An Amish Family Reunion (28 page)

“Yes, it’s really from them. We’ve received our first reply to the queries. Actually, it’s not the first—we got three form letters within days of our mailing saying that they weren’t accepting any new submissions at this time. Oh, and one publishing house stated they accepted proposals only from agents.” She breathed in and out through her mouth, trying to calm down.

Eli sat like a statue, eyeing the envelope with apparent skepticism. “And this publisher…what reason for rejection did they give us?” he asked.

She sat and scooted her chair closer until it touched his. “Why don’t you read it for yourself? Your name is on the letter, same as mine.”

He picked up the envelope and extracted the single sheet as though anxious to put the task behind him. After scanning the paper, his gaze met hers. His expression remained one of disbelief. She grinned as widely as her face allowed while he began to read aloud:

Dear Miss Miller and Mr. Riehl,

It is my pleasure to inform you that I thoroughly enjoyed
Who Will Be My Friend?
Both the inspirational story line and the lovely illustrations might be just what we’re looking for to expand our line of children’s gift books. I have given your proposal to our publishing committee for consideration. The final decision whether or not to pursue this project rests with them, but I have passed along my heartfelt support. At your earliest convenience, please supply my office with a phone number where you can be reached, along with your e-mail address.

Eli tossed down the letter and sucked in a lungful of air. “Oh my goodness gracious!” He spoke each word of exclamation louder than the last. Then he threw his arms around Phoebe and squeezed.

“We did it, Eli! We got our foot in the door, as Mrs. Carter calls it.” Phoebe hugged him back with equal exuberance. She buried her face against the soft cotton of his shirt, which smelled like sunshine.

He kissed the top of her head at least a dozen times. It was a good thing they were alone in the library, because such public displays of affection were forbidden in their Amish culture. “I can’t believe they contacted us so quickly,” he said. “I thought we wouldn’t hear anything for months.”

“It must be a good sign.”

“Or it could mean it doesn’t take long to read a twenty-five-page story. But I’m happy that the right people will at least be evaluating it.” Eli leaned back and stretched out his long legs. “Now this next stage will probably take a while, especially since neither of us has an e-mail account. Riehl and Son Swine and Beef has a phone line, but we didn’t put it in the letter.”

Phoebe lowered her head and peered from under her lashes, using every dramatic gesture she knew. “Don’t worry about that. I supplied Miss Heather Duncan with both a phone number and an e-mail address.”

“And just how did you manage that?” His excitement seemed to slip a notch.

“I wrote to her and provided our next door neighbor’s phone number. Mrs. Lee doesn’t mind getting messages to us. Then I could return the editor’s call as soon as possible.” Phoebe folded her hands primly on the table.

“And the e-mail address? Did you use Mrs. Lee’s for that too?”

“No, I used your friend’s e-mail—the woman who lives in Kidron. Since she kept copies of your story and my artwork, she would be able to resend anything that the publisher might need.”

Eli scratched her head. “How did you know what it was?” His tone sounded a hair above accusatory.

Phoebe’s confidence faltered. “It was on one of the papers in the file folder you gave me. I didn’t think she would mind since she’s been so helpful up till now.”

Eli’s eyes turned round as an owl’s. “Did you contact Sarah and ask for permission?” Upon her shaking her head, he said in a low tone, “You shouldn’t have done that, Phoebe, not without securing permission first. She is Rose’s friend. I don’t know her that well and would prefer not to take advantage of her generosity.”

Phoebe dropped her chin to her chest and focused on her skirt. “I’m sorry, Eli. I let my excitement carry me away. I wrote to Great Beginnings Publishing the same night I received their letter and mailed it the next day.”

Eli tipped up her chin with a single finger. “You did mention to the editor we’re both Amish, didn’t you?”

“No, I saw no need for that.” Phoebe fought back unbidden tears.

“I think they should be fully aware of our situation and possible… limitations.” He sounded only patient and gentle. “But I shouldn’t work myself up about this. There’s probably little need to worry about imposing on Sarah.”

“You’re not angry with me?” she asked. “Because I thought we could go to supper at that restaurant you liked to celebrate the good news. They have such good food. Plus, my parents are busy at my aunt and uncle’s house since my cousin is visiting from out of town. Oh, I do want you to meet Matthew while he’s here, but tonight I’d—” Phoebe halted mid-sentence, realizing she was running on like a magpie.

“Whew! Are you making up for lost time during your silent years?” He threw his head back and laughed. “No, I’m not mad at you, sweet peach. But in the future, let’s remember to consult each other before making big decisions, okay?”

“Agreed. I’ll treat you to supper to rectify my misjudgment.”

Eli ran his fingertips lightly down her cheek, as tender as the brush of a feather. “What a gracious offer, but I must decline. I need to go home early. How about a celebratory ice-cream cone instead? My treat, as a gentleman doesn’t allow a lady to pay.” He winked with great exaggeration.

Phoebe’s breath caught in her throat from his touch. “All right, ice cream it is. Shall I follow you to the shop in my pony cart?”

“No, ride with me in my buggy, and I’ll bring you back here afterward.” He lifted her chin a second time. “I’m happy about the news. Make no mistake about that. We’re on our way, Miss Miller. There’ll be no stopping us now.” He hesitated briefly, and then he leaned over and brushed her lips with a kiss.

The kiss left her speechless. They were in a public library for one thing. And a kiss didn’t reflect a business partnership. It spoke of a relationship she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

If someone would have asked her the next day what flavor of ice cream she had eaten or what stimulating topics they discussed on the ride to the shop, Phoebe couldn’t have answered. Her mind swam with more ideas than migratory salmon facing their trek upstream in the wildest rapids.

