Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2) (19 page)

The day passed quickly, and promptly at seven fifteen Emma left for the Hostetlers with her dessert tucked inside a covered hamper. Because it was still daylight, she took the back path, knowing a safe ride home would be provided. Walking around Sarah’s house, she spotted a knot of people milling down by the creek. The fire was already burning, tables and chairs had been set up, and sawed-off logs served as cook stools. Her heart began to pound and her palms perspired as she walked toward the flames leaping toward the sky.

“Can I carry that basket for you, Miss Miller?” James Davis asked over her shoulder.

She jumped but quickly regained her composure. “Carry, yes. Peek inside, no,” she said, relinquishing the hamper to him.

James transferred the hamper to his other side so he could take hold of her hand. “Will you share a log with me?” he asked, swinging arms like little children. “I’m going to cook two hot dogs at once. How ’bout you?”

Emma thrilled to the touch of his strong, calloused hand. Hers seemed so small by comparison. “One will suffice to start. I’m saving room for marshmallows. And you had better save room for my Apple Betty bars or my feelings will be hurt.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of her fingers. “I’ll eat every last one if you’d like.”

The bold gesture startled her. She pulled back her hand just as they joined the group. “Start with one and see if you like them first.”

“Hi, Emma.” Sarah greeted with a smile. “What goodie did you bring? Set it here.” As Emma walked to the table, Sarah created a front spot for her dessert. “I see James found you,” she whispered. “He arrived early and has been glancing at his watch ever since.”

“What can I help you with?” Emma asked, eager to change the subject.

“Carry these buns, ketchup, and mustard down to the fire. We’ll leave the side dishes up here. The hot dogs are already there.” Sarah handed her a tray and then walked to where Sam Yoder was busily sharpening points on long sticks.

Emma returned to the fire and set the tray on an upended log. She found James sitting on a log big enough for two with sticks already fixed with hot dogs. “Should I cook yours too?” he asked. Firelight sparkled and danced in his eyes.

She sat down beside him and glanced around. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. A dozen people were already cooking, eating, and talking. One
Englischer
and his Plain date hadn’t stopped the world among people her own age.

“Yes, please,” she answered. “I like mine sort of burned.”

“Me too. Burning food is my specialty.” James handled both hot dog sticks expertly, turning them often. Once sufficiently charred, they smothered the hot dogs with mustard and relish and then snuggled close on the log. Emma dabbed mustard from his chin with her napkin. James fed her the last bite of his second dog. Both smiled as though this was their best meal ever.

While they ate the evening star, Venus, appeared low in the sky as the sun dropped beneath the horizon. The heat and humidity of August lifted as a light breeze blew from the south. Emma roasted three marshmallows until light brown and then three more to take home to her sister. She ate hers straight from the stick, sparing her fingers the messiness.

Some people began to sing songs, while others just cuddled side-by-side to watch the blaze. Men added more wood to build the bonfire into an inferno. It crackled and sparked and shot flames toward the night sky.

Sitting beside James, Emma had never felt so content as he munched not one but two squares of Apple Betty bars. He
ooh’ed
and
ahh’ed
and praised her baking skills, giving Emma a tingle of womanly satisfaction.

“Can we take a walk together?” he asked quietly upon finishing dessert. “Not far, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

She glanced around and nodded, rising to her feet. Anticipation swelled deep in her belly.

James took her hand when they had wandered away from the noisy crowd. Despite almost total darkness, Emma felt no fear. They walked only as far as the pasture fence where he turned to her. “Emma, I decided to go to college after all. It’s something that’s very important to my folks. My dad never went, so he wants all his kids to go. I won’t be far away—Wooster—but I’ll be staying on campus in a dorm.”

Emma felt the air leave her lungs, while the hot dog and marshmallows she’d eaten turned leaden in her belly. This wasn’t the declaration of affection she had hoped for. “College?” she asked weakly. “Why would a farmer need college?” Yet she knew the Davis farming operation was far different from the Miller family’s.

“Yeah, that’s what I said too, but my dad made a good argument. The agricultural world is changing, and an English farmer needs to change with it. Advanced courses will help with that.”

She nodded in agreement, but she didn’t really understand. “This is what you want?” she asked.

“No, this is what my parents want, and I want to respect their wishes.”

She tried to think, to sort the details in her mind. “When does school start? In late September?”

He squeezed her hand tighter. “No, I leave in two weeks for freshman orientation. That’s why I wanted to tell you tonight. I’ll be busy with the early harvest, so I might not see you before I go.”

Emma tugged her hand back while her mind reeled with things she didn’t like. He would be gone for four years, surrounded by pretty English girls in their tight jeans and snug tops. One Plain girl from Winesburg would soon be nothing but a vague memory. She had been foolish to think this was a serious courtship leading to marriage. “Good luck then, James. I wish you success with your studies.” Her voice sounded distant and unfamiliar.

“Emma,” James said. “Please don’t be upset. I like you very much, and my going away to college doesn’t change that. Since you don’t have a phone, I hoped you would let me write to you—if your parents will allow it. I’ll be driving right by your place to and from school, and I can stick letters in your mailbox.”

She lifted a questioning eyebrow.

He laughed before adding, “Going by your place won’t be much out of my way.” Then he bent his head to meet her gaze. “What do you say? Do you like me well enough to write? And we could see each other as often as possible.”

Emma didn’t take long to make up her mind. “Yes, I’ll write to you. I guess I like you plenty enough for that.” She smiled as the breeze blew a loose strand of hair across her face.

