Autumn Winds

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “That’s perty much how it works, jah,” Jerusalem said with a chuckle. She handed Nazareth a wad of folded bills. “Be generous when you’re buyin’ those groceries, Sister. Miriam’s been takin’ mighty fine care of us and it’s our turn to buy.”

  “Consider it done.” Nazareth turned to Tom with a sweet smile. “I’ll just put on my kapp and write out my shoppin’ list while ya find those pants, Preacher. Mighty nice of ya to help us out this way.”

  Consider it done.

  Rhoda had seen Plain women working and cooking together all her life, but with Naomi and the Hooley sisters helping, they had prepared the main part of the common meal for more than 120 folks by eight thirty that evening. Twenty fruit pies lined the back counter of the Sweet Seasons kitchen, while four baked turkeys had been set in the big floor-to-ceiling refrigerator to cool. She and Naomi had peeled and cooked enough apples for a huge pan of applesauce, made with cinnamon Red Hots candies to turn it a pretty shade of pink, while Jerusalem had prepared her layered salad in glass bowls that showed off the rainbow colors of the veggies she’d used.

  “See ya tomorrow, Naomi,” Rhoda said as their neighbor started for home. “Denki for all the help. You’re one quick woman with a parin’ knife.”

  Naomi’s brown eyes sparkled. “Jah, don’t mess with me or you’re liable to end up in a cookin’ pot,” she shot back. “Thanks for this peach pie, ladies! The fellas at my house’ll make quick work of it.”

  Mamma gazed around the café’s kitchen and grinned. “Not that I’m biased or anythin’, but I’m thinkin’ this’ll be the best common meal we’ve had in a long time. Smells like Thanksgivin’ in here, Nazareth! Sliced turkey’ll taste mighty gut on Sunday.”

  “I was tickled to see that Henry had them in his meat case, fresh, for folks lookin’ ahead to the holidays,” she replied. “Nothin’ easier to fix for a crowd than turkey, if ya use those newfangled oven bags.”

  Nazareth dried her hands with a satisfied sigh. “I’d be pleased to make soup from the broth for our dinner tomorrow night, too, so you and Rhoda won’t have to cook after ya work in the café all day.”

  Rhoda grinned. “An offer like that makes it sound like we’ve got live-in help! Livin’ like fancy folks, we are.”

  “And if Miriam doesn’t mind,” Jerusalem suggested, “why not invite the boys to join us? Your turkey chowder’s their favorite—”

  “And why not ask Preacher Tom, as well?” Nazareth suggested with a coy grin. “He’s gotta eat, too. And he must get mighty tired of his own company.”

  Mamma chuckled as she gathered up the towels and dishrags to take home for the laundry. “If you’re doin’ the cookin’, you can feed whoever ya want, Nazareth.”

  “And if ya simmer that soup tomorrow mornin’, we could take some to Hiram’s,” Jerusalem remarked. “Those kids’ll slurp that chowder right down. Anythin’ with cheese makes them line up like piggies at the trough.”

  Once again Rhoda smiled to herself; consider it done, indeed. With the exchange of a few sentences and a stockpot of broth left from baking those turkeys, the Hooley sisters had made plans to feed four families. It was easy to see their ulterior motives, too, what with making sure Preacher Tom and Hiram’s family were taken care of. And with Ira, Luke, and Ben coming tomorrow night, the matchmaking was in full swing without anyone directly mentioning the subject.

  And didn’t that mean she would be keeping company with both of the younger Hooley brothers tomorrow night? It was an opportunity not to be missed. “How about if I come in to work early with ya tomorrow mornin’, Mamma?” she ventured. “Nothin’s better with soup than homemade bread, so I’ll make enough for everybody’s dinner and to sell in the bakery case. Maybe that recipe with the whole wheat and oatmeal, and the English muffin bread.”

  The Hooley sisters’ faces lit up. “What a feast!” Jerusalem crowed. “There’ll be happy faces—”

  “And happy fellas,” Nazareth added.

  “—at the table tomorrow night, for sure and for certain.”

  Chapter 25

  As Miriam started up the lane toward home late Saturday afternoon, the wind whipped at her coat and sent dry leaves into a little whirlwind between the café and the smithy. Where had the autumn gone? In just a few frosty nights the leaves had fallen and winter seemed to be sneaking in early. The past week had ushered in many changes—many things to think about—as the seasons of their lives rolled forward like the wheels of the dozer that was digging the foundation for the new mill.

