Winter of Wishes (8 page)

On the other side of Rhoda, Nellie shook her head. “My sister’ll catch a cartload
of trouble for tellin’ Dat and Jerusalem she won’t sneak out anymore, only to do that
very thing that very night,” she muttered. She stabbed a slice of ham and passed the
platter to Rhoda. “She’d do better comin’ to our crochet club instead of temptin’
a devil Luke’s age. My stars, he’s
thirty
and still hasn’t joined the church.”

“Ya think he’s mighty cute, Sister,” Annie Mae retorted as she grabbed the bread basket.
“And you’d give your eye teeth to be goin’ out with Ira—or anybody who’d give ya a
second glance.”

“When I’m sixteen and out of school, I’ll do just that!” Nellie fired back.

Rhoda knew better than to take sides when these two sisters unsheathed their claws.
She and Rachel had rarely bickered . . .

But then Andy Leitner’s handsome face came to mind . . . his low, pleasant voice echoed
in her ears as he told her what good work she’d done for him.

Rhoda smiled. No harm in thinking about Andy this way, keeping her special daydreams
to herself. Tomorrow afternoon she’d be going there again, and she couldn’t wait to
see him! She had just the right surprise in mind.

After a harrowing stint in the emergency room, Andy entered the house and fell against
the front door to shut it. Images of two teenagers who’d been riding tandem on a motorcycle
still haunted him: when they had skidded through an icy intersection and spun out,
it was a miracle they’d both lived . . . if
living
was what they’d do after all of their internal injuries became evident. Sometimes
surviving such an accident wasn’t the luckiest thing.

He’d vowed not to bring such tragedies home with him, though, so he stood for a moment,
listening for the kids . . . getting a sense of whether his mom was up and around.

Cookies.
He inhaled the sugary-cinnamon scent that filled the room.
It smells like absolute heaven in here.

When Andy started toward the kitchen, craving all the sweetness he could get his hands
on, Rhoda peered out the kitchen doorway. “I was hopin’ that was you comin’ in,” she
teased. “Better join us, or there won’t be any left!”

It was a fine sight that greeted him. His mother sat at the table, spooning up cookie
dough with her good hand and pushing it onto a cookie sheet with the spoon in her
weaker hand. Taylor and Brett stood at the counter measuring flour into another bowl.

Nothing short of a miracle
, he almost said, but that would ruin the mood Rhoda had once again set so effortlessly.
Total cooperation . . . his kids working together while his mother regained her motor
skills and manual dexterity.

When Rhoda approached him with two chunky, warm cookies, all Andy could think of was
how sweet she was. Unassuming and compassionate, as though she’d known exactly what
sort of therapy he needed. “Oatmeal raisin,” he murmured. “Wow, do these look awesome.”

“Rhoda’s oatmeal cookies!” his son exclaimed as he looked up from reading another
recipe. “What do you think, Dad? Did we do good?”

Andy bit into the soft, chewy cookie, still warm, and let out a low moan. “You did
good, kids,” he replied, but his eyes were on Rhoda. “Can we keep a copy of this recipe?
It’s not an old family secret, is it?”

“Puh!” Rhoda waved him off. “I make these a couple times a week for the Sweet Seasons.
Got the recipe memorized, but I can write it down, if ya want.”

“Tell me! I’ll write it,” Taylor said as she scrambled for paper and a pencil. “Rhoda
was teachin’ us about fractions while we were measuring out all the stuff for these
cookies. Kitchen math is a lot funner than doing it on paper for school.”

“I bet she’s doing a better job with fractions than I could, too,” Andy admitted.
“That wasn’t your favorite math lesson, last time we tackled it.”

Right now, however, math—and highway catastrophes—seemed miles away. As he bit into
his second cookie, Andy poured a glass of milk and sat down beside his mother. She
looked delighted to be helping with these cookies even though she’d never been one
to bake a lot. How it soothed him to listen as Rhoda patiently dictated her recipe
and then helped Taylor spell the ingredients. And was that
Brett
so carefully pouring vanilla extract into a measuring spoon? Ordinarily, his son
flitted from one activity to the next, not finishing what he started—and definitely
not doing girlie stuff in the kitchen.

“So what are you stirring up there, Brett?” Andy asked.

“These ones are gonna be chocolate chip cookies! Rhoda says it’s just as easy to bake
a couple batches, while we’ve got the stuff out, so we can freeze some,” his boy replied
with a big grin. “Then, whenever we’re ready for homemade cookies, they’ll be ready
for us!”

