Almost Amish (18 page)

“I’m sure Susan would have made it perfectly.”

He squeezed her hand again. “Maybe, but cooking is what Susan does. That’s her passion. You have other things you’re good at.”

“Like what?”

“Lots of things.”

Right. He couldn’t come up with one specific answer. That, in itself, was telling.

“Okay, let’s get started.” Kendra came to take her place behind the camera. “Now, Thomas, I’ll be cut out of this, so make certain to sort of repeat the question in your answers, okay?”

“Got it.”

“All right. How about telling us what you think so far about what’s happening with your wife, sister, kids, and niece.”

“This has been an amazing opportunity for all of them. And I’ve found it interesting that the kids haven’t really slowed down any, at least in the way I expected. It sounded like a big summer vacation, but at this point, they’re up earlier than ever in the morning because they have their farm chores to do. They are staying focused and growing a lot in the process.”

Kendra nodded. “That’s perfect. How about you, Julie? What are you thinking about your time here so far?”

“My time here has been amazing in so many ways. Just the quiet. I’ve been able to spend more time talking with my kids, not hurried time in the car, but it’s dinnertime and we don’t have anywhere that we’re supposed to be in five minutes, and I don’t have to leave in the middle of dinner to go pick up someone from practice, or take someone else to a club meeting. I understand how the Amish can be so deeply spiritual. It’s not a matter of not having anything to do. Far from it. Our days are filled with work from sunrise to sunset. It’s just a matter of shutting out a lot of the noise. No TV. No email, or Facebook, or texts. I hadn’t realized how impersonal our lives are now.”

“How about cooking the old way. How are you enjoying that?”

Julie shifted in her chair and shrugged. “I’m not a cook. I think everyone knows that. At home, I’m usually trying to whip something together that people can eat between events. But to be honest, I’ve grown to enjoy the process here—it’s actually nice to spend time chopping and simmering when there’s not a barrage of phone calls and other activities. But I think that’s where it ends for me. I couldn’t make it an all-day thing. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a very sophisticated palate to begin with. Sometimes we’ll go out to a nice restaurant with Susan, and she’ll comment on the rosemary flavor of the lamb, or whatever, and I would never notice something like that.”

“Why do you think that is? Did your mother cook a lot when you were a kid?”

“Well, she . . .” Julie’s throat closed around any further words she might have spoken. She took a deep breath, willing herself to answer the question. Another breath followed another, the silence growing long and uncomfortable.

Thomas squeezed her hand and leaned forward. “Julie’s mother died when she was very young. Julie was raised by a single father—a wonderful man whom we still dearly miss—but who admitted his favorite chef was Boyardee. It just wasn’t part of her growing up.”

Kendra nodded. “I had no idea. Interesting.” She looked at her paper, as if deciding where she might want to take the conversation from here. Finally, she looked up and said, “So, Thomas, there has been a bit of a disagreement here about the education your children are receiving. Your wife seems quite satisfied with the way things are running, yet your sister seems to believe that the teacher is not being forceful enough. Have you talked with them about this at all, and what are your thoughts?”

Thomas shifted uneasily in his seat and adjusted his shirt collar with his left hand. He glanced briefly at Julie before clearing his throat. “It seems to me, from what I’ve seen and heard, that the kids do need a more aggressive approach to their studies. I know that it is summer, but Brian needs to be challenged, and Whitney could always use a little extra push to get where she needs to be academically. I know Susan feels the same way about Angie.”

“Why is it, do you think, that your wife is not as concerned?”

More shifting. “Well, again she just was raised differently. In my opinion, and Susan’s, most kids benefit from being pushed to reach their full potential. I feel fortunate that Susan and I had parents who were always on top of our schoolwork and activities.”

“Are you saying that Julie didn’t reach her full potential?”

“No, of course not.” He looked toward the side walls, as if composing his thoughts. “Julie’s terrific just the way she is, but there is that unknown factor of ‘what if.’ ”

This opinion was nothing Julie hadn’t heard a hundred times, and yet the hearing of it never grew less painful. The two of them argued about pushing the kids too hard versus letting them coast through life on a semi-regular basis. Still, the implications never failed to hurt, because the take-away Julie always got from this conversation was “Julie is not good enough.” Now all of America would hear it, too.

Susan scrubbed the countertops. Hard. She felt a growing confidence that the house was coming under order—Kendra admitted as much during their interview earlier—but this was not the time to let off. Eight more weeks and her future, and more importantly Angie’s, would be secure.

“That was a fine dinner, ladies. Nothing compares to fresh-out-of-the-garden vegetables.” Thomas bent down to hold the dustpan in place for Julie and her broom, moaning as he did so. “I think I’m too old for the simple life.”

They all laughed, but a bit uneasily, Susan thought. This life was hard.

“Okay, everyone, into the living room, please.” Whitney stuck her head in the door, a big goofy grin on her face.

Susan still needed to prep the dough for tomorrow morning’s cinnamon raisin bread. “I’ll be just a bit.”

“You need to hurry or you’ll be late for opening ceremonies.” Whitney sounded whiny, as was too often the case. Hopefully Thomas would shut that down while he was here.

“I’m sure—”

“Come on, sister of mine. I’ll help you with the dough after we see whatever it is we’re supposed to see. We don’t want to miss the opening ceremonies to—whatever it is—that much is certain.” Thomas put his arm around her shoulder and began to pull her toward the living room. So much for his help.

“But I really need to get this done.”

“And you will, and I’ll help, but we’re just going to wait a few minutes.”

Susan walked into the living room, prepared to force a smile through whatever silliness it was that Whitney had planned. After that, she could hurry back to her bread dough.

