by Emma Miller
“Other than that, you’re satisfied with my housekeeping and looking after Amelia?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Let’s give each other a little more time.” He patted Amelia on the head. “Be a good girl for Rebecca, pumpkin.”
“Dat!” She giggled so hard that her nose wrinkled. “I’m not a pumpkin. I’m a girl.”
“And a good thing, too, or Rebecca might be baking you into a pie.” He tickled her belly.
And with that, Caleb was out of the house, leaving Rebecca confused and frustrated. What had just happened? He’d been so warm and friendly with her that she’d thought that everything was all right between them. And then he’d turned cold on her again.
She didn’t know what to think, and she wished that she could talk the problem over with her mother or one of her sisters. One of the best things about having such a large family was that there was always someone to listen to you and share both good times and bad. But where Caleb was concerned, it didn’t feel right. She was oddly reluctant to bring someone else, even someone she loved and trusted, into her confidence. Whether she kept the job or not, it was up to her to mend the breach with Caleb. The question was, how was she to do it?
“Rebecca. I’m hungry. I want pancakes.”
“All right, pancakes it is,” she agreed. “But we have no blueberries. I can make apple and cinnamon, if you like.”
“Ya!” Amelia clapped her hands. “Apple.”
Rebecca smiled to herself as she pulled out a mixing bowl, spoon, measuring cups and ingredients. Everyone in the community thought that Amelia was a problem child, but Rebecca felt that the problem lay with her father, the troublesome new preacher.
* * *
The week passed quietly for Caleb. When he’d met on Friday evening with Bishop Atlee, Deacon Samuel Mast and Reuben, he’d told them, “On Sunday, I raised my voice in anger to a young woman who’d done nothing wrong. I know that some of the congregation couldn’t help but hear my foolish outburst. I think you should consider if my lapse in judgment is reason to dismiss me from my position as preacher.”
For a moment, there’d been silence, and then Samuel laughed. “We’re all as human as you,” he had admitted. “And as likely to wade into muddy water when it comes to children’s quarrels.”
“Best to leave such matters to the women,” Bishop Atlee had said.
“But as Amelia’s father, isn’t the responsibility mine?”
The bishop had stroked his gray beard thoughtfully. “And a heavy burden it must be for a man alone.”
“Which is why you should find a wife,” Reuben had advised.
“The sooner, the better.” Samuel had leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I was widowed and left with young children, too, and the Lord led me to a good woman. The only regret that I have is that I didn’t ask her to marry me sooner.”
Samuel’s words echoed in Caleb’s head now, as he rode in his buggy to Hannah Yoder’s farm. Rebecca had invited Amelia to have supper with her family and had taken her home with her in the afternoon. It worked out for the best because Caleb had been unsure how long it would take to go over the church business, and he didn’t want Rebecca to be out late. It would be simpler to carry a sleeping child home in his buggy than to worry about getting Rebecca home safely.
She met him at the back door and urged him to come in. “We have fresh coffee and apple-cranberry pie,” she said.
“I thought I’d just pick up Amelia and—”
“Don’t tell me that you don’t have time for a slice of pie.” Rebecca rested one hand on her hip.
He was about to refuse when his stomach betrayed him by rumbling. Pie was his weakness, and he hadn’t had time to make himself anything substantial for supper before the meeting.
Stepping into the kitchen, he glanced around for Amelia. He didn’t see her, but his gaze fell on the pie. The crust was brown and flaky, and it was impossible to draw a breath without inhaling the wonderful scents of apple, nutmeg and cinnamon.
“Irwin churned ice cream tonight for the children. There’s plenty left.” Rebecca motioned toward the table, poured him a mug of coffee and began cutting the pie. “Ice cream on top?”
Caleb groaned an assent, and in what seemed like seconds, he’d shrugged out of his jacket and a large slice of pie covered in a mound of vanilla ice cream had appeared in front of him.
