Kitabı oku: «Family Blessings», sayfa 4

Pleasant folded her arms across her chest and studied each child. “No. There have just been too many times …”

Jeremiah was almost as disappointed as the children were. He didn’t know why it meant so much to him but it did. “Your mother is right,” he began.

“Unless,” Pleasant interrupted, “Herr Troyer would agree to come for supper and bring some of his ice cream along for dessert.”

The children whooped with delight at what they clearly considered an acceptable solution.

Pleasant was watching him though. “You do like vegetables, do you not, Herr Troyer?”

“What kind?” he asked and hoped the answer would be green beans or perhaps carrots.

“Brussels sprouts,” Pleasant replied and he knew that the look of disgust that had flickered over his face for an instant was exactly what made her smile. “May we expect you at five-thirty then?”

Chapter Five

Have I completely lost my mind? Pleasant thought as Jeremiah walked back to his shop, whistling a nameless tune. But she put the thought aside as the children clamored around her.

“Ice cream! Ice cream!” the twins chanted as they marched up and down the small porch.

“He said I did fine work,” Rolf reported shyly, his eyes still following Jeremiah until the shopkeeper disappeared inside his back door.

“I don’t think he likes Brussels sprouts though,” Bettina mused. “Did you see the look on his face? Maybe we should have the beans, after all.”

“We’re having the sprouts,” Pleasant said. “And speaking of supper, we need to get home. Boys, stop that marching and go along home with your sister. Rolf, would you stay and help me finish closing up for the day?”

“Yes, Mama,” all four children chorused and then they grinned up at her, their eyes shining with anticipation.

“And stop at your grandfather’s, Bettina. Ask him and Greta and Lydia to join us for supper.”

Bettina squealed and held hands with the twins as the three of them ran down the dusty road. “It’s like a party,” Pleasant heard her say.

“Would you like to see the job I did for Herr Troyer?” Rolf asked as he helped Pleasant finish putting away the pans and bowls and scrub the counters.

Pleasant saw the worried look the boy gave her. His father had always insisted on inspecting any task assigned to the boy and more often than not he had found something not quite to his liking.

“You said that Herr Troyer was pleased with the work,” she reminded him.

“I know but Papa …”

“Your papa taught you well, Rolf,” Pleasant hurried to reassure him. “I can see from here that you did a fine job. If I didn’t know which was the newer post I wouldn’t be able to tell the new from the old. Now let’s finish up here and get home or our company will be there ahead of us.”

It was an exaggeration, of course, but it made Rolf smile and the boy seemed unusually relaxed later as the two of them walked past the other shops and then the celery fields and other homes to the end of the road.

“I like Herr Troyer,” Rolf murmured when they had almost reached their house. “He’s sort of like Herr Harnisher, Caleb’s father.”

The two men were nothing alike—at least outwardly. Levi was a good man but he tended to be quiet and reserved while Jeremiah Troyer seemed to delight in getting to know people of all ages and backgrounds. But Rolf had a point. The two men did share a nature that invited others—even children and strangers—to open their hearts to them, share confidences and let down their guard of the normal Amish tendency toward reserve.

Of course, her view of the ice cream maker was that he was a business associate of her father’s—nothing more. All right. He was also a neighbor and member of the congregation, but nothing more than that. Still, he had made Rolf glow with a pride of accomplishment that in spite of the Amish tendency to frown on such self-satisfaction, pleased her. Besides, until he was fully baptized and had joined the faith, Rolf was not yet truly Amish. He had been born of Amish parents but as a child he was not yet fully a member of the faith so a little pride was not a bad thing, she decided.

“Rolf, perhaps from time to time you could help Herr Troyer as he gets ready to open his shop. There’s a great deal to do I expect and after all …”

Rolf was looking up at her, his expression one of disbelief. “Do you mean it?” His voice quavered as if he didn’t dare give voice to his hope.

“Helping a newcomer to our community is what our people do as a matter of course, Rolf.”

The smile that split his face was his father’s smile—a smile she and the children had rarely seen. But she had only a second to bask in its radiance before the child threw his arms around her waist and hugged her, his hat sailing unheeded onto the ground. “Oh, thank you, Mama,” he said, his voice muffled against her apron.

She smoothed his hair and relished the warmth of his thin arms clutching her. “You’ll still have to manage your chores here and your schoolwork,” she reminded him. “And you’re to take no payment. These are good deeds—neighbor helping neighbor. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama.” He looked up at her. “May I tell Bettina?”

“You may tell her that I have given permission for you to help Herr Troyer from time to time if he asks. This is not a job, Rolf.”

