An Amish Family Reunion (29 page)

“All right, then,” said Seth, followed by another grunt.

“I don’t know why you’re so against the idea,
daed
. We only want to help little children with stories that contain a moral lesson. This is a Christian publisher who might be interested in our books.”

“Books?” he asked, halting on the path. “As in more than one?”

Phoebe almost ran into his backside. “Probably only one unless they clamor for more, which is unlikely.”

Seth might have debated the topic further, but Ben interrupted. “Look there! That red-tailed hawk is carrying a rabbit in its mouth.” As the four Millers watched grimly, the rabbit slipped from the hawk’s talons into the shallow water of the pond. After a splash, they heard it scamper to safety in the tall reeds.

“Oh, good,” murmured Hannah. “I know hawks must eat too and bunnies wreak havoc in my garden, but I’d rather not witness survival of the fittest firsthand.”

Soon Uncle Simon’s barn loomed into view and Phoebe’s appetite rose in leaps and bounds. “Aunt Julia is carrying out the food. We’re just in time.”

Ahead, Henry and Matthew carried benches and extra chairs to the long tables that had been set up in the shade. Blue-checked cloths covered the tables, while stacks of plates and bowls waited for hungry diners. A ceramic frog kept a pile of paper napkins from blowing away.

When Hannah joined Aunt Julia at the table with her hamper of fried chicken, Phoebe headed to the tall oak where Martha was pushing little Noah in the tire swing. Martha greeted her with a pleasant smile and pointed to the baby carrier near the tree trunk. “Finally asleep,” she said. “That child has squalled all day.”

Phoebe crept closer to peer into the carrier. Pink-faced Mary napped with the beatific expression of an angel. While Martha pushed her son in the tire, Phoebe watched the infant sleep, utterly content. Babies were such magical creatures—true gifts from God. But Phoebe’s hunger pangs soon became downright distracting.

When Aunt Julia finally rang the farm bell, everyone scurried to eat. After their silent prayer, Phoebe noticed no one sat at the head of the table. “Where’s Uncle Simon?” she asked, accepting the bowl of coleslaw from her cousin Henry.

“Good question,” said Julia. “He went to town on district business hours ago, but I expected him home long before this.”

Seth’s eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “Would you like me to look for him?”

“I wouldn’t even know which direction to send you. Let’s be patient. He probably started jawing and lost track of time. But there’s no reason to hold up supper any longer. Folks are hungry, so let’s dig in. I’ll reheat his plate later.”

“That’s assuming there’s anything left.” Matthew took three pieces of chicken and was reaching for a fourth when Martha placed a hand discreetly on his arm.

Phoebe relaxed and began eating with full enjoyment. There might be no opportunity tonight for a heart-to-heart chat with her uncle.

And God, in His mysterious plan for our lives, did circumvent the dreaded conversation, but not for any reason she would have chosen. Uncle Simon returned home just as the apple pies were being sliced and handed around the table. He lumbered with weariness, looking more forlorn than Phoebe could ever recall. As Henry led off the horse and buggy, Simon washed up at the old-fashioned hand pump in the yard, usually used for filling watering cans for the garden. He approached the family with a solemn demeanor.

Julia clutched her throat as Simon slumped into a chair. “What is it? Has there been an accident?”

“No, no accident,
fraa
,” he said. Silently, Hannah filled his glass with iced tea. “The bishop heard from one of Robert Riehl’s daughters,” continued Simon. “Bob has been taken to the Canton hospital by ambulance. Apparently his son found him in the barn, not breathing. Eli resuscitated him and started his heart beating again.” Simon lifted his chin high. “He read about how to do it in some book—can you believe it? The ambulance driver said it looked like a heart attack and that young Eli saved his life.” Simon shook his head and took a long swallow of tea. “Read it in a book,” he repeated. “Doesn’t that beat all?”

Everyone at the table started chattering with theories and conjectures…except for Phoebe. She sat looking as though she might faint, and it had nothing to do with having to be sociable.