Rebecca picked up a ball of yarn and two knitting needles and settled into a rocking chair near the window. She didn’t speak, and the only sounds in the kitchen were the warm crackle from the woodstove, the tick of a mantel clock and the click of her needles. She didn’t launch into chatter as she usually did mornings and evenings at his house, but only rocked and concentrated on the scarf she was constructing.
The chair Caleb sat in at the head of the table was big and comfortable. The coffee was strong, and the pie the best he’d ever tasted. He hadn’t sat down all day, and it felt good to relax in this warm, cozy kitchen, knowing that he’d put in a good day’s work. If next week went as well, he was certain he could finish the contract on time.
Caleb pushed a forkful of pie into his mouth, thinking he shouldn’t stay long. “Is Amelia ready?”
Rebecca looked up and smiled. “She’s asleep. I tucked her in with Johanna’s Katy, who is spending the night. The two girls had a great time putting together a puzzle and playing Go Fish. That was all right, wasn’t it? To let her play the card game?” Old Amish didn’t play adult card games that involved betting, but in most families, simple games were acceptable.
“Go Fish.” He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
“I can go get Amelia if you’d like, but I was hoping you’d let her sleep over tonight. She wanted me to ask you. Johanna and Roland are picking Katy up in the morning after breakfast and they could drop Amelia off with you. Or I could take her with me to Ruth’s. We’re going to make applesauce. That way, if you want to go to the shop for a few hours...”
Caleb considered. He usually worked around the farm on Saturday, but an extra half day would certainly make his deadline more doable. “If you’re sure that it’s no trouble,” he said. “I’ll pay you extra.”
“Ne.” Rebecca shook her head and rose gracefully from the chair. “I invited her. Another slice of pie?”
He glanced down, surprised to see that only crumbs remained on the plate. He went to hand it to Rebecca just as she reached for it, and their fingers accidently brushed each other. A tremor of sensation ran up his forearm and he inhaled sharply. Instantly he felt his throat flush. “No need,” he stammered.
But she was already across the room and cutting more pie. Had she even noticed his touch? Caleb picked up the mug and downed a swallow of coffee to cover his confusion. He couldn’t decide if this was way too comfortable or too uncomfortable. Somehow, he felt an invisible line had been crossed.
“Amelia can spend the night—since she’s already asleep.” He rose, feeling awkward. “I’ll be on my way.”
“But your pie?” She indicated the slice she’d just cut.
“I’ve had plenty.” He grabbed his jacket and started for the door. “It was good. The pie. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She followed him to the porch.
“Send Amelia home with Roland and Johanna. No need for you to care for her on your weekend.”
“As you like,” Rebecca answered from the back door. “But I wish you’d take part of this pie home for breakfast.”
“I told you,” he said from the porch. “I’ve had enough.”
“Good night, Caleb.”
He heard the door close behind him and went down the steps. In the middle of the dark farmyard, he stopped and took a deep breath. It had been nice sitting in the warm, cozy kitchen with Rebecca, having pie, listening to her knitting needles click.
Was Samu
el right? Should he start thinking about finding a wife and a mother for Amelia?
As he unhitched his horse from the hitching post, he thought about the fact that his first instinct concerning Rebecca Yoder was that she wouldn’t be an appropriate housekeeper and childcare provider. He should have listened to common sense.
Originally, he’d thought she was the wrong woman because of her age. He had assumed that she didn’t have enough experience caring for children. At least not with a child like Amelia. He’d been right about her being the wrong one to have in his house, but maybe for the wrong reason.
Rebecca was the wrong woman to be his housekeeper because she was too...pretty. Too lively. She was...too...too much.
It had been a bad idea from the first day. What business did a respectable preacher have employing a single woman...one as pretty as Rebecca? If people weren’t talking yet, they would be soon. Samuel was married to one of Rebecca’s sisters. Had he been hinting that gossip was already circulating about Rebecca?
Did she have to go?
