We wondered how you were settling in,” Martha said. “Such a pity, losing your wife the way you did. Preachers are generally married. I’ve never heard of one chosen who was a single man, but the Lord works in mysterious ways. He has His plan for us, and all we can do is follow it.”

  “Ya,” Caleb agreed. The smell of the beef heart was strong, but fortunately not strong enough to cover the scent of Rebecca’s stew baked in a pumpkin or the apples and cinnamon.

  Martha eyed the biscuits. “I suppose you can eat those with your supper,” she said. “Although my sister-by-marri
age—Hannah Yoder, my dead brother’s wife—has taught her girls to cook the Mennonite way. Hannah was born and raised Mennonite, not Amish,” she said, wanting to make certain that he got her point. “Most prefer my recipe for baking powder biscuits. My Grossmama Yoder’s way. She always used lard. Hannah uses butter.” Martha curled her upper lip. “Too rich, by my way of thinking. Not plain.”

  “Ne,” Dorcas agreed. “Mam’s biscuits are better.”

  “But you’ll love Dorcas’s shoofly pie,” Martha said, patting her daughter on the shoulder. “Extra molasses and a good crumb crust. That’s the secret.”

  “Ya,” Dorcas echoed. “That’s the secret.”

  Caleb struggled to find something to say. Was he supposed to invite them to stay for supper? It was early yet, but he was hungry—hungrier than he could remember being in a long time. There was something about this mild Delaware autumn that put a spring into his step and made his appetite hearty. “I thank you for your kindness, Martha. And you, Dorcas. I’m not much of a cook myself.”

  “Just so,” Martha agreed. “And why would you be? Cooking is a woman’s gift. Men’s work and women’s are separate.” Something that might have been a smile creased the lower half of her face. “We’ll be by again on Sunday with something else. Can’t let our new preacher starve, can we, Dorcas?”

  “Ne.” Dorcas blushed and averted her gaze. “Can’t let him starve.”

  Martha started for the door and Dorcas followed. “We’ll get the china on Sunday,” the older woman said. She spared a glance at the trash can. “And, mind you, no more of those pagan sweets for Amelia. Our bishop is strict. I can’t imagine what his wife would say if she knew that Rebecca Yoder gave such nonsense to your innocent daughter.”

  Chapter Five

  Two weeks later, on the last Sunday in October, church was held at Samuel and Anna’s home, and the community got to hear the new preacher’s first sermon. Caleb had chosen to speak on Moses and how—with the Lord’s help—he led the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, through the wastelands in search of the Promised Land. Prayers and scripture readings by Rebecca’s Uncle Reuben aided Caleb; the main sermon on faith and patience in the face of impossible odds was delivered by Bishop Atlee. Everyone had an opinion about Caleb’s sermon, but most agreed that it was a good one for a beginner.

  “Plainspoken is what I say,” Lydia Beachy declared later as she collected dirty plates from the long table in the backyard and placed them in a tub of soapy water. The deep container fitted neatly in the back of a child’s wagon pulled by Rebecca. Men, women and children had all finished eating, and the women and girls were busy cleaning up before a short prayer session that would end the day’s worship. “The man is plainspoken.”

  “But that’s a good thing in a preacher.” Martha picked up a handful of dirty silverware, glanced across the yard toward the group of men lounging against the barn and lowered her voice. “My Reuben has a real gift for delivering a sermon, but he can let the time get away from him.”

  Rebecca averted her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together to keep from smiling. Uncle Reuben was known for his long sermons, preaching sessions that Bishop Atlee sometimes tactfully cut short by asking that the congregation rise for a hymn from the Ausbund. But Uncle Reuben had been chosen to minister to the flock, and such thoughts, she decided, were uncharitable—especially on a church Sunday.

  Lydia nodded to give emphasis to her statements. She was tall and thin, and her head bobbing was so vigorous when she spoke that Rebecca always expected her kapp to fly off like a startled pigeon.

  “No one could call Caleb long-winded,” Lydia declared in her always-squeaky voice. “In my opinion, he might have been a bit nervous, but who wouldn’t be his first time preaching?” She folded her arms and looked right into Aunt Martha’s face. “Can you imagine standing up there and having to give a sermon?”

  “Ne.” Aunt Martha’s mouth and eyes opened wide. “Wherever do you get those ideas, Lydia Beachy?” She scoffed. “A woman preaching a sermon? Narrisch!” Crazy.

  And it was a strange idea, Rebecca had to agree. A baptized woman’s vote was equal to a man’s in the church, but women couldn’t be preachers or bishops. And Rebecca wouldn’t want to be. She’d been so nervous that when Caleb first stood up, his face pale, his hands clamped tight against his sides, she’d held her breath. But as he’d begun to talk, he’d looked out at his neighbors and began to speak naturally. He had a clear, strong voice, and a way of speaking that painted pictures of that long-ago time in her mind. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the Israelites, with all their children and their flocks, fleeing the Egyptian pharaoh’s army. And she could almost hear the crash of waves as the sea closed around the soldiers and washed them away.

