An Amish Family Reunion (35 page)

Your friend
,

Phoebe

A rather odd ending for so final-sounding a letter, even to her own ears.

J
ulia drove the pony cart next door by herself. Despite several offers to take her, she knew she needed some time alone with her sister before she did or said anything else she would regret.

Hannah stared with disbelief as Julia trudged up the steps with a baking pan of misshapen muffins and a heavy heart. “You have a houseful of people, and you came here paying a social call?” she asked as she held the screen door open for her sister.

“My house is no longer full. Besides, I needed some advice, or at least a sympathetic shoulder to cry on before I muck things up more.”

“Come in. The coffee is still hot. Seth and Ben are in the fields, and I sent Phoebe off to count sheep before she drove me batty. She’s been following me around like a lost lamb, and she won’t stop scratching her poison ivy. I can’t believe you’re not with your
kinskinner
.”

Julia lowered herself into a kitchen chair. “Emma and her sons left for Charm this morning in a hired van. She wants to be home for a few days, but she will return next week to help me prepare for the big reunion.”

“Is that what has you down in the dumps? That she took her boys home?” Hannah carried the coffeepot and two mugs to the table.

“That’s barely the tip of the iceberg. She wanted to speak to her mother-in-law before more time lapsed. Barbara Davis wants Emma to accompany her on a mission trip out of the country. I fear Emma will cave in and allow herself to be talked into going someplace where there are no decent shelters, strange foods, and unclean water. And she doesn’t speak the language.”

Hannah’s eyes rounded into saucers. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Julia recounted Emma’s story, adding extra emphasis on Barbara’s powers of persuasion.

“Surely Emma will hold her ground and stay home with James and the boys. She’s already come up with a suitable alternative with the fund-raiser.” Hannah held up a lopsided muffin for inspection. “What happened to these?”

“The oven rack was crooked. And Emma might choose to go to Haiti because of me.” Julia whispered her last sentence as though afraid of the words.

“What do you mean?” Hannah hesitated with the muffin halfway to her mouth. “Why would she do that?”

“Because I’ve been meddling in my children’s lives—telling them what they should and shouldn’t do. This time my good intentions might have backfired on me.” Julia felt beads of sweat form at her hairline, while her muscles ached with fatigue.

Hannah blew out a snort of air. “You’ve been meddling off and on for years, Julia. This is nothing new. Emma has a good head on her shoulders and would never bite off her nose to spite her face.” With a grin, she bit into the muffin.

“I will pray you’re right, but this isn’t the only water I muddied.” Julia sipped her coffee black. “I sent Leah to read Scripture when she was troubled about Joanna possibly moving the Bylers up north.”

“Sounds like a good idea. That always worked for me in the past.”

“She found the book of Ruth—where you go I will follow. She said she’s made up her mind to be happy wherever Jonah chooses to live. She’s gone back home with him for a few days too.” With a shaky hand, Julia set the mug back on the table. “She might be able to find happiness in Wisconsin, but I can’t bear the thought of another grandchild growing up far away.” Shamefully she revealed her pitiful selfishness to her sister.

But Hannah offered no recriminations. “That would be hard for you, especially considering that Martha and Matthew must return to New York after the district get-together. I know your time with Noah and Mary has been less than adequate.”

“That story is the worst of the bunch.” Julia stared at her gnarled fingers.

“What do you mean?”

“Another case of my meddling.” Julia gazed at the wall calendar and then out the window, unable to look at her sister. “I complained to my son that Martha was never home, that she spent too much time at the Hostetlers’. They had a bad fight afterward, and Matthew spent the night in the porch hammock. I don’t think they’re talking to each other yet, except for things like ‘Pass the catsup’ or ‘Would you like more noodles?’”

“
Ach
, you probably landed on an already festering sore. Coming back home often can be tricky once you’re accustomed to living on your own. Any grandmother would want time with her
kinskinner
.”

Julia felt little consolation. “Simon warned me to mind my own business, but I didn’t listen. He said I should let water seek its own level.”

“When did he tell you this? Twenty years ago?” Hannah hooted with laughter and popped the rest of the muffin into her mouth.

“Very funny. You wouldn’t be laughing if your household had been upturned.”

“Actually, life is unsettled here as well.” Hannah walked to the back window and peered out. “Apparently, Phoebe’s had a falling-out with that young man of hers.”

“That Riehl boy who came to our cookout badly in need of a haircut?” Julia reached for a muffin. “Simon said his
daed
is on the mend.”

“He’s the one. Phoebe had high hopes of illustrating a storybook with him because he likes to make up stories, but now she won’t talk about what happened. Instead, she is scratching her arms and legs raw. Her case of poison ivy isn’t getting any better. She’s a mess.”

“Better take her for a shot of cortisone or whatever they give these days. But if you ask me, it sounds like a case of nerves, not a rash allergy.”

Hannah arched one blond eyebrow. “Stress?”

Julia swallowed hard. “There I go again—sticking in my two cents where it’s not wanted.”

“But it
is
wanted, and I think you might be right. If that gal ever comes down from the high pasture, she must tell me what’s troubling her. She’s been up there for hours. Or we’re going to urgent care tomorrow for an exam and medicine. Enough is enough.” Hannah dropped the curtain back into place as they heard boots stomping in the hallway.

“Hullo, Julia,” greeted Seth, striding into the room. He winked impishly at his wife before opening the refrigerator. “I thought that was your pony cart in the yard. I put two fifty-pound bags of spelt behind the seat. I would have loaded more but I wasn’t sure how much weight that old horse can carry.” He took out the pitcher of fresh milk and poured a glass.

