Treasuring Emma (8 page)
Adam’s mouth watered at the memory of Leona’s pumpkin pancakes.
“We have plenty of sugar, more than we need.” Carol held the bowl out to her.
Emma took it.
“Danki.”
She left without another look at Adam.
His mother picked up the scissors and resumed her work on Adam’s hair. After a few minutes of silence he said, “Emma’s changed.”
His mother paused with the scissors in midair. “We’ve all changed, Adam.” A quick snip. “More than you know.”
It was nearly noon. Clara steamed and stewed as she cleaned the kitchen, made beds, picked up after the
kinner
. At last Peter came back into the kitchen, and she had a chance to say what was on her mind.
“He can’t stay here.”
“Clara, keep your voice down. He’s in the next room!” Peter rarely shouted, but Clara could tell he was about to. “Do you want him to hear us arguing?”
“Nee
.
”
She backed against the kitchen counter and lowered her tone. “Why did you tell him he could live here?”
“It’s only temporary. He’s passing through on his way to New York. We have some distant relatives there he’s been writing to. Said he wanted to stay a little while before he goes to meet them.”
“How long?”
“Has he been writing them?”
Clara’s temper flared again. “How long will he stay?” She twisted the end of one of the frayed ribbons of her
kapp
.
“He didn’t say.” Peter crossed his arms and looked down at her. “But he will be welcome as long as he wants to. He’s
familye
.”
“And another mouth to feed.”
Peter placed his hands on the back of a kitchen chair. “Is this how it’s going to be, Clara? Arguing every minute of the day?”
His words silenced her. She didn’t want to argue. But she didn’t want to feel helpless either. Or hopeless. How could she be a dutiful wife when she couldn’t stop questioning her husband’s every decision?
“Mark will have Junior and Melvin’s bedroom.” Peter looked up, his eyes hard. “I’ll move one of their beds into our room and put it sideways against the foot of our bed. The
buwe
can sleep head-to-toe.”
His tone made it clear that there would be no further discussion, but Clara couldn’t help herself. “And what about our privacy?”
Peter’s gaze pierced her. “We’re not doing anything but sleeping in there, remember? We don’t need privacy.”
Clara flinched.
He walked out of the room and returned a few seconds later with Mark in tow. “I’m sure Mark is hungry.” Peter glanced at his cousin but avoided Clara’s gaze. “Will you make lunch while I check on the
kinner
?”
Clara turned and looked at Mark, tried to muster a polite smile.
“I hope I’m not causing a problem.” Mark twirled his hat in his hands. “I can find another place to stay. A hotel. Bed-and-breakfast, even. There’s always one—or fifty—in Amish country.” He gave her that grin again, showing his chipped tooth.
She smiled a tiny bit. “Tourists do love them around here. But we won’t hear of you staying somewhere else. You are welcome in our home.” She went to the pantry and tried to focus on being a good hostess. “What would you like to eat? I have some bread and meat for sandwiches. Or some chicken noodle soup I canned a couple of weeks ago.”
“Anything will be fine.” Mark sat down at the table.
Clara could feel his gaze on her while she prepared the soup. The kids would want some. If Peter was hungry for something else, he could fix it himself. She kept the bitterness out of her tone when addressing Mark. “What brings you to Middlefield?”
“A taste for adventure.” He chuckled, then added, “At least as far as a bus line can take me. Airplanes are
verboten
, of course.”
She smiled at him. He was charming, the way Peter had been during their early days of courting. “Would you like something to drink? I have iced tea.”
“Sounds
gut
.”
She fixed him a glass, handed it to him, and hurried back to the stove. His eyes and chin might resemble Peter’s, but the similarities ended there. Mark was wiry, thin. Clean shaven, and thus unmarried. A scar on his chin, the chipped tooth. A good-looking man.
She stirred the soup. Steam rose from the broth, mingling with the heat on her skin. She shouldn’t be thinking about Peter’s cousin, not in that way. She sneaked another glance at him.
“I have to admit I was surprised when I heard you and Peter were married.”
“Why?”
He leaned back in the chair, his arms crossed over his chest. Black suspenders over a light blue shirt. “Seemed out of character for him. Thought he would always marry a
maedel
from home. There were more than a few
maed
interested in him. But then he started getting your letters, and no one else mattered.”
Clara added salt to the soup. Their courtship had been . . . well, unusual. One of her mother’s friends had suggested Clara write to Peter, a nephew in Kentucky. Clara didn’t think anything would come of it. But she’d fallen in love with the sweet man through his honest, funny letters. And when she met him for the first time—
Her heart constricted in her chest. She’d known immediately that he was the man she would marry. And she loved him enough to move to Kentucky, until homesickness overcame her. He’d agreed to go to Middlefield, to Iowa, to Canada if she wanted to. “Where you
geh
, Clara, I will follow,” he had said. And he’d done just that.
What happened to their optimism? Their hope? Their love?
“Clara, are you all right?”
She looked up to see Mark standing next to her, frowning. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Just a little hot. Too close to the stove.”
“I thought maybe I’d upset you somehow.” He looked at her, his eyes unblinking.
His intense gaze unnerved her. “What?”
“I can see why Peter chose you as his
fraa
.” His tone was low. Soft. Sending a not unpleasant chill through her.
“
Mammi
, I’m
hungerich
!”