“Sounds like a great plan.” Again Andy marveled. While engaging his kids in making
cookies, Rhoda had given them lessons in fractions, home economics, and working together
as a team. It was something Megan had never—

Andy blinked. It seemed such messages came to him a lot these days, thoughts about
moving forward rather than dwelling on a marriage that hadn’t been happy for more
years than he cared to count.

“And for supper,” Taylor chimed in, “we’re makin’ pizza, Dad! Well—Rhoda’s makin’
the crust and we get to put on the toppings. Rhoda says if we use some whole wheat
flour and put on lots of sauce and veggies, pizza can be a healthy meal with all of
the basic food groups.”

Rhoda says . . . Rhoda says . . .
Andy didn’t even mind that his kids were showing more enthusiasm for their new housekeeper
than they did for him most days. Rhoda Lantz, in her wine-colored dress, white apron,
and pleated white kapp, with her hair pulled up into a bun and not a hint of makeup,
was turning his house into a home again. And for that, he was so thankful his eyes
stung.

He blinked back tears. It wouldn’t do to get all emotional, because that led to floundering
in doubt and fear and inadequacy, as he had when Megan had walked out. He had no time
for that. He had an internship to complete and exams to pass and—

Rhoda’s smile made him forget those pressing obligations. “What do ya like on your
pizza, Andy?” she asked. “So far, we’ve got sausage and cheese and green peppers and
black olives. We’ll make two big pizzas, so ya can warm up what’s left over for another
meal tomorrow.”

“Pizza for breakfast,” he murmured before he even thought about it. “Now there’s a
treat! Can we put bacon on one of them?”

When her eyes twinkled with approval, Andy realized they were the same blue as a springtime
sky.

“Now you’re talkin’!” She removed two sheets of cookies from the oven and then slid
in the two sheets his mom had just filled. “Rachel and Mamma and I make one with bacon
and onions and extra cheese, and another with bell peppers and sausage—”

“Say no more!” Andy closed his eyes in ecstasy. “We’re talking about waaay too much
fat and cholesterol, but I’m going to enjoy every bite!”

A couple of hours later, as he raised his first slice of bacon pizza to his mouth,
Andy thought he’d died and gone to heaven: tender, chewy crust . . . thick, gooey
cheese . . . salty-sweet bacon . . . tomato sauce seasoned with garlic and herbs.
As the kids and his mother were oohing and aahing, he held Rhoda’s gaze across the
table.

“Thank you,” he mouthed.

She smiled shyly.
You’re welcome
, came her silent reply.

It occurred to him that after only two visits, he was hooked on this young woman in
a dangerous way: if for some reason Rhoda had to stop coming, returning home to find
his kids fighting and his mother lying despondently in bed again might well overwhelm
him. He’d already grown so accustomed to the order and harmony this young woman had
brought into his home that he couldn’t—didn’t want to—consider his life playing out
any other way.

Andy snatched a piece of the sausage and veggie pizza—because if he devoured all of
the bacon pie, he wouldn’t be able to have any for breakfast, would he? Wouldn’t be
able to savor this deliciousness again tomorrow morning as he anticipated what wonders
Rhoda would work after she arrived on Tuesday . . .

An hour later as she dried her hands, satisfied that the kitchen was tidy enough,
Andy took her aside. The kids were in their rooms choosing their clothes for tomorrow—yet
another fine idea Rhoda had suggested—and his mom sat on the couch watching TV, so
he had a few private moments while she waited for her ride.

“Rhoda, we really love all the cooking you do, but—” Andy barely stopped himself from
laying his hands on her shoulders. “Well, I never intended for you to work so hard,
or to see that we had meals for the next day, or—”

Rhoda’s brow furrowed. “
Ach
, I’ve done nothin’ but what I’d be doin’ at home. If ya don’t want me to cook—”

“Oh, please don’t stop!” He took money from his wallet. “But you’re spoiling us. We—we
could get by with canned soup or frozen lasagne or—”

Her crestfallen expression told him he’d just made a mess of this conversation. Andy
sighed. “It’s just that you work so hard at putting the house to rights, and paying
attention to my kids, and—”

“When I’m doin’ that here, for you, it doesn’t seem like work,” she murmured. Her
sincere blue-eyed gaze nailed him. “I feel like I’m helpin’ your family. I feel like
I’m . . . needed here.”