Y
oo-hoo, Leah.” A musical voice wafted through the kitchen window. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

It took Leah a long moment to match a name to the voice, during which time she frowned with annoyance. She was up to her eyelashes in flour, sugar, and shortening. There wasn’t a bit of air circulating through the open windows, her overly snug dress was glued to her back with perspiration, and she hadn’t a clue where her mother-in-law was. Then the identity of the cheery visitor hit her like a freight train—a sole passenger car and a red caboose, to be exact. April Lambright—her Mennonite friend and former business partner—and as it turned out, her partner in crime. Who knew running a charming diner for locals serving only breakfast and lunch would land them in so much hot water with the IRS and the Ohio Department of Taxation? Leah dropped her mixing spoon and ran out the door. “Stop peeping into my kitchen, missy, before I send for the sheriff!”

April stepped back from the window and smiled gloriously. “But isn’t that exactly how you and I met?”

Leah remembered the day she spotted the dilapidated train cars. She’d nearly broken her neck trying to view the remodel work going on inside. The two friends hugged hard enough to leave both breathless and teary-eyed. “It’s good to see you in person, instead of corresponding by notes passed back and forth through Tom.” Although Leah still supplied the restaurant with pies, April’s husband picked them up on his way home from work. The women had seldom seen each other since Leah had sold her share of the partnership to April’s sister, May. Leah pulled back suddenly. “What day is it? Did you close April’s Home Cooking just to pay a social call?”

“No, I closed the diner today for other reasons. But do you expect me to tell the story standing here on the porch?”

“I have a pot of coffee still warm. Come inside and take a load off.”

April followed Leah into a kitchen that certainly looked to be in the throes of baking day. “What happened? Did a storm touch down at the Bylers’ that missed the rest of the county?” She peered around the room, wide-eyed.

“Very funny. Now you see what it takes to create my masterpieces.”

“That’s why I’ll stick with Sara Lee.”

Leah looked around the room with an objective eye. The Byler kitchen was huge, yet some part of pie making covered every available inch of the flat surfaces. Bowls of fresh fruit and jars of canned; open bags of flour, sugar, cornmeal, and spelt; tubs of shortening, butter, and whipping cream; and spices, nuts, and spilled milk littered her work area, while a fine haze of flour hung in the humid air. She seldom baked in such disorder. “
Ach
, this is truly awful. I was so busy I hadn’t noticed.” She slumped into a chair. “I’m way behind on my pie orders.” Weariness punctuated each one of her words.

“Never fear, April is here! And I can stay the whole day. I would love to give you a hand.”

“
Danki
. You’ve been sent by the angels.”

“We’ll see if that’s your opinion by the end of the day. But first, we’ll have that cup of coffee while I tell you my news.” April grabbed the pot and two mugs from the dish drainer. “I wanted you to be first to hear that May and I have sold the diner. We signed the final papers yesterday. It’s closed for a few days, but the new owners plan to reopen by the weekend.” She hesitated, allowing time for a reaction.

Leah gasped for air. “You sold it? Your dream?”

“It was my dream, but then reality set in. I’ve tossed and turned far too many nights worrying about making ends meet.”

“But May has a good head for business, far superior to mine…or yours.” Leah softened the words with a wink.

“Yes, that’s true, and she has worked very hard. We both have. But first I had to pay off my share of the debt you and I incurred. Then I had to pay my sister back for bailing the restaurant out with the tax department. Once we put that behind us, we thought we would finally turn a profit. My husband hoped for help paying bills by now, instead of me causing more financial hardship for our family.” Her pretty blue eyes turned wistful. “But that never happened.”

“Has business fallen off? The economy is taking a while to recover.”

“No, business has been good. We have our local regulars and enough tourists find us that tables are usually full from the time we’re opened till closed. But the place is too small to make a profit. We can’t count on the outdoor tables with our unpredictable weather. And I dare not expand hours to include dinner because I’m away from my family too much now.”