James reached out to tuck it behind her ear, and then without warning he leaned in and kissed her. Not on her cheek or on her forehead as her family did, but squarely on her pink-glossed lips. She didn’t pull back until after the two-second kiss was over.

“Umm,” he said. “You taste like peppermint candy.” He smacked his lips together. Apparently, some of the sticky gloss had rubbed off.

“It’s lip gloss,” she said. “What do you think?”

“Sweet, but you don’t have to trouble yourself on my account, especially if it upsets your parents.” He tipped up her chin. “I like you exactly how you are.” His face grew serious while his blue eyes turned as dark as deep water. “I think you are absolutely beautiful, Emma Miller!”

W
ith his cutting blades sharpened, his plow horses shod, and with his sons to help, Simon had planned to start harvesting hay. By the almanac’s predictions and his own study of cloud patterns the past few days, plenty of good weather stretched before him. But lest he grow too confident or complacent, his best leather harness snapped into two pieces when he tried to use it. The older pair of harnesses looked dry-rotted and not worth the effort to even test on his Belgians. So with a final glance at the perfect, cloudless sky, Simon decided to visit the leather crafter in Berlin. His field of hay, bright green and shimmering in the sunlight, would have to wait.

As Simon led his gelding out of the barn, Matthew strolled onto the back porch. The boy was eating a peach despite the fact they had just finished breakfast twenty minutes ago. “What ya doin’, Pa?” he asked. “Why are you hitching up the buggy? I thought we were cutting today.” His straw hat was perched on the back of his head while his cheeks looked tanned and ruddy.

“I broke another harness,” Simon called. “That makes two this month. I’m going over to the harness maker in Berlin. Hopefully, he’ll have one ready to fit and I won’t have to order and then wait. Tell your
mamm
I should be back in time for lunch.” Simon finished hitching his standardbred and then inspected its harness too, as he was already making the trip.

Matthew ran down the path toward him. Simon noticed his work trousers were already a tad short, while his shirt pulled tightly across his chest. The boy needed new clothes again. Julia or Leah had already let out or let down every seam. He was growing faster than the pokeweed along the fence line.

When Matthew reached halfway, he yelled, “Can I come with you? The milking is done, and I’ve filled all the water troughs and moved hay bales to the cow and sheep pastures.”

Simon could think of a dozen things the boy could do while he was gone, but his plaintive, freckled face looked desperate for a change of scenery. “
Jah
, all right, but go tell Henry to stay close in case your
mamm
needs something. There’s no saying where Emma might be off to. She always has several chores started at once.”

“Okay,” Matthew called, “but don’t worry about
mamm
. Leah’s in the house.” The boy disappeared back inside while Simon tightened the halter. Thank goodness God had made all his
kinner
different. At least Leah would see that Julia didn’t overdo and that lunch would be ready when they returned. Emma would forget to eat if someone didn’t set it in front of her…like one of her sheep.

“Can I take the reins?” Matthew asked, climbing into the buggy a few minutes later.

“
Jah
, sure,” Simon answered, “but keep him over as far as possible. This is the busiest month for English tourists, gawking left and right instead of watching the road. I saw a station wagon pull to the side of the road the other day. A group of people got out and stood by our fence for a long while staring at the cows.” Simon clucked his tongue with disapproval.

“What were the cows doing?” Matthew asked, slapping the reins lightly on the gelding’s back. The horse picked up the pace to a full trot.

“Same thing cows do all day long—they were eating grass and chewing their cud. Nothing else.” Father and son enjoyed a hearty chuckle over the oddities of
Englischers
.

But once they approached Berlin, Simon found little to amuse him. Traffic had backed up to the outskirts of town. Buses belching diesel exhaust were filled with tourists eager to spend money on handmade items, quilts, and baskets. Pickup trucks and delivery vans were loaded with new oak furniture on their way to the dealers.

Matthew pulled hard on the reins to stop behind a car packed with white-haired ladies. “Not a good day to come to Berlin,” Matthew declared. “They must be having a craft fair or some kind of festival.”

Simon blew out his breath through his nostrils. He hated queues of traffic with all the fumes. “We should’ve gone the back roads, but I thought this way would be quicker. We’ll never get home to cut hay at this rate.”

Matthew, however, seemed far less annoyed, content to do his own share of gawking. At long last, they snaked through the quaint town of gift shops, restaurants, and small inns to arrive at the shop on the western outskirts. The harness maker had divided his farmland between his two sons and taken up leatherwork. If the warm smile on his face was any indication, the career change had been a good choice.

“Simon Miller,” the man exclaimed when they entered the shop.

“
Guder mariye
, Amos,” Simon greeted. The pungent smell of recently tanned leather assailed his senses. “This is my elder boy, Matthew.” Amos lived in a different district, so it had been a while since they had seen each other.

“
Jah
? How do?” Amos asked. “Been a long time.”

Matthew mumbled a shy hello while Simon nodded in agreement and then asked, “How are you fixed for harnesses? I need a new set for my Belgians to accommodate working teams of two, four, and six.”

Amos pulled on his suspenders. “Belgians, you say? How many hands?”

Simon took out a piece of paper on which he’d jotted the specifics and handed it over.

Amos read the notes and pondered a moment. “I’ve got enough in stock, but I’ll have to make adjustments. Sit down while I get what we need.”

He returned carrying leather straps over his shoulder, a box of assorted buckles and hardware, and his pouch of tools. Pulling up a stool to his bench, he went to work with his glasses perched on the end of his nose. “My boy Joseph saw your daughter last weekend,” Amos said without lifting his focus from the harness.

“
Jah
, at the Hostetler bonfire, I imagine.” Simon wondered how the man could do such meticulous work in the dim light.