  Hearing the roar of the big machinery, Miriam cut through the apple orchard and walked over toward the riverbank to see what progress they’d made. She stopped, holding her bonnet as the brisk wind whipped around her. The scoop on the front of the dozer was making quick work of the excavation, and the fellow driving it maneuvered effortlessly on the slope as he dumped another load of dark, wet soil off to the side.

  What would Jesse think if he saw that gapin’ hole in his favorite fishin’ spot?

  Miriam spotted Ben on the other side of the water and returned his wave. It didn’t bother her now to consider her late husband’s reactions to these changes on his homeplace; she was living in the present, looking toward a future she’d never dreamed of before the Hooley family had come to Willow Ridge.

  Ira and Luke were watching the dozer with excited grins. What an adventure this was for them! The Mennonite fellows who partnered with Micah had told them that one or two warm weeks remained for pouring the footings and the foundation, so the concrete would set up right. Then the building would go up in a hurry. It boggled her mind that the Hooley brothers planned to be in their new rooms by the first of December, while Micah and his brothers would complete the rest of the mill before the New Year.

  Miriam turned toward home then, noting how early the dusk fell now . . . how pretty the kitchen windows looked with light coming from them. She opened the door to the most heavenly aroma of turkey and onions and celery, all simmered together. The table was set for eight on a freshly ironed tablecloth she hadn’t used for so long . . . plates and silverware were all in place, and bowls were stacked beside the stove, awaiting the soup that would fill them. Voices drifted in from the front room . . . Rhoda and Ben’s aunts sat crocheting in there, talking like old friends.

  God, I’ve gotta thank Ya that I can come home to a warm house where dinner’s been made and the table’s set for friends . . . some we’ve loved a long time and some who opened our lives and hearts before we knew what-all was happenin’. It’s a wonderful life You’ve given me, Lord.

  After Miriam hung up her coat and bonnet, she strolled into the front room. “Well now, what ladies of leisure do we have here?” she teased. “Did the gut fairies fix that dinner while ya crocheted more squares for Ben’s afghan?”

  Nazareth chuckled. Despite the day she’d spent cleaning and making that divine soup before she and Jerusalem took some over to Hiram’s, she looked pert and fresh in a dress of jade green. “Jah, fairies named Rhoda and Jerusalem whipped up that food, ya know,” she replied. “I just sat around twiddlin’ my thumbs, waitin’ for my date to show up.”

  Miriam exchanged a grin with Rhoda, who sat on the end of the couch stitching finished granny squares together. “It’s true,” her daughter said. “Had to be the gut fairies who did it, because when I came home from the café, the table was already set. A bowl of baked pineapple was coolin’ beside the stove and cherry cheesecake pie was in the fridge.”

  “Jerusalem loves that for dessert,” Nazareth confided, as though her sister weren’t in the room. “What she won’t tell ya is that she makes one for herself and one for the rest of us.”

  Jerusalem laughed aloud. “And the other two pies I made have already disappeared—at Hiram’s, for noon dinner. My word, but those kids can eat! And by the way, Sister, Annie Mae asked for your turkey chowder recipe.”

  A knock at the door announced Tom Hostetler, who looked as delighted to be there as Nazareth was to have him. �
�Brought along some fresh butter,” he said as he handed her a plastic container. “Figured you gals could put it to gut use. I didn’t want to arrive empty-handed, after the way ya got tomorrow’s big meal ready for me.”

  “We’ll put it on the table and watch it disappear,” she replied.

  A short while later, Ben and his two brothers tromped up the steps. They left their muddy boots on the porch and came inside, inhaling as though they couldn’t fill their lungs with enough of that aroma.

  “I love it when you aunts cook us up a pot of soup! And it’s your turkey chowder, too,” Luke said.

  “And look at what-all else is here.” Ira removed his hat and gave it a toss, grinning smugly when it landed on an empty peg on the opposite wall. “Aunt Jerusalem’s baked pineapple, and some gut-lookin’ bread.”

  “Rhoda made that,” Nazareth told him, “and we can tell ya it’s right tasty, too.”