“What am I going to do with spelt?” asked Julia.

“It’s been finely ground for baking. Hannah uses it for piecrust, bread dough, cookies—you name it. The other day she made a pizza crust from it.”

Hannah smiled with affection. “I’ll be using spelt flour from now until Christmas cookie time. Seth’s harvest was more than anyone bargained for.”

Julia remembered Seth’s unsuccessful attempt to corner the corn market to make a windfall profit. “Were you unable to sell your crop to the grain broker?”

“No, nothing like that. I sold plenty and received my investment back, plus a small profit. But the yield far surpassed expectations… and current demand at the grain elevator. I’ll be giving away free bags as gifts.”

“Sort of like those free samples they pass out at the grocery store on Saturdays,” added Hannah. “An incentive to get folks to try and then buy in the future. Spelt is really quite tasty.”

Seth ducked his head to hide a blush. “I’m going to shower before supper. Tell Simon I’ll bring a few more sacks over tomorrow.”

“I’ll tell him.” Julia struggled to her feet. “I look forward to spelt dumplings and spelt pancakes, Seth, but now I’d better start for home.” She locked gazes with Hannah. “
Danki, schwester
, for not making me feel like the terrible person I am.”

Hannah’s grin filled her entire face. “What are sisters for?”

Amish farms…for as far as the eye could see in every direction. Matthew had forgotten how many hills lay between Berlin and Winesburg on his way home. He enjoyed the scenic visits more than he cared to admit. He loved it here, where the Amish weren’t an exception to the rule, considered by some to be an archaic oddity. Holmes County had more Plain families than English, and what’s more, both Christian sects got along well.

The fertile farm fields, the undulating acres of pasture, and a thriving tourist industry provided plentiful buyers for handmade furniture, woodcrafts, quilts, and home-canned produce. Life was good here, and he would miss the easy camaraderie he’d enjoyed at the tack shop, produce market, and auction barn. Everywhere he went men seemed to be interested in the services his brother offered. Hopefully the fliers he had passed out, hung up, or left behind with business owners would lead to new customers for Henry. As the last daylight faded into a blue-black sky, he lit his battery safety lights and stepped up the gelding’s pace. His trip would take longer than anticipated, even though he’d hitched up the fastest horse in Simon’s barn. Dark clouds warned of the coming thunderstorm. He could only hope that the storm in the Matthew Miller family would soon blow over.

A sole kerosene lantern burned in the doorway when he finally drove the buggy into the barn. His father sat just inside, out of the rain, puffing away on a corncob pipe. “You’re smoking,
daed
?” he asked, jumping down and shaking water droplets from his poncho like a dog. In all the years he could remember, he only recalled seeing his father smoke a pipe once—the summer Aunt Hannah moved to Ohio with her flock of sheep and independent ideas. She and Simon had butted heads like ornery goats, especially when Uncle Seth began courting her, until the two finally made their peace.

“Only half a pipeful, solely to test the batch Gabe Esh has dried. Seems to me our growing season in Ohio is too short for tobacco to be a cash crop.” He puffed away, not inhaling much of the smoke. “No need to mention this to your
mamm
and worry her for naught.”

Matthew cross-tied the Standardbred in the center aisle to rub him down after the hilly trip from Berlin. “Well, because this will be a one-time test, I’ll keep quiet.” He offered a good-natured wink at the amusing role reversal, but Simon’s face remained composed and somber.

“Stayed out late tonight, son. Your family’s probably asleep by now.”

It was then that Matthew realized his father had been waiting for him. Two statements of the obvious were precursors to a larger discussion looming like those storm clouds. “I was circulating fliers to advertise Henry’s horse training services. He doesn’t have much chance to get to town with all his chores.” He concentrated on drawing the brush through the chestnut coat with long, even strokes.

“Always plenty of work to do on a farm.” A third statement of the obvious, yet Dad continued to sit puffing on his pipe.

Matthew waited, keeping an eye on their barn cat. It was in pursuit of a mouse, and he didn’t want it to startle the gelding into kicking. Overhead, the barn swallows chattered away with bedtime stories to their young fledglings. After several moments, curiosity got the better of his cautious reserve. “Something on your mind,
daed
?”

“
Jah
, I suppose there is. Not that I have any intentions of meddling in my
kinner
s’ affairs.”

That brought a smile to Matthew’s face. “Meddle away. You might not have much chance to do that after next week.” He used a metal pick to work some knots from the mane and tail.

“Your
mamm
tells me there are bad feelings between you and your
fraa
. Been going on a while now. That ain’t right. You shouldn’t let the sun go down on your anger.” Simon tilted his head up to assess the night sky. The rain had dwindled to a drizzle, while a yellow half-moon attempted to break free from a bank of clouds. “As the sun has long since set, it might be time to patch up your differences, if’n Martha’s still awake, that is.”

Matthew huffed out his breath, similar to the horse when the comb hit a nasty tangle. “I’m no boy anymore, Pa. I’ll take care of what goes on in my household. We’ve endured rough patches before. This one will pass too, same as the others.”

“Harrumph.” Simon’s grunt accompanied a knock of pipe ashes into a refuse bucket.

Matthew picked up the brush again to concentrate on the lower flanks, determined not to fall into his father’s trap. But after a minute of uncomfortable, anxiety-filled silence, he couldn’t keep from offering a weak defense. “It would help if Martha realized that I’m the head of the family.” He jumped back as the gelding shifted nervously in the cross ties.