Yet a few minutes later, when they were seated at the table and their elbows bumped as they folded their hands to say grace, a tingling sensation buzzed up her arm and across her shoulders, making her shiver.
“Are you cold?” Benuel asked. Sometimes she felt like he was observing her as closely as Lydia had been for the last week.
“A little,” she told him, so he immediately offered to close the windows for her.
“Neh, that’s okay. I’d rather be cold than tolerate that schtinke.” Lifting the lid off the serving dish she’d put the chicken in, she announced, “I’m sorry, everyone, but as you can see, I burned the main dish. But there’s plenty of salad and half a slice of bread apiece. I set this hinkel out in case someone is brave enough to try it, but it’s probably not edible.”
“It’s fine,” Benuel contradicted, jabbing a fork into the biggest piece of chicken on the platter. “It’s just a little brown.”
Susannah noticed Lydia was smirking, just as she’d done yesterday when Benuel claimed he’d come to the house to return the pan, but fortunately, she didn’t say anything aloud.
However, Conrad jeered, “If that hinkel looks a little brown to you, you need glasses, mann. Because that stuff is as black as sin.”
But Benuel persevered, sawing into the chicken with a knife and then lifting the bite-size piece to his lips. He didn’t even scrape off the charred part, Susannah thought, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. What is he trying to prove?
Peter must have been thinking the same thing, because before Benuel put the chicken in his mouth, he interrupted him as he remarked, “I thought you said you’ve done a lot of carpentry work, Benuel.”
“I have. Over five years’ worth.”
“Then you should know you’d better sand that chicken down before you eat it,” he mocked.
There was a half-second pause and then Susannah burst out laughing and so did the others. Even Marshall chuckled. Benuel set down his fork in defeat and Susannah got up and whisked the dish of burned chicken off the table.
“I shouldn’t have even set this out. While you’re eating your salad, I’ll make scrambled oier to fill you up. It will only take a few minutes.” Lifting a skillet from the bottom cupboard, she added brightly, “And we’ll have apple pie for dessert.”
“You’re serving dessert at lunchtime?” Jacob teased. “Is it a special occasion?”
“Neh, there’s no special occasion,” Susannah replied, as she turned to smile at everyone. “Just special people.”
* * *
Peter felt like Susannah was speaking only to him. Or was it that he wanted her to be speaking only to him? Was he already entertaining the very kinds of romantic thoughts he’d just resolved to put out of his mind the evening before?
No, he didn’t think so. It was probably more that he just didn’t want Susannah to consider Benuel special in a romantic sense. Not because Peter had any hope of courting her, but because Benuel was obviously trying to win her over with insincere flattery. She deserved someone more straightforward than that. She deserves someone more straightforward than I was, too, he reminded himself. Benuel’s dishonesty about how he regarded her cooking paled in comparison with how Peter hadn’t been forthcoming about the reason he’d broken up with her.
“I’ll be away from the bauerei on Dunnerschdaag afternoon,” Marshall mentioned as they were waiting for Susannah to finish scrambling the eggs. “So I’ll need to make sure you all know how to gauge the digger point.”
When Peter was a teenager, he’d helped Amos, Marshall’s brother, during three consecutive harvest seasons, so he was aware that if the blade went too deep, it would slice into the potatoes, ruining them. He considered it a cinch to operate a mechanical digger, but Jacob, Conrad and Benuel had never harvested potatoes before, so it was understandable they’d need to receive Marshall’s instruction.
“Who’s going to be digging?” Benuel asked.
“I don’t know. We’ll have to see how each of you handles the equipment first.”
Susannah placed two bowls of eggs at each end of the table, then prepared to take her seat again. Benuel was crowding her on her left side and as she sat down, she wobbled toward Peter, but caught her balance by placing her palm on his shoulder. It only took a second for her to steady herself and withdraw her hand, but her momentary touch warmed Peter from head to toe.