He had rescued his hat and dashed away almost before the last word left her lips and she watched him go, running into the house, calling out for his sister. At last, she thought, realizing that she had finally broken through to the last and most reticent of Merle’s children. And she had Jeremiah Troyer to thank for it.

It was pretty obvious that Pleasant had given him an extra large helping of the sprouts, Jeremiah thought as she handed him his plate. Her father sat at the head of the table, slicing a pot roast that smelled as good as it looked. He would place a slab on a plate from the stack in front of him and then pass it to Pleasant who would add potatoes and the dreaded green vegetable.

“Bread, Herr Troyer?” Bettina asked with a sweet smile. “Sometimes it helps take away the taste,” she confided in a low whisper when Pleasant’s attention was drawn to the twins who were busy jostling one another for more room at the crowded table.

Pleasant’s half sisters, Greta and Lydia, sat across from Jeremiah, eyeing him under the fan of their pale lashes. Rolf sat to one side of him and Bettina to the other. And once everyone was served Pleasant took her place opposite her father at the far end of the table.

“Shall we pray?” Gunther asked and in unison every head bowed and silence filled the room. Even the twins were quiet.

“Amen,” Gunther intoned after a long moment and the room erupted into the sounds of flatware on china, the twins’ chatter and water from a pitcher splashing into the empty glass that Gunther had just drained. “How are things coming along?” he asked, directing the question at Jeremiah.

“At the shop? Fine. Good.”

“How about your job at the ice plant?”

“That’s worked out better than I could have hoped,” Jeremiah said. “My employers are especially pleased with the number of orders for block ice that I’ve gotten from people living here in Celery Fields. That business had fallen off considerably once the Englisch started using refrigerators instead of ice boxes.”

Gunther nodded. “Ja. Better to buy from one of our own even if you are working for an Englisch company.”

“And the cones?” Jeremiah asked and Gunther looked down the table at his eldest daughter.

“I … that is …” Pleasant’s cheeks turned a most becoming shade of pink as every person at the table paused in midbite and looked her way. With an almost visible effort she composed herself and turned her attention to Jeremiah. “I apologize, Herr Troyer. We’ve had some extra orders at the bakery this week and …”

Gunther frowned. “When’s your opening?” he asked Jeremiah.

“I haven’t set a date yet. I was hoping to be open by the first of November.”

“Less than a week,” Gunther said to Pleasant.

“Plenty of time,” Jeremiah assured her and turned his attention to Lydia. “Fraulein Goodloe, I understand you are the schoolteacher for the community’s children.”

“Yes,” she replied with a shy smile. “I am blessed to have been chosen.”

Her sister Greta glanced at him and when Jeremiah smiled at her she almost choked on the food she was chewing.

Perhaps it would be safer if he concentrated on his own plate, empty now except for the pile of Brussels sprouts and the round roll that Bettina had urged him to try. He picked up his knife and fork and cut into a sprout, put half of it in his mouth and then followed that with a bite of the roll and chewed.

He was aware that Bettina was watching him and when he swallowed and repeated the process she whispered, “Told you so.”

“More pot roast, Jeremiah,” Gunther boomed.

“Thank you but, no. I have more than enough to finish here and I want to save room for ice cream.”

The twins started to speak up but Pleasant silenced them by pointing out the untouched vegetables on their plates. “Only those who clean their plates get ice cream,” she reminded them.

Jeremiah couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the boys. On the other hand, they only had two sprouts each to finish while he was still facing half a dozen. He squared his shoulders and picked up his fork. Slicing each sprout in half, he wolfed them down, chasing them from his mouth with the rest of the roll and gulps of cold water until there were only two left.

He glanced at the twins who immediately saw the challenge he was sending them. Pleasant had sliced their food into bite-sized pieces. Henry nudged Will and both boys grinned at Jeremiah and the race to finish first was on. Everyone except Gunther seemed to have caught on to the game. Rolf and Bettina sat forward, silently cheering their brothers to victory. Lydia and Greta glanced uneasily from Jeremiah to Pleasant, apparently waiting for her to say something. Instead, she slowly finished the last of her supper, as if unaware that anything was amiss. But Jeremiah saw her ease a bite of the vegetable that had been hidden under some gravy forward on Henry’s plate lest he miss it. The boys won and their victory was crowned by Gunther’s deep belch—the Amish man’s compliment to his wife or daughter for a good meal.

Pleasant stood and began removing plates that had been wiped so clean Jeremiah thought they would need only a minimum of scrubbing. Lydia, Greta and Bettina helped, making short work of clearing the table. Pleasant took small clear plates from an open shelf and handed them to Bettina. “We have Herr Troyer’s ice cream and your favorite pie, Papa.”

“Ah, shoo-fly pie.” Gunther sighed patting his ample stomach.