Of course, if he was going to go to the older women in the community and tell them he needed a different housekeeper, he’d need to give them a reason. Rebecca was an excellent housekeeper. He couldn’t deny that any more than he could deny that Amelia liked her, and the child’s behavior was improving under Rebecca’s tutelage. What would he say to the women of the community?
That he was afraid that he could possibly be attracted to her? He couldn’t do that. It would be completely inappropriate. He wasn’t even sure it was true.
Caleb climbed up into the buggy. The one thing he did know to be true was that something had to be done about Rebecca Yoder.
Chapter Seven
“First breakfast, and then I’m sure Susanna will take you, Katy and Mae out to her library and let the three of you look at the children’s books.” Rebecca motioned for Amelia to take her place at the table between the other two girls.
She scrambled up into the chair, and after a burst of small female greetings and chatter, the little girls closed their eyes for a few seconds of silent grace. Once the blessing had been asked, Rebecca handed each an apple-walnut muffin, a cup of milk and sections of tangerines. “Now, who wants oatmeal?” Rebecca asked. “Mam made it this morning before she went to school.”
Caleb had driven over in the buggy to drop his daughter off at the Yoder house this morning, a Wednesday, more than two weeks after the misunderstanding with Rebecca. Rebecca knew that pride was a fault, but she couldn’t help being pleased with the little girl. Over the past weeks, she had come to adore Amelia. The child could be spirited, sometimes even naughty, but she had a loving heart, and she could be extremely helpful when she wanted to be. It was natural that a child raised without a mother could be difficult at times; all Amelia needed was a gentle but firm woman’s guidance.
And...if Rebecca was absolutely honest with herself, she had to admit that she liked working for Caleb. Since he’d apologized for being cross with her the day Amelia pushed Mae off the step, he had been nothing but kind and pleasant. He had done as he’d said he would—he’d told other members of the community, including her mother, that he’d made a mistake in judgment and that he’d been hasty with Rebecca.
She’d been a little embarrassed that the whole incident hadn’t been dropped. But at the same time, it pleased her that Caleb was true to his word, even if it meant taking public blame—something not all men were willing to do. Seeing what a good father he was and how seriously he took his church responsibilities made her admire Caleb’s character even more.
Despite their awkward beginning—when he’d unnecessarily come to her rescue that evening in his barn loft—Rebecca was glad that she hadn’t heeded her friends’ warnings about how difficult Caleb and Amelia were. Mam was right. It was always better to form your own opinions and not listen to other people—especially when they had something unkind to say about strangers.
“Becca!” Susanna tugged at her arm. “You are not a good listener.”
“Ach, I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.” Rebecca glanced down at her sister. “What is it, honey?”
Something had clearly upset Susanna. Her nose and cheeks were red, and her forehead was creased in a frown. “Listen to me, Becca. I said I don’t want to take the kinner out to my library.”
Surprised at such an unusual declaration from Susanna, who was always so willing to help, Rebecca stared at her in confusion. “You don’t?”
“Don’t want to read books,” Susanna said adamantly. “Don’t want to watch Mae, Katy and Amelia.”
“But you love taking care of the library.” Anna poured milk on Amelia’s oatmeal and sprinkled raisins and bits of chopped apple on top. “And it’s your responsibility.”
“The girls want to take home books,” Rebecca reminded her. “Don’t you want to show them—”
“Ne,” Susanna cut her off. “I want to make applesauce with you.”
At a loss for words, Rebecca glanced up. Ruth, Miriam, Anna and Johanna were all looking at Susanna, too. They’d joined her in Mam’s kitchen this morning to make applesauce and can it for the five households. Usually, Mam was in the center of applesauce production, but this was a school day. The sisters had planned to take on the task as a surprise and finish before Mam arrived home. Naturally, Ruth, Johanna and Anna had brought their children—the babies and those too young for school—and everyone had expected Susanna to entertain the little girls, as she always did. Small babies were easy to feed and tuck into cradles, cribs and bassinets, but active four-and five-year-olds could pose problems during the canning process if they weren’t kept safely occupied.