The kids all stood in the center of the living room, flanked by a couple of checkerboards. Whitney picked up a wreath of magnolia leaves and put it on her head. “Welcome to the first annual Checkers Olympics. Each person will be representing a different country. Mom, you’ll be Austria, Dad you’re Switzerland, Aunt Susan is France, Angie is England, Brian is Chile, and I’m . . . well, I’m America, of course.”

“How come you get to be America?” Thomas asked.

“Well, because I’m the most patriotic.”

Brian snorted something that sounded like “yeah right” from behind her. Whitney cut a quick glance at him and grinned. “And . . . I’m the one who picked the teams. But all the countries were picked for a specific reason.”

“Why am I Switzerland? Because I’m neutral?”

“Yeah, right, Dad. You’re wound tight as a Swiss watch, but . . . I decided that every stockbroker should have a Swiss bank account, so I let you keep it.”

Thomas laughed. “Well, I like the bank account part.”

“This is how it works. There are two checkerboards, and Brian has already worked out the brackets. All we have to do now is draw numbers for your country’s position on the bracket. The amazing Angie, also known as Great Britain, or GB for short, has placed all the numbers in the bonnet. Switzerland, since you’re a guest here, we’ll let you draw first.”

Thomas stuck his hand into the bonnet. “Five.”

“Okay, you’ll be sitting out the first round. France, you’re next.”

Susan stuck her hand into the bonnet and prayed for a six. She could go work in the kitchen while everyone else got started. She reached in her hand and pulled out a two. Great. “How about I trade with Thomas? I really need to get started on that dough.”

“Mom, come on. Even the Amish sit down and enjoy family in the evenings.”

“But the recipe calls for letting the dough rise for two hours, rolling it out, then letting it rise for another hour.”

“I’m thinking scrambled eggs and biscuits sound good for breakfast tomorrow. Let’s spend some time with our kids.”

Susan was just about to tell Julie what she thought of that idea when Angie walked over and grinned up at her. “Looks like it’s you and me.” She dropped to the floor beside the closest checkerboard. “Okay, France, let’s see what you’ve got.” She moved a black piece one step closer to Susan’s side.

Susan sighed and sat down. Might as well make the best of it. “I’ve got enough to take on the Brits, that’s for sure.” She countermoved and waited for her daughter’s response. It had been a long time since she’d played checkers.

Whitney sat between the two boards so she could see both of them; Thomas sat opposite her so he could do the same. “A mother-son matchup. This should be interesting. Hmm.” He nodded his head slowly, as if thoroughly intrigued by the idea. Julie sort of groaned.

“Hey, you’re the one that raised him,” Whitney laughed. “If he’s an overachieving genius, then it’s your fault.”

Brian made his next move. “Is it her fault that you’re an underachieving dum—” Brian glanced up toward Julie and stopped himself just a fraction of a second too late. “Sorry.”

“Brian, tell your sister that you’re sorry, not me.” Julie glared at him until he broke eye contact.

“Sorry.” He wasn’t overly convincing. “But really, I want to know. If Mom’s raising made me a genius, then why aren’t you one, too?”

“Your sister is plenty smart. Knock it off.” Julie slid another checker forward.

“Yes, I am, and I am smart in more than just books, unlike some people in the family.”

“You shouldn’t talk that way about Dad,” Brian quipped, and the entire room erupted into laughter. Then he triple-jumped Julie’s checkers and everyone laughed again.

As annoying as those kids could be at times, Susan did admire the easy conversation that always seemed to flow in their family. She looked at her daughter sitting across the checkerboard from her and was thankful for the time they had together. “So, Angie, what are you most enjoying about our little experiment?”

Angie blushed and glanced at Whitney before she answered. “It’s all been kind of fun, so far.” She looked down. “Except for these clothes. It’s kind of embarrassing when we go places. I can’t begin to imagine how the true Amish people must feel, with people staring at them all the time.”

Susan nodded. “I suppose they get used to it, but I agree, there must be times when it is really hard.”

“You remember when they told us we couldn’t make any pictures when we went on that tour? In the book I just read, a tourist actually jumped into a buggy with a couple of Amish people and started taking pictures. It wasn’t a true story, but still, I bet there are some people who are just that thoughtless. How could anyone think of treating people with such disrespect?”

Susan flashed back to the day of their tour. She’d seen the cameramen sneaking around the Amish houses that day, but out of fear of complaining she made the decision to stay quiet. It could only have caused trouble because it wasn’t her place to . . .

She was merely an employee of the show, she had no right to . . .

Not her place . . .

Time to change the subject.
“You read a book about Amish people?”

Angie nodded. “Yeah, a trilogy actually—Aunt Julie read them, too. They were on the
New York Times
list, and I figured that would be a good way to get some background on what we were going to be doing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d read those books? We could have talked about what you were learning, and about what we were expecting from our time here.”

Angie shrugged and turned her full attention to the game board. “I thought you might be mad at me for wasting my time reading something that wasn’t going to further my education. Besides”—she slid a checker into Susan’s home row
—
“you never asked. Now crown me.”

Susan put a second checker on top of Angie’s, but her mind was no longer on the game.
I thought you might be mad
and
you never asked
pinged around inside her head over and over and over again. Hours later, as she lay in bed beneath the blue-and-white quilt, the words had gained in volume, making it impossible to sleep. Were there other things she didn’t know about her daughter?

“Okay, ladies. I think today we’ll try to finish this one up, and maybe next session we’ll start on something a little more complicated.” Rosemary held a magnifying glass up to a section of stitches, then looked up at Julie. “This is nice work. Haven’t seen many folks pick it up this quickly.”