He dared not look anywhere except at his plate until the feeling passed. The problem was, it didn’t pass, not even when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Marshall was glaring at him. It was as if he thought Peter were the one who’d grasped Susannah’s shoulder, instead of the other way around. His mouth went dry, making it difficult for him to swallow his food, and he’d only taken two bites of pie by the time everyone else had finished their dessert.
“Time to get back to work,” Marshall ordered and the other men pushed their chairs back and started filing out the door.
“But, Groossdaadi, Peter’s not done with his pie yet,” Susannah pointed out. “And that’s practically the main course of this meal.”
Marshall glowered, but as he put his hat on, he told Peter, “We’ll be in the north field.”
“I’ll be right out,” Peter said, shoveling another bite into his mouth and triggering a coughing spasm.
“Take your time,” Lydia told him once Marshall exited the house. “Sweet things are meant to be savored.”
Susannah was still seated beside him and Peter thought he noticed her shake her head at her stepgrandmother, but maybe he’d imagined it. “This does taste gut,” he agreed.
“Jah. But it’s not as gut as the pies your mamm used to make,” Susannah commented. “I mean, I really appreciate that Almeda made pies for us. But your mamm’s were extraordinarily appenditlich. Especially her blohbier pies.”
“Jah. I remember that time you traded me your entire lunch for a second piece of her pie.” Peter hadn’t considered what he was disclosing until Susannah knocked her knee against his beneath the table. It was too late: Lydia’s ears had already perked up.
“When was that?” she asked.
“It was on a Sunndaag last summer when some of us went on a picnic after kurrich,” Susannah immediately said. Which was true, although “some of us” really meant “the two of us.” Peter and Susannah never picnicked with anyone else when they were courting; Sundays were the only chance they had to be alone. They’d find a way to sneak to the gorge, which wasn’t easy considering Susannah’s grandparents didn’t like her to walk anywhere on her own and she seldom had use of the buggy. Dorcas, the only person they told about their courtship, frequently dropped off Susannah at the gorge, where Peter would be waiting for her.
“Ah, that’s right. You and Dorcas loved going out to the gorge on Sunndaag,” Lydia recalled. “I didn’t realize you’d gone with a group.”
Susannah started coughing into her napkin. Or was she trying not to laugh? Peter couldn’t tell. How could I have been so dumm as to blurt out something like that? he lamented. He wasn’t particularly worried that Lydia would discover they’d been courting—for all Peter knew, Marshall had already told her. But he was worried what Susannah thought about him openly reminiscing about picnicking with her in the past.
After Lydia rose, put her plate in the sink and then excused herself to the restroom, Peter mumbled quietly to Susannah, “Sorry about that. It just slipped out.”
“It’s okay. Sometimes things spring to my mind, too, and I say them without really thinking them through.”
It felt strange to be sitting side by side with her, with no one else on the other side of the table. No one else in the room. It reminded Peter of when they’d sit on a rock by the creek in the gorge, dangling their feet into the water and chatting as they ate their sandwiches. And instead of pushing the romantic memory from his mind, Peter deliberately indulged it, lingering ove
r his pie even though he knew Marshall would have something to say about his delay when he returned to the fields.
Susannah didn’t seem in any hurry to get up, either. She was silent while he whittled his pie down to the last two bites. Then she asked, “How is your mamm? At the frolic, someone mentioned she’s been...under the weather.”
I’m sure they did, Peter thought and instantly the nostalgic connection he felt with Susannah was replaced by insecurity about whatever rumors she’d heard about his mother. Peter could bear it if Marshall thought ill of him, but he didn’t want Susannah to think his mother was lazy. “She’s okay,” he said and abruptly stood up, even as he was scooping the last bite of pie into his mouth. “I’d better get going or your groossdaddi won’t let me take any more lunch breaks after this.”
He’d only been half-joking about Marshall, but Susannah replied, “Don’t worry, Lydia would never let that happen.” Standing, she caught his eye and added, “And neither would I.”
