A cup of tea at her side, she sat at the table and began the conversation with her thoughts. The minute she started, it seemed like her pen flew across the page. Everything that had been troubling her heart spilled onto the page: her grandmother's illness, her fear of losing her, the feeling of betrayal when she'd discovered the letter. Her dilemma of wanting so desperately to know if Matthew knew and yet experiencing anxiety about how she'd been guilty of reading the letter.
A slight sound made her look up and she saw that her grandmother stood in the doorway that connected the main house with the dawdi haus.
But Phoebe wasn't looking at Jenny . . . she was staring at the journal on the table in front of her.
"I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You're not," Jenny said. "Come sit down and I'll make you something to eat."
She closed the journal and laid her pen down next to it. Getting up, she helped her grandmother to a chair. "Did you have a good nap?"
Phoebe nodded and wrapped her shawl more closely around her shoulders. "Ya. But it seems all I do is sleep."
"Rest is the best medicine. That's what everyone says, isn't it?"
She put the tea kettle on and then rummaged around in the refrigerator. "Fannie Mae brought over some split pea soup with ham. Would you like that? Or are you tired of soup?"
"Soup is fine. I've been enough trouble."
"You haven't been any trouble at all."
Jenny turned around with the plastic container of soup in her hand and paused for a moment. Her grandmother was still staring at the journal and she wore a troubled expression.
Going to the cabinet near the stove, Jenny found a saucepan and set it on the stove. She dumped the soup into it, started the gas flame beneath it, then turned to set soup bowls on the table. All the while she kept an eye on her grandmother—as much wondering why the older woman was focusing her attention on the journal as assessing how she was feeling. Each day she seemed a little stronger but the pneumonia wasn't giving up easily or quickly.
Jenny sliced some bread, set out butter, and stirred the soup several times while she debated calling Matthew in for lunch. She glanced at the kitchen clock and decided it was still a little early for him.
Once the soup was warm, Jenny ladled it into bowls and joined Phoebe at the table.
After saying a blessing over the meal, they began eating. But before long, Jenny noticed that Phoebe was just stirring her soup with her spoon.
She glanced up and saw that Jenny was watching her. She shrugged. "I'm sorry, I'm not very hungry after all."
Jenny wasn't hungry either. Split pea soup had never been her favorite, either, and besides, she kept thinking about how she wanted to talk to her grandmother about the letter. But it just wasn't time.
She set her spoon down. "Maybe you're just tired of soup."
Phoebe shrugged and stared down into the pea-green depths. She sighed. "Maybe."
"Tell me what you'd like and I'll fix it."
"No, you have too much to do." Phoebe stirred the contents of her bowl again and lifted a spoon of soup to her lips. "This is fine."
But Jenny saw the faint look of distaste flash across her grandmother's face. She glanced down into her own bowl and thought—not for the first time—that split pea soup was a disgusting color—that yellowish-green called chartreuse. Stringy pieces of ham popped up here and there, floating on the thick soup. Erk, she thought as she let the spoonful of green sludge drip from the spoon to land with a plop into her own bowl.
And here she got teased about her cooking. Obviously split pea wasn't Fannie Mae's specialty.
She rose, picked up the two bowls, and set them in the sink. Turning, she folded her arms across her chest. "Now tell me what you'd like to eat. You've been sick. Maybe your appetite needs tempting."
"Oatmeal," Phoebe said suddenly.
She could make that. Annie wanted oatmeal every morning.
"Not oatmeal," Phoebe said as Jenny got the box out of the cupboard. "Oatmeal cookies."
"You want oatmeal cookies for lunch," Jenny repeated slowly.
"Why not? Oatmeal's eaten for breakfast, isn't it? And oatmeal cookies are just baked oatmeal. With some good things in them like the oatmeal and eggs, right? I remember you said Hannah brought some over but I wasn't hungry for them before."
