by Sarah Price
“Well, Verna,” Edna began, “you know that some Amish just don’t like Englische medicine. That’s not so unusual.”
“Oh, I know that. But an ear candle? That’s more traditional medicine.”
Edna gave her a stern look. “You know that he was probably more upset that she didn’t speak to him first.”
Verna hung her head, hiding her eyes from Edna’s.
“But you said that everything was fine now, so I wouldn’t fret about it anymore.”
“It’s not that I’m fretting,” Verna said. “It’s just that his behavior in that instance doesn’t seem to match his character.”
“What you know of his character,” Wilma added.
“That’s true, I suppose.” Verna paused thoughtfully. “But Myrna surely knows his character.”
“And she’s not concerned,” Edna interrupted, pointing her spoon at Verna. “Nor should you be. No more interfering. Let them figure it out if it’s meant to be.”
Wilma leaned over, pressing her cheek against Verna’s shoulder. “Once again, wise words spoken by our fearless cookie leader!”
Verna pressed her lips together. “I reckon people ought to call our meetings cookie therapy rather than a cookie club.”
Edna laughed at her friend. “Not a bad idea at all.”
* * *
That evening at supper, Edna retold the stories from that day, mentioning again about the mysterious Ezekiel Riehl.
“I just can’t believe no one knows anything about this man,” she said, staring first at Elmer and then at her son John.
Elmer kept his head bent over his plate. “Seems everyone knows more than enough by now.”
John bit into a roll. “How’s Myrna making out there, Maem? She doing okay with this fellow’s kinner?”
It was always John who took interest in the details. She smiled at him. “Ja, she’s doing right gut. Has taken well to tending the kinner. And seems to get along well with Ezekiel, which is why I’m curious about his true nature. I’d hate to see Myrna involved with a less than righteous man.”
Jonas scoffed. “Myrna.”
Edna jerked her gaze to stare at her younger son.
“She’s a handful, that one.” He shoved a mouthful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“Besides being unkind, that’s also untrue,” Edna reprimanded sternly. “She’s changed quite a bit since she started working for this Ezekiel.”
He laughed as if he didn’t believe her.
“And she’s not a handful. She’s just overly . . .”
“Opinionated?”
Edna narrowed her eyes at Jonas. “Organized. She likes things done in a particular way, that’s all.”
He rolled his eyes. “What. Ever.”
Elmer glanced up. “You can ‘whatever’ your maem all you want, Jonas. But one day someone will come along and clip your wings, mark my words.”
“Ha!”
Edna shook her head at him.
“When I find someone, she’s going to be quiet and docile, like a little mouse in a barn.”
Jeremiah elbowed him. “More like a big rat, I think.” Jonas returned the push.
“Boys!”
They both straightened up and stared into their plates at the sound of their father’s booming voice.
“None of that at the supper table,” he snapped before he leveled his gaze at his wife. “And as for this Myrna and Ezekiel, best to let God handle that situation. If something happens there, we’ll all know soon enough about the true nature of this man.” He reached out for a roll and began slathering apple butter on it. “Besides, I’d think you had enough going on with your MayFest this weekend and then the tourist season starting up.”
With that, the conversation about Myrna and Ezekiel was finished.
Edna sighed, picking up her fork and pushing her food around her plate. Elmer’s reminder about the tourist season made her heart palpitate. She’d need to start planning for her first customers the week after MayFest. And the week after that and the one after that. Elmer was right; she had much more important things to do than to worry about Myrna, at least for the moment.
Chapter Twenty
“Are you still making those baby blankets?”
Verna looked up as Simon walked into the room. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the kitchen floor to join her in the sitting area. “Ja, I am. And I’m just about sick of it, let me tell you.” She held up her knitting needles to show the pretty yellow blanket that was half-finished. “My last one, thankfully! Remind me not to do this next year.”
Simon laughed at her. “Your charitable heart is showing,” he teased.
“Oh hush!” But she couldn’t help smiling.