Peering into her earnest golden-brown eyes, Peter was overcome with affection. “Denki,” he said and then forced himself to leave the house while his legs could still carry him out to the fields.
* * *
I can’t believe he still remembers that time I exchanged my lunch for his pie, Susannah thought as she began gathering the dirty dishes. But what struck her even more was the fondness she’d noticed in his voice as he recalled the memory.
Then her thoughts jumped to the remark Peter had made to Benuel about sanding down his chicken, and she laughed aloud. One of the things she’d always appreciated about Peter was that when he said he liked something, she could trust he was telling the truth, not just saying what she wanted to hear. Unlike Benuel, whose compliments seemed insincere and excessive. How could Groossdaadi and Lydia think I’d ever choose Benuel over Peter? she wondered. Not that she’d ever accept Peter as a suitor again, either. But even as a friend, she definitely preferred Peter’s company over Benuel’s.
When she had cleaned, dried and put away the lunch dishes, Susannah got ready to go to the market for groceries. “Are you sure you don’t want to kumme?” she asked Lydia. “I can help you get in and out of the buggy. We’ll be very careful.”
“Denki, but I’d prefer to stay home. I might actually take a walk to the mailbox in a few minutes.”
Pleased that Lydia felt confident enough to go for a stroll by herself, Susannah happily set out for the market. Upon arrival, she hitched the horse in an area of the lot specifically designated for buggies, right next to another Amish buggy. She was almost at the entrance to the store when she spotted Dorcas coming out, pushing a cart filled with groceries.
“Look who’s here,” she exclaimed. “Hi, Dorcas.”
Dorcas squinted against the sun. “Oh. Hi, Susannah,” she replied flatly.
“I’m hallich we’re bumping into each other. There’s something I’d like to chat with you about.”
“Okay, but you’ll have to talk while I’m loading these into the buggy. I don’t want to be late picking my schweschdere up from schul.”
So Susannah followed her to the buggy and helped her place the groceries into the back of the carriage. As they were carrying out the task, she asked, “Would you like to go on a hike to the gorge on Thursday afternoon? I can pick you up, since I’ll have use of the buggy that day.”
“Neh, I don’t think so, but denki for asking.”
Susannah waited, expecting her friend to explain why she couldn’t go hiking, but Dorcas just turned and rolled her empty cart to the trolley. Feeling slighted, Susannah waited for her to return and then she asked, “Is something wrong? I feel like there’s tension between us and I don’t know if I’ve done something to upset you.”
Dorcas pushed her prayer kapp strings over her shoulders. “I just don’t consider going hiking to be as much schpass as you do.”
“Then we don’t have to hike. I only suggested that because—”
“Because you like lots of outdoor activity and Lydia has been keeping you cooped up in the haus all week. I know—you already told me,” Dorcas said. “But I get lots of outdoor activity. Every Sunndaag I take a long walk. The rest of the week I’m outside doing yard work and caring for the animals and making sure my little brieder don’t get hurt when they’re running around all over the place. And when I’m not watching them or helping my mamm, I’m on my feet at the restaurant. So if you need more exercise, you should ask your suitor to take you hiking.”
Susannah had no idea why Dorcas sounded so defensive, but she could no longer bridle her tongue. “What I was going to say before you interrupted me was that I only suggested a hike because I was looking forward to spending time chatting with you, the way we used to. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if we climbed Mount Katahdin or just sat on the porch swing. I just wanted to be in your company.” Susannah was so upset, her voice was shaking. “And as I’ve already told you, I’m not interested in being courted by Benuel. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“So you’ve mentioned.” Dorcas snickered. “But you’re doing a lot of riding around together for someone who claims she’s not interested in him.”
“I’ve ridden with him two times. Two! On Samschdaag, I rode with him because it was raining. And yesterday I needed to get to the shanty,” Susannah explained again. “To suggest that I want him to be my suitor when I’m honestly telling you I don’t is as lecherich as—as suggesting you and Peter are interested in each other because he gave you a ride home!”