Jenny nodded. "Yes, she did. Lots of them, as a matter of fact. But I'm not sure there are any left." Saying a quick prayer that there were, she looked in the cookie jar. Sure enough there were half a dozen left. "I guess there's no harm in eating dessert first."
"I want cookies for lunch," Phoebe said decisively. "And ice cream. We have some ice cream, don't we?"
"Sure." There was no harm in humoring her, thought Jenny, but before she went to get it, she put the back of her hand against her grandmother's forehead. It was cool.
"What flavor? We have vanilla, chocolate chip, and strawberry."
"Vanilla," Phoebe said promptly.
Jenny lifted the carton of ice cream from the freezer and then, just as she started to turn, the chocolate chip spoke to her. With a sigh, she picked it up as well and took it to the table.
"I guess we eat healthy enough we can have dessert first," Jenny said as she scooped out vanilla ice cream.
"Dessert first? This is all I want," Phoebe said with satisfaction as she accepted the bowl. She picked up one of the cookies on the plate before her and placed a spoonful of ice cream on the cookie, then topped it with another cookie. "See, I'm having a sandwich. Happy now?"
Jenny laughed. "An ice cream sandwich isn't the kind of sandwich I should be getting you to eat."
Phoebe bit into one and sighed. "Wonderful. I'll eat extra vegetables later, okay?" She looked over as Jenny put several scoops of chocolate chip into her bowl.
"It was calling my name," Jenny said, putting a spoon of ice cream into her mouth. "Whatever you do, don't let the children know we did this. I'd never hear the end of it."
They sat there enjoying their ice cream and Jenny noticed that Phoebe was looking like she'd perked up a little. Maybe letting her eat the ice cream had been a good idea.
She'd been thinking a lot about how she was going to ask her grandmother about her discovery of the letter. Her emotions had gone all over the place from feeling betrayed to being angry to feeling disappointed and then distrustful and back and forth again. But she wasn't sure whether her grandmother was well enough . . . what if she caused a relapse?
Before she could open her mouth, they heard the door open and shut and Matthew strode in. His eyebrows went up as he took in the scene.
"I didn't realize we were having a party," he said. "What's the occasion?"
"Grossmudder is tired of soup. Especially split pea soup."
Matthew glanced at the stove with anticipation. "We have split pea soup?"
"Fannie Mae made it. I didn't call you for dinner because I thought it was too early."
"It's never too early for dinner." He went over and took a taste with the big wooden spoon Jenny had used to stir it.Turning, he grinned. "Mmm. More for me if you two aren't going to eat it."
Jenny laughed. "You remind me of Mikey. He'd eat anything."
"Mikey?"
She rose. "Old television commercial. Go wash your hands and I'll fix you a bowl."
Phoebe nearly made it through the second ice cream sandwich. She set the uneaten portion down on the plate and yawned. "I'm going to go lie down for a while," she told them and shook her head when Matthew asked if she wanted help getting back to bed.
"Shall I bring you a cup of tea? And please don't say 'don't go to any trouble.' "
With a tired smile, Phoebe nodded. "That would be wunderbaar, danki."
While the water for the tea heated Jenny rejoined Matthew at the table. Maybe she was going about this wrong, she thought.Maybe instead of waiting for Phoebe to get better she should be asking Matthew if he knew anything. There was just that small matter of her reading the letter, though.
She sighed. What a mess.
"Anything wrong?" Matthew asked her.
"No, why?" Another lie.
"You just seem . . . distracted."
"I'm just off my schedule." She fixed the tea, poured him a cup of coffee and set it before him, and then started out of the kitchen.
At the doorway she suddenly realized she'd left her journal and she glanced back. Matthew was looking at it thoughtfully as he reached for his coffee. Then he looked up and their eyes met. She'd left it out a couple of times and always felt safe and yet today she didn't feel comfortable doing so. But if she walked over and picked it up, wasn't she telling him she didn't trust him?
10
She didn't trust him.
Shocked, Matthew stared at the journal. He'd never had any desire to look at it or any other personal papers of hers. He'd always trusted her and thought she trusted him. What had happened to change that?
