An Amish Homecoming

by Rosalind Lauer

  Grace began measuring the flour. “Why don’t we add this right into the bowl Megan is stirring?”

  “They have to be separate, or else the cookies won’t bake right,” Essie explained.

  “I believe that’s called chemistry,” Megan said wryly.

  “Fascinating.” Serena groaned, taking a seat at the kitchen table. The sour look on her face made Essie wonder what had happened to burst her usual bubbly mood.

  “What’s the matter?” Essie asked.

  Serena stared down at her phone.

  “She’s bent out of shape,” Megan said.

  “I just don’t know what good this cell phone is going to do without service out here.” Serena put her cell phone on the table and lay her head down beside it like a dog curling up in pain. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “You can help us with the baking,” Essie said brightly.

  Serena sighed. “No, thanks.”

  “Trust me, it’s no great loss,” said Megan. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, Serena’s kind of a disaster in the kitchen. Your cookies will turn out better if she keeps her distance.”

  “I don’t think so,” Essie said as she measured out the buttermilk—the ingredient that made this recipe different from most others. “When I’m baking with Mem and my sisters, I always think that the more loving hands in the kitchen, the better the food tastes.”

  “That’s kind of nice,” Grace said.

  Megan nodded. “Ess, you could work as a motivational team coach.”

  Essie wasn’t sure what that meant, but it seemed to be a compliment. “Don’t worry, Serena. There’s a job for you coming up at the end.”

  “Oh, goody.”

  Essie delegated Megan to grease the cookie sheets, and finally the batter was ready to be dropped onto the sheets in heaping teaspoons. “Now we sprinkle the cinnamon sugar.” Essie combined them in a small bowl and turned to Serena. “This job is for you.”

  “Seriously?” Serena lifted her head and gave a sad look.

  Megan frowned at her twin. “Get off your duff and sprinkle the cookies.”

  “Fine.” With a dramatic groan, Serena came over to the counter. She listened to Essie’s instructions and began to coat the globs of dough with sugar.

  “That’s it,” Essie said, taking the bowls to the sink.

  “Ugh. It takes so long.” Serena tried to move faster, but ended up flinging the sugar over the counter and onto the floor. “Oh. Sorry. I’ll clean it up.” When she went for a rag, Essie had to turn off the water and stop her.

  “Best try to sweep it up first,” Essie said. She went to the broom closet for a dustpan and brush. “When you add water to a clump of sugar, you get a sticky mess.”

  “That’s science,” Grace said. “I’m impressed, Essie.”

  “It’s just good common sense,” Essie said.

  “Proof that I don’t belong in a kitchen,” Serena said, her arms folded across her chest. “I’m not good at science or common sense.”

  Essie had to press her lips together to keep from agreeing. It would have been the truth, but she knew that sometimes the truth hurt.

  Maybe Mem could interest Serena in quilting or knitting. The kitchen was not the place for her.

  Chapter Nine

  That night, when everyone else had gone to bed, Essie sat on the porch, listening to the crickets’ song as she waited for Harlan. It was Saturday—date night! Most times the young man came round to the girl’s house after dark, after the family was asleep. He would shine a flashlight on her bedroom window or toss some dried corn kernels up to the glass, the signal for her to come down and let him in.

  Tonight, as everyone got ready for bed, Essie didn’t want to have to explain all this to her cousins. She just wanted a chance to be alone with Harlan, to hear how his week had gone at the factory, to tell him about the jam she’d put up, to see if he’d come up with any customers for their new business. Mostly, she wanted to lean against him, his arms around her, and listen to the soft notes of his breath in her ear.

  She yawned and shifted on the glider, her ears straining for the clip-clop sound of the hooves of Harlan’s donkey, Beebee. When everyone had gone upstairs to change into their pajamas, Essie had stayed downstairs in her dress, apron, and kapp. Although she felt a tiny twinge of guilt for ducking into the cellar door when she’d heard Serena head toward the kitchen calling her name, Essie figured it was best this way. She planned to stop Harlan before he flashed the light on the girls’ bedroom window. No need to wake her English cousins. And to be honest, right now she wanted to be left alone with her beau.