And I do need you, Rhoda. More than you know
, his heart whispered.

He clenched his teeth to keep from saying that. It would be totally inappropriate
to imply any personal interest in this open, ingenuous Amish girl because it would
get her into trouble—and cause him more heartache than he could handle. Andy handed
her the day’s pay, relieved that a van’s headlights flooded the doorway with light.

“Thanks for another great day,” he said in a more businesslike tone. “We’ll see you
tomorrow.”

Miriam stepped outside Tuesday morning to discover an inch of fresh snow on the ground,
and the dark sky was thick with huge flakes like down feathers that had burst from
a pillow. She raised her face to catch some on her tongue, giggling as they tickled
her cheeks. The hills around her place and the Brennemans’ lay blanketed in a whiteness
that glowed in the moonlight and muffled the sound of a car passing cautiously along
the county blacktop.

Well, Lord, it’s December first. If this snow isn’t a sign that it’s time to start
some holiday bakin’, I’m not payin’ attention, ain’t so?
Miram hurried toward the back entrance of the Sweet Seasons, and within minutes she
had flipped on the kitchen lights and had the ovens preheating.

What a joy it was to revel in Christmas again! Last year—before she’d met Ben—the
holidays had still held a tinge of sadness, even though she’d put on a happy face
for the girls. This morning she had a new reason to rejoice: a month from today, she’d
be getting married! Miriam stepped into the pantry, thinking the lunch crowd might
be lighter on this wintry Tuesday—a perfect day for soup! It seemed yet another sign
from above that just last week she had stocked up on dried split peas. A few minutes
later she had a big stock pot of them on to boil.

A rapping on the kitchen door made her look up. “Ben! Get yourself in out of this
weather,” she said as he stepped inside. His shoulders and broad-brimmed hat were
coated with snow. “You’re out mighty early this mornin’.”

“I’d kiss ya,” he teased, “but my face is as cold as—”

“And ya think I don’t know how to fix that?” With a mixing bowl still in the crook
of her elbow, Miriam slipped an arm around Ben’s neck for a fine, satisfying start
to her morning. She’d been happy with Jesse, but it was a delight to be marrying a
man who kissed her and held her like he never wanted to let her go.

“Watch out now,” he murmured, his hazel eyes alight. “You’ll have me tryin’ for something
you won’t want your girls and Naomi to walk in on. A man can only resist temptation
for so long, ya know. What’s smellin’ so
gut
already?”

Miriam kissed him again and slipped out of his embrace. “I’ve got split pea soup simmerin’
for the lunch buffet, and Irish brown bread in the oven to go with it. And we’ve got
fun stuff for breakfast, too. Sausage-and-cheese biscuits, and the special banana
muffins I make at Christmastime—which ought to be about ready.” When an oven timer
dinged, Miriam pulled out two tins of fruit-studded muffins.

Ben looked ready to grab one and burn his fingers. “My word, what-all’s in those?”
he asked, inhaling deeply. “I sure hope those aren’t for somebody’s special order.”

“Nope. You can be my tester, Ben. Want a couple eggs with them?”

He settled onto the tall stool at the back counter to watch her move around the kitchen.
It was a different sensation, having a man who openly adored her and chatted with
her while she baked, and Miriam suspected she would never tire of it. “Only if you’ll
join me,” he replied. “Why do I suspect you’ve been hard at it since before three,
without a break?”

“Because I love my work?” she asked. “And on account of how excited I am that Christmas—and
our wedding’s—comin’ up?”

“It’s
gut
to see ya so happy, after the way things went last weekend when Rhoda started her
new job and Hannah looked like a deer in the headlights.”

“Perty sure we won’t have that problem today.” Miriam glanced outside. The snowflakes
looked bigger and thicker than they had an hour ago.

“I’m here to clear your walk and parkin’ lot so’s Preacher Gabe and your other folks
won’t break any bones,” Ben said. “My Pharaoh’s a fine horse for pullin’ that vee-shaped
plow in the smithy. Figured I’d clear Naomi’s lane so Ezra’s driver can pick him up
to work at the hospital today, too. I’ll do that right off, after I eat.”

Miriam smiled at him as four eggs crackled in the cast-iron skillet. “
Denki
, Ben. What would I do without ya?”