  “Ben, you should sit at the head of this table tonight,” Jerusalem suggested, “on account of how ya brought all of us together by sayin’ your two aunts should come along for the ride to Missouri. And Preacher Tom, we’d be honored if you’d sit at the other end.”

  Miriam wasn’t surprised when Jerusalem gestured for her younger nephews to sit across from Rhoda, or when Nazareth gravitated to Tom’s side, and the spot to Ben’s left seemed to have her own name on it. After their silent prayer, Nazareth dipped up the soup while her sister placed the steaming bowls at each of their places.

  Miriam rose to carry food, as well, but Jerusalem was having none of that. “This is our treat,” she insisted. “You’ve been on your feet cookin’ all day. Let us serve it up so you can sit back and enjoy it, Miriam.”

  When had anyone ever made such an offer? And hadn’t the Hooley sisters worked hard all day, as well? “I—I feel like a queen, sittin’ at a table I didn’t set and eatin’ food I didn’t cook,” she replied quietly. “Must be true, then, that the gut fairies have come to stay at our house. And I’m glad they did.”

  When she sat down again, Ben squeezed her hand under the table. “We’re like one big happy family, ain’t so? And it’s better chow than what I would’ve made these fellas eat.”

  “You can say that again!” Ira slathered butter on a warm slice of the oatmeal bread and jammed it into his mouth as though he hadn’t eaten in days.

  Luke snickered. “That’s the last we’ll hear from him. He’s too busy feedin’ his face to talk to us.”

  For a few moments they ate in silence, savoring the warm, cheesy chowder . . . the tangy sweetness of the baked pineapple . . . the way Tom’s butter filled the little pockets in Rhoda’s English muffin bread. Miriam felt herself relaxing like she hadn’t been able to for months, despite the fact that she had a kitchen full of company. What a gift their houseguests had given her, this simple yet satisfying meal—as well as other folks to enjoy it with.

  “So how were things at Hiram’s today?” she asked. “I haven’t seen the bishop all week, so I’m guessin’ he’s preparin’ for tomorrow’s meetin’ after the service.”

  “It’s a different home from when we first took the goats over.” Jerusalem nodded, spooning apple butter onto her bread. “It’s not just the twins who’re mindin’ their p’s and q’s, either. Their dat’s spent a lot of time in his office out in the stable, talkin’ with the bishops from Morning Star and New Haven.”

  “They’ll be with us tomorrow, preachin’ and runnin’ the members’ meetin’,” Tom remarked gravely. “It’s not for me to say how things’ll turn out, since the members have a vote, but we’ll be limpin’ along without a bishop for six weeks if Hiram’s put under the ban. And I believe he should be.”

  “Ya think he’ll duck his punishment?” Ben asked. “When we saw that photograph on his website, he got around it by confessin’ to those bishops.”

  “And now that we’ve caught him with a car, they’re none too happy with him for doin’ that.” Despite his serious tone, Tom raised his eyebrows at the two younger Hooleys. “Ya should’ve seen it, fellas. A big old black Cadillac like they don’t make anymore—the kind with a round, spoked case on the back that holds the spare tire. Cream-colored leather inside, and the top folded down.”

  The preacher chuckled as he helped himself to more pineapple. “It was the kind of car rich English folks drove, back when I was a young buck—the kind of car that made ya think rumspringa could last forever if ya drove away instead of takin’ your instruction to join the church.”

  Ben smiled as though he understood that sentiment quite well. “Let me guess, Preacher. A perty girl caught your eye and ya figured you’d better come into the fold before another fella latched on to her.”

  “Jah, Letty was the pertiest girl ya ever wanted to see,” Tom replied wistfully. “Which partly explains why an English fella drove away with her last February. Men aren’t the only ones who like ridin’ in fine, fast cars. And women kinda like livin’ in a house where ya don’t smell the livestock on a hot summer day.”

  The kitchen went silent for a few moments while everyone ate. Miriam was pleased that Tom, too, had come through a crisis in his life and his heart was healing. Nazareth stood up then, smiling at them. “More soup, anyone?”

  “Let me get that cherry cheesecake out of the fridge.” When Jerusalem returned with their dessert, she was shaking her head. “As I watched Jason, Hiram’s Mennonite stable manager, drivin’ that big old car out of the storeroom, I couldn’t for the life of me figure why Hiram caved in to that temptation . . . why he thought it was worth the risk of bein’ shunned.”