  But what was taking him so long?

  She was tired, and it was beginning to cool off out here. She went inside to find a jacket or a blanket. The kerosene lamp on the table had been turned down low. Beside the rocker was a copy of The Connection, a magazine with articles written by Amish folk. She sat down for a moment to browse through it. One writer from out west described a yellow-headed blackbird with a striking cap, brighter than a lemon. She was reading about how the female built her nest when her eyelids slid shut.

  * * *

  “Quiet! You’re going to wake everyone up!”

  “I can’t help it. I can’t see in the dark.”

  “None of us can. Do you think I have X-ray vision like Superman?”

  “That would be Supergirl.”

  “Just keep going. There’s a light at the bottom of the stairs.”

  “Thanks, Supergirl.”

  The voices, interlaced with giggles, tugged Essie awake. She bolted up in the rocking chair and found herself face-to-face with her cousins. The soft glow of the lamplight made their faces look like those of little girls again. Or maybe that was their nightclothes and faces scrubbed of makeup.

  “I told you she had to be down here,” Megan said. “Annie said she would be here.”

  “I wanted to make sure she was okay,” Serena said. “It’s not every night that a strange beam of light flashes in the window and then I find my cousin missing from her bed.” She turned to Essie. “I thought maybe you were kidnapped.”

  “Oh, no. I’m fine.”

  “You were waiting up for your boyfriend,” Grace said. “That’s so sweet.”

  “Yah. Well, I fell asleep waiting, but I guess he’s here.” Essie was already edging toward the door, trying to think of a way to shoo her cousins back upstairs. “Thanks for waking me,” she called back to them. “Good night.”

  She opened the door to Harlan, his body seeming to fill the frame with his broad shoulders, white shirt, black broadcloth trousers, and black suspenders.

  “Essie.” His smile lifted her spirits. “Sorry I’m late. I thought I’d never get here.” He took her hand to pull her into his arms, but she tugged in the opposite direction, bringing him inside.

  “We have company. My cousins saw the flashlight.”

  He let out a steamy sigh. “All right. I’ll say hello. And good night.”

  Together they crossed to the bottom of the stairs, where the girls watched curiously.

  “You remember Harlan,” Essie said.

  He nodded, and the girls all said hello as they stared. Their eyes were round with interest, as if they were watching an animal in the zoo.

  “So Harlan,” Serena said. “Do you stop by every night? Or is this just a Saturday thing?”

  “Saturday,” he said.

  “And Aunt Miriam and Uncle Alvin don’t mind?” Grace asked.

  “We wait until they’re asleep,” Essie said. “But when you’re courting, parents don’t fuss with rules about who you can see.”

  “Wow.” Serena nodded. “English parents could learn a thing or two from the Amish. It would be so great to be left alone, without curfew and parental hassles.”

  Essie nodded, wishing she could be left alone, too. “Sorry if the flashlight bothered you.”

  “Yah, sorry,” Harlan agreed.

  “You can go back to sleep now.” Essie smoothed dow
n her apron and swayed from one foot to the other. “See you in the morning.”

  “Wait. No. Hold on,” Serena said. “We’re not tired, anyway. I mean, I didn’t realize that staying up was an option.”

  “It’s still early,” Grace said. “We can hang out with you guys.”

  Essie looked longingly toward the glider by the window where she usually sat with Harlan, then turned to the dining room. “Okay,” she said, taking a seat at the big table. “How about a game?”

  “A board game would be good,” Harlan said.

  “Or a game to keep us from being bored,” Serena said with a grin. “I’m kidding. Count me in.”

  After looking through all the games on the sideboard, the girls settled on Parcheesi.

  “I’m green,” Grace called. “It’s my lucky color.”

  “Wait.” Megan frowned as the colored pieces were being set up on the board. “Only four players allowed. We need to pick something else.”

  “Harlan and I will play together,” Essie said, leaning a little closer to him.

