The Fiddler (14 page)

Michael looked shocked, then brightened. “Did you accept?”

She almost thought he was holding his breath for her answer. “Yes, I said I would.”

He beamed. “
Des gut
!” He stood right up and reached down, offering his hand to help her up. “This’ll give ya plenty of time to meet Ella Mae.”

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“The Wise Woman.”

“Oh, I hope so. I could use some wisdom about now.”

He laughed a little. “Couldn’t we all?” They walked across the yard, pausing at the back porch, where Michael waited while she went to tell Joanna she would return later with her car.

“Why don’t ya come back for dinner, if you’d like?” Joanna asked, standing barefoot in her mother’s kitchen.

Since Amelia didn’t know what Michael had planned, she declined but said she would another time. “If that’s all right.”

“Well, I hope you’ll stay long enough to see all of Hickory Hollow—ev’ry nook and cranny.”

“Thanks, Joanna.”

“You’re ever so welcome.” Joanna walked her to the back screen porch and looked curiously outside. “Hullo again,” she said, waving to Michael.

“I’ll take good care of Amelia,” he joked and glanced at Amelia, then back at Joanna. “Don’t ya worry.”

“No doubt in my mind.” Joanna stood to the side as Amelia made her way down the back steps. “Well, have a nice walk, you two.” Joanna shot a knowing look in their direction.

“Denki again for showin’ Amelia round the farm. She should be all ready now to get up at four-thirty to help with milkin’,” Michael said over his shoulder.

“Oh, no . . . that’s awful early!” Joanna replied with a chuckle.

“Sure, I’ll help,” Amelia volunteered, game for anything. But her intuition told her Joanna was more preoccupied with Michael’s attentiveness toward an Englisher than with what time Amelia would get up tomorrow.

To be honest, Amelia was very curious about that herself. While she knew enough about modern men like Byron to understand what made them tick, she had no frame of reference for an Amish guy.

She fell into step with Michael, finding it interesting that he seemed so happy she’d decided to stay over.

———

Michael knew it was imperative to show his father that he appreciated his unusual invitation. As he and Amelia walked back to their cars, Michael tried to explain that being asked to park his vehicle in Daed’s driveway was an enormously benevolent gesture. “You have no idea.”

“Sounds like your dad might be trying to win you back.”

“It does seem that way,” Michael agreed. “I wonder what Mamm makes of this.” He looked at Amelia. “Don’t be surprised if she peeks out the window at us when we arrive. Might even ask us to stay for the noon meal.” He suspected she and Daed were in goodwill mode, pulling out all the stops.

Amelia was astonished. “Will I alarm them in my fancy getup?”

“I don’t think so. Besides, I’ve thought it over, and I’d like you to meet my parents after all.” Though he did hope they wouldn’t jump to any conclusions.

Michael gave her a smile. Of course, Amelia was a guest of Joanna Kurtz’s—he could mention that if necessary, although he would not deceive his parents.
Her presence might shake things up a bit,
he thought. But then again, Amelia might just be the distraction they all needed right now.

“Ach, Paul, look there . . . out the window!” Lillianne called to him across the kitchen.

Her husband was washing up at the sink and splattering dirty water. “What is it, Lily?” He was grumpy now, making up for being so accommodating to Michael before, just maybe. Still, she loved him all the same.

“Michael’s returned with his car . . . and there’s a young woman with him.” She pointed, speechless for a moment. “She’s got herself a car, too!”

Paul moved to the window and peeked out. “Well, she sure ain’t Plain, is she?”

Lillianne squelched a little laugh as together they watched the two young folk meander up the driveway, the young woman’s car parked behind Michael’s. “Now, Paul, we’ve already welcomed our son back, so we must welcome her, too.”
Whoever she is.

He nodded and harrumphed, then moseyed to his chair at the head of the table. “They’re just in time for the table blessin’, ain’t so?” Paul observed as the knock came at the back screen door.

“Food’s on the table, son,” her husband called over his shoulder. “Come on in and have dinner with us.”

“Puh!” Lillianne said, scurrying to the back porch and opening the door. “You never have to knock, Michael . . . you know that.” She got a closer look at the pretty dark-haired girl with him, which shook her up but good.
Well, if she doesn’t look nearly like our Elizabeth!

“Mamm, this is Amelia Devries,” Michael introduced her. “She’s visiting the area . . . stayin’ over at Kurtzes’ place.”

“Well, bless your heart,” Lillianne said, gathering her wits. Rhoda hadn’t mentioned anything like this!

“We didn’t mean to barge in. Just wanted you to know Amelia’s goin’ to be around for a few days.” Michael seemed to go out of his way to explain.

“Won’t ya come in and eat with us—both of yous?” She held out her hand and was met by the softest, most petite handshake in all her born days. “Ever so nice to meet you, Amelia.”

“Likewise,” the young woman said, looking for all the world like she’d stepped out of a dress shop somewhere at the Prime Outlet Mall over on Route 30.

Lillianne followed them into the kitchen, standing back as Michael reintroduced Amelia. Paul was not nearly as cordial as Lillianne had hoped he might be. Was he also struggling with the close resemblance to their missing granddaughter?
Run clean off to the world and the devil, too.

She waited to take her place at the table till both Michael and the young woman were seated—Michael in his usual spot, and Amelia next to him on the bench. Any other day in the past few years, Michael would have rejected their mealtime invitation if he was with one of his many Mennonite buddies. Though he’d never brought the girl home to meet them, Lillianne nevertheless knew more than she let on about his former fiancée.

