An Amish Family Reunion (38 page)

“It’s a distinct possibility.” Leah clutched her water glass with both hands. “I’ve been out in the yard without my full-brimmed bonnet.”

“Do you think I would move back to Hancock with my first
kinskind
on the way? You and Jonah have been waiting and praying and waiting some more. Well, so have I. Now that I will finally become a
grossmammi
, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t.” Leah sounded meek as a mouse.

“Rest easy, missy. I wouldn’t leave you two—make that three—for all the milk in the cheese capital of America.” She winked one blue eye. “I actually wrote to my sister that our next family visit would be right here in Winesburg.” Joanna gestured with her hands to indicate the large, and at the moment, uncluttered room.

“
Danki, mamm
. That sets my heart at ease.” Leah’s eyes flooded with moisture. “There go my emotions! I’ve been crying over everything and nothing for weeks.” She wiped her face with a hanky. “The other day I accidentally trampled a tomato plant in the garden and started to sob when the main stem snapped off in my fingers. I felt so guilty.”

Joanna patted her arm. “Normal hormone fluctuations. I’m sure the tomato plant accepted your apology. Believe me, I know we’ve been stretched to the limits around here. I don’t intend to increase the number of varieties of cheese, only replace some of the slower sellers.”

Leah lurched as her future son or daughter kicked her in between the ribs. “I believe the littlest Byler has voiced their approval.” She met her mother-in-law’s gaze. “I’m glad you’re staying. This is a two-woman kitchen, if ever I’ve seen one—first you and Esther, and now you and me.”

“And I’m praying for plenty of future reinforcements,” she added with a grin aimed directly at Leah’s rounded belly.

Phoebe rolled steamed cabbage leaves around balls of seasoned meat and rice until she and her mother filled three huge roasting pans. They put shredded cabbage between the gaps and then poured enough tomato juice to cover the top layer.

“They are finished,” announced Hannah. “Now we’ll have plenty of pigs-in-a-blanket to feed people whenever we need them.” She pulled her spotted apron over her head and washed her hands at the sink.

Phoebe did the same, but somehow she had managed to stay much cleaner. “I’m glad to help, but I thought Aunt Julia was serving hamburgers, hot dogs, and bratwursts at the weekend reunion. Why do we need all of these?” She didn’t mention the cakes, cookies, and muffins they planned to bake tomorrow.

Hannah called Ben inside to carry their pans to the basement refrigerator before answering Phoebe’s question. “Simon and Henry will grill for the main meal, but folks are arriving early Saturday and staying all day. Many who live far will spend the night and attend preaching on Sunday morning. Some will sleep here and others at the Hostetlers’.
You
might eat like a chickadee, but that’s not commonplace in our district.” She laughed with her usual abandon. “Folks will eat several times on Saturday and Sunday, beside us Millers, who will still be cleaning up come Monday.”

“Aren’t families bringing side dishes to share?”

“You know they will. Don’t worry, dear girl. If too much food is left over, we can always send some home with guests.”

“Maybe I could deliver some to the Riehls, in case they don’t show up.”

“They have been invited. Haven’t you heard from Eli?”

“Not yet, although he probably just got my note of apology. I included a separate invitation to the reunion picnic, so he can see Matthew and Martha if for no other reason.”

“I’m sure he’ll come if he’s able.” Hannah handed the last pan of stuffed cabbages to Ben, who waited at the top of the stairs.

“Since we finished cooking and we’re having leftover soup for supper, would you mind if I took the buggy to the library? There’s plenty of daylight left.”

Hannah’s face filled with pity. “I know it’s Wednesday, but I doubt Eli will show up. He has so many responsibilities on the farm—”

“That’s not why I’m going. Mrs. Carter is working today, and I have an idea I’d like to discuss with her, as long as I can still have one afternoon in town a week.”

“I’ll mention it to your
daed
, but I think it’ll be fine.” Hannah’s expression brightened considerably.

Within ten minutes Phoebe had changed her dress and
kapp
and was headed to Winesburg in the open buggy. No more hiding in the high pasture with the sheep and her sketch pads. She’d discovered she liked people more than she realized, children in particular. And even if she never published a single artistic creation, she didn’t want to live like a scared rabbit anymore.

Worry is the handiwork of the devil. Those who have faith walk boldly
.

She took her first bold step across the library threshold. “Hello, Mrs. Carter,” she greeted. “How have you been?”

The bespectacled librarian’s head bobbed up. “Fine, and you, Miss Miller? Where is your friend Eli? Any news yet on the book?” Once Phoebe had broken the conversation ice, the woman’s questions flowed like a river.

“I’m well, thank you. Eli is tied up with chores. I sent the book proposal to the list of publishers we compiled. And I’ve heard back from one that it’s under consideration.”

Mrs. Carter clapped her hands, causing quite a racket considering their surroundings. “That’s wonderful news—a step in the right direction.”

Phoebe nodded in agreement. “The other day I sent the editor a letter explaining that I’m Amish.” She felt a blush climb up her neck into her face. “I neglected to mention that in my proposal. I was afraid they wouldn’t consider us.”

“I would think that would add credibility to your farm tale.”

“Maybe so. And Eli wanted no false pretenses about our ability to market the book on the Internet, besides our limited access to telephones and computers for revisions or e-mails. It might make a difference whether they want to publish the book.”

“If it does, it would be their loss.”

“Thank you.” Phoebe wiped her sweating palms down her skirt and glanced around at the other patrons. “Actually, I had another reason for visiting today.”

The librarian rose to her feet, looking puzzled. “Let’s talk at a table. I need a break away from this desk anyway.”