“We can have both?” Henry asked.

“Ice cream and pie?” Will chorused.

“A taste of ice cream,” Pleasant replied not looking at Jeremiah. “Remember, we are only giving our opinion to Herr Troyer.”

The twins nodded solemnly and waited for their sister to serve each person a dessert of a slice of still-warm, shoo-fly pie topped with a small mound of mango ice cream. Will shoveled the ice cream into his mouth then looked at Henry for his opinion.

“Well?” Jeremiah asked.

“I’m going to need another taste,” Henry announced.

“Me, too,” Will said.

“I agree. Seems to me if we’re to have any hope of coming out even between the pie and the ice cream we’re all going to need more,” Gunther said passing his plate forward.

Jeremiah took some ice cream and pie onto his fork and tasted it. He savored the mix of flavors. The cool subtle vanilla with the sweet bits of mango mingled with the molasses, cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger of the pie filling. “This is it,” he murmured, taking a second bite and imagining the flavors mixed with chocolate ice cream or butter pecan or … “This is the cone we need. Shoo-fly cones,” he announced.

It was ludicrous, of course, Pleasant thought later as she washed the last of the dessert plates and paid little attention to her half sisters chattering on about the handsome—and eligible—Jeremiah Troyer. The unique flavor of shoo-fly pie came from the pie filling, not the crust. How did he expect her to turn a pudding-like filling into something sturdy enough to hold ice cream? And yet the challenge had been there in the way his eyes had sought hers across the table.

But this was no game such as the one he had played with the twins to finish their vegetables. This was a business challenge, one that could mean the difference between a substantial increase in business for the bakery and none at all if Jeremiah decided to go elsewhere. She paused in her washing to gaze out the kitchen window. Although the sun had set, she knew that she was facing the fields—the empty barren fields, the fields that would not only yield little if any produce but would surely yield even less income.

The drought that was choking much of the country had not spared Florida and this season’s crops had been sparse indeed even for those who had been wise enough to plan for such contingencies. After the disastrous spring harvest, Moses Yoder had warned her that after paying the field hands there would be little left from the sale of the crops. Then over the unusually hot summer months, strong westerly winds combined with the drought to blow away a good portion of the soil. In fact, dust was so thick in the air that most people in the community had taken to keeping their windows closed in spite of the heat. It was either that or dust furnishings and wash floors daily. Others had managed to eke out a small harvest, but not Pleasant.

“Do you think he left a girlfriend back in Ohio?” Greta asked and it took a moment before Pleasant realized that the question had been directed at her.

“Who?”

Greta rolled her eyes. “Herr Troyer. Who have we been talking about since he and Papa left?”

“I have no idea,” Pleasant replied. And I have no time for girlish fantasies.

“Are you truly going to try and create a shoo-fly ice cream cone?” the more practical Lydia asked as she took the stack of dessert plates from Pleasant and placed them back on the shelf.

“Of course,” she snapped impatiently, exhausted by all the many problems she faced. But then she softened her tone and smiled at her half sister, the schoolmarm. “After all, that’s the assignment.”

Lydia gave her an uncertain smile. “You’ve taken on so much since Merle died, Pleasant. You need some help.”

“She needs a husband,” Greta said with all the certainty of one who was enough of a romantic to believe that any problem could be solved through marriage to the right man.

“Greta!” Lydia admonished, her voice a warning.

“I had a husband,” Pleasant reminded Greta, whose mouth had formed a perfect circle with the realization of what she’d just said.

“Oh, sister, I am so sorry.”

Pleasant accepted the apology with a wave of her hand. “It’s late and the evening was an interesting one. Your mind is on other matters.”

Greta grinned, her good spirits restored. “Like Jeremiah Troyer?” She sighed. “Did you see his eyes?”

Lydia heaved a sigh of resignation and wrapped her arm around her younger sister. “Herr Troyer is too old for you, Greta, so stop daydreaming about his eyes. Besides, what would Josef Bontrager say if he could hear you now?”

“Oh, I’m just having a little fun. Anyone could see that the only one of us Herr Troyer was looking at to-night was Pleasant,” she added with a mischievous smile.

Pleasant laughed. “Go home both of you. It’s late and I still have work to do.”

Long into the night she sat at the kitchen table scribbling notes as she tried to come up with the formula for creating a crisp cookie cone from a recipe for pie filling. When the rooster crowed at four, she startled awake and realized she’d fallen asleep at the table. She stretched and then pumped water into the kitchen sink to splash on her sleep-laden eyelids. She stirred the embers of the fire in the wood stove and set a pot of barley oats on top to simmer.