It didn't take her long to return.
"That was quick." He watched color rise in her cheeks.
"She was already asleep." She put the teacup in the sink, picked up the journal, and left the room.
He listened to her steps in their room overhead, and then heard her descending the stairs. When she returned, she pulled her coat from the peg by the door.
"Where are you going?"
"I promised Grossmudder I'd get her the quilt she was working on."
"Jenny, we need to talk," he said, pushing back from the table.
"I'll be home soon," she said.
She was out the door before he could respond.
He got up from the table and stood at the kitchen window, watching her hurry to the house next door.
The distance between them felt like it was growing by the moment and he didn't know how to fix it. Here he'd told himself it was because she was tired, overwhelmed by the responsibility of caring for her grandmother. He'd blamed it on her being a little depressed around her time of the month when she found out that once again she hadn't conceived.
But now he didn't know what was wrong or how to fix it. He was a simple man, a farmer who didn't have a lot of words, who relied on action to show how he felt. He'd thought he'd shown her he loved her, thought everything was fine, that she was happy here.
But maybe everything he'd thought was wrong. He was usually a pretty calm person, taking things as they came, secure in the belief that even when life looked confusing and a little worrisome that his God was in charge, that His will was in force, and all was well.
The split pea soup he'd eaten began churning in his gut. Turning, he picked up the bowl and set it in the sink. He poured another cup of coffee, glanced at the clock, and sat down. How long did it take to fetch a quilt?
Fifteen minutes later, he was still sitting there waiting for his wife to return. Sighing, he got up, put his cup in the sink, and reached for his jacket. He reasoned that if he was going to wait he might as well get something done in the barn.
He glanced over as he walked to the barn, wondering if Jenny saw that he was going there if she'd come home. No, he shouldn't think that way. That was just plain ridiculous. Things between them couldn't have gotten that bad that quickly.
Could they?
Jenny knocked on the front door, then opened it as she always did.
"It's Jenny," she called out.
She stepped inside, then stopped when she heard raised voices coming from the kitchen.
"When were you going to let us know? When the kid went off to college?"
"Lower your voice," Chris said. "Hannah needs her rest."
"I asked you a question," Chris's father said in a quieter voice.
"And I answered you. If you didn't come to the wedding who knew you'd be interested in a grandchild?"
"I explained why we didn't come."
"You hurt my wife's feelings!"
Feeling she was eavesdropping, Jenny turned to leave and ran into Chris's mom, Fern.
"They at it again?" she asked, smiling as she set her packages down on a table by the door. "They've been like this since Chris learned to talk. Come on," she said, slipping her arm through Jenny's, "Let's go in the kitchen and warm up with a cup of tea. Maybe they've woken up my daughter-in-law and she'll join us. How's your grandma?"
"Getting better," Jenny told her, surprised at the easy friendliness of the woman. William had been a little standoffish with her.
The men looked surprised when Jenny and Fern entered the kitchen.
"I knocked," Jenny said apologetically.
"I didn't hear you," Chris told her and he gave his father a meaningful look.
"What's all the fuss?" Hannah asked, yawning as she walked in. "I could hear you all the way upstairs." She turned to Jenny and hugged her. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I came over to get the quilt Grossmudder was sewing before she got sick."
"I'll get it for you in a minute," Hannah said. "Sit down, let's have a cup of tea."
"Exactly what I suggested," Fern told her, rubbing her hands together for warmth.
Jenny wanted to suggest that she would get the quilt but it was in her grandmother's room and that was where Chris's parents were staying. She supposed she shouldn't go in there now.
"How is she doing?" Chris wanted to know.
"Better. When she said she was missing her quilting I thought I'd get it to occupy her. Otherwise, before we know it she'll be trying to do housework."
Chris held out his hand to Hannah and she took it and let him lead her to a chair. "Did you get any rest at all?" he asked. "You weren't up there long."
