Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2) (3 page)

“Emma! Where have you been? I’ve been looking high and low for you.” Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of Simon’s booming voice. The box of dried mulberries she’d been digging through slipped from her fingers to the floor.

“
Daed
, you startled me. Must you sneak up on a person?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Simon Miller lifted his dark brows quizzically. “Sneak up? I came up the steps with my normal commotion. If a
madchen
wasn’t always deep in her own thoughts, she might have heard me.” He put a hand to the small of his back and rubbed gingerly.

“You’re probably right,” she giggled. “A girl does tend to lose track once she gets up here.” She bent to sweep the spilled decorative berries into the box. “Is your back bad today? You shouldn’t climb these high loft steps when the pain flares up.”

Simon stopped massaging his spasmodic muscles and stared at his daughter. “I’ll keep off stairs when you stop hiding from the family. Where have you been all afternoon? I came in from plowing to find your
mamm
on a stepladder washing windows. You and Leah were nowhere to be found.”

A pang of guilt pierced Emma’s heart. “Oh, my. I thought we were finished spring-cleaning for the day. She did mention the windows at lunch, but they completely slipped my mind. I’ve been at Aunt Hannah’s…giving her a hand…with something.”

There I go, not really telling a lie, but certainly not offering a truthful account by any means.
She set the wreath down and watched her father from the corner of her eye, feeling heat rise up her neck.

But Simon’s attention had been diverted elsewhere. He was staring around the room, silently counting her handiwork that hung from nails on the walls. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…Emma, there are fifteen fancy grapevine wreaths up here. Where did they come from? And who are they for?” He sounded completely baffled.

Joy from her accomplishment spread across Emma’s face. “I made them,
daed
. I made all of them. I hiked into the woods this past winter after my chores were done and cut down wild vines. They would just choke off the tree’s sunlight anyway. I dragged them home in bundles and soaked a few at a time in that old water trough to make them pliable. Then I wove them into wreaths. I’ve made three different sizes.” She pulled out her basket of ribbons, fabric trim, and dried acorns from under the table.

Simon’s expression of mystification did not fade, however, even after he peered inside the basket.

“I decorate them with notions, pine cones, dried berries—whatever I have handy. I think they look quite nice, and they’re made with free materials around the farm, except for the ribbons,” she said, unable to keep pride from her voice.

Simon scratched his chin. “What are they for?”

“Why, to sell in Mrs. Dunn’s store, A Stitch in Time. Tourists coming down from Cleveland or up from Columbus will pay forty dollars for a large wreath to hang on a front door.” Emma covered the basket with plastic to keep out dust and pushed it under the table.

“You’ve been working on these things besides tending your sheep?” He walked around the loft, inspecting every nook and cranny.

“Pa, I hardly have sheep to tend until Aunt Hannah’s spring lambs are weaned and she brings them over. I’ve already carded and spun my share of wool from the last shearing.” She crossed her arms over her apron, confused as to why her father seemed displeased with her diligence. Didn’t he always say hard work makes for a strong body and soul?

“You sound as if you can’t find enough to do around the farm. It’s spring, Emma. Your
mamm
can find plenty for you to do, I’m sure. If not, I can. What do you plan to do with the profits you stand to earn?”

Spontaneously, Emma ran to him and delivered a quick hug. “Oh,
daed
, I’m saving up for my very own loom so I can weave wool up here next winter.” She added quickly, “After my household tasks are done, of course.”

Simon grasped her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “All right, daughter, but don’t let this money making keep you from your chores. And don’t develop an overfondness for money. That is how the devil gains an inroad.”

“The devil will have no chance at my soul,” she said without thinking.

Simon looked shocked as his brow furrowed with worry at the bold statement. Amish folk usually refrained from speaking with such assuredness. “Get inside, Emma, and help with dinner.” His tone brooked no further discussion on the matter.

“I’ll put away my things up here and go right in,” she said, regretting her impetuousness. She didn’t want to rile her father on this perfect spring day, further improved by the visit from James Davis.

Warmth curled in her belly remembering his gallant presentation of the bouquet of wildflowers. Others might call them weeds, but if a person found value, they were weeds no longer. Emma allowed herself a minute to mull over everything he had said and done during the tour. She knew few English boys since the school she’d attended in Winesburg had been all Amish. But James seemed much nicer than the loud, rowdy boys she’d observed in town with their baggy pants sagging to near indecency. He was polite, hardworking, gentle with animals, respectful of both his parents and his
mammi
and
dawdi
in Mount Eaton. James seemed like a person her parents might like—if not for one tiny little detail.

Hannah had watched the pair return from the sheep paddock from the side window. Emma had waved and headed down the path as the young man drove off in his truck. The unsettled feeling in Hannah’s stomach had not gone away, but she sent her concerns up in a prayer and let the matter go.
I do have the habit of making mountains out of molehills, as has been pointed out to me more than once.

“Umm. What smells so good,
fraa
?” Seth asked his bride from the doorway.

“You know full well what it is—the same thing we had yesterday,” Hannah replied, unable to suppress a smile. With oven mitts she moved the pot from the stove to the table trivet.

Seth pulled off his boots in the hallway, hung his felt hat on a peg, and then wrapped his wife in a bear hug. “I missed you.”

