An Amish Homecoming

by Rosalind Lauer

  “I was awake. Who can sleep at nine o’clock at night?”

  “A lot of farm folk,” he said. From closer up, she could make out his handsome face and golden blond hair that hung in a fringe beneath his cap. “That’s why I come through at night. I can zip in and out without getting in the way of the workers or animals.”

  Serena walked along the shiny truck that was shaped like a silver flask on its side. “So this is your big ol’ truck?”

  “The tanker belongs to the company I work for. I collect milk and deliver it to the factory for processing.”

  “So you’re the driver?”

  “I am. And an accredited milk grader. We grade the milk before we pump it onto the truck.”

  “Really? So what kind of grade does Aunt Miriam and Uncle Alvin’s milk get? An A plus, I hope. Or are you a tough grader?”

  “I have my standards,” he said. “But it’s not like school. We see how it looks, check the temperature and smell. If it’s all good, I pump it into the truck and take it to the processing plant.”

  “But you drive the truck, so that means you’re normal, right? You’re not Amish.”

  “Normal?” He tipped his hat back, and she could see a flash of blue eyes. “I don’t know about that. But I’m definitely not Amish.”

  “So we’ve got that in common,” she said with a smile.

  “That we do. I was just about to start pumping. I’m done with the testing.” When he moved from the doorway into the light from the back of the truck, she saw that he had a nice face—friendly and open—with those gorgeous cornflower-blue eyes. He was so close she could have reached out and touched him, which might have been nice, except he was focused on something over her shoulder.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to get to the truck.”

  “Oh, sorry. Do whatever it is you do.” She stepped aside so that Scout could lean into the back of his truck, where there was an illuminated bay full of screens and dials, plastic boxes, and other gadgets. He worked there for a minute, then the truck gave a new groan, and the blue hose inflated, filling with milk.

  Okay, maybe it was a little more interesting than Serena had anticipated. She stood back and watched as Scout went into the barn for a quick check, then returned.

  “It only takes a few minutes. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

  “Are you kidding me? This is the most exciting thing that’s happened all day.”

  He chuckled. “So how long are you visiting for?”

  “Not sure.” She flipped one side of her hair back and shifted toward the back of the truck, hoping that the light would catch the highlights and make them shine like spun gold. “I might be staying for a few months, maybe a year. My sister needs the peace and quiet of a farm right now.” She gave a smirk, amazed at how quickly she’d concocted the half-truth. “It’s sort of her therapy.”

  “And you came along to be with her? That’s great. I’m sure she appreciates your love and support.”

  “I can’t even tell you,” she said, waving off the topic. “So Scout. Is that your real name?”

  “It is. My mother’s a big fan of To Kill a Mockingbird. You know the book?”

  The book read by every other student in Serena’s ninth-grade glass. She’d gotten bogged down in the section about the town of Mayberry or Maywood or whatever. Everyone had said she should see the movie, at least, but black-and-white movies were so depressing. “Everyone loves that story,” she said. “So you got a very special name out of it. I’ll bet your girlfriend appreciates that.”

  “Most girls liked Scout in the story. And I don’t have a girlfriend right now, if that was the question. I’m too busy with college. Classes start in two weeks. I also work as a volunteer firefighter, so yeah, I’ve got a lot going on.”

  “Fighting fires? That’s cool. And then you do this job at night? I’m honored that you have time to talk to me.”

  “There’s always time to talk to a nice person.”

  “Aw. You think I’m nice.” She gave his arm a playful nudge. “I got you fooled.”

  “I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

  “I bet you are.” Serena smiled up at him, so glad she’d been outside to see his truck roll in. Mom used to say that every raincloud had a silver lining. Maybe she’d found her silver lining.

  They chatted for a few more minutes, but all too soon the timer on the truck went off, and Scout had to disconnect the hose and pack up. The machine on his truck printed a receipt for Uncle Alvin, which he left tacked to a board in the barn.

  “I’d better get going. Need to stay on schedule, but it was nice to meet you, Serena.”