She sat and sighed. "The baby doesn't let me get much these days."
Fern took the teakettle to the kitchen faucet and filled it. "Taking after his father, I imagine. Chris was a bundle of energy from the very beginning."
She turned to look quizzically at Hannah. "You two really don't want to know the sex of the baby until it arrives?"
"That's when we knew," William said, accepting a cup of coffee from his wife. "It was good enough for us back then."
"It just seems like such a nice surprise to find out when it's born," Hannah said, her smile dreamy as she looked up at Chris. "It's one thing to say that you don't care if it's a boy or girl as long as it's healthy but not knowing means you really do."
"Makes a lot of sense," William said gruffly, smiling slightly at Hannah.
Surprised at his softening toward his daughter-in-law, Jenny glanced at Chris and saw that he was looking askance at his father.
"Could I cook supper tonight to help out?" Fern asked as she sat next to Hannah.
"Oh, I'm fine. It wouldn't be right to have you cooking while you're visiting."
"We're family," Fern insisted gently. "When you come to our home, you can cook a meal for us."
She looked at her son. "I hope you'll bring Hannah for a visit there one day. Watch your son or daughter play in the fields where you played."
"Don't you remember, your son doesn't want any part of us or our farm?" William stood and stomped out of the room.
"He never changes, does he?" Chris asked his mother.
Sighing, Fern stood and patted her son's cheek. "Neither of you do," she said simply. "Neither of you do."
Bending, she kissed Hannah's cheek. "Don't you let it worry you," she told her. "Both of them have a bigger bark than they have a bite."
Hannah smiled. "I know they love each other."
She turned to Chris and held out her hand. "Here, help the whale up. I'm going to get that quilt for Jenny so she can get back to Phoebe."
And Matthew, thought Jenny suddenly, wishing she could find a way to delay going home.
Chris hoisted Hannah up out of the chair and kissed her cheek.
"You know," Fern said pensively as she stared at Hannah. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say I think you're going to have a girl."
Hannah stared at her abdomen then at her mother-in-law."Really? Why do you think that?"
"Because you're carrying high. I
f you carry high, you're having a girl and if you carry low, it's a boy."
When Hannah looked at her, Jenny lifted her shoulders and let them fall.
"I thought it was the opposite. I don't really know."
And I don't want to talk about this, Jenny wanted to say. But she didn't. Hannah had every right to talk twenty-four hours a day about her pregnancy if she wanted to. It was selfish of Jenny to want to avoid the subject.
"You could ask Leah. She says she's got a good prediction rate."
"I think it's a girl," Hannah said. "Chris says he doesn't care as long as it's healthy. If it's a girl, we're going to call her Lydia after his grandmother. If it's a boy, we'll call him Jonah, after my father."
Hannah started down the hall to Phoebe's bedroom and Jenny would have followed. But then she heard sniffling.
"You'd name the baby after my mother?" Fern whispered as her eyes filled.
Chris grinned. "As long as it's a girl."
Fern turned to look after Hannah. "Chris? When did you say she's due?"
"Not for another month. Why?"
"She's waddling."
"Ssh!" he hissed. "She could hear you. You heard her say she feels big as a whale."
"You don't understand. That's how you know a woman's getting near to delivery. The bones in her pelvis soften so she can have the baby easier."
Chris paled and sat down. "Really, Mom. Too much information."
But she didn't hear him. "I'm going to go talk to your father. We can stay at a motel if you can't put us up here. But I'm not leaving and missing out on my seeing my first grandchild when it's born."
She hurried out of the room.
"Another month of my father? I can't live through that, Jenny."
Then he brightened. "Wait a minute. Phoebe'll be well by then and she'll need her room back."
She wanted to argue with him but she wasn't so sure how she'd be getting along with her grandmother after they talked about the letter.
"Here's the quilt," Hannah said as she brought it to Jenny. "And her basket of supplies. Do you want Chris to help you carry it to your house?"
A Time for Peace Page 10