“We’re so glad you’re home, Everett.” Mamm put another helping of sweet potatoes on his plate, next to the one he hadn’t finished. “We’ve missed you so much. Haven’t we, Steven?”
His father didn’t look up as he scraped the side of his spoon across his plate.
“You know he’s a mann of few words.” Mamm pressed her lips together as she took a sip of iced tea.
That was true, but once Everett had seen his father, he knew only one of his parents was glad he’d returned home. If his father didn’t want him here, though, why had his mother thought he did? While he’d kept up correspondence with her over the years, and she’d been to visit him in Shipshe, he hadn’t spoken with his father or exchanged a single letter with him. Daed and Jemima were neck and neck when it came to holding grudges, although Everett had to admit he was deserving in both cases. But in both cases, he wasn’t the only guilty party.
“Would you like some more rolls?” Mamm said, holding up the basket.
Everett pointed to the two rolls already on his plate. “These are enough, but danki.” As usual, she’d made more food than three people could eat. She’d always made more food than needed, having been raised in a large family. He knew Mamm had wanted one of her own, but God had other plans, as she always said, and Everett was his parents’ only child. And then I left them. He’d had a good reason, but the guilt had never completely gone away. He’d especially felt it when he saw other families together in the district where he lived in Shipshe.
“What are yer plans now that you’re home?” Mamm asked, setting the basket next to her plate.
“To work. To get a job.”
Both she and his father stared at him. Then his daed picked up his plate and stood. He put the dish in the sink and then strode out of the kitchen. They heard the back door shut.
“Didn’t take long for him to get mad at me.” Everett tore a chunk off one of the rolls and jammed it into his mouth.
“He’s not mad.” But his mother’s mouth was tugged into a frown, and she didn’t look at him. “He’s, um, surprised you’re here.”
Everett swallowed and then frowned too. “Surprised? You didn’t tell him I was coming?”
She lifted her gaze partway. “Not exactly.”
“Why not?”
Mamm pushed her plate of half-eaten food away, something she never did. “I was waiting for the right time.”
“You told me he wanted me to come home.” He clenched his napkin in his fist.
She sighed. “I might have overstated that a bit. Everett, how are you and yer daed ever going to reconcile if you don’t talk to each other?”
“So that’s what this is all about.” He tossed the napkin back on the table. “I can’t believe you lied to me, Mamm.”
Wringing her hands, she said, “Don’t be upset.”
He paused, then blew out a breath. “I’m not.” That wasn’t true. He just didn’t want to upset her more than she already was. Then he noticed tears filling her eyes. Too late.
“Did you come back only because I begged you to?” Her hands were tightly clasped together now.
His heart squeezed, and he shook his head. “Nee. That’s not the only reason. I wanted to see you. You know I’ve missed you.”
“Not enough to come home.”
“There wasn’t anything for me here,” Everett said, a lump in his throat. At least there hadn’t been, not for a long time.
“Except yer familye.”
But their family was almost nonexistent. Unlike other Amish families, the Wengerds didn’t have a network of aunts, uncles, and cousins to depend on. His parents were in their sixties, and they were both the youngest in their families. All their siblings had died or moved away to live with their children. The Amish were more mobile now because of farmland prices and job opportunities. But his parents were firmly planted in Middlefield. They had found the family they wanted and needed through their community, even if that family wasn’t biological.
He knew what his mother meant, though—his parents were his family. And he loved them, even his father. But he hadn’t been back in Middlefield for more than an hour before he realized nothing had changed. Jemima was still mad at him, and his father was still resentful. What am I doing here, Lord?
“I made yer favorite dessert.” Mamm jumped up and hurried to the counter. She was thin, wiry, and full of energy, rarely sitting still. She turned and held a plate with a cake cover over it. Smiling, she brought it to the table.
Everett’s emotions tempered. He loved his mother, and she was trying so hard to make things right with him and Daed. Even through her cheery expression, he could see the strain on her face, and he didn’t want to be the reason for it. He grinned and rubbed his palms together, the way he had when he was a kid and she baked something special for him. “I wonder what it could be.”
“Triple chocolate cake!” She pulled off the cake cover to reveal a perfect chocolate Bundt cake. Definitely his favorite.
“Danki, Mamm.” He got up from his chair and gave her a tight hug. “For everything.”
She hugged him back, and he heard her sniff. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
He pulled away and sat down. As his mother got a knife to cut the cake, he figured he’d hear her say that several more times this week, and he was fine with that. At least somebody wanted him here, and now that he was home, he realized how much he’d missed his mother. He’d hurt her when he left, but she still supported him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hurt her again.