Outside, footsteps approached the porch and, after a brief hesitation, the sound of someone walking toward the door interrupted their conversation.
“Myrna? Is that you?”
She appeared in the doorway, setting her handbag on the counter. “Ja, just me.”
She sounded tired. Sitting up, Verna leaned forward and glanced at the clock. “You’re home awful late.”
Myrna followed her gaze. “Ach! It’s almost seven! I hadn’t realized.” She gave her mother an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
“Seems he’s working you rather hard over there,” Simon said. Verna heard the inquisitive tone to her husband’s voice. He wasn’t accusing but fishing for information; only Verna wasn’t certain what information he sought.
Myrna quickly jumped to Ezekiel’s defense. “Nee, it’s not Ezekiel. It’s the little ones. Henry fusses something terrible when I leave. Cries and carries on.”
Simon chuckled. “Attached to you, eh?”
She nodded. “Very.” She walked over and sank into the sofa next to her mother. Peering over Verna’s shoulder, Myrna made a soft noise. “That’s pretty.”
“Danke.”
“The color is different. Pale.” She reached out to touch the blanket. “I like it.”
Verna smiled at her. She hated to admit it, but she missed Myrna. Now that she worked every day for Ezekiel, she was rarely around, and when she was, she often slept as only young adults are prone to do. But it wasn’t just that she missed having Myrna at home. It was that she missed having this Myrna at home. Ever since she’d started working at the Riehls’, Myrna seemed much more pleasant to be around. Her temperament had evened out, and she wasn’t as prone to disrupt things by trying to reorganize or improve them.
“We each made ten blankets to donate to the Amish Aid table at MayFest,” Verna said. “This fine blanket”—she held it up—“is my last one.”
“By ‘we’ I trust you mean the Cookie Club?”
“Ach!” Verna dropped her knitting onto her lap. She gave Myrna a look of exasperation. “Will you people ever stop calling it that?”
Simon laughed. “Just get used to it, Verna. You’ll never get everyone to stop.”
Myrna stood up and stretched. “Well, considering it’s Thursday night and the fair starts tomorrow, it’s a gut thing that it’s your last blanket.”
“We’ll work the vendor table on Saturday for a spell, so I still have time to finish this one.” She picked up her knitting needles and began to continue with her work. “Will you be attending MayFest?” Verna asked.
“Nee, Maem. You know I’ve got to work.” She walked back to the kitchen and took a piece of bread. “And speaking of work, I’m exhausted. Going to bed.”
Verna watched as her daughter climbed the stairs and disappeared into the darkness of the second-floor hallway.
“Hmph. She comes right home and goes to bed only to get up and leave again. It’s a wonder she doesn’t just move there,” Verna mumbled.
Simon winked at her. “Mayhaps you’ll get your wish sooner than you think.”
* * *
Everyone gathered at Mary’s house on Friday to prepare the blankets and more cookies for the weekend. The Amish Aid table would be manned by different groups of ladies during the two-da
y MayFest event. Set up near the food section at the corner of Main and Morton Streets, it was destined to be busy, and the blankets would sell quickly.
“At least we don’t have to be there for the parade at nine o’clock,” Wilma said. “I just can’t stand parades.”
Edna laughed. “How is that possible? Everyone loves a parade.”
Thrusting both her thumbs at her chest, Wilma wrinkled her nose. “Not this gal. I can’t stand them.”
“That’s so funny. I never knew that about you, Wilma.”
Mary set her pile of blankets on the kitchen table. “I reckon it’s the noise. The fire trucks and all.”
Wilma gave a noncommittal nod. “And last year we were near that main tent.” She shuddered. “Remember that loud music? I hated it.”
Mary sighed. “I’m not partial to the crowds. But it’s only one day of the year, and I do like seeing all those families out and about together.” She glanced over to the side room, where her daughter, Bethany, sat in a rocking chair, reading a devotional. “I don’t know when the last time was that I went anywhere with my dochder.”