“We were counting on you.” Ruth smiled at Susanna. “You know you love the girls.”
“Ya.” Susanna nodded her head firmly. “Love the girls, but want to make applesauce. Today. For King David.”
Susanna’s speech was sometimes difficult for strangers to understand because she had Down syndrome. It was especially hard to follow her when she switched back and forth between Deitsch and English indiscriminately, but Rebecca had no trouble interpreting her little sister’s meaning. Most of the time, Susanna was sweet-natured and biddable, but when she made up her mind to do something, she proved she was a Yoder. Susanna could be as stubborn and unmovable as Johanna.
Rebecca looked at Anna, who just shrugged.
“Susanna wants to make applesauce.” Miriam chuckled. “So I guess we go to plan B and let her help.”
“Me, too,” Mae piped up from the table. “I want to make applesauce.”
Katy chimed in. “And me! I can help!”
“I can, too.” Oatmeal dribbled from Amelia’s mouth.
Rebecca grabbed a napkin and wiped Amelia’s chin. Amelia slid down from her chair, and Rebecca leaned over and gave her a hug. When Amelia’s arms tightened around her neck, Rebecca felt a catch of emotion in her chest. She was making real progress with Amelia. She knew she was.
“I can help,” Katy repeated.
“We’re happy that you all want to be big helpers,” Anna assured them with a motherly smile. “But you can help most now by finishing your breakfast so we can clear away the dishes.” Seemingly mollified, at least for the moment, Amelia returned to her seat and the children went back to eating.
Ruth took Susanna’s hand and turned it over to show a Band-Aid. “Remember what happened when you were peeling potatoes Saturday? You cut yourself. One time you cut your hand so badly that you had to go to the hospital for stitches. That’s why Mam would rather you didn’t use sharp paring knives.”
“We love you,” Johanna put in. “We don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“You can help us, if you want,” Anna soothed. “You can wash the apples and jars and—”
“I want to peel apples,” Susanna insisted. “Me. Make applesauce for King Dav
id. He likes applesauce. With cimmanon.”
Miriam rolled her eyes.
Rebecca sighed. The family had thought that Susanna’s innocent infatuation with David King, a young man who also had Down syndrome, would pass. But to Mam’s distress, and all of the sisters, it showed no signs of going away.
Amish girls grew to women and married and had families of their own. That was the way it had always been. But because sweet Susanna had been born with Down syndrome, in many ways, she would always remain a child. There would be no husband for Susanna. She would never have her own family. Her family would always be those who loved her most: her mother, her sisters and brothers-in-law, her aunts and grandmother and her nieces and nephews. Through the years, Mam had tried to explain this to Susanna, but she never understood.
The family had always cherished Susanna. Their father had called her their special blessing. If there were things Susanna couldn’t do—like using sharp tools or driving a horse and buggy—God had given her special gifts. Susanna could see clearly into the hearts of others, and she possessed endless patience and compassion.
Susanna had a tender understanding of children and animals, and she seemed to possess her own store of sunshine that she carried with her. Just being near Susanna and seeing her joy in everyday things made other people happier. In Rebecca’s mind, Dat had been right. Susanna was not only one of God’s chosen; she was a blessing to the family because they all learned so much by knowing her.
For all those reasons and a hundred more, none of them wanted to deny her the pleasure of helping in the daily household tasks. She could help in making applesauce as she helped Mam in the garden and kitchen, as she helped at community gatherings. But there were things that weren’t safe for Susanna to attempt, one of which had proved to be cutting or peeling. And, until recently, Susanna had seemed to accept those limitations.
But today, apparently, was going to be different. Susanna’s lower lip stuck out. She folded her chubby arms and stamped her foot. “I want to peel apples,” she said.