Made with Love (36 page)

“I trust Noah, Mem. We've been busy with the pie shop. The day will come soon when we'll have the chance to talk about everything that needs to be discussed.”

“That may be so, Lovina, but it seems too late to me. From the look on your face you've already given the young man more of your heart than you should have. I just hate to see your heart broken—that's all.”

“But don't you want us to get married, Mem?” It was Hope who jumped in now. Her voice was sweet, but Lovina could tell that Hope was holding back. “Hasn't that been your wish—that we fall in love? That we get married? We know how hard it must be to have so many unmarried daughters.”

“Of course I want my daughters to get married.” Mem jutted out her chin. “But it matters who our daughters marry, right John?” She turned to her husband.

Lovina's dat looked up, and she could tell from the look on his face that this wasn't a conversation he wanted to be pulled into. He just nodded, but offered no comment.

“Noah's a
gut
man, Mem. He's a hard worker. He's thoughtful and kind…” Lovina's words spilled out. They were things she'd wanted to say for so long, and she could no longer hold them back. “I think you'd really appreciate him if you took the chance to get to know him.”

Mem's eyebrow lifted skeptically. “He fixes up things, Lovina. He hauls old junk. Do you really think he'll be able to provide for a family like that?”

“He'll do his best. He always does his best.” Lovina's lower lip
trembled. “And his work is a beautiful thing. He finds worth in things that have been cast away. He sees value in things others overlook.”
Like me,
she wanted to add.

“Yes, well, maybe I'd believe you if he showed up when he said he would. I've seen you watching the clock for the last thirty minutes.” Mem put down the knife and moved to the table to sit by Dat. “A lot can be said by how one lives his daily life, Lovina. How one handles his responsibilities.”

Lovina didn't know what to say to that. She didn't want to argue, and she was also frustrated that Noah was late. She wanted him to impress her parents. She wanted them to like him. Had he forgotten? Had something happened at the pie shop? She hoped not.

She picked up the knife Mem had put down and moved to the sweet potato pie. She didn't know what was keeping Noah, but she did know how to sweeten Mem up before his arrival.

“You're right, Mem. I'm not sure what's keeping Noah, but it shouldn't keep us from celebrating. It's time to start sampling the pies.” And with a forced smile, Lovina cut a large slice of sweet potato pie for Mem. And then an equally large piece for herself. At least it would keep her occupied until Noah showed up.

If
Noah showed up.

Noah took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He hated that he'd lost track of time. He was supposed to be here an hour ago for pie tasting. He and the guys had been so busy setting up all the tables and chairs that he hadn't noticed the sun sinking lower in the horizon. Noah heard shuffling footsteps on the other side of the door. Slowly it opened.

“Noah, glad you could make it. I imagine you put in a long day at the pie shop. Come in.” John Miller opened the front door, but the living room was dim. Behind him two lanterns lit the kitchen, and the sound of women's voices chirped, rising every now and then with laughter.

“Sorry, Mr. Miller—I lost track of time.” Noah removed his hat and turned it over in his hands.

“I imagined that was what happened.” John smiled. “I never look down on a man who's busy at work.”

Noah studied the older man's face in the shadows. His face was thin—evidence of his illness—but his eyes were large and brown, just like Lovina's. There was no blame or accusation there, but still Noah's squared shoulders had a hard time relaxing.

“I didn't mean to come so late and keep you up.”

“You think you're the one keeping me up?” He pointed a thumb behind him. “Come. Lovina has made pie. Lots of pie.” He turned to move to the kitchen.

“No, wait.” Noah cleared his throat. “Can I talk to you first?”

“Ja.” Instead of going to the kitchen, John Miller stepped outside. He motioned to the two rockers on the front porch. Noah sat in one and faced the older man.

“Sir, we could talk about the weather or the progress on the shop, but I just need to get it out. You may have guessed that I have feelings for Lovina. I've never enjoyed spending time with anyone as much as I've enjoyed spending time with her, but I am afraid.”

“Afraid?” John asked.

Noah hesitated, wondering how to say what he needed to. Noah didn't want to talk too highly of himself, declaring that all his mistakes were far behind him. But neither did he want to condemn himself too much and destroy any chance of a life
with Lovina. Noah took a deep breath and then released it, determined to tell the truth—about his past and about God's work in his life—the best he could.

