A Wedding for Julia (34 page)

Maybe that was why Sharon agreed to go to the Elliott home for dinner that evening. Possibly her resolve to remain distant weakened when Zoey and Victoria began to beg.

“Please, Sharon. You haven’t even seen our room yet.”

How could she say no to those faces? They were scrunched up in such concern, as if she might disappear tomorrow without first walking the five minutes across the field to their house.

Wess was amused by the entire thing.

“Hard to say no to, aren’t they?”

“I imagine you find a way.”

“Sure, but I’ve had time to grow used to the pleading look.”

Sharon laughed as they all made their way past Julia’s garden and down the path that led around the backside of the Elliotts’ horse pasture.

“All of this was once Julia’s?” she asked.

“That’s what I hear. She sold it to my folks. The house we live in was already built.”

Sharon could see it now, a one-story frame home. They were approaching the side of the house and headed toward the back door, but she could just make out the corner of a wraparound porch stretching across the front and no doubt continuing around the far side. “It’s a
grossdaddi
house.”

“What did you call it?”

“A
grossdaddi
house.”

“What is that?”

“Where our
grossdaddi—
”

Wess gave her the look.

“Where our grandparents live when the child who has stayed home marries and has children.”

“Gramps and Grandma get pushed out?”

“Not pushed out.” Sharon shook her head, causing her
kapp
strings to twirl. “A
grossdaddi
house is smaller with less upkeep. It’s close enough to the son so that the
daadi
and
mammi
can have help if they need it, but far enough away to allow for privacy.”

“Like an on-site nursing home.”

“Yes. Sort of like that. Very few Amish go to nursing homes. Because of our large families, it’s rarely necessary.”

Both girls had run ahead and stood waiting impatiently at the back door. Wess tugged on Sharon’s hand as they climbed the wooden porch steps. “Welcome to the
grossdaddi
house, then.”

It was an Amish home, and it wasn’t.

She would have known if she’d walked in blindfolded and then had the blindfold removed that she was standing in what had once been an Amish house. She could see the giant black stove that sat between the sitting room and kitchen to keep the family areas warm. One look at the cabinetry, and she knew the woodwork was done by an Amish person—no veneer, solid wood.

She wasn’t sure how she knew such things, but she did.

There also hadn’t been any electricity in the house. This was a problem when
Englischers
purchased Amish homes. They hired someone to come in and wire the house, but it never looked quite the same. For instance, the Elliott’s didn’t have lights on the ceilings. They had opted for lamps instead. Little things, but Sharon could tell. Not that she’d been in a lot of
Englisch
homes, but she’d helped to clean a few back in Monroe when she’d needed extra money for Christmas.

This was not an
Englisch
home, at least not naturally. It was a
grossdaddi
house. But it was no longer Amish, either. There were definite changes other than the electricity.

For one thing, Bandit met them at the back door, full of energy and wanting attention. Sharon had never known an Amish family who kept pets inside the house, though she knew plenty that had barn cats and dogs for hunting and to help with the livestock such as sheep. She’d heard
Englischers
say Amish weren’t attached to their pets, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Her youngest
bruder
had hidden in the hayloft and cried for hours when their dog Gus had died of old age. Her
mamm
still hadn’t been ready to get a new one a year later when Sharon had left. They had all loved that dog, even though he was only a mutt.

“What kind of dog is Bandit?” She asked Wess as he picked up the little dog and scratched it behind the ears.

“Half Jack Russell terrier, half poodle.”

“That explains the curly hair.”

“Yup. He’s smart, has lots of energy, and looks a little crazy. Plus he’s the prince of the family.” Wess set Bandit on the floor, and the pooch took off in search of the girls.

Music played in the living room. It was set on a low volume but seemed to carry through the different rooms of the house.

“My dad installed remote speakers,” Wess explained. “Mom loves jazz, especially if she is working or cooking or cleaning.”

There was no doubt Jeanette was happy to see her. “Sharon, I’m so glad you came. You must need a rest after a long day of working.”

“You never tell me I need a rest.” Wess held out his hands, palms up. Sharon was learning he liked to express himself with his body language.

“You don’t need rest. You have boundless energy and probably sleep in three hours later than Sharon does.”

Sharon glanced from son to mother and back to son again. She’d never noticed the resemblance because Jeanette had red hair and Wess had sandy hair like his father’s must have been at one time. When Wess and Jeanette stood next to each other, though, she saw the resemblance in their noses, their eyes, and even the way their mouths seemed to laugh with what they were about to say.