  “Same. So drive safe, and I’ll see you around. You said you come by every night?”

  “Every day or two.”

  “So maybe I’ll catch you next time.”

  He nodded. “Hope so.”

  “Later.” She smiled, and then turned away, pulling the lapels of the bolero jacket close against the night air. So, bad news? She was stuck here for who knew how long. Good news? She’d get to visit with this Scout guy just about every night. A new friend.

  Her silver lining. Her lifeline to the real world.

  Chapter Five

  Late Friday morning Essie was in the kitchen sterilizing her jars for when her friends and sisters would gather for the canning bee this afternoon. Two large pots were boiling half of the jars, while she washed the remainder in hot, soapy water, preparing them for their turn in boiling water. Steam rose from the sink, leaving a tinge of moisture on her face. Hot work, but better to get it done in the cooler time of day. Since she’d been a girl, Essie had found comfort in canning, capturing Gott’s summer bounty to enjoy throughout the year. Humming a tune, she had begun to place the rinsed jars on a clean tea towel when Serena appeared.

  “Good morning.” Still wearing her pretty white nightgown, Serena stretched and yawned. “Those bunk beds are pretty comfortable, but I had so much trouble falling asleep. I guess I’m just a night owl.”

  “I noticed,” Essie said. Last night when Serena woke her about someone stealing the cows, she’d been too tired to make much sense of it. But this morning, it had made her chuckle. How would a thief load cows into a milk truck? Serena had an active imagination.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “The boys are helping Dat make hay, and the girls are doing chores. Your sisters are out in the barn, mucking stalls with Annie.”

  “Aw. Am I missing something fun?”

  “Mucking a stall?” It wasn’t Essie’s favorite chore, by far. She always preferred to be in the house, cooking or baking. “You’ll get your chance,” Essie said, wiping her brow with the back of one hand. The boiling pots of water were creating a steam cloud, but the first batch of jars was almost done.

  “Before we leave, I want to learn how to milk a cow, too.”

  “No more hand milking, like when we were little. We use diesel-powered milking machines.”

  “Way to take the fun out of it,” Serena said, taking a seat at the table. “So what’s for breakfast? Do you have any eggs?”

  “We do, but the rest of us had breakfast hours ago.”

  “I’m so hungry. Could you make two, sunny-side up, please? With toast. And do you have coffee? I need my morning caffeine. Unless you have a yerba mate in the fridge. It’s so much healthier.”

  With pursed lips, Essie turned the fire off under the pots and scanned the countertop covered with glass jars and lids. Couldn’t Serena see that there was not a single inch of space on the kitchen counter or stove? “There’s no room to cook eggs right now. I’m sterilizing jars for the jamming bee this afternoon. Remember I mentioned it? We’re counting on your help.”

  “But I’m so hungry,” Serena whimpered, thrusting out her lower lip.

  Essie removed the coffeepot from the back burner and poured the dark liquid into a cup. “There’s cream in the fridge if you want, and sugar on the table. I’ll make eggs for you once I’m done, b
ut it’ll be close to lunchtime.”

  Just then the screen door creaked, and Miriam entered carrying a zucchini that had grown as big as a cat. “Look at this!” She held it up with a chuckle. “Everything in the garden is growing so fast. I’ve got a bin of vegetables on the porch, but I’ll leave them outside until you’re done with the jamming, Essie.”

  “That is so cool. Wait. Let me get a picture.” Serena tapped her cell phone a few times and then pointed it toward Miriam.

  “Just the zucchini,” Mem said. “We don’t want to be in photos. Don’t want to encourage self-pride or vanity.”

  “No photos! That would kill me,” Serena said, snapping the picture.

  “Do you think it will be too dry to eat?” Essie asked, nodding at the huge vegetable.

  “It will be fine if we shred it into muffins or bread.” She smiled at Serena. “You missed the morning, sleepyhead.”

  “I was tired, but now I’m starving. Would you make me eggs, Aunt Miriam? Please?”