“Why is that idea lecherich?” Dorcas’s cheeks reddened. “Is it so unimaginable that someone would want to be my suitor?”
“Neh, of course it isn’t.” Susannah could see the pained look on her friend’s face, so she lowered her volume. “I think almost any mann would be thrilled to court you. But based on my experience with Peter, I’m just not sure he’s one of them.” She reached to pat her friend’s shoulder, but Dorcas jerked her arm away.
“I have to go pick up my schweschdere.” She headed toward the front of the buggy to unhitch the horse from the post. Coming around to the side when she was done, she glanced at Susannah and asked, “Did it ever occur to you that your weight wasn’t the reason Peter broke up with you?” Then she climbed in without waiting for an answer.
Jah, it did, Susannah thought as Dorcas pulled out of the parking lot. Hundreds and hundreds of times. But if that wasn’t the reason, then what was? I can’t start wondering about that again. I’ll drive myself to distraction. She briefly considered asking Peter about it directly. Now that so much time had passed and her emotions weren’t running so high, maybe he’d be willing to offer her more of an explanation.
Neh, I’d better not do that, she decided as she wheeled a stray cart into the grocery store. We’ve just gotten comfortable being around each other again. Knowing why Peter broke off our relationship won’t change anything now, so it’s better to leave the past behind.
Chapter Eight
Tuesday morning seemed to arrive earlier than usual for Peter. He felt bleary-eyed as he journeyed toward the farm and reflected on the discussion he and Hannes had the evening before. They’d stayed up late planning the wedding picnic-table project in detail. They’d made a budget, determined what supplies they’d need to order, decided on a delivery company and wrote an estimate for the Englisch couple.
They’d taken on big orders before, but this one was challenging because the customers required octagonal tables, with angled attached benches. Because of the unique design of the table, the board lengths weren’t standard, so Hannes was going to have to custom-cut them.
“So much for getting a head start on our next order,” his brother had said in reference to the standard-shaped tables he’d been working on all week.
“It’s not wasted effort,” Peter had reminded him. “We don’t want to turn down or delay any smaller orders that come in while we’re working on this p
roject, so it’s gut you’ve increased our inventory.”
“Jah. As it is, we’re going to be hard-pressed to meet the deadline for the wedding.”
“I’ll help you in the evenings and on any day it rains. We’ll get it done.”
Now, as he directed his horse toward the farm, Peter wasn’t feeling quite as confident about their ability to complete the order in time. The workshop had lights that were powered by a generator, so technically, the brothers could work as long as they needed to in the evenings. However, the work on the farm was grueling and Peter was exhausted by the time he got home.
Marshall really should have at least one additional person on the crew. And, ideally, he should have two or three, he thought. Once again, he wondered why Susannah wasn’t helping pick potatoes, too, at least for some part of the day. Plenty of girls and women picked potatoes on Englisch and Amish farms alike. So it wasn’t as if it was considered men’s work by anyone’s standards.
Out of the blue, it occurred to Peter that maybe Marshall wasn’t relieving Susannah of any farm work responsibilities because he didn’t want her doing such rigorous labor. Maybe he’s just trying to limit any interactions she might have with me. If that was true, it seemed as if the old man was cutting off his nose to spite his face. He’s only making more work for himself and his crew, he thought.
It was discouraging to suspect that Marshall thought so lowly of him that he’d rather risk not finishing harvesting before the first hard frost than to risk...what? Susannah talking to Peter in passing in the field when Marshall wasn’t looking? That’s lecherich, especially since we sit inches apart from each other every day at lunch. Of course, his invitation was at Lydia’s insistence, so Marshall hadn’t really had a choice. And maybe he felt as if nothing would develop between Peter and Susannah at the lunch table because he was right there to monitor every word Peter spoke to her.
An Unexpected Amish Harvest Page 11