  “So we roll to see who goes first.” Harlan shook the dice in his hands, a smile in his amber eyes. “Watch out, girls. I play to win.”

  “Same,” Megan said.

  Serena put her hands on her hips in a serious pose. “Game on!”

  Essie kept to herself during much of the game. Although she felt a tinge of annoyance at having her time with Harlan cut short, her cousins’ enjoyment softened her mood. How they loved rolling doubles or sending another player’s marker back home! They were rarely this merry during the day, though she understood the special feeling of night, when parents and little ones were asleep. It allowed a certain comfort and privacy that wasn’t available during the day.

  Even Harlan seemed to be enjoying himself. At first she thought he was being patient, but as the game went on, his full-throated laughter joined in with that of the girls. Essie gripped the edge of the table, wondering if this was to be the future. Not a moment to herself. Her days and nights occupied by her cousins.

  They were a few rolls into the second game when the familiar rumbling sound came through the open windows. The yard out front was swept by the stark white of headlights.

  “The milk truck!” Serena jumped up so suddenly she bumped the table. “Scout’s here. Come on, you guys.”

  “What are we doing?” Grace asked.

  “Come on out and meet him. And you can watch while he pumps the milk,” Serena said.

  With a sigh, Megan put the dice down and arose. “I never thought I’d be spending my Saturday night watching milk go through a hose. What’s there to see?”

  “Just come on.” Serena was already at the front door, holding the screen open. “Come on, come on,” she sang, then clapped twice. “Come on, come on. . . .”

  “Come on. . . .” Grace sang along as she went to the door.

  Megan didn’t sing, but she followed along, muttering, “Big excitement.”

  When they continued the song outside, Essie hurried toward the door to call for quiet. People were sleeping! But the girls were too wrapped up in their song to hear her thin warning as they laughed and skipped across the lawn. Such a commotion!

  Essie turned back to find Harlan sprinting toward the door. He leaned close to her and pushed it closed. “Lock the house! Quick, before they come back.”

  They chuckled as he put his arms around her and she melted against him.

  “What are we going to do with them?” she asked. “We’ll never have a moment alone.”

  “How long are they staying?”

  “A year, maybe two? They really have nowhere else to turn.”

  “Then they must be treated like family. Sisters.”

  “Sisters who sleep the day away and can’t find their way around the kitchen.”

  He leaned back, and she saw a warm light in his amber eyes. “Still . . . sisters. Brothers and sisters annoy us. No one is perfect. You just have to find the good to outweigh the bad.”

  “You’re right.” He had such a good heart. She took his hand and led him over to the glider. “I need to be patient with them, but I’ve been eager to talk to you alone. I talked with Mem and Dat about your idea, and they thought it was a good one.”

  His face brightened. “That’s good news.”

  She nodded. “If you can find some shops to sell it, they’ll let me sell all the extra jam I put up, as long as we pay for the jars and the sugar.”

  “I already found two places. There’s a quilt shop near the furniture factory—Wanda’s Quilts—and she sells cheese and honey at the front of the store. She wants a case of your jam, just as soon as it’s ready. And remember the place in Crabapple Ridge? The shop owner told us she can sell anything Amish. Once we start asking around, I’m sure we’ll find plenty of places to carry it.”

  “I’ve got two cases of strawberry ready right now, and at least a case of raspberry left over from last month. We can load up your buggy before you leave tonight.”

  “Good on you,” he said. “Looks like Essie’s Amish Jam will be landing on breakfast tables all over Lancaster County.”

  “Let’s hope some of that jam makes it onto the toast,” Essie teased. Although she wasn’t one to get wrapped up in material things, there was no denying the good feeling at having a small job that would make some money. It would feel good to contribute to the little savings account she and Harlan had started at the bank in town.

  Their house fund. Every little bit would help. If sales went well, maybe they’d be able to tie the knot this wedding season. That would be one way of solving the cousin problem.

  “It’s good to have something to work on,” she said, nudging closer to him.