  “I will show you how to make your own breakfast when you’ve slept late.” Miriam opened a cupboard and tapped one finger against the clear plastic bins. “This one is granola, and this is cornflakes, I think. The milk is in the refrigerator, and the bowls are over on those shelves.”

  “What? No. I hate cereal.”

  “We’ll be eating lunch in an hour or so. Ham salad sandwiches and fruit salad.”

  Serena got up with a sigh. “I guess I’ll wait. But wow. I’m probably going to lose a zillion pounds while I’m here.” She added some milk to her coffee and went out the door to the porch.

  Essie felt relieved to see her go. It wasn’t easy having the three cousins arrive out of nowhere, making more mouths to feed, more laundry, more work. Not to mention Serena’s manners, sweet-talking Harlan for much of last night, and eating the last piece of cake when it was Essie’s birthday.

  As Mem tidied the kitchen, Essie longed to share her concerns. The cousins were already straining Essie’s patience. Instead of enjoying carefree conversation and laughter with her friends at today’s jamming bee, Essie would need to include the three English girls. And Mem had asked that the three girls be included in an upcoming youth outing. Essie wished the best for her cousins, who had suffered, losing their mother. She wanted them to be healthy and happy. But why did they have to search for happiness and a stable life here in Joyful River?

  They needed to find their own joy back in Philadelphia, where they fit in with the city and the people. That would be the perfect fix.

  * * *

  Hours later, the outdoor picnic tables were covered in buckets of bright red berries soaking in water. The girls were gathered round to pull the little green crown off each strawberry fresh picked from the berry patch.

  It was the first time Essie had been able to invite her friends over to help, and their light conversation and amusing stories had made the berry picking seem like a party. Annie and Lizzie seemed to know the sweetest spots of the berry patch, and Megan and Grace quietly followed instructions. Serena had a lot to say about everything, and though her voice was beginning to wear on Essie like a tree branch tap-tap-tapping against a window in a storm, Essie could tell that she was trying to be nice.

  * * *

  They had already cleaned gallons of berries—enough to start two pots on the stove—and Essie made sure to measure out four cups of sugar and the right amount of fresh lemon juice for every four cups of mashed berries. Now that she had two pots going, she had to flit inside and out like a butterfly in springtime. It was up to her to keep the girls hulling the berries, up to her to make sure the preserves didn’t boil over. She had to stay on her toes, but she was happiest that way.

  “Where are all the boys?” Serena asked. “Why aren’t they helping us?”

  “They’ve been helping Dat make hay,” Lizzie said. “It’s hot work, but I like to ride the cart when they let me. At the end of the day, you get to cool off in the river.”

  “So the boys do men’s work and the girls do the cooking,” Grace said. “It’s kind of sexist.”

  “What is sexist?” Lizzie asked as she deftly used one finger to poke and pull the stem and greens out of one strawberry after another.

  “When boys have to do one thing and girls have to do something else,” Grace explained.

  Lizzie’s mouth twisted around in confusion as she gave a shrug.

  She doesn’t understand, thought Essie, annoyed that her cousins were trying to fill the heads of her family and friends with things that just didn’t make sense. Essie was happy to be a woman and leave certain tasks to the men. It had always been that way, and it was a comfortable part of her world.

  “Never mind that,” Essie told her little sister. “We’re almost finished hulling the berries. Why don’t you go inside and get our snack? The Rice Krispies treats on the counter.”

  Lizzie nodded eagerly and jumped off the picnic table bench.

  “We’re getting to the end of the buckets,” Laura said, pushing the last of the berries out to be hulled.

  “So many hands make quick work,” Essie said. “As soon as these are done, we’ll take a little break. The jam on the stove should be about done. I’ll check it one last time.”

  Inside the kitchen, Lizzie smiled over the plate of marshmallow treats.

  “Take them outside,” Essie said. “And I’ll bring the lemonade.”

  Leaning over the stove, she moved a spoon through the liquid, which looked about right. She took a frozen dinner plate from the freezer, spread some jam on the center, and ran a spoon through it. The indentation remained. It was ready to set up.