Leah patted her friend’s hand. Not much had changed over the past four years. The basic limitations of a train car only open four days a week until three o’clock remained the same. “And you can’t raise prices because the locals can’t afford to pay more until things get back to normal.”

“Exactly.” April sighed wearily. “Tourists will choose the buffet down the road if I don’t remain a good value. The appeal of home-cooking only goes so far against all-you-can-eat.” She grinned, but then her gaze on Leah turned downright appraising. “That’s enough about my woes. The diner is sold, and frankly I feel a great burden is off my shoulders. Now, isn’t there some news you wish to share with me? I see a change has come over you.” One corner of her mouth lifted.

Leah blushed up into her scalp. “What do you mean? Have I put on weight eating up all my pie profits?” She settled her hands on her rounded belly.

“Not at all. It’s your countenance that’s different. Your face has the fresh tender bloom of summer roses. Is there anything you wish to share with me?” April made a rocking motion with her folded arms.

Leah slapped the tabletop. “Fresh tender blooms, my foot. It’s ninety degrees in here and I feel uncomfortable in my own skin.” When April continued to smile, Leah relented. “You are impossible, but
jah
, I’m expecting a
boppli
. That’s part of the reason I can’t keep up with chores. My stomach turns queasy from the mere crack of an egg.”

After a second round of hugs and tears, April sprang to her feet. “How can I help? I’m not leaving until order has been restored to this kitchen or the baby is born, whichever comes first.”

“If you have time to spare, I sure could use those walnuts cracked and hulled.” She pointed at a brimming burlap sack on the floor.

“Cracking nuts—my favorite. I have lots of time before my kids get off the school bus. Let’s get busy.”

Several hours and multiple cups of coffee later, they had baked enough apple walnut, blueberry cheesecake, chocolate mousse, and cherry pies to fill the existing orders. After fixing lunch for Jonah and his helpers, Leah and April sat down to their own bologna with Swiss sandwiches and lemonade.

“Where’s your mother-in-law? I heard Joanna had returned from Wisconsin.”

Leah set down her sandwich, deciding to unburden her heart about the other troubling matter. “She has, but today she left with samples of her latest creations—peppercorn Colby and tomato-basil Gouda. She’s visiting cheese and gift shops to secure new orders. As though we don’t have enough work with her standing accounts.” Leah didn’t try to hide her bad temper.

“Those varieties sound yummy. Maybe she should hire another employee.” April scooped more baby beets onto her plate from the jar.

“
Jah
, I’ve suggested that, but instead of doing so she gives me more of her work. Today she asked me to sterilize her whey separator while she’s on the road. In my condition, that yeasty odor makes my head spin and churns my stomach. Joanna said Amish women work until they give birth, but usually not in a dairy.”

“We’re heading there next. I’ve always wanted to see what she does. I’ve never tasted better smoked cheddar or almond Brie than Joanna’s.”

“Sorry, April. That’s not why I mentioned this. You’ve helped me enough for one day and I’m grateful. Let’s just sit in the shade a spell.”

“I won’t leave until you at least show me the dairy, so eat up.”

Familiar enough with her former partner to know the woman meant what she said, Leah took her on an abbreviated tour of the cheese-making process. “Fresh milk is stored in those coolers. That contraption is our separator, and there is our diesel-powered pasteurizer. You must heat milk to one hundred sixty degrees to kill bacteria. Then we add exennet to start the solidifying process and heat the milk again to one hundred degrees. The whey then starts to separate and drops to the bottom. We next add ingredients for the different varieties, and curds form within forty-five minutes. Then you add salt, one batch at a time. After another hour, boxes are pressed and the remaining whey is forced out. Within twelve hours you have solid cheese. Then we store it in coolers for the proper amount of time, again depending on the type. Yogurt cheese only takes three days.”

“How long does cheddar take?” April’s face glowed with interest.

“It’s stored between three and four months.”

“How do you get the holes in Swiss cheese?”