“True?” Wess asked.

“Maybe. I get up at four thirty.”

“Oh! No. Do not tell me that. It’s still night at four thirty.” He dodged his mother’s push.

“I don’t want to hear any complaining on Monday at seven when your alarm beeps.”

“Shaaa-ron. You said you’d see our room.” Victoria grabbed one hand and Zoey laced her fingers through the other.

They were pulling her across the living room and down the hall when Tim stepped out of what must have been the master bedroom. She’d seen him several times at Julia’s, but not in the last few days. Not since Wess had shared about their troubles in Chicago.

He smiled and ran a hand over his head—which was bald and shiny, even in the semidarkness of the hall. “Sharon. It’s great to see you.”

“You too, Mr. Elliott.”

“It seems my girls have captured you.”

“Daddy, she promised.” Victoria flopped her head to the side.

“Uh-huh. Well, if you become lost in the piles of toys, holler. We’ll send help.”

He didn’t seem stressed. In fact, he seemed like most every other father she’d known, only in
Englisch
clothes. He watched his girls drag her away, a look in his eyes that said he was relieved to have a few moments of rest and also he knew their young ages wouldn’t last. It seemed to Sharon that parents had so much to balance—devotion, exhaustion, and the future.

She thought of Caleb and Julia’s spat the night before. It really wasn’t a surprise. They were both working so hard, and they barely knew each other. What Caleb had said had sounded like something one of her brothers might have said, though he’d have been given kitchen chores for rudeness. Sharon didn’t think anyone would be giving Caleb kitchen duty. In fact, she’d heard him offer to help and Julia had turned him down.

Probably because her feelings were still hurt. Were adults that much different than teenagers? Did she want to be married and have a houseful of babies? Because Amish didn’t stop with two or three.

Wess’s words came back to her.
“We’re kind of too young to know where we want to be or what we want to do.”

Sharon loved children, but she was only seventeen. She wasn’t sure when she’d be ready to have her own. Maybe it was okay that she didn’t know. Maybe Wess was right.

“Do you like it?” Victoria let go of her hand and fell onto a purple beanbag chair.

“Do you want to play?” Zoey pulled her toward a corner of the room that was full of dolls.

Sharon had never seen so many, except maybe when she had shopped in a store.

“We can play with them. Which one do you like best?”

“She’s too old for that, Zoey.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Is too.”

“Is not. Tell her you’re not, Sharon.” Zoey tugged on her hand until she knelt on the floor next to her and the dolls.

“I haven’t played with a
boppli
in a while. My little
schweschder
, Rachel, likes to play with her dolls. They’re a little different from yours.”

“What’s a
schweschder
?” Victoria sat down beside them.

“What’s a
boppli
?” Zoey asked.

“A
schweschder
is a sister, and
boppli
can mean baby or doll.”

“You have a sister?” Zoey fell over onto the pile of dolls, giggling.

Victoria picked up one of her sister’s dolls and studied it. “What did you mean that her dolls are different?”

So Sharon explained that Ruthie’s dolls were Plain, with clothes made in an Amish fashion and with no face.

Zoey’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “They have no face?”

“Think of it as a coloring page you haven’t colored yet. Instead, you imagine what her face would look like.”

Zoey thought about that a minute. “I like to color,” she declared, and then she threw her arms around Sharon’s neck, nearly pushing her over backward.

“I like coloring and I like you!” After a quick hug, she was off, digging through the pile of dolls and finding three that would do for Sharon.

Victoria went to her side of the room and pulled two dolls off of a shelf. Apparently she was too old to play with dolls on a regular basis but not quite ready to give them up yet. For the next few minutes, they changed clothing, combed hair, and set out tea things at a tiny table. Sharon noticed that Zoey’s favorite doll, the one with the sweater like hers, remained in her pocket. She seemed to be exempt from the mass of toys on the floor. She was special.

“Tell me they are not making you serve tea to dolls.” Wess’s voice in her ear caused her to jump, nearly knocking over a doll in a chair.

“You’ve been serving folks all day, and now you have to wait on dolls. That is totally not fair.” Wess held out a hand, which she accepted, and he helped her to her feet.

“Where are you taking her?” Victoria glanced up, a doll in both hands.

Zoey gestured to the tea party in progress. “Yeah, Sharon can’t go. We’re not done. No one’s had their tea yet.”

“You’re done now. Time for dinner, my little minions.”

Chapter 28