“Good morning, Lizzie.” Paul tipped his hat to her.
She took a step back into the shadows, nodding at him. “Hello, Paul.”
“May I come inside?” he asked with a gentle half smile.
She only now noticed he’d been holding an empty jug in his hands.
He stepped aside as she pushed the door open, allowing him to come into the house.
“I’m busy baking cookies.”
He followed her into the kitchen. “I won’t take up too much of your time—I promise. I came to get a refill of the lemonade.”
“You can help yourself to the container in the refrigerator.”
He set the jug down and washed his hands in the sink before he went to get the refill.
Lizzie set the peanut butter on the table and found that her hands were shaking as she unscrewed the lid, which seemed to be stuck.
“Here, let me help.” He took the jar from her hands.
Paul’s touch felt warm. Lizzie quickly removed her hands from the jar, clasping them in front of her. She watched him open the lid with one strong twist. Wasn’t that always the way, she thought, a woman would work hard to get something unscrewed and then a man would come along and make it look easy as pie.
“You must’ve loosened the jar,” he said as he winked at her, handing the jar back. “What are you making today?”
“My Double-Treat Cookies.”
“You made them for the last frolic. They were good.”
“Danke.”
Silence descended on them. For a moment Lizzie thought Paul was going to take his lemonade and leave; instead he pulled up a stool from beneath the table and sat. He then folded his arms in front of him and rested them on the tabletop. Unsure of what to do, she offered him a glass of lemonade. Which seemed silly, considering he’d just filled up an entire jug with the sweet liquid. When he accepted, she busied herself with pouring him a glass.
Setting it before him, she said, “If you don’t mind, I need to keep mixing the dough so I can have the cookies ready for the workers’ next break.” She thought he might leave then, but he only nodded, took a healthy gulp out of the glass, set it down and looked like he would be settling in for a bit.
Setting to work getting the dry ingredients mixed with the wet, Lizzie tried not to think about the fact that Paul was watching her every move. She knew he must have his own work to do and wondered why he was still here. She began to roll the dough into teaspoon-sized balls. Each one was rolled in a bowl of granulated sugar, and then after that was done, she spaced them apart on the cookie sheet.
She was flattening the dough balls with the bottom of a drinking glass when Paul said, “You’re mighty good at baking, Lizzie.”
“You haven’t even tasted these yet, so how do you know how good they are?”
“I remember how they tasted the last time you made them. You haven’t changed the recipe, have you?”
“Nee.” Turning her back to him, she walked over to the oven and placed the first cookie sheet on the baking rack. Then she set the oven timer for seven minutes, even though the recipe called for eight minutes of cooking time. Sometimes the oven could be finicky. She didn’t want the cookies to burn on the bottom.
When she turned back to the table, she found Paul looking a bit contemplative, staring off into space. His behavior was very unusual. Why was he here? she wondered again. Was he here to deliver her bad news? Shaking that thought away, she continued to load a second tray of cookies. The sound of his voice broke into her thoughts.
“Give me the glass and let me flatten them.”
Her motion stilled as she looked across the table at him, meeting his gaze head-on. Her stomach jittered with butterfly nerves. “Why on earth would you want to help me bake? This is a woman’s job. Shouldn’t you be getting back home or back out in the field?”
He crooked an eyebrow. “Are you anxious to be rid of me so fast?”
“Nee,” she mumbled.
Taking the glass from the table, he pulled the tray closer to where he sat and began flattening the cookies with such intensity that Lizzie had to stop him.
“You don’t need to hit them that hard, Paul. These are supposed to be plump cookies.” She reached out to take the glass from him, except he held fast to it.
“I’m sorry. I’m having a bad day is all.” Finally he handed the glass back to her. Frowning down at his hands, he shook his head. “I’m going to sign the lease papers for the shop in the village this week.”
She pulled a stool out, sat opposite him and said, “This feels so sudden, and yet I know you’ve been thinking on this for a long time.”
“Yes, I have. It’s been consuming most of my thoughts. My vader is not happy about it. I’ve tried to speak with him, tried to get him to change his mind, but he won’t budge. He thinks I’m going to somehow damage the family by doing this.”
“I remember you started to tell me about this idea last week at the hospital. I’m sorry your vader feels this way.”
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “I’m going to do this with or without his blessing.”
Surprised by his determination, Lizzie didn’t quite know what to say. “Paul, are you willing to put your family at risk for this choice?” She paused a moment, then went on. “I know how my own vader feels about keeping his family nearby. I imagine yours feels the same way about your staying on at the family business, keeping things the way they’ve been for years.”
“Opening a second shop in the village will be good for everyone, Lizzie. More people will see the Burkholder name.” He paused and then pointed out, “Your sister moved away and that changed your family.”
“That was different. She moved away because her husband’s family needed them more than we did.” Lizzie realized it wasn’t her place to tell Paul what to do.
Besides, who was she to give out advice? She kept to herself here at the house. Lizzie had little idea about what living or working away from the family farm would be like. She only knew that her place was with her mamm and vader. Now more than ever she needed to be here, selling her eggs and baked goods to help keep her family going. Just like Paul, Lizzie had responsibilities that couldn’t be ignored.