Once they sat down at the same table she’d shared with Eli, Phoebe asked the questions she rehearsed on the ride to town. “Do you still have that story time I saw advertised on a flyer? If so, do you ever let other people read to the children? And do you think I could be a reader sometime?”

Mrs. Carter leaned back in her chair. “Goodness, you said more in one mouthful than everything I’ve heard you say thus far.”

Phoebe ducked her head. “I’m trying to break out of my shyness.”

“Good progress so far. And to answer your questions—yes, we still have story hour on Friday mornings. I would love to find a volunteer to read to the kids. With budget cutbacks, I lost my part-time helper. So if you read the stories, I could use the time to shelve books or request new releases from the main branch.” She drew a small notebook from her pocket. “Could your parents spare you Friday mornings instead of Wednesday afternoons?”

“Yes. I know my mother won’t mind giving me a morning off. I’ll get up early for chores before I leave. She wants me to mingle more with other people.” Phoebe glanced at the two young Amish men who’d walked through the door, momentarily stopping her heart. Unfortunately, neither had long silky blond hair hanging in his eyes. She refocused on Mrs. Carter. “I love little kids and I love stories, so I know I would enjoy doing the story hour.”

The librarian stuck out a hand to shake. “Write your name, address, and an emergency phone number in my book. If you can’t come some morning, don’t worry. I’ll always be here to take over, but if you’re agreeable, be here by ten o’clock each Friday.”

Phoebe pumped hands energetically, something Amish young women seldom did. Then she remembered the big party in three days. “May I start next week instead? This Friday I must help set up for the Miller family reunion to celebrate my cousins’ visit from New York.”

“That will be fine. Could you bring your tablet of drawings too? I know the children would enjoy seeing your pictures. Most of them love to color.”

Phoebe momentarily froze before responding. Show her artwork, her personal creations to a group of youngsters and their mothers? What if the
Englischer
s started asking questions? What if they found fault with her liberal use of color for clouds, landscapes, and animals? What if they thought art a superficial pastime for an Amish gal to pursue?

With a jerk of her shoulders, similar to old Miss Bess up in Uncle Simon’s high pasture, she shook off her doubts and insecurities. “I’d be happy to bring my sketch pads for whatever value they might have during story time.”

“Wonderful! You’ll never know if there are budding artists in the group who might be encouraged.”

“Will you select the books for me?”

“You could sort through the stacks right now if you like.”

Phoebe glanced at the chair once occupied by her former best friend—the man who made her feel it was okay to be different, who told her she was both talented and pretty—and felt an overpowering sting of sorrow. What if no one ever felt that way about her again?

Mrs. Carter was watching her. Before she regretted taking on a volunteer who might be a tad off-kilter, Phoebe blurted out, “I’m sorry. I just really miss Eli. We had a falling-out, and I’ll probably never see him again. So if you would pick out the first books, I’d be grateful.”

Where is all this true confession coming from? It is so…
English.

Mrs. Carter offered a maternal smile. “No problem. I’ll select the stories to start you off. But I wouldn’t worry about never seeing Eli again—we live in a very small town.” She laughed and, surprisingly, so did Phoebe.

“You’re right about that. See you in nine days. And thank you.”

All the way home Phoebe planned and schemed. She wouldn’t leave life up to chance regardless how small Winesburg was. She would take the Riehl family a basket of leftover food after the last person had gone through the buffet line. She would ask—no, beg—him to take her back as a friend. And she would tell him she would love to attend social events in the future.

He didn’t have to stay forever.

He could decide at any time she wasn’t worth the trouble.

But in the meantime she planned to enjoy herself.

This is the day the Lord has made. And we haven’t been promised any others
. God’s plan for her would unfold whether she were hiding behind a rock or attempting the impossible.

“Git up there.” Phoebe slapped the reins over the mare’s back. “I need to bake something special to take to the Riehls,” she said to the horse. Cousin Leah believed the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. If that was true, it was time for the Phoebe Miller lemon cake with lemon zest icing—her one and only specialty. And she prayed that what had worked for Leah would work for her.

T
hank You, Lord!” Julia’s exclamation guaranteed that none of the Millers still slept on the long-waited day of the reunion. She didn’t need a high-paid, overdressed weatherman to tell her there would be no rain today. The sky was a clear, infinite shade of blue—as though you were looking into heaven itself. A few lacy clouds, harmless and benign, scudded by on the breeze.

Guests would soon start arriving by the buggy load, bringing food and drinks and a desire to socialize, no matter what the weather. But a rainy day forced women to cluster on porches and inside the house, while men congregated in barns and outbuildings. Still doable—country folks always found a way around bad weather—but nowhere near as enjoyable. And a house would stay cleaner with the majority of people outdoors. Groups of chairs had been set up in the shade for conversation. Paths into the cool dark woods provided opportunities for courting couples to find privacy. A clear, spring-fed pond for swimming or dangling one’s feet beckoned, while horseshoe pits and volleyball awaited the athletically inclined.

Julia peered out the back window. Sure enough, Henry and Matthew were setting up the volleyball net, using a can of yellow spray paint in the short grass to mark the court’s boundary lines. Serious play called for serious attention to detail. She enjoyed seeing her sons involved in relaxation for a change. The two had huddled in deep discussion for the past month, deciding how to turn Henry’s save-the-horses project into a profitable enterprise. Those conversations made Simon a happy man. Lately, he’d started dropping not-so-subtle hints, such as “Have you noticed the price of oats at the elevator lately?” Or, “How can anyone charge six dollars for a box of wood shavings? The furniture makers would just throw them out if not used for bedding material.” And, “Having a horse lover like Lily Davis in the family sure is a blessing. Otherwise, the bills from any other vet would have put us in the poorhouse long ago.”