But now, this one?

“Let’s return thanks,” Paul said with a look at Michael; then he bowed his head.

Her husband’s silent prayer lasted longer than was customary. She guessed he was making up for lost time, since Michael had missed two meals here since storming out.

At last Paul coughed slightly and raised his head to indicate the silent prayer was done. Then he reached for the cooled-off beef gravy and mashed potatoes. Lillianne felt sure all was well—or would be by the time the men had their stomachs filled. Neither her husband nor Michael uttered a word for the next few minutes, leaving her to wonder what on earth to say to Amelia, with those big blue-gray eyes that twinkled a smile, like she was trying hard to make nice.

Oh goodness.
Lillianne wondered if this pretty young woman had romantic thoughts toward Michael. But if so, why would he announce that she was staying over at Nate and Rhoda’s? Michael didn’t flaunt his sweetheart-girls. Never had.

“Pass the salt and pepper,” Paul said, reaching before the polite young lady even had a chance to hand them to Michael to give to Paul.

Lillianne held her breath, waiting, but there was no thanking either of them. If she didn’t quit caring so much about what transpired at her table, she’d be a nervous wreck by the time it was time to serve the orange nut bread with real whipped cream for dessert. What must the beautiful outsider be thinking?

Truly, Lillianne could hardly wait to dish up dessert. Anything to get up and move about—keep her hands busy so her mind had a chance to calm down some.

“Amelia’s from Ohio,” Michael was telling his father. “She knew quite a lot of Amish there, back when she was a girl.”

Paul’s ears perked up. “Beachys, maybe?” he asked.

But Amelia didn’t seem to know specifics about the Plain folk there, just that they were neighbors to her deceased grandparents. “I do remember that their prayer caps were cup shaped with many little pleats,” Amelia said. “Does that help any?”

“Ah, like Cousin Mandie’s in Walnut Creek, ain’t so?” Lillianne said, looking at both Michael and Paul.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why are there different head coverings?” asked Amelia.

“Different styles of Kapps identify the church group,” Lillianne replied.

“Kapps and many other things related to the ordinances,” Michael quickly added.

“Ordnung,” said Paul, eyeing Amelia now.

Lillianne wished someone might change the subject. “Amelia, you’ll enjoy stayin’ with Joanna Kurtz,” she piped up. “She’s one fine Amish girl—joined church years ago now.” She said the latter for Michael’s benefit, but by the expression on her son’s tanned face, her remark must have come off as scheming.

“Amelia spent part of the morning over there,” Michael said.

“I loved getting acquainted with the baby goats.” Amelia exchanged a smile with Michael.

Jah, definitely a spark between ’em,
thought Lillianne.
Might spoil everything Paul and I have set out to do!

Feeling downright jittery, she rose and went to slice her freshly baked orange nut bread.

W
hile Michael unloaded the cooler of food he’d taken to the cabin and got resettled at his father’s house, Amelia drove the short distance to Joanna’s, then inched the car into the lane. She wished she’d thought to ask Michael about the advisability of parking on the Kurtzes’ property.
Will it cause problems?
She intended to ask Joanna first thing.

She slipped her overnight bag over her shoulder and retrieved her fiddle case, then headed for the back porch. Joanna’s family seemed to prefer using the back door that led through the screened-in porch and utility room to the kitchen.

Standing on the steps, looking in, Amelia knocked lightly. Inside, she could hear the laughter of small children and the chatter of Pennsylvania Dutch. “It’s Amelia,” she called when she saw Joanna coming through the kitchen.

“Nice seein’ ya again,” Joanna said.

“I parked my car, um . . . in your driveway. If that’s a problem, I’ll move it.”

Joanna shook her head quickly. “ ’Tis just fine where I saw ya park it. Kumme . . . I want ya to meet my little nieces and nephew visitin’ from Bird-in-Hand, just up the way a piece.”

Relieved about her car, Amelia followed her, setting her fiddle and luggage down in the kitchen before making her way into the large front room. The door was standing wide and all of the windows were open, too, letting in a sultry breeze. The cute Amish children sat on the floor, giggling and building with blocks. The girls looked like miniatures of Joanna and Rhoda, and the boy was around the age Amelia had been when her father first placed a tiny violin in her little hands.

Joanna went over to them and bent low, patting each child’s head as she said their names: “Stephen, Sylvia, and Susan. Our three S’s—my older sister Salina’s little ones.”

“So four S’s,” Amelia said, squatting to greet them. “Hey, kiddos. Looks like you’re having fun.” Then looking at Joanna, she said, “They’re absolutely darling.”

“Salina dropped them off for a few hours while she cooks up a feast to take to an ailing relative.”

Amelia studied the children. “They look so close in age,” she said, eyes glued especially to the handsome little boy.

Joanna said the oldest and youngest were but two years apart. “Nearly like triplets, ain’t?”

Amelia couldn’t imagine having three in a row so close together
.
She could hardly pull herself away from them as she admired the girls’ tiny dresses and aprons. They looked nearly like dolls with their golden blond hair pulled back tightly in a knot.

Little Stephen followed her into the kitchen when she went to retrieve her things. “
Vas
?” He pointed to her bag.

“Just some clothes, sweetie.” She stopped and smiled at herself. “Do you speak English?” she asked softly.

Towheaded Stephen just cocked his head and looked at her with round eyes.