  “Or why he thought he’d get away with it,” Miriam added quietly. “Does that mean he had a driver’s license, too?”

  “Not anymore, he doesn’t.” Jerusalem cut the cheesecake with quick, decisive strokes of her knife before she spooned cherry pie filling over it. “I told him I couldn’t respect a man who preached at his members about their sins while he hid his own, too proud and pigheaded to confess them. I also told him if there was any way he could be stripped of his position as the bishop of Willow Ridge, it was the chastisement he deserved.”

  “Several folks feel that way about it. But it won’t happen, of course,” Tom remarked. “Once you’re chosen by God and the fall of the lot—in the ceremony when that piece of paper flutters from the hymnal you picked instead of from the other fellas’ books—ya carry that responsibility until ya die or get too disabled.”

  Ira, who had followed the conversation with interest, grinned mischievously. “So, where’d they park the car? I haven’t yet joined the church, so I could take it out on the road every now and again—to keep the battery charged up, ya know.”

  “Ira Hooley, we’ll have none of that talk!” Jerusalem declared.

  “A new courtin’ buggy is more your speed, dear,” Nazareth said lightly. “And your Uncle Israel promised to replace the buggy ya turned over last year, once ya take your vows.”

  Ben cut into his pie, smiling as though he’d heard this conversation many times. Miriam glanced at her daughter, who was taking in these details with great interest, even though she pretended to be occupied with her last few bites of dessert.

  Luke elbowed his younger brother as he set down his fork. “Ya can’t win, Ira. Ya might as well declare yourself Amish, like the rest of us. If nothin’ else, the girls here’ll take ya more seriously—which would be a big improvement over your datin’ record back home.”

  “Puh!” Ira tossed his napkin beside his cherry-smeared plate, his dark eyebrows raised in playful defiance. “I’m meetin’ Millie Glick in half an hour. How about you?”

  “Annie Mae said she’d be real glad to get outta the house tonight, what with her dat preparin’ what he’s gonna say at church tomorrow.” Luke smiled at everyone as he stood up. “Real nice of ya to have us over for supper. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

  “Jah, I’ll be runnin’ along, too. Denki for the fine eats.” Ira rose, snatching the last two slices from the bread basket. “Re
al gut bread, Rhoda.”

  As the door closed behind the young men, Preacher Tom scooted back, as well. “Better study the Scripture for tomorrow. What with Gabe’s Wilma still in the hospital and Hiram’s situation, I figure to be preachin’ the first sermon. It’s been a real nice evenin’, friends.” As he put on his hat and coat, he seemed pleased that Nazareth got ready to step outside with him.

  When Ben grabbed her hand under the table, Miriam’s stomach fluttered. “If ya can wait until I help with the dishes—”

  “Go on with ya!” Jerusalem declared as she stacked their soup bowls. “Won’t take long for reddin’ up because we washed things as we went along. I’ll be turnin’ in early, so I’ll see ya for breakfast, Miriam.”

  “Tomorrow promises to be a day like Willow Ridge has never seen,” Miriam remarked. “We’d all better get our rest, to be ready for whatever happens at the members’ meetin’, ain’t so?”

  A few hours later, sleep was the furthest thing from Rhoda’s mind. She sat in her nightgown with her brushed hair hanging down her back, gazing out at the vast blackness of fields and farmhouses gone dark for the night. How strange it felt, with Rachel away last night and tonight . . . and how lonely, having no one to whisper with about Ira and Luke.

  In the room next door, the Hooley sisters snored so loudly it was a wonder they didn’t wake each other. Mamma and Ben sat talking downstairs like a couple of courting kids, so disappearing to her room had been the only polite thing to do—just as her parents had done when she and Rachel sat downstairs with dates. No lamps were lit in the windows above the smithy, which meant Luke and Ira were still out with Annie Mae and Millie.

  Annie Mae and Millie! Am I invisible? Nice to have around for makin’ bread, but then I’m to clean up with the rest of the maidels?

  Sighing, Rhoda crawled under the covers and squeezed her eyes shut. It was silly to pout and throw a pity fit, but it still hurt, how the Hooley boys had tossed off their remarks about their dates as though she hadn’t been at the table . . . as though she were blind and deaf and had no feelings.