“Sir, there are things I need to tell you. Things I haven't told Lovina yet. Things that happened back in my hometown in Illinois.”

“Son, are you talking about the car accident? And the big mess you made of that building?”

Noah's jaw dropped. He didn't know how to answer.

“If my daughters were to tell you something about me, they'd tell you I like to read. I read
The Budget
religiously. I remember when I first heard about that story. An Amish young man on his rumspringa racing another car, losing control, and crashing. That's a hard story to forget.”

“It is. I wish I didn't have to try to explain how I got into that state. How my life was back then. I didn't have a relationship with God. And I don't have any excuses. I just wanted to get it all out on the table. I've been wanting to tell Lovina for a while, but I'm afraid.”

“Son, if you're going to talk to her, I want you to tell her the whole truth.”

“I will, even though some of the events of that night are fuzzy.”

John Miller shook his head. “I'm not only talking about the accident. I'm talking about the restitution.”

“Sir?” Noah asked, unsure what he was leading to.

“You made a mistake, son, yes. But you also made it right.” John's eyes twinkled in the moonlight. “I followed that story too.” John pointed to the door as if telling Noah to go ahead and get it all out before he thought twice.

Noah nodded, relief flooding over him. He shook the man's hand and stood.

“And son…” John's voice trailed after him.

Noah turned. “Yes?”

“I need to apologize too.”

Noah rubbed his furrowed brow. “For what?”

John stood slowly. “Months and months ago you came by looking for work. We talked about your working on my roof, but I never hired you. I'm sorry to say that at the time I was just trying to keep peace with my wife.” He offered a humorless smile. “She gets her own idea about things…”

“I understand. Everything has worked out as it should. God has seen to that.”

“Yes, well, I also want you to know that Anna does get bent out of shape about some things, but she's not unreasonable. Once she gets to know you, she will come around. Just love my daughter as you already do and my wife will soon see what everyone else does. You're a
gut
man, Noah. A
gut
man.”

Noah smiled. He'd wanted to come to some type of agreement about pursuing Lovina, but from the sound of her father's words Noah was getting more than that. He was getting the man's blessing. “Thank you, sir. I'll do my best. I promise. Lovina is an easy person to love.”

John Miller chuckled. “No one is easy to love all the time, son, but I know you'll do your best. She has a strong will, that one. Most people don't see it. She's soft as velvet on the outside with a spine tough as iron underneath.”

“And that's how she's been able to come this far with the pie shop. You need a strong will to tackle that.”

“I'm glad you've seen that too. Just know that even those with iron wills need gentleness at times. Do your best, Noah, to give her soft care and understanding…even when you think she doesn't need it. It'll take you far.” His eyes twinkled. “And that's from a man who's been married more years than you are old.”

 

Sweet Potato Pie

One 9-inch unbaked pie crust

⅓
cup butter

½ cup firmly packed brown sugar

2 large eggs, beaten

¾ cup heavy cream

2 cups sweet potato, cooked and mashed

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

¼ teaspoon ground ginger

¼ teaspoon salt

dash ground nutmeg (optional)

whipped cream (optional)

Preheat oven to 425°. Mix all ingredients together thoroughly in a bowl. Pour into the pie crust. Bake 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 350° and bake 40 minutes longer, being careful not to burn the crust. Remove from the oven and let cool. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Top with sweetened whipped cream and a dash of nutmeg if desired.

Twenty-Eight

Swallowing pride rarely gives you indigestion.

A
MISH
P
ROVERB

N
oah took two steps into the kitchen and all the conversation stopped. Six sets of eyes turned to him, and he forced a smile. He scanned the faces and then settled his gaze on Lovina. Her eyes were full of questions and worry. He released a slow breath.

“I'm so sorry I'm late. We were setting up tables and chairs. I lost track of time.”

He looked to her mem next, who was eyeing him with curiosity. “Ma'am, please forgive me. I hope it's not too late.”

“Too late for pie? Never!” Hope called out. And then the laughter of her sisters followed.

“Which one would you like a piece of first?” Faith asked. “So far my favorite has been the pecan, but all of them are delicious.”