  Aunt Martha said Caleb’s sermon had lasted the better part of an hour, but for Rebecca the time had flown by. She felt that he deserved the praise that people were giving him.

  “A blessing for us that the day remained so mild,” her mother Hannah said as she whisked a food-stained tablecloth off the bare table, rolled it up and handed it to Rebecca’s friend, Mary Byler. The table, really a series of folding tables, stretched more than thirty feet and required six tablecloths to cover it. Tomorrow, Anna would wash the linens and hang them out on the line to dry, but not today. No work, other than caring for livestock or what must be done for the family, was allowed on Sunday.

  The day had been unseasonably warm, and much to everyone’s delight, the church members had been able to share their communal meal outside in the yard—probably for the last Sunday of the autumn. Rebecca always loved eating outside at church. It made the afternoon almost a holiday.

  Mam nudged Rebecca’s elbow and motioned toward the back porch. Anna’s daughter Mae, Amelia and two other little girls were gathered around Susanna, listening as she “read” a Bible story. Of course, Susanna couldn’t really read all the words in the book, but she knew them by heart and could recite them well enough to satisfy the children. Vigorous play wasn’t encouraged on the Sabbath, and it was sometimes difficult to keep active little ones suitably occupied.

  “Amelia’s been a good girl today.” Hannah smiled. “You’ve done wonders with her.”

  Rebecca nodded. “I only had to take her out of service twice, once to use the bathroom and later when she was getting hungry. And so far, no temper tantrums.”

  “Just wait,” Mary said. “That Amelia’s a handful. Just when you think she’s behaving and being nice...Wham. A dead mouse in your apron pocket.” She rolled her eyes. “And the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. If you ask me, I’d say our new preacher has a sharp side, as well.”

  “I haven’t seen it since I’ve been working there,” Rebecca said. She felt that her friend had gone overboard in finding fault with the little girl and, for that matter, with her father. Other than a few setbacks, she’d made out fine at Caleb’s house, and she had to admit, she looked forward to going every day. “Amelia’s like any four-year-old,” Rebecca defended. “She gets into mischief sometimes, but she’s sweet natured.”

  “Sweet like honeycomb in the hive,” Mary murmured, half under her breath. “Full of bee stings.” Rebecca’s mother handed Mary another soiled tablecloth, and Mary bundled an armload together. “I’ll take these to the washroom and come back for the others.”

  “I’ll get the rest,” Lydia offered. “You can put the rest of those sandwiches in the refrigerator with the macaroni salad and wipe down the counters.”

  While work wasn’t permitted on Sundays, necessary work like cleaning up dirty dishes and putting food away was.

  “Services will be starting soon,” Rebecca said.

  “But you can’t leave those hard-boiled eggs out.” Aunt Martha pointed to a bowl. “It’s too warm in the kitchen.”

  “We won’t,” Mary assured her as she started back toward the ho
use with the armload of tablecloths.

  Mam and Lydia exchanged looks. “I’m sorry that Mary had a difficult time with Caleb’s daughter,” Mam said, folding her arms. “But Rebecca hasn’t come home with any complaints.”

  Lydia shrugged. “Kinner can be a handful. Especially at that age. I’ll give credit where credit is due,” she continued. “Rebecca, you’ve done well with that family.” A smiled creased her thin face, making her look younger than her mid-forties. “From what Fannie told me...”

  Roman’s wife, round and rosy-cheeked Fannie, her hands full with a dishpan of coffee mugs, bustled toward them. “What did Fannie say?” she asked Lydia good-naturedly.

  Mam and Lydia chuckled.

  Rebecca liked both Fannie and Lydia. They were close friends of her mother’s, and Rebecca had known them since she was a baby. They seemed more like relatives than neighbors. Although Fannie and Lydia loved gossip as well as most, there wasn’t a mean bone in either one’s body. And if someone needed help, Amish or English, Fannie and Lydia were likely to trample each other trying to get there to give assistance.

  “Didn’t I tell you Fannie had good hearing? You can’t get anything past her,” Hannah teased.

  “I was only saying what you told me before services, Fannie,” Lydia said. “That you were in Caleb Wittner’s house on and off while Mary and then Lilly worked for him. You said that things were different since Hannah’s Rebecca took over. You said that Rebecca had put that place in order. And the child is better behaved.”

  “Ya, I did say so, Hannah.” Fannie nodded. “Not to be speaking ill of Caleb or of little Amelia. Wouldn’t do that. Eli’s cousin is a good man and a hard worker. It can’t be easy for him to tend a house and care for a motherless girl. Poor man, he means well, but he just never seemed to have his household in order. Our Rebecca’s made a world of difference.”

  “You shouldn’t be saying such things. You’ll puff her up with false pride,” Aunt Martha warned. Fannie shrugged. “Truth is truth, Martha. Mary and Lilly together couldn’t do what Rebecca has done for Caleb’s family.”