She had just started to cut the cake when they heard a knock on the front door of the small house. He looked up at her. “Are you expecting someone?”
Mamm shook her head. “Maybe yer daed is, but I think he went to the barn.”
Everett was sure he had. The barn was his father’s place to escape, and when he was troubled, he would sit on a hay bale in the back and whittle. He’d taught Everett how to whittle when he was little, something Everett hadn’t done in a long time.
Mamm started to set down the knife, but Everett held up his hand. “I’ll get it.” She nodded and continued to cut the cake as he stood. Once in the living room, he opened the front door, and his jaw dropped when he saw Jemima standing there.
“This is yers.” She set a suitcase on the threshold. “Now give me mine.”
When she was snippy like this, he wondered how he’d ever found her attractive. “Our suitcases got mixed up?”
“Ya. I’ll wait for mine here.”
“Who is it, Everett?” Mamm stepped into the room and then halted, obviously surprised. “Jemima! I didn’t know you were back from Maine.”
Jemima nodded and smiled. “I arrived just a little while ago.”
Mamm came closer. “How’s Julia faring? She must be better.”
“She’s doing well. She’s still a little weak, but she’s back taking care of her familye. You know how stubborn she can be.”
Everett believed stubbornness ran in the Kurtz family.
“I was willing to stay a little while longer,” Jemima continued, “but she insisted I come home.”
“You were there for almost a year,” Mamm said.
A year? That was a long time to care for her sister. Everett hadn’t realized how ill Julia had been. Thank God she’d survived her illness.
“Don’t just stand there, Jemima.” Mamm waved her hand. “Come in. I was just cutting some triple chocolate cake.” Her eyes twinkled. “I remember how much you liked it.”
Jemima’s mouth formed an O, and for the first time since he’d seen her again, she looked uncertain. Jemima and Mamm had been close at one time, and he could tell his mother really wanted her to stay.
Apparently, Jemima did, too, because to his surprise she said, “Okay.”
“I’ll get yer suitcase,” he said. “It’s in mei room.”
But she was already following Mamm to the kitchen as if they were still close friends. As if they were almost mother and daughter.
At one time, they almost had been.
Chapter 3
Jemima forced herself to take a bite of the moist cake in front of her. Lucy had given her a huge piece, not a surprise since the older woman was well-known for her overcooking and large portions. She did love Lucy’s triple chocolate cake, and normally she would have dived in. But her stomach was turning too much to enjoy it.
“Imagine that, you and Everett having the same suitcase.” Lucy chuckled as she cleared some dishes from the table.
Realizing they’d just had supper, Jemima stood. “May I help you clean up?”
“Nee, I’ve got it. But danki. You’ve always been so thoughtful.”
Jemima lowered herself back into her chair as Lucy turned from the sink and walked back to the table.
When Everett came in, he glanced at the piece of cake next to hers, and Jemima realized his mother had seated her next to him. The sweet woman had a sneaky side to her.
Everett sat down and tucked into his cake as if they had all gone back in time to when everything was happy and normal between them—more than ten years ago. Her stomach turned again.
“Not hungry?” Everett pointed at her piece with his fork.
“Not really. I just ate.” That wasn’t true, though. As soon as she realized the suitcases had been mixed up, she’d taken the family buggy over here, telling her parents she had to see a friend. She didn’t want Everett’s belongings at her house any longer than necessary, and fortunately, her parents hadn’t questioned her about which friend or why.
Her eyes widened as she stared at her plate. Everett acted like the mix-up was a surprise to him, but had he looked inside her suitcase? Had he riffled through her clothes . . . her unmentionables? Her cheeks heated at the horrendous thought.
“Don’t be shy, Jemima.” Lucy sat down at the table in front of her own piece of cake. “Dig in.”
She picked up her fork and sliced off a small amount, then took the bite. Oh, this was as good as she remembered. She had avoided eating this cake at gatherings whenever Lucy brought it. It stirred up too many memories, not to mention the cake had a lot of calories. She frowned. Had she really forgone this dessert for a full decade? Because of Everett? She started to gobble up the cake, feeling ridiculous for denying herself anything on account of him.
“Slow down, Jemima,” Everett said.
She rolled her eyes at him and shoveled another large bite into her mouth. Then she swallowed . . . and the cake lodged in her throat. She reached for the first drink she saw in front of her, a half-full glass of tea, but she couldn’t get a breath.
“Jemima?” Lucy said, her eyes growing wide with alarm. “Everett, I think she’s choking.”
