Treasuring Emma (6 page)
Emma rose from the chair and walked over to the sink. Her shoulders sagged. “What did you have in mind?”
“An idea that will solve all our problems.”
Adam Otto picked up a gray sweatshirt with the word
Michigan
across the front. He tossed it into his suitcase, along with two pairs of jeans, a toothbrush, and his razor, even though he hadn’t used it in months. He zipped up the case. Would he be gone a couple of days? A week? He had no idea, but he’d asked for two weeks off from work.
He looked at the black suitcase, his mind still filled with doubt. Would his mother want to see him? He hoped so but couldn’t be all that sure. His father’s reaction was more predictable. He wouldn’t be thrilled to see Adam, but he wouldn’t kick him out of the house either.
The
Ordnung
stated that one must be willing to forgive.
The rules. His father would never break the rules.
A knock sounded on the door. He set his suitcase down next to the couch and opened the door. “Ashley?”
“Can I come in?”
Against his better judgment he let her.
“Shane told me you were leaving.”
Their coworker at the restaurant. A kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut even through three layers of duct tape.
“It’s not true, is it?” Her gaze went to the suitcase on the floor. “Then again, maybe it is.”
“Ashley, why are you here?”
“Because I’m trying to keep you from making a big mistake.”
“Visiting my mom is a mistake?”
“That’s why you’re leaving?”
He nodded.
She moved toward him. “Awesome. I thought you were leaving because of us.”
“And I thought we straightened all this out. There isn’t an
us
.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes shone with hope. “I thought a lot about what happened yesterday. If you don’t want us to be serious, I can be down with that. We can chill out together as friends. Hang out. Have a few beers together. Watch
Jersey Shore
.”
“I can’t stand that show.”
The hope turned to desperation. “Okay, football or basketball or whatever you’re into.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. Just so we can be together.”
“Ashley, you need a girl to hang out with. Not me.”
She lifted her chin. “I have plenty of girlfriends to hang with.”
“Then go find one of them. I have to go.” He reached for his suitcase, but she blocked his way.
“Let me come with you. I’ve never seen anyone Amish before. I bet it will be cool, with all those dorky hats and old-timey carts.”
She made them sound like a circus sideshow. “Buggies,” he corrected. “This isn’t a vacation, Ashley. I’m going to visit my mother. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute or two. “I don’t want to lose you, Adam. You’re a nice guy. Nicer than anyone else I’ve dated. And even though you hurt my feelings the other day, I forgive you. I know you didn’t mean to.”
“You’re right. I didn’t, and I’m sorry.”
“So give me a call when you get to Ohio. And when you come back to Michigan.” She smiled, although there was a sadness to it. “We can start over. As friends. We’ll keep it simple. I promise.”
He nodded. When she left he picked up his suitcase, shut off the lights, and headed for the door.
He stopped at the threshold, dug into the pockets of his jeans, and came up with his cell phone. For a second or two he stared at it. Felt the weight in his hand. Then he tossed it on the couch and left.
Four hours later he drove his black pickup truck into his parents’ driveway, his headlights piercing the darkness and flashing across the front of the house. He killed the lights and waited, expecting his father to come outside. But the house remained dark.
Adam checked his watch. Nine o’clock. His parents would be asleep already.
He got out of the truck and shut the door, then stood there while his senses adjusted. The trill of crickets mixed with the sound of the deep-throated bullfrogs that lived in the pond behind the house.
Darkness enveloped him. There were no streetlights on this end of their road. His tennis shoes crunched across the gravel driveway as he rounded the bed of the truck. He leaned against the other side and looked at the Shetlers’ house. Like his parents’ place, it was also completely dark.
Adam thought about Emma: her full, round face, so different from Ashley’s thin, narrow one. He saw the shadow of an animal flit across her yard, followed by another. Cats, he thought. Or maybe small dogs. Emma and her pets. That hadn’t changed.
At the sound of a cat’s meow, he turned and looked down to see a light-colored cat weaving around his ankles. He bent to pick up the animal. But when his fingers brushed its fur, the cat dashed off.
He walked back to his truck, retrieved his suitcase, and took a deep breath. He couldn’t wait out here all night. On the other hand, maybe he could. It was certainly tempting to bunk in the barn until morning, instead of disturbing his parents. Especially his father.
But concern for his mother spurred him on.
Tentatively he knocked on the door and waited, gripping the handle of his suitcase. When no one answered he reached up to knock again, only to hear the sound of his mother’s voice coming through the wood. “Who is it?”
Her soothing lilt instantly comforted him. “It’s me,
Mamm
. Adam.”
Before he finished saying his name, the door flung open. His mother pushed open the screen door and wrapped her arms around him. The suitcase fell to the front porch with a thud.
“Welcome home,
sohn
.
Willkum
home.”
“Do you still like your eggs scrambled?”
Adam looked at his mother and nodded. He sat down at the kitchen table. Yeast bread baked in the oven, bacon sizzled on the stove. His stomach growled. He missed home-cooked meals. He watched his mother as she prepared breakfast. She seemed the same to him, efficient and comfortable in the kitchen. Maybe Leona was imagining things, and this had been a wasted trip.