“You went as far as Mount Eaton and were only gone a few hours,” she said, halfheartedly resisting his embrace.

“Daed!”
shouted Phoebe. Her doll momentarily forgotten, she darted across the kitchen like a hornet.

Seth swept her up into a three-way hug. “Can I help it if I missed my two girls?”

“I missed you too, Pa,” Phoebe said with her
kapp
askew.

Seth kissed her forehead before setting her down.

Hannah pulled away from them. “Go wash your hands and face, Phoebe. I’ll set the table so we can eat. I’ll bet both of you are hungry.”

“How ’bout we scrub down together?” Seth asked the child. “I’ve got a bucket of road dust on me from all the plowing goin’ on.”

As the two marched off, Hannah sampled a piece of the grocery store tomato she was slicing for their salad. Almost tasteless! Having been harvested green so it wouldn’t bruise in transit, the tomato had turned red but hadn’t ripened since the moment it had been picked. How she yearned for sweet garden vegetables after eating pickled-this and pickled-that all winter long. She topped the salad with a heap of chow chow for color just as Seth carried his daughter back to the table.

“Something wrong with her legs?” Hannah asked, grinning.

“They’re mighty tired from all the running at recess, Ma,” Phoebe said, pulling over the basket of bread. Her
daed
swatted her hand when she reached for a biscuit and then they bowed their heads in silent prayer.

Ma.
What music to Hannah’s ears. It had been six months since she’d married Seth Miller and gained a precious daughter, but hearing the word still brought a lump to her throat.

“I hit the ball with the wooden stick today and ran to the first sandbag,” Phoebe announced, pushing a tomato slice to the edge of her plate.

Seth and Hannah burst out laughing. “The ball is a baseball and the sandbag is called a base. Baseball,” Seth concluded, adding ranch dressing to his greens.

“
Jah
, I forgot. At first the boys wouldn’t let us girls play until the teacher made them. She said the other
opp-shin
was sittin’ on the long benches twiddlin’ their thumbs. So they decided to let us play.”

“Boys can be troublesome at times,” Hannah murmured, winking at her husband.

“I would say they made the smart choice.” Seth took a roll from the basket.

“
Jah
, the girls hit the baseball with the wooden stick more times than the boys.” Phoebe looked up with confusion. “How come that made some boys mad?” She pushed the other tomatoes to the edge of her plate and began to eat the lettuce.

Seth looked to Hannah, but Hannah shook her head, stifling laughter. “The wooden stick is called a bat,” he said. “And the boys got mad because they were jealous. Apparently, they’re not as smart as I gave them credit for.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss across Phoebe’s silky dark hair.

“A perfect explanation,” Hannah added. “Now who wants stew?” Two bowls were immediately thrust in her direction. She filled them and handed them back, and the two began to eat heartily.

Suppertime was Hannah’s favorite part of the day, when her little family gathered to give thanks, eat something warm and sustaining, and enjoy the company of loved ones. What a blessing to have your family close at hand. She had once read in a newspaper that English families had grown too busy to eat meals together. What a shame! Before they knew it, their
kinner
would be grown and gone while they busily rushed here and there.

“Owen Beckley is coming by tomorrow at first light,” Seth said, breaking the silence.

Hannah’s head snapped up from her meal. Owen Beckley sheared sheep, Angora goats, and alpacas for a living. “Whatever for?” she asked.

“To shear the spring lambs, of course. Doesn’t lambswool fetch a better price than regular wool?”

“
Jah
, it does, but it’s too soon.” Hannah set down her spoon on the side of her plate.

“It’s not too soon. It’s the middle of April.” Seth scraped the last of the stew into his bowl.

“Nights still get chilly,” Hannah reasoned. “I think we should wait.” She sipped some water to soothe her dry throat.

Seth turned toward his daughter. “Stop playing with your food and eat.” The child popped a spoonful into her mouth. To his wife he said, “There’s no more frost at night, Hannah. I want to get this done before everybody gets involved with spring planting.” His voice took on an intensity Hannah hadn’t heard in a while—if ever.

“They’re not even weaned yet, Seth. I don’t see what the big hurry is.” Hannah’s own tone sounded a tad clipped.

“Phoebe, take your milk into the front room while your ma and me talk about this.”

The child, who’d been glancing from one adult to the other, slid off her chair and scampered out, leaving her milk behind.

Seth leaned back in his chair and inhaled, filling out his broad chest. “The big hurry is Owen Beckley has time to shear them tomorrow before he starts setting his soybeans. Now is the best time for me too. Maybe I should’ve mentioned this earlier, but I just ran into Owen today in Mount Eaton.” Seth rose from the table and threw down his napkin. “Don’t make a big deal out of this,
fraa
, when it’s really no matter a’tal.”

Seth walked into the living room without another word. Hannah was left with a table full of dirty dishes and with her temper flaring in a most un-newlywed way.

E
mma thought Tuesday would never come. For the past week she’d been the perfect daughter—finishing the spring-cleaning, doing the mending and baking, and yesterday she’d washed clothes almost single-handedly while Leah had been at school.
Mamm
had stood nearby to offer suggestions. Emma’s reddened and chapped hands offered proof of her hard work.