An Amish Family Reunion (15 page)

“I’ll come to the next meeting, but I make no other promises. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to start something for dinner.” Emma forced a weak smile.

“Bless your heart, child. I’ll be in touch!” In a whirlwind, Barbara Davis jumped in her shiny car and drove away.

I am a grown woman, not a child!
Yet somehow a child was exactly how her mother-in-law made her feel.

“Phoebe! Come down right now or we’ll leave without you.”

When Phoebe heard her father’s voice, she tossed her drawing pad on the bed. Her mother had already called her once, but Phoebe had wanted to finish the portrait of Eli Riehl. If she let more time slip by, her precious memories of New York—and of the handsomest man in the world—would fade away forever. And she would need something to cry over when she was elderly, frail, and still single.

She flew down the stairs and out the door as fast as Sunday decorum allowed. Hannah, Ben, and her dad were already climbing into the buggy. “I thought you would have to take the path to Uncle Simon’s,” said Hannah, offering her a hand to step up.

“Nobody likes latecomers, young lady,” scolded Seth. “Whatever you were doing probably wasn’t suitable for the Sabbath anyway.”

Pining over a man I’ll never see again? Probably not
. Phoebe uttered a silent prayer of confession as the Millers drove the half-mile distance to the Miller family next door for church service. As she and her family joined the throng entering Uncle Simon’s outbuilding, which had been scrubbed spic-and-span, her mind played a cruel trick on her. She thought she saw the tall, blond profile of Eli Riehl duck through the doorway up ahead.

It couldn’t be. The Riehls lived in another district. Phoebe shook her head as though waking from a dream. When her father and brother headed toward the left-hand benches, she and Hannah found spots on the right, midway to the front. She immediately bowed her head in prayer to be delivered from her constant self-absorption. She didn’t stop praying until the congregation began the first hymn. When she opened her eyes, she met the gaze of the world’s best storyteller. Eli was smiling at her from across the room, not even pretending to be singing.

Phoebe felt the barn sway as though under hurricane-force winds. Her breath escaped with the sound of a squeaky door hinge, loud enough to draw Hannah’s attention. She elbowed Phoebe’s side and thrust the songbook
Ausbund
under her nose. “There will be time for staring at boys later. We’re here to worship.”

With enough to be contrite about already, Phoebe lifted her voice in praise. And for the next three hours of sermons, Scriptures, and singing, she tried desperately not to look at him. At times, she succeeded. When the service concluded, people filed out toward the long tables where lunch would be served.

“Don’t wander off,” warned Hannah. “We need to help Julia bring out the food.”

“Of course,” said Phoebe, although
wandering off
had crossed her mind. She joined the women headed toward the house.

“
Ach
, Phoebe. I’m glad you’re here since Emma and Leah aren’t,” said her aunt. She handed her niece a giant bowl of potato salad and bustled off. Phoebe would have asked where her cousins were, but Julia appeared disinclined to chitchat. After setting the side dish on the table, she turned and found herself nose to nose with a sweet-faced girl in her early twenties.

“You’re Phoebe Miller, right? Do you know where Leah Byler is?” asked the woman.

“
Jah
, I’m Phoebe, but my aunt just told me Leah didn’t come today.” She smiled politely.

The woman settled her hands on her rounded hips. “My name is Rose. I live one district over. Your cousin is a friend of mine. This is our off-week for church, but my
bruder
thought it would be nice to worship at your service. So here we are.”

“Welcome, Rose. Would you like to join me carrying bowls? The sooner the food is out, the sooner everyone can eat. I hope you brought your appetite.”

Rose lowered her chin and stared intently into Phoebe’s eyes. “How’s your eyesight? Do I bear no resemblance to my brother? Folks usually say we look alike, except for the height part.”

Phoebe caught her breath and then stammered incoherently. “You’re Rose…Riehl?”

“In the flesh. And I know Eli’s both starving and anxious to talk to you. So let’s get those side dishes.” Rose linked arms with Phoebe, practically dragging her into Aunt Julia’s house, while Phoebe scanned the crowd for a particular face.

The next hour passed in a blur, like scenery through a speeding car window. They carried and served and fetched and then cleaned up afterward. At some point Phoebe supposed she’d eaten something, but she couldn’t recall what it had been because Eli Riehl made sure he was always within sight during the meal. And the moment she pulled off her soiled apron and dropped it into the porch basket, he materialized at her side.

“Miss Miller? The hospitality of your district has been gracious and kind.” Eli held his felt hat over his heart. “May I trouble you to take a walk with me? Your uncle mentioned there are sheep up in the pasture. Alas, we have only cows, horses, and pigs. I’d love to see some spring lambs.”

“Certainly. The sheep are ours, next door, but the two fields share a common fence line. If you’ll follow me.” She started walking faster than some folks run until certain they were beyond spying eyes and ears, while Eli kept pace. Then she turned on him. “You can knock off the ‘alas’ stuff. It’s me, Phoebe Miller. What are you doing here?” Her words flew out in a breathless rush, but he seemed to understand her perfectly.

He hopped around as though he’d stepped barefoot on a bee. “I came to see you. I knew you wouldn’t miss preaching, so I asked my sister to come with me today. She knows we’d met.” He imbued Rose’s
knowing
with special emphasis. “Rose is a friend of your cousin Leah. So, again, I can’t believe you and I never met before.” He stopped bobbing around. “I feared I would never see you again.”