“The thing is, Lizzie, as I’ve told you before, I’ve been dreaming about a place of my own for some time now. And I’m not leaving the family or the farm. I’m simply moving my furniture business into the town so more tourists will see what we do out here. You know many of those Englischers are afraid to drive around these parts. I think when they get a glimpse of the steep rolling hills out this way, they get scared off.”
“Paul, you must do what your vader asks of you.”
“I don’t know about that. My plan will help the family earn more money. He’s afraid my brothers will run wild if I’m not around as much.”
“You could always bring the oldest ones with you,” Lizzie suggested.
“Nee. They need to be around to do the chores and help with the wood deliveries. And Daed needs their help loading up the cabinets if we have to deliver them. It’s not a problem with the bigger pieces because most times those are ordered by outsiders and picked up by a freight truck.”
The timer dinged, and Lizzie left the table to go check on the first batch of cookies. She took a pot holder and pulled out what looked to be a perfect batch from the oven and then placed the pan on the stovetop. The house was soon filled with the scent of warm sugar and peanut butter.
From behind her, Paul said, “Wow! Those smell delicious.”
Taking a napkin from the basket on the counter, Lizzie placed one of the hot cookies on it and brought it back to the table. She set it in front of Paul. His eyes lit up.
The smile on his face broadened as he said, “Ah, my Lizzie, you do know the way to a hardworking man’s heart.”
She let out a gasp and stepped back.
Out of a long-practiced instinct, her hand flew up to cover the scar on her face. She wasn’t trying to work her way into anyone’s heart, least of all Paul’s. He was her childhood friend—nothing more. She could see the confusion over her actions dawning on his face.
He reached his hand out toward her, and then placed it on the table. “Lizzie.” His tone softened. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable with my words. They were a compliment to your fine baking skills. Please don’t shy away from me.”
Slowly she lowered her hand.
“You don’t need to hide your face from me ever. I need you to understand that, Lizzie.”
She nodded slightly, fighting the urge to cover her scar again. Instead she busied herself by putting the next batch of cookies into the oven. Then picking up a spatula, she removed the baked ones to a wire rack, where they could cool the rest of the way. Bringing the sheet pan back to the table, she repeated the steps, getting the next dozen ready to be baked. All the while she felt his gaze on her. Finally she stopped and looked at him, instinct telling her where his thoughts were.
“Paul, there are things that happen in our lives, things that shape us...shape our future. My future is here, in this house, with my family.” Her voice dropped to a notch above a whisper. “And as much as you want me to, I can’t speak of that day. I just can’t.”
“There are things you don’t know...” His voice trailed off. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder.
Lizzie had never been so thankful to hear the sound of the car doors slamming closed. Wiping her hand on her apron, she walked to the front door to meet her parents. Paul followed closely behind her. Pushing the screen door open, she walked out onto the porch.
“Mamm! Daed! I’m glad you’re home.” Lizzie rushed down the steps, coming alongside her parents. She thought her daed looked tired. It must have been a trying day traveling an hour to the hospital and then, no doubt, sitting in the waiting area for a bit.
“Lizzie, run into the house and get your daed some iced tea and a sandwich.”
“Yes, Mamm,” she said, hurrying back up the steps.
* * *
Stepping off the porch, Paul met Mr. Miller on the steps, saying, “Mr. and Mrs. Miller. I just came by to check in and to get a refill on this jug of lemonade.” He held the container up.
“That was right kind of you, Paul. And we appreciate your being here to help, along with the others.” Mrs. Miller smiled up at him.
He extended a hand to her husband, offering his help. “Here, let me get you up these steps.”
Mr. Miller batted at his hand. “No need for assistance. I can get up there on my own.”
The man put a shaky hand on the railing and pulled himself up the first step. Then, taking a deep breath, he moved up the last three steps and plunked himself down in the nearest rocking chair on the front porch. “There. I told you I could do this. Those doctors wanted me to go for physical therapy. They want me to walk on a treadmill. I told them I could take my walks in the outdoors, right here on my own property.”
Looking kindly at the man, Paul could see where Lizzie’s stubbornness came from. Mrs. Miller followed her husband onto the porch. Smiling at Mrs. Miller, he could see the resemblance between Lizzie and her mother. Mother and daughter carried the same blue eyes and dark hair. Though Lizzie’s hair was touched by some honey-colored streaks.
From the rocker, Mr. Miller looked up at him. His cheeks carrying only a tinge of color, and his mouth a bit drawn. It appeared that the exertion of the day was catching up with him. Paul knew little about the man’s heart condition, but he imagined recovering from a heart attack and surgery could knock the wind out of a body. When the man nodded to the rocker next to him, Paul started to go over to sit.
“Wait, Paul, poke your head in the door and ask Lizzie to bring out an extra glass of iced tea.”