Clara jumped away from Mark, almost knocking the pot of soup off the stove. “Lunch will be ready in a minute.” Her voice sounded an octave higher than normal. She brushed past Mark, making sure she didn’t touch him.
Junior moved to sit down as Melvin, Peter, and the baby came inside.
“You know the rules, Junior,” Peter said. “Wash your hands first. You too, Melvin.”
“Who’s that?” Melvin pointed at Mark.
Mark crouched in front of him. “I’m your
daed’s
cousin. But you can call me
Onkel
Mark. I’m visiting for a while.”
“Cool!” Junior said.
Peter shot him a sharp look. “Where did you hear that word?”
Junior shrugged. “Some of the kids down the street. They’re Yankees. And they’re real old. Shane’s almost nine.”
“That is old.” Mark winked at Peter, and the boys left to wash up. Peter handed Magdalena to Clara and followed his sons to the bathroom.
“You have a
schee familye
.” Mark smiled. But he wasn’t looking at the baby. His eyes were on Clara.
It was almost lunchtime, and Emma could still taste the pumpkin pancakes
Grossmammi
had made for breakfast. She had eaten more than she ought, just as she always did when stressed or unhappy. Now she felt slow and sluggish, and it was taking her forever to accomplish the smallest tasks.
She had set the plate of leftover pancakes on the back of the stove and was just finishing the breakfast dishes when she heard the tapping of
Grossmammi’s
cane behind her. She tried to arrange her face in the semblance of a smile. “What would you like for lunch?”
“I’m not really hungry, since we had such a heavy breakfast.”
“We can skip lunch, if you like, and have an early dinner.”
And I’ll eat the leftover pancakes later
, Emma thought.
The old woman rapped the end of her cane on the hard tile floor. “Let’s finish the coffee, then.” She sat down at the table. “What’s wrong,
kinn
? Be honest with me.”
Emma leaned against the counter, willing her pulse to slow down. She didn’t know how to explain to her grandmother what she was feeling. Adam had come back. For a visit only.
That didn’t make her feelings for him any different than when he left Middlefield. Physically he’d changed. He’d let his hair grow to his shoulders. His beard and mustache, facial hair forbidden for a single Amish man, showed he’d embraced the Yankee world fully. Yet one thing hadn’t changed. His eyes. A golden hazel, the color of swirled honey. She remembered how easily they filled with emotion. Quick laughter. Frustration with his parents and the church. Sorrow on the day her father had died. She pressed her hand against her chest, forcing the sudden pain away.
“Emma?”
Grossmammi
repeated.
Emma turned to meet her grandmother’s gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me you wrote Adam?”
The old woman’s eyes widened. She mouthed a few words but didn’t emit a sound. “He came back, then,” she finally said.
“
Ya
. He’s back.” Emma yanked open the kitchen drawer and jerked out a couple of coffee spoons. She slammed the drawer shut.
“Those drawers have lasted fifty years, Emma.” Her grandmother frowned. “I expect them to last fifty more.”
“Sorry,
Grossmammi
.” She set cups and the sugar bowl on the table and poured coffee for both of them.
“I thought you would be happy to see Adam.”
“I . . . am.”
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
Emma sat down across from her grandmother. “I’m wondering why he’s here. He was in such a hurry to leave all of us behind.”
“He’s not the first
bu
to leave our faith. He won’t be the last.” She stirred her coffee and took a sip.
“You don’t sound very concerned.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” She looked at Emma over the rims of her glasses. “I, and many others, are concerned every time someone leaves us. We worry about them. Pray for them. And hope God leads them back.”
Emma pondered her words. Was God leading Adam back? His mother was giving him an Amish haircut. But maybe he had agreed to that out of respect for his parents, not a desire to rejoin the faith. Hair grew back easily. Repentance and forgiveness came at a much steeper price.
Emma looked away and tried not to think about Adam. When she looked back, her grandmother was staring at her.
“What did you and Clara talk about yesterday? Neither of you seemed too happy when she left.”
“I take it we’re finished talking about Adam?”
“For now.”
Emma was glad to hear it. “
Mei schwester
is worried about us. About how we’ll keep everything running around here.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That we had it under control.”
Grossmammi
chuckled. “Emma, the only one who has anything under control is the Lord.”
“I know that.” Emma said the words automatically, but God wasn’t on her mind right now. She had to prove her sister wrong. “Clara has no idea about our lives here. She’s too busy with Peter and the
kinner
.”
“As she should be.”
“Then she shouldn’t tell me what I’m supposed to do with
mei haus
.” Emma motioned with her coffee cup. “I mean our
haus
.”
“I knew what you meant.”
Grossmammi
looked at her. “What did Clara say?”
Emma put her cup down. “She wants to change
Grossvadder’s
workshop. She wants to sell all his tools. She wants to open—” Emma grimaced. “A yarn and fabric store.”
“Would that be so terrible?”
“
Ya!
I don’t know anything about running a store. Neither does Clara. I can’t sew, and the only knitting I’ve done had more dropped stitches than normal ones.” Emma’s throat burned. “It’s
Grossvadder’s
shop. He used to take me in there when I was a
kinn
and show me his tools. I still have the piece of wood he let me use to practice pounding nails. He never minded when I watched him make furniture or fix those broken little machines people kept bringing to him. He never acted like I was a bother.”