  “Yah, it is. That’s how I feel at the woodshop, building things. Sometimes the hours fly by, and you’re wrapped up in measuring, sawing, and hammering. You lose track of time, and suddenly—there it is. A finished table for a family to sit around.” He put his arm around her shoulders, and she rested her face against his chest. Sometimes, if everything was still, she could hear the sound of his breathing, steady and strong.

  That was her Harlan, steady and strong. But not too strong to laugh at her cousins’ jokes.

  Her Harlan.

  Chapter Ten

  Miriam nuzzled her cheek into her pillow, trying to find her way back to sleep after the bright voices of her nieces had woken her up.

  Those three girls were spitfires at night. They hadn’t yet adjusted to the early-to-bed, early-to-rise schedule of a dairy farmer, which was no surprise. It would take time. Miriam would speak to them tomorrow about keeping their voices down at night, so as not to wake the rest of the family.

  She tried to close her eyes, but her maternal sense wouldn’t allow it. She sat up and, moving the sheet as quietly as possible, went to the window. Down by the milking barn sat the milk truck, its red taillights gleaming like two eyes. She assumed the girls were still down there, visiting with the driver.

  Gathering her summer nightgown close, she tiptoed across the room, out the door, and down the hall. If she descended the stairs staying close to the railing, the floorboards were less likely to creak. She went down eight, nine, ten stairs until she could get a peek into the main room.

  A game board was set up on the dining table, by the light of the kerosene lamp. There was movement in the sitting area, on the glider. In the dim light she could just make out the two of them cuddled together, Essie and Harlan.

  Miriam ducked back behind the wall before they saw her. She hadn’t meant to spy, but it was her job to make sure all was right in the house.

  Staying close to the handrail, she climbed back up the stairs and moved silently down the hall to the bedroom she’d shared with her husband for more than twenty years. Only a pale light sifted through the window curtain, but she knew the room by heart. Perching on the edge of the bed, she studied the still form of her husband, who faced away from her.

  “Alvie?” she whispered. “Are you awake
?”

  “Who can sleep with the noise of you tiptoeing?”

  She muffled a soft laugh. “And here I was trying to be quiet.”

  “You were. It was the other noise that woke me.”

  “Sully’s girls are lively. I checked, and everything’s fine. Go back to sleep. I can’t believe you’re up.”

  “I can’t believe it, either. Any decent dairy farmer who puts in a full day’s work would be asleep right now.”

  “You’re a mighty good dairy farmer, so I suppose you must be talking in your sleep.”

  “I don’t mind the girls talking with Scout when he comes for a pickup, but I’d rather they crossed to the milking barn without a loud yippee and a how-dee-do.”

  “That’s Serena,” Miriam said. “She’s the spirited one. No slow trot for her. Everything’s at a full gallop.”

  “Megan is just as swift. Have you seen her walking the fences?”

  “She’s quick on her feet, but not willing to test the waters. I see Serena jumping right into the pond, while her sisters wait on the shore, so afraid that they’ll never find anything better than the stubby grass under their feet.”

  Huddled on the bed, she pondered that image of the girls at the pond. Alvie’s breathing slowed again, deep and steady, this man she loved. She thought he had fallen back asleep until he asked: “Are we talking about girls, or ducks?”

  With a muffled chuckle, she put a hand on his chest. “Maybe both. I reckon you’re too tired for storytelling.”

  “Never for your stories.”

  She rubbed his shoulder. “We should sleep. There’s church tomorrow at Joe Byler’s, and even though it’s Sunday, the cows still need a milking.” She slipped under the sheet and stretched out beside him, her hand rubbing his shoulder blade. “You’re a hard worker, Alvie.”

  “Not so much anymore. When we were kids and cows were milked by hand, it was a lot of work, a lot of time spent with each cow. Now, with the milking machines, it’s easy. The cows line up and pretty much go to the machines. If they had fingers, I think they’d attach the machines to their udders all by themselves.”

  She giggled. “Cows with fingers. Wouldn’t that be a sight? But even with the machines, you have plenty of work to do.”