The following day, when Phoebe wasn’t dwelling on Eli and his spur-of-the-moment kisses, she was debating when and what she would tell her parents. Thus far she hadn’t mentioned the letter from the publisher. She was usually the one to fetch mail from their roadside box, and the day of the letter’s arrival had been no exception. She’d tucked it into her apron pocket as though it were a deep, dark secret, even though she’d already told her parents of their plan to submit the story. But she felt better if few people knew the status of their project, as least for now. Rejection could come any day. And licking wounds might prove easier without tons of questions or commiserations from well-intentioned loved ones.

Eli had been displeased she hadn’t been up-front with the editor. And he also felt she’d overstepped her bounds with Sarah of Kidron. So Phoebe didn’t wish to also anger her parents by being secretive. After all, Mrs. Lee could send for her at any time to return a phone call. Or she might need to arrange a trip to Kidron to work on additional artwork or make changes to illustrations already submitted.

But in the meantime, she needed to finish picking the blackberries before scratches completely covered her forearms and face. Hannah planned to bake a cobbler with the last of the fresh berries. Phoebe stepped back from the prickly briars to gauge the sun. Both its position over the livestock barn and her rumbling stomach signaled it was almost suppertime. She quickly topped off her bucket with a few more easy-to-reach fruit and headed toward the house, swinging her pail like a nursery rhyme character. Once she reached the kitchen, she found her mother packing food into a hamper while her father filled a jug with just-brewed tea.

“There you are,” said Hannah. “I thought you’d picked your way up to Orrville, you’ve been gone so long.”

“I did as much thinking as picking, and it slowed me down.” Phoebe washed her hands and then dumped the berries into a colander to rinse and sort. The faucet blast sprayed the front of her dress and face.

“That thinking stuff is hard work,” said her dad. “I tried it once or twice myself and barely got my chores done that day.” He tugged on one of her
kapp
ribbons.

Hannah chuckled. “Your father’s in a good mood today. He just delivered the final load of spelt to the grain elevator and earned a decent price.” She set a tray of warm cornbread atop the hamper of fried chicken.

“Now that we’re rich, I’m ready to take my family on vacation to any exotic locale they choose, providing it’s still in Holmes County.” He snapped his suspenders like a teenager. “How ’bout the flea market in Berlin?”

“You had better get bragging out of your system now. You know how your brother feels about prideful talk, even if it is in jest.” Hannah perched one hand on her hip.

Phoebe wheeled around from the sink. “We’re going to Uncle Simon’s again for supper?” she asked, drying her hands on a towel.

Hannah turned from her boastful husband to her clueless daughter. “
Jah
, we are. I usually don’t use a hamper to carry food to the table. I fried the chicken and cornbread, while your aunt made the potato salad, coleslaw, and baked pies. We’ll eat outdoors in the shade. Kitchens are too hot this time of year to sit around in.”

Phoebe smiled weakly. “I thought maybe you were carrying supper to our own picnic table under the willow.” She slouched with disappointment.

“You will not faint if forced to be sociable, Miss Hermit. I thought you enjoyed the company of Martha Miller and her little ones.”

“I do,
mamm
, very much, but I had something to discuss with you and
daed
—something I don’t want to talk about in front of every other Miller.”

“I see,” said Hannah. Then she hollered over her shoulder, “Ben, we’re ready to go. Come down right now.”

Seth reached for a jar of balm from the windowsill, which served as an excellent mosquito repellent. “You’re in luck, daughter, because we’re walking to Simon and Julia’s. It’s too nice an evening to hitch up the buggy to go next door. We’ll take the back path around the duck pond and through the bog.” He hefted the hamper brimming with chicken. “So you’ll have plenty of time to bare your soul.” He opened the door with a flourish.

Phoebe lifted her shawl from the peg and grabbed her water bottle. Uncle Simon and Aunt Julia might live next door, but the back path was at least a mile long. Ben suddenly appeared right behind her. He was fully dressed, but water still dripped from his wet hair. Apparently he’d waited for the last minute to take his shower. She grabbed the pan of cornbread to carry as the foursome trooped out the door.

As soon as Ben had wandered sufficiently ahead of them, Phoebe broached the subject. “I heard from a publisher about our children’s book idea. Miss Duncan, the head editor, said she liked Eli’s story and my illustrations. Now it’s up to her bosses if the book will get published or not.”

Other than the caws of crows and the incessant drone of insects from surrounding shrubs, not a sound could be heard as they strolled along the trail. Her parents remained silent for so long, she thought perhaps neither heard a word. Finally, Hannah spoke. “That’s good news. You and Eli must be quite pleased.”

“I still think you should discuss this with the bishop,” groused her father. “Tonight would be a fine opportunity to run this scheme by your uncle.”

Phoebe paused almost as long as they had before replying. “Okay, if you think I should. I also wanted you to know I gave the publisher Mrs. Lee’s phone number in case they need to speak to me.” She swatted at a deerfly, seemingly unaffected by the bug balm.

“Phones are permitted only for emergencies, not to advance your little hobby.” Seth didn’t hide his irritation.

“The bishop allows plenty of folks to use phones for business, as long as the phone isn’t inside their house.”

“But you haven’t asked permission of anyone, have you, Phoebe? Thus far, you and Eli have operated solely by your own counsel.”

She swallowed hard, deciding not to mention the possibility of working in Kidron on a computer. “I’ll talk to Uncle Simon tonight after supper, and if he advises, I’ll speak to the bishop after Sunday’s service.”