But seeing his mother again, being in the house he grew up in, gave him a sense of peace he hadn’t expected.
The back door slammed. He heard movement in the mudroom, his father removing his boots. Adam gripped his knees, his palms damp against his blue jeans.
“Sorry it took me so long,” his father said as he came into the kitchen. He looked at his wife standing in front of the stove. “Cows were being lazy today. Had to herd them into the pasture by my—”
His gaze went to Adam. He peered at him as if he couldn’t see clearly. “Adam?”
Adam nodded but didn’t move from the chair. His father also remained frozen in place. The enticing smells of breakfast faded as the men looked at each other.
After a moment, his father spoke. “Are you in trouble?”
“Nee.”
Figures that would be the first thing his father would assume. “I’m not in trouble.”
His father crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why are you here?”
Adam glanced at his mother. Her back was to both of them. She was putting fluffy yellow eggs on an old white platter she’d had as long as Adam could remember. Should he mention Leona’s letter? For some reason that seemed a bad idea. “I came for a . . . visit.”
“Why?”
Adam’s mother rushed to the table. “Time to eat!” She nearly dropped the platter, catching herself at the last minute. “I know you two must be
hungerich
.”
His father didn’t uncross his arms or move. He scrutinized Adam, his greenish-brown eyes raking him up and down.
Adam squirmed. He could only imagine what his father was thinking about his long hair, scruffy beard and mustache, jeans, and plaid flannel shirt. Yankee clothes. Forbidden in his house.
“You are in the
bann
. You cannot eat at the same table with us.”
“Norman.”
Both men looked at her. Unshed tears shone in her hazel eyes.
Without saying a word Adam’s father walked past Adam and sat down at the table. “Let’s eat. I have a busy day.”
That was it? Adam turned to his father, but he had already bowed his head for the silent prayer. There was nothing else to do but join him.
After prayer, they all ate in silence. Adam looked from his father to his mother. Both were intent on eating. His father inhaled the food, while his mother ate more slowly, slicing a small mound of eggs with the edge of her fork.
Suddenly hunger overrode everything else. Adam dug into his meal, savoring the salty crispness of the bacon and the buttery smoothness of the eggs. He had just reached for a piece of hot bread when his father stood, wiped his graying beard with his napkin, and left the room.
Adam put down his fork. “He could have at least said something before he left.”
His mother sighed. “Actually, that was better than I expected.”
“It was?”
“Ya.”
She faced Adam. “You don’t know how deeply you hurt your
daed
when you left. He’s a deacon. Highly respected in the community. And to have his only
sohn
leave the church . . .” She shook her head. “It was difficult for him. If you hadn’t been baptized, it would have been easier.”
Adam didn’t want to talk about his father. He wasn’t here for him. “How are you doing?”
“Me?” She picked up her napkin from her lap and laid it over her half-eaten meal, keeping her gaze averted. “I’m fine.” At last she looked up and smiled. “I’m very happy to see you. Even if you do look like a wild man.”
He touched his shoulder-length hair.
“Ya.”
He marveled at how quickly and easily he slipped back into the
Dietsch
he hadn’t used in two years. “I suppose I need a haircut.”
“I could give you one.”
Adam saw the eagerness in her eyes. Different from when his father was in the room. “Sure. I wouldn’t mind that.” He crumpled his napkin in his fist and glanced down at his lap. “Why aren’t you angry with me?
Daed
is.”
His mother reached for his hand. She squeezed his fingers and released them. “You’re my
sohn
. You’re here. That’s all that matters to me.”
Dry leaves crunched beneath Emma’s feet as she neared the house. Her morning chores were finished, but her mind still worked at full speed. Over and over while she’d taken care of the animals, collected the eggs, and checked on Dill’s leg, she thought about Clara’s proposal. When Emma balked at the idea, her sister had asked her to pray about it.
Emma didn’t need to pray to say no. Clara had to be out of her mind to think she and
Grossmammi
would agree to such a thing. But Emma had to figure out her future before it disintegrated along with her increasingly dilapidated house.
She slipped off her shoes near the door and walked into the kitchen to find her grandmother standing in front of the pantry. “You’re up early,” Emma said. She set the basket of eggs on the counter.
“I’m always up early.”
Grossmammi
placed a wrinkled finger on her lips as she scanned the pantry’s contents. “I just usually don’t come downstairs at this hour.” She glanced over one hunched shoulder. “I’m making breakfast this morning.”
“Oh
nee
.” Emma stood beside her. The top of the old woman’s
kapp
barely reached Emma’s shoulder. “I’ll do it.”
Her grandmother gently shrugged her off. “Mind your elders.” She took down the canister of all-purpose flour and tucked it in the crook of her arm. “It’s been ages since I’ve made pumpkin pancakes. You love those,
ya
?”
“You know I do.” Emma had tried more than once to duplicate the recipe. Each attempt had been a failure. They were never as light and fluffy, or had the perfect blend of cinnamon flavor her grandmother’s had.
“Then you deserve some pumpkin pancakes.” The old woman frowned, leaning against the white pantry door. “Where’s the sugar?”
“Right here.” Emma moved around a few glass jars of green beans, found the sugar canister, and shook it. “At least I thought we had some. Looks like we’re out.”