  She removed the two pots from the stove, set them aside to let them cool, and brought the lemonade outside. As she poured drinks for everyone and passed around the treats, the conversation was about boyfriends.

  “My boyfriend was heartbroken that I had to come here,” Serena said. “He’ll be lost without me.”

  “He’s sort of lost with you,” Megan said.

  “You’re always so mean to Jigger,” Serena said. “Sometimes I think you’re jealous.”

  “Not I. You can keep that bad boy to yourself.”

  “So what’s dating like when you’re Amish?” Serena asked. “Are you girls hooked up?”

  The stone-cold response from Laura, Sadie, and Essie prompted Megan to smack her sister in the arm. “They don’t know what you’re talking about,” Megan said. “What she means is, do you have a boyfriend? A special guy.”

  “I’ve been courting Mark Miller for three years now,” Sadie said.

  “What’s Mark like?” Serena asked. “Is he a strapping, strong young man?”

  “He’s . . .” At a loss for words, Sadie turned to Essie. “He’s handsome.”

  “He works at the auction house,” Essie said. “And they’ve known each other forever.”

  “Childhood sweetheart.” Serena nodded. “That’s sweet. How about you, Laura? You got a guy?”

  “I don’t have a special friend,” Laura said, “but during rumspringa, some girls go with many different guys. Better to sample all the ice cream flavors before you decide,” she said with a teasing smile.

  “Well, look at you, playing the field,” Serena said.

  “What’s rumspringa?” Grace asked.

  “It means running around,” Essie said. “It’s a thing that happens when most kids turn sixteen. The parents give teens freedom so they can try different things. This way, the teen learns whether he or she wants to get baptized and live Amish.”

  “Cool.” Grace lifted her lemonade glass with a grin. “I’m almost old enough for rumspringa. I’m ready.”

  “Running around is overrated,” Megan said. “Take it from your older sisters, who did more than our fair share. That’s why we’re here, to straighten up and fly right.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Serena said. “I’m just here to keep the sisterhood together.”

  “Denial.” Megan shook her head. “It’s a fami
ly thing.”

  “Anyone want another Rice Krispies treat?” offered Essie. Her friends seemed to be amused by her cousins, but Essie didn’t appreciate such frank talk. She believed that matters of love were personal, to be cherished in the heart, not tossed about like a lunch salad.

  “You haven’t told us about your relationship with Harlan, Essie.” Serena popped a berry in her mouth and smiled. “You guys seem pretty serious. Have you been together long?”

  “Two years. He’s been my, my boyfriend for two years.”

  “But Essie has had her eye on Harlan since we were girls in school,” Laura said.

  “We were friends, and he was around our house, helping Dat with the farm,” Essie said, not wanting anyone to take away the innocence of those times. How she’d admired him so, always positive, always offering a helping hand or a smile, despite the sorrow nipping at his heels. Harlan had been working odd jobs from the age of eleven, when his father Jed had up and left home, leaving Harlan and his mem and sister with nothing more than Collette Yoder’s wage from Smitty’s Pretzel Factory. Harlan had still been in school, but he’d been put to work weekends and afternoons in nearby farms. At the Lapp dairy farm, Dat had appreciated Harlan’s hard work.

  Countless times when Harlan had helped her carry a bucket or basket or hitch up a horse and buggy, Essie had seen something in Harlan that wasn’t apparent in other boys their age. A good and true heart. Most of his days now were spent working at the Amish furniture factory, where he built things like bed frames and desks, hoping to be taken under the wing of one of the experienced carpenters. In his spare time, he was a reliable hired hand for farmers. He wasn’t one to monkey around in the haymow or wrestle other boys to the ground to prove his might. He was a hardworking fellow who did the right thing.

  “That Harlan is always working,” Laura said. “Sometimes I wish he’d slack off a little and have some fun with the rest of us.”

  “You know Harlan doesn’t have two parents to give him a roof over his head,” Essie said. “If you had to support your mem and sister, you’d be having a lot less fun, too.”