That forthright statement matched her own earlier sentiments, but hearing it vocalized had her checking over her shoulder as though they had been caught in some naughty deed. “It’s good to see you too,” she whispered. “I don’t have many friends, especially not with common interests.”

“I had to track you down. How else could we talk about our joint project? You do still want to work on a book with me, don’t you?”

Phoebe resumed marching toward the high pasture so that he might not notice that his presence made her skittish as a white-tailed fawn. “Of course I do, but I don’t know how we’ll manage it. It’s not as though you live here.” She pointed down. “While I live there.” She aimed her index finger at the next pasture beyond the split rail fence. Wooly sheep grazed contentedly while their offspring frolicked and played.

“You live there?” he asked, his voice heavy with reverential awe.

“
Jah
. It’s just another farm, pretty much like this one.”

“No, not like this one.” He slowly scanned the lush rolling acres. “That’s the home of Phoebe Miller—a very special place on earth, indeed.”

She blushed to the top of her head. “You and your fancy talk. I’ll never get used to it. Well, there are my
mamm
’s sheep—her pride and joy. I must admit the lambs are adorable.”

Eli watched two pure-white babies chase after their ewe. “It is a land filled with adorable creatures.” After a long minute, he sat down on a large flat rock.

Boulders had been moved to the boundary line between farms years ago, so Phoebe chose one for her own perch. “What are your ideas, Eli?” she asked, hiding her trembling hands in her lap.

“Shall I tell you the story I’ve come up with so far?” He interlaced his fingers to crack his knuckles.

“Please do. Then maybe I can start some sketches later today.”

Unwittingly, she found herself holding her breath as Eli wove a tender tale about an ornery cow that had nothing but contempt for other barnyard animals, until the day came when the cow desperately needed a friend. Phoebe was enchanted. Eli’s story bloomed in her mind as she imagined the facial expressions she would create for animal characters in each scene.

When he finished the story, he leaped to his feet and reached for her hand. “That’s all I have so far. Let’s start back before you’re missed. I don’t want to ruin my future chances of working with you.”

“There will be future meetings?” she asked stupidly.

“Of course. We must collaborate on what scenes to create for each page of my story.”

“True. I just wondered where we might meet to work.” As they crested the hill and the Miller house loomed into view, she pulled her hand from his grip.

“Because this is a book, I thought maybe the library? Winesburg has a nice one. Could you meet me there some afternoon?” He peered at her from under his long silky bangs.

Without a moment’s hesitation to ponder practicalities, she answered, “You bet I can.”

A
s workweeks go, this past one had been the pits. Two of the grooms at Rolling Meadows Stables quit to return to Mexico, so Matthew found himself tending to mundane chores besides training prestigious show horses. Not that he minded, but by Friday afternoon he was bone tired and eager to get home to his wife and children.

He said a prayer of gratitude when no owners arrived late at the stable, demanding his time and attention. He and Pete Taylor left at five o’clock on the button. Along the way he closed his eyes pretending to nap, but he wasn’t sleepy. He wanted to concentrate on how to approach Martha when he got home. Last weekend had been strained, to say the least. She had accused him of being overly fond of money. And he couldn’t deny that finances occupied far more thinking time in New York than they had back home. Farms were more expensive here, although the price of land was rising across the country. He decided not to mention the amount of tips he’d received during the week. He would leave the envelope of cash along with his paycheck on the counter for her to deposit in the bank. Someday, he would buy his own horse training operation. Then he could stay home with his family all the time. And that day couldn’t arrive soon enough for him.

Ninety minutes later Pete pulled up in front of his tidy bungalow. “Home, sweet home, Matty. Got any big plans for the weekend?” asked the foreman.

Matthew nodded. “Yep, I plan to play ball with my son for hours and then rock my baby girl to sleep on the porch.”

“Isn’t your son only two years old?” Pete’s grin revealed two gold caps. “How can you play baseball with a toddler?”

“We both sit in the grass and I roll a big ball to him. He giggles and knocks it away, usually in the wrong direction. I fetch the ball, sit back down, and repeat the process. You can’t believe how much his hand-eye coordination has improved.” Matt pulled his bag from the backseat. “On Sunday we’ll go to church and stay to socialize during lunch. When we get home, I intend to sit in my porch swing and watch the grass grow.”

“Sounds just about perfect. See you Monday.” Pete waved and then peeled away the moment the truck door slammed shut.

Matthew headed up the driveway wearing a silly grin. He spotted Martha on the front porch in the spot he intended to occupy on Sunday. She was feeding their daughter while his son sat on a quilt by her feet. He hoisted his duffel onto his shoulder and waved like a sightseer on a tour bus. “Hullo, Millers. I’m home at last!” He hurried toward the house.

Martha offered a wave with her free hand along with a small smile. When his son lifted his arm in greeting, Matthew’s heart thudded against his chest wall. A white cast encased the boy’s thin lower arm, oversized and awkward on a toddler. He sprinted to the porch, dropping his bag before climbing the steps two at a time. “What happened to Noah?’ he asked, lifting his son into his arms. “Is he all right?’

“Hullo,
daed
,” said Noah, snaking his good arm around his father’s neck. He held his cast out with a proud grin. “Broken!” he exclaimed in
Deutsch
.

Matthew hugged him tightly, burying his face in his son’s fine strawberry-blond hair that smelled of warm sunshine. “All better now?” he murmured, his voice raspy with emotion. Pain shot through his own arm and shoulders, realizing what his boy must have endured.

“
Jah, gut
,” agreed Noah, squirming to be set down. He’d grown tired of the hugging and kissing and wished to return to his toys.