Verna followed her gaze. It had always surprised her that Bethany was so painfully shy. She was a pretty girl with dark hair and big brown eyes, an interesting contrast to her own daughter’s fiery red hair and green eyes. Plus, she was petite, a small wisp of a girl. But she hated going out to town and had yet to work outside of the house. How she’d ever get married was beyond Verna’s comprehension.
“So, we’re to arrive there by ten o’clock,” Edna said, interrupting Verna’s thoughts. “We’ll relieve the women who are working the table in the morning, and we’re to stay until three o’clock. Five hours. It shouldn’t be too bad.”
“And we should sell a lot of these blankets.” Verna ran her hand along the edge of the box. “Forty blankets for forty babies.”
“Don’t forget the cookies!” Wilma added as she set three plastic containers beside the box of blankets.
Verna laughed. “How could I forget the cookies? I bet half the people come to our table for those rather than the blankets.”
“Undoubtedly,” Edna said. And then, popping off the lid of the container, she grabbed a chocolate chip cookie and took a bite. “Mmm. I don’t blame them. These are good cookies!”
“Of course they are,” Verna said, feigning an angry expression. “Why else would they call us the Amish Cookie Club?”
Chapter Twenty-One
When she entered the Riehls’ kitchen on Saturday morning, Myrna noticed that there was coffee brewing already. The dishes had been washed and were neatly stacked on the side of the sink. Clearly Ezekiel had been busy that morning. Despite her apprehensions, she caught herself smiling.
“Morning, Myrna.”
She started at the sound of his voice coming from the doorway of the master bedroom.
“Zeke!” She pressed her hand to her chest as she turned around to face him. “You frightened me.”
He stood there, his big frame filling the open space, and stared at her. “Didn’t mean to.”
When he made no move to enter the room, Myrna gestured toward the coffee. “You’ve been up early, I see. Care for me to pour you a cup?”
He nodded.
“Have a seat, then.” She felt strange telling him what to do. He was her boss, after all, and this was his house. Busying herself with pouring the coffee, Myrna couldn’t help but wonder what was on his mind. Clearly, he had something he wanted to discuss with her. Myrna just couldn’t imagine what it might be.
“I . . . I wanted to ask a favor of you,” he said, the coffee mug cupped between his hands and his eyes focused on the liquid inside of it.
From the somber expression on his face, Ezekiel looked as if the matter were truly serious. For a moment, Myrna panicked. Had something happened? Was one of the children sick? “Of course, Zeke. What is it?”
He ran his thumb along the side of the mug as he collected his thoughts. Whatever this favor was, he was clearly troubled by having to ask it.
“I . . . I was wondering if you might forgo working today.”
Startled, Myrna caught her breath. She’d thought they’d gotten over the whole ear candling episode. Had she done something wrong? “Well, I suppose if you don’t need me—”
“Oh, it’s not that,” he interrupted her. “It’s just that, well . . .” He fiddled with his coffee mug. “It’s been a hard year, you know. And, well, I haven’t done much with the kinner in a while.” He paused and frowned. “Long while. Anyway, today’s the last day of MayFest, and I wanted to take them.” He lifted his eyes and met hers. “All of them, including little Katie. Make it a fun family day and all. But I can’t handle the boys and the boppli by myself.” He paused. “Truth is, I don’t even know if I’d want to.”
She bit her lower lip.
“They always have so much fun when you’re around,” he said. “And you’re so good with them. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was hoping you might join us.”
She blinked. “Oh, to help with the children.”
“Nee!” He held up his hand and then immediately went back to toying with his coffee mug. “I mean, ja.”
“I see.”
He shook his head. “Nee, Myrna. I don’t know what I’m saying. My tongue’s all twisted and words aren’t coming out right. I guess what I meant to say is that I’d like you to come, too.”