Ben snatched one of the warm muffins as she removed them from the tins. “You’d probably
cook a lot less without my brothers and me gobblin’ up your fabulous food. Oh my word,
Miriam, I’m seein’ red cherries and chunks of orange . . . nuts and melty little chocolate
chips,” he murmured as he studied his muffin. “This looks more like dessert than breakfast.
Not that that’ll stop me!”

As he took his first big bite, Ben’s expression made Miriam’s heart sing. His long
lashes fluttered down over his clean-shaven cheeks, and he smiled as though he was
the happiest man on God’s good earth. She loved him so much she nearly burst at the
seams.

But there was no call for getting upset about what wasn’t going to happen. God had
His reasons for every little thing, and hadn’t He already blessed her with more joy
than she had ever imagined?

The back door whooshed open and Rhoda came inside, coated with snow. “
Ach
, there must be three inches out there already!” she exclaimed as she stamped her
feet on the rug. “Rachel probably won’t get here until Micah gives her a ride down
that long lane!”

“That would be her way of handlin’ this snow,
jah
.” Miriam smiled. Why wish for more children when the three daughters God had given
her blessed her every day? And they would be giving her grandchildren to delight in,
too!

“Soon as I finish here I’ll be plowin’,” Ben replied. “
Gut
morning to ya, Rhoda. The snow’s put roses in your cheeks and a sparkle in your eyes.”

Rhoda surveyed the baked goods on the counter and then snatched a biscuit rich with
crumbled sausage and cheese. “If I had my way about it, I’d hitch up the sleigh and
go ridin’ today. But I’m workin’ two jobs now—the responsible adult, ya know,” she
added with a chuckle. “What can I do for ya, Mamma? You’ve been bakin’ up a storm
already, even if we might not have many customers today.”

“It never goes to waste,” Miriam said as she scraped the last of her egg from her
plate. “Want me to fry ya some bacon or—”

The bell on the wall jangled, which meant the phone was ringing in the shanty behind
the café. Miriam wondered who might be calling at this early hour. Had the three Schrocks
decided not to open their quilt shop today?

“I’ll grab that.” Rhoda dashed out the door without her coat.

“Here’s my chance for one more kiss,” Ben whispered as he rose from the stool. “Better
get these lanes and your lot cleared out.”

“You’re a fine man for lookin’ after us this way, Ben.” Miriam savored the feel of
his lips on hers. “Come inside every now and again to warm up. I’ll make some cocoa
for ya.”

“I love ya ever so much, Miriam,” he murmured.

“
Jah
, and don’t I know it! You’re a lucky man,” she teased softly.

As he stepped outside, Rhoda came in on a gust of snowy air. “That was Andy Leitner,
sayin’ their school’s been called off,” she reported. “He asked if I could be there
so his
mamm
won’t have to keep track of the kids all day. Hope it’s all right that I went ahead
and called Sheila.”

“Well,
there’s
something we Plain folks don’t worry about. Our Willow Ridge scholars’ll be walkin’—or
their
dats
’ll hitch up the sleighs and drive them to the schoolhouse—like it was any other day.”
Glancing outside again, Miriam spotted two bundled figures coming down the Brennemans’
lane. “For sure and for certain Hannah and Rachel can handle anybody we’ll have eatin’
here today, so don’t you worry about it, honey-bug. Get your things together, and
tell Sheila to take her time on the roads, hear me?”

“
Jah
, Mamma, I’ll do that.” Rhoda bussed her forehead with a kiss. “
Denki
for understandin’. If my workin’ for the Leitners causes ya problems, just tell me
straight-out, all right? It’s not my intention to leave ya shorthanded.”

“Go on with ya now,” Miriam said, waving her off. “It’s
gut
that Andy cares enough about his kids to have ya there. I’ve heard tell that a lot
of English parents have no idea where their youngsters go after school, or what sort
of mischief they get into while their
mamms
and
dats
are away at work. Askin’ for trouble, they are.”

The door closed against the snow with a
whump
, leaving Miriam in a kitchen that was silent except for the hum of the big freezers
and fridges. She savored the hush of this fragrant kitchen where she had found a whole
new life since Jesse had passed.

Jah, Lord, Rhoda’s ready for a new life, too
, she prayed.
And meanwhile, I ask Ya to be with her and Sheila and Andy—all the folks who have
to run the roads today. I’m ever so grateful to be workin’ right here on my home place,
doin’ what I love with a fella Ya created just for me.

 

 

As Rhoda walked up the driveway toward Andy’s house, along a cleared path the width
of a snow shovel blade, she sensed the kids might show their naughtier sides today
because they’d been given an unexpected vacation. As Andy let her inside, she was
glad she could help him out. He hadn’t even driven to work yet and he looked weary.