Bettina would finish making breakfast for her brothers, wash the dishes and get the twins to Hilda’s on her way to school. Meanwhile, Rolf would milk the cow, feed the chickens, collect the eggs and deliver them to the bakery on his way to school. As Pleasant let herself out of the house and started down the road to the silent and dark bakery, she thanked God for the blessing of these children. They might not be hers by birth, but they were hers by circumstance and not a dawn passed that she didn’t plead with God to show her the way to guide them properly.

The eastern sky showed only a glimmer of the day to come as Pleasant passed the dry goods store. She glanced up and saw a dark figure sitting on the front stoop of the bakery. She hesitated. It was not uncommon these days for homeless transients to find their way to the village and plead for food or money. Most were harmless, but she’d heard some disturbing stories.

She kept her distance and called out to the man. “Hello? May I help you, sir?”

The man started and she realized he’d been dozing. He stood, stretched and then started walking her way. “I had a thought about those shoo-fly cones,” Jeremiah Troyer said and Pleasant let out a relieved breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“It’s you? At this hour?”

He was close enough for her to see his grin in the leftover light of the moon and stars that had still filled the predawn sky. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted as he fell into step with her and followed her around to the back door of the bakery. “Do you want to hear my idea?”

Do I have a choice? she thought as she tallied the number of loaves she still needed to get baked and ready for Gunther to deliver in just a few hours to the Sarasota grocer he’d contracted with. “Of course,” she replied as she prepared to stack wood from the supply outside the back door into the skirt of her apron.

“Let me do that,” Jeremiah said relieving her of the two logs she’d already gathered.

She held the door open for him. “Just stack them in the wood box next to …”

He was still standing outside the door. “You don’t lock the door?”

“No,” she replied. “Papa believes that if someone wants in, a locked door won’t matter.”

“But what if someone were waiting?”

“Someone was,” she reminded him. “This morning.”

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled as he dumped the load of wood into the wood box and then turned his attention to poking the fire that Gunther had already started for her.

“What’s this idea of yours?” she asked, realizing that if she was to get her regular orders filled she would first need to deal with Jeremiah.

He looked back over his shoulder at her, his face lit by the flames of the fire. “What if instead of adding the molasses and spices to the dough of the cones, we made up a kind of filling and dipped the cones into it before adding the ice cream?” His smile faltered when she did not immediately respond. “Well, what do you think?” He stood and shut the iron door to the stove and dusted off his hands.

“I think you would end up with a soggy, sticky mess,” she replied matter-of-factly as she uncovered a mound of dough she’d left to rise overnight and pounded her fist into its center.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, what if …” He seemed at a loss to finish the thought. “You’re sure it wouldn’t work? A kind of a syrup?”

In the shadows of the kitchen it was hard to see his expression now that he had moved away from the fire, but the disappointment in his voice spoke volumes. Pleasant felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. After all, he had clearly been up most of the night just as she had. “You’ve only just come up with this idea of shoo-fly cones, Herr Troyer. Perhaps it’s not too much to expect that it may take a day or so to perfect it?”

He stood next to the worktable and drummed his fingers on its surface. “Patience has never been one of my virtues, I’m afraid.” He glanced around. “Should I light some lamps?”

“No need to waste the kerosene. It will be light soon, Herr Troyer, and the work I’m doing does not require light.” Although perhaps being alone with a man in the shadows does, she thought and was about to reconsider his offer when he let out a sigh that could be translated as nothing but exasperation.

“Look, Pleasant, I guess I can understand the Herr Troyer business when we’re in public or with your children, but when it’s just the two of us and we’re working toward the same end wouldn’t given names be … easier?”

“I just …”

“Try it—Jer-e-mi-ah.” He sounded out each syllable as if teaching her a new language.

To her surprise and consternation she felt a bubble of laughter tickle her throat. “Jer-e-mi-ah,” she repeated in an exaggeration of his instruction and she was very glad that he could not see her smile.

“Excellent,” he announced. “Now try it in a sentence.”

She stopped kneading the dough. “This is foolishness,” she said. “I have work to do.”

“This is foolishness, Jer-e-mi-ah,” he repeated. “I have work to do, Jer-e-mi-ah.”

“You are trying my patience, Jer-e-mi-ah,” she chanted and pounded the dough with fresh enthusiasm. She heard the clink of harness and the muffled hoofbeats of a horse outside. “That will be Rolf come to bring the milk and eggs,” she said as she wiped her hands on a flour sack towel and headed for the back door.

“Should I hide in the wood box, Pleasant?”

“Don’t be silly. You’d ruin your clothes. Hide under the table there.”

She went out to help Rolf, but not before she distinctly heard him murmur, “Well now who would have thought that Pleasant Obermeier has a most pleasant sense of humor?”