Paul didn’t have to, because at the same moment Lizzie came through the door, carrying two full glasses and a plate with a sandwich for her vader. He accepted them, thanking her. She went back inside. Paul handed the plate and a glass to her father and then sat down, taking a long sip from the other glass. The tea had a touch of sweetness added to it. He settled into the chair. Next to him he heard Joseph’s chair squeaking against the wooden floor.
“I can fix that noise with a little wood glue if you like.”
“Nee. I like the sound. I find it comforting.”
They sat in silence, both looking out over the railing at the front yard, where a few of Lizzie’s Rhode Island red hens pecked their way around the yard. Their russet-colored feathers looked even richer in the late-afternoon sunlight. The sound of a hay mower mingled with the clucking of the hens. Paul knew Joseph Miller took great pride in his farm. It must be hard for him to let others do his work and upkeep.
“You need to stop abandoning your own work to come here, Paul.”
“I’m not abandoning my work. I was only taking my turn helping out in the fields. It was no trouble at all.”
“I was hoping you came by to see Lizzie.”
Sitting next to each other in the rocking chairs brought Joseph eye level with him. The man used that vantage point to make his point. Looking him square in the eye, Lizzie’s father’s gaze hardened a bit.
“You and Lizzie have known each other your entire lives. If not for the accident, things might be different for the two of you right now. I know that the Lord has plans for all of us. But having my oldest daughter living in another community, leaving one of my children dead and one scarred...well, that’s a plan I haven’t been able to figure out.”
It shocked him to hear this man speak about that day. Did Joseph truly know of the guilt that Paul carried with him? Still, his visits Lizzie were never about his guilt. They were friends, and right now she needed each and every one of her friends to help her and her family through this rough patch.
He knew he should set this man straight, but instead Paul said what came to mind first. “Mr. Miller...Joseph, it’s not for us to question Gott’s motives.”
“I’m left with little choice at the moment. This heart attack has left me with a lot of time to think. And I’m not one who likes to waste time doing that. I’d rather be out, working my land and tending to my cows. But this recovery has set me to thinking that I need to get my youngest daughter married off.”
He’d known that this was where the conversation had been heading. After all, Amish men very rarely wasted time sitting about in the daylight hours. Still Paul found himself feeling uncomfortable at the idea of discussing marriage...particularly Lizzie’s marriage.
“Without a son and with one married daughter living over an hour away in another district, I need to consider what’s going to happen to my farm.”
“I do understand, but I’m not a farmer. I’m a furniture maker.”
“Ja. This I know. Perhaps I will find another man for her—one who likes to farm. Even considering her...” Struggling to find the words, he swallowed and then said, “Even considering her disfigurement, she would make a fine wife for any good Amish man.”
In that very second something occurred to Paul; he’d never once considered Lizzie’s scar as a disfigurement. He thought about her inner beauty and how she carried that over into her artwork. He wondered what Joseph would say if he knew of his daughter’s talent? He heard some shuffling noise near the door. Turning his head, he looked past where Joseph sat. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to see through the shadows. Was there someone hiding behind the screen door? He couldn’t tell.
Anger rolled through him, causing his shoulders to tense up as a knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Her life over the past decade had not been an easy one. Because of this he wanted Lizzie to be more than just someone’s wife. She deserved to be loved and cared for. A surge of protectiveness welled up from inside of him. He clenched and unclenched his hands. Paul had been working h
ard to set up his own business; even if he wanted to do as Joseph suggested, he couldn’t. Opening a new store always carried a risk of failure, and he wanted to be secure in his own right before he offered courtship to any woman.
The time wasn’t right.
Looking at the man who so desperately wanted to keep his family and farm going, the only thing he could think to say was, “I’m sorry. I know this is a difficult time and you want to be sure Lizzie is safe.”
“That isn’t all I need. I need to have this farm carried into the next generation. Lizzie is the only hope I have left.”
He nodded at Joseph. “I understand.” Paul was only now beginning to understand the pressure Lizzie had been under. It was no wonder she’d turned to stealing time to work on her sketches.
Paul needed to find a way to give her some time to simply relax. Remembering the images he’d seen of the field she’d been working on, he thought maybe he could convince her to go there with him. He knew her art was a talent given to her by Gott. She should be able to use it freely. Maybe she’d be interested in a picnic. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied her vader, thinking how happy the man would be if Paul and Lizzie shared an afternoon together.
“Joseph, would it be okay with you if I took your daughter on a picnic?”
“That depends on what your intentions are.”
“My intentions are to take your daughter on a picnic, as a friend.”
Joseph leaned his back into the rocking chair, rubbing a hand down his gray beard. Paul could almost see the wheels turning inside the man’s head. He knew Joseph wanted this to be the beginning of courtship.
“I suppose a picnic with you, as a friend, is better than nothing. You’ll bring one of your bruders along.” Turning his head toward the screen door, Joseph called out, “Elizabeth! Come out here, now!”
Lizzie practically flew through the screen door. “Vader! Are you all right?” Her face looked ashen with fear. Behind her, her mamm, who must have been thinking something was wrong, too, stood clutching the neckline of her dress.
A Love for Lizzie Page 5