“Rhoda, you’re a lifesaver,” he murmured. “A couple of the other interns went home
with the flu yesterday, so I’m going in early to cover some of their patients. When
Taylor and Brett heard school was called off, they jumped back into bed, so you’ll
have some peace and quiet for a while.”

When she caught a movement in the hallway, Rhoda waved at the woman who was shuffling
slowly behind her walker. “Ah, but your
mamm
’s outta bed. Betty and I’ll have a nice cup of tea to start our day. Don’t worry
about a thing, Andy.”

The lines on his face nearly disappeared as he smiled at her. “I so appreciate all
you do for me, Rhoda—and for my family,” he added quickly.

Was there a new intensity, a wistfulness, in his reply? Or was she hearing Andy’s
words with wishful ears?

Don’t let me get all wrapped up in Andy’s kindness, thinkin’ he’s interested in me
, she prayed. She watched his car back into the street and then fishtail on the packed
snow.
Keep him safe, Lord. A lot of folks depend on him.

Rhoda went into the kitchen then, saddened by the way Betty labored to walk. She quickly
pulled out a chair so the poor old soul could land in it. Betty’s white hair stuck
out in tufts and her chenille robe looked as if she’d eaten a few meals with unsteady
hands. “It’s
gut
to see ya up and about on this snowy morning,” she said in a cheerful voice. “Will
ya have a cup of hot tea with me? Maybe some eggs and toast or a bowl of oatmeal?”

Betty’s face brightened. “Snow?” she mumbled.

“
Jah
, the kids’re home from school today, but they’re sleepin’ in. So it’s just you and
me for a while.” Rhoda stooped to smile directly into Betty’s eyes, pleased to see
that her inner lights were burning even if her muscles couldn’t fully show it. “You’d
feel better if we got ya showered and into a clean nightgown and robe, ain’t so?”

Andy’s mother held her gaze, maintaining the connection between them for as long as
she could. Then she looked down at Rhoda’s shoulders. “I . . . like your dress,” she
said with some difficulty. “No . . . buttons.”

Rhoda’s eyebrows rose. “Are ya sayin’ you’d wear daytime clothes if ya could fasten
them easier?”

Betty nodded eagerly, fingering Rhoda’s sleeve. “I’ve got . . . a sewing machine.
Fabric, too.”

Rhoda’s heart thumped faster. Andy’s
mamm
seemed to be emerging from behind the damage her stroke had done, back into being
interested in everyday life. “I sew all my own dresses, ya know. I could make ya somethin’
simple—”

“Like your dress. Apron, too.” Her eyes were shining and clear, alert to this new
idea. “Mother . . . always wore aprons . . . at home.”

“So you’re wantin’ a Plain dress? I could make ya some of those in my sleep.” Her
mind raced, eager to begin this worthwhile project. “And if ya have snaps, I could
put them down the dress front so ya could put them on yourself, ain’t so?”

Oh, but Betty smiled! While Rhoda suspected it would take a lot of time and therapy
before Andy’s mother could fasten her clothing, who was she to dampen Betty’s excitement
by saying so? The two of them ate their eggs and drank their tea faster than she would’ve
thought possible. Once they got to Betty’s room, Betty showed Rhoda a walk-in closet
that held bins of neatly folded fabrics, spools of thread, and a console sewing machine
that hadn’t been opened for a long while, judging from the stuff sitting on top of
it.

“Now we’re cookin’!” Rhoda slung her arm around the older woman’s shoulders. “Let’s
get ya cleaned up first, and then we’ll sew up a new dress!”

Betty moved much faster as she got cleaned up, excited about having something new
to wear. While she was in the shower, Rhoda chose some fabric pieces large enough
for winter-weight dresses. She found some coordinating prints and colors that would
work for aprons, too. It intrigued her, the bright array of colors and bold patterns
Andy’s mother had chosen when she was sewing for herself.

“Rhoda?” a little voice spoke behind her.

Rhoda turned and then giggled: Taylor stood in the closet doorway, her light brown
hair forming a wispy halo around a face still groggy with sleep. Her flannel pajamas
were bright pink with some sort of white cartoon cat on them, and she held a well-loved
stuffed dog. “Mornin’ to ya, honey-bug. Did ya sleep
gut
after ya heard ya didn’t have school today?”