He rose and put his arms around her waist, lifting her from the chair like she was a rag doll. Trying hard to breathe, she barely felt his arms encircle her body under her ribs and yank upward.
A ball of chocolate flew out of her mouth and dropped onto the table. She gulped in air, her eyes watering. Her legs weak, she leaned against him as he continued to hold her up.
“Are you okay?”
Everett’s voice was low in her ear, and for a split second she relaxed, feeling safe and cared for. The way he used to make her feel. Then she came to her senses and jumped away from him. “I’m fine,” she croaked.
“Goodness, I didn’t know someone could choke on chocolate cake,” Lucy said.
“You can if you shovel it in like a bulldozer.”
Jemima shot a look at Everett. He may have just saved her life, but he was still a jerk. Then she saw his mouth twitch, which irritated her even more. How dare he tease her? She’d never minded his teasing in the past, but now she wanted to dump the rest of her cake on his head.
Lucy handed her a napkin and led her back to her seat. “Can I get you a drink?”
“She already grabbed mine,” Everett said, the teasing glint in his eye gone. “She can have it.” He glanced at her, then added, “I’ll put yer suitcase in yer buggy.”
“That’s a great idea.” Lucy dabbed at Jemima’s forehead with a napkin.
Her anger at Everett subsiding, Jemima wanted to crawl under the table. She’d never been so embarrassed, and she didn’t want Lucy hovering over her. “I should get going,” she said, her voice raspy.
“Do you want me to wrap up the rest of yer cake?” Lucy asked.
“Nee.” She didn’t want to see another triple chocolate cake for the rest of her life. She got up from the table.
“All right, dear.” Lucy looked up at her, worry still evident in her eyes. “It was nice to have you over again.”
Jemima forced a small smile. What Everett did wasn’t Lucy’s fault. “Danki. It’s nice to see you too.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Lucy called as Jemima left the kitchen.
When she went outside, she found Everett patting her father’s horse. She hurried to the buggy, stopping halfway to clear her throat, both guilt and dread slamming her. She at least owed him a thank-you, even though all she wanted was to race away from him. “Danki,” she said quickly, climbing into the buggy.
“For saving yer life?”
Of course, he had to rub it in. “Ya. For saving mei life.”
“You know what this means?” he said with a lackadaisical tone as he stepped backward, still facing her.
“What?” she asked, even though she knew she should ignore him.
“It means you owe me one.” Then he turned and sauntered toward the house. He never looked back as he pushed open the door and went inside.
She rested her forehead against the heel of her hand. She’d said thank you. What else did he want? He didn’t want you enough to stay. The resentment burned inside her, and she snatched up the reins. He could say whatever he wanted. She knew the truth. She didn’t owe him anything.
* * *
Everett exited the house through the back door and headed to the barn. Its door was wide open. His father hadn’t come out, even though he’d surely heard a buggy arrive and leave. That wasn’t a good sign. But at that moment his mind wasn’t on his father. He’d panicked when he saw Jemima choking on that piece of cake, and he was glad he knew the Heimlich maneuver, having learned it in a Saturday CPR class he’d taken on a whim a few years ago. Once he knew she was safe, he couldn’t help but tease her, like he used to when they were together. But he’d immediately regretted doing it.
Ten years ago, she would have sparred with him, a game they both enjoyed. When she was away from her family, she’d been able to relax and joke with him. But he’d fallen into that old habit without realizing it, and that had been a mistake. Even though it was dark out by the buggy and he couldn’t see her expression very well, he could tell she was still angry.
He paused before entering the barn, then crossed the threshold. He stopped, listening to the breathing of his parents’ new horse—at least new to him. Earlier that year Mamm had written that their old horse, Faithful, had passed away, and Everett had grieved for him. He’d known the horse his entire life, and oddly enough, Faithful’s death caused him to reevaluate some things. He hadn’t returned to Middlefield only to appease his mother. Although he was irritated with her deception, he knew she was right—he had to reconcile with his father. He also knew Daed wouldn’t make it easy.
He took a deep breath and walked toward the back of the barn, glancing at the stall where the new mare, Loyalty, was kept. He was tempted to stop and meet her. But talking to his father was the priority. As he neared, he could hear the faint scrape of a knife blade against wood, and he halted a few feet from his father. Daed was sitting on the same old hay bale, dented from years of use as a seat. Clumps of hay littered the floor. His thin shoulders were hunched, and Everett could imagine him often staring at a hole in the wood, deep in thought.
After a few moments, he said, “Daed.”
His father didn’t turn around. “What?