As soon as he said it, Myrna felt her heart beat faster. She’d never been invited anywhere like that by a man. Of course, she reminded herself, despite his invitation, she was going as part of her job, not as part of a courtship. Still, the idea of actually going somewhere and having fun in the company of a man did not displease her. Even if it was Ezekiel.
She bit her lower lip and corrected herself. Especially because it was Ezekiel. It might have only been four weeks that she had been working for him, but Myrna knew there was something truly special about the man. And she also knew that she was beginning to regret the fact that he wasn’t looking for a wife.
Still, even if they could only be friends, Myrna thought that an outing with the children and Ezekiel was not an unpleasant way to spend the day.
“That sounds right nice, Ezekiel,” she heard herself say. “I think the boys will surely love such an outing.”
Ezekiel gave a half smile and averted his eyes. “Me, too.”
* * *
As she sat next to Ezekiel in the buggy, little Katie upon her lap, Myrna felt a renewed sense of excitement. Her arms wrapped around the child and she hugged Katie to her chest, loving the sweet lavender scent that wafted from her little pink dress.
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Ezekiel glance at her. He made that all-too-familiar noise, the guttural sound that she had come to translate as one of satisfaction, and Myrna tried to continue staring ahead.
He had startled her by asking that she accompany the family to MayFest. She was even more surprised that Ezekiel even wanted to go at all. It had been a long week for him, cutting, drying, raking, and baling the hay. David and Daniel had tried to help after school, but Myrna suspected their contribution was in effort only.
David poked his head between Ezekiel and Myrna’s shoulders. “I hope they have cotton candy!”
“Me, too! Me, too!” Henry jumped up and down in his seat.
“Aw, you don’t even know what it is!”
Ezekiel chuckled. It was a sound that Myrna wished she heard more often. “I’m sure they’ll have it, David, and Henry will soon learn that cotton candy is like eating a sweet, sugary cloud.”
“Yummy!”
Myrna laughed and, without thinking, bent down to place a soft kiss on Katie’s head. “Mayhaps you’ll get a taste, too,” she whispered into the baby’s ear.
When she straightened, she noticed that Ezekiel had been watching her. There was an intensity to his gaze as his eyes studied her, even after she caught him looking at her. He didn’t seem to care. Instead, he squinted his
eyes and tilted his head just a little.
“What?” she asked, her voice low. “What is it?”
For a moment, she thought he was going to respond. His mouth opened and then shut again.
“Ezekiel?”
“I . . . I just realized that . . .” He paused and shook his head.
Reaching out, Myrna placed her hand on his arm. “Tell me.”
He looked down at her hand for a second and she started to pull it away, afraid that she had invaded his private space. But immediately, he covered her hand with his as if asking her to keep it there.
“I realized I’d never seen anyone else kiss Katie.”
She withdrew her hand. “Did I?”
“Just now.” He pointed to the baby. “You kissed her head.”
“I did?” She would have laughed but for fear that she’d offend him. It wasn’t common for the Amish to show affection like that. Perhaps a husband and wife might kiss each other in private, but certainly not when other people were around. And children might be hugged and kissed by their mother or grandmother, but it wasn’t something that was done all the time, and certainly not by other people.
“It caught me off guard,” he admitted.
“I’m sorry. I don’t even remember having done it.”
“Nee, don’t be sorry.” He gave her a small smile. “Everyone needs a little love and affection from time to time.”
She couldn’t help but wonder if he truly meant everyone or if he might have been referring to himself.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Edna sat at the table, the baby blankets laid out on display for the people passing by to examine. Wilma was arguing with Barbara Brenneman about the best way to set up the display, which made Edna smile as she bent her head over her crocheting. Leave it to Wilma to argue with a bishop’s wife.
“Now, Barbara,” Wilma said as she pointed to the plate of chocolate chip cookies. “You know that the little ones will want the cookies, so if you leave them on the edge of the table, they’ll just take a cookie and run off.”
Barbara pressed her lips together and gave Wilma a stern look. “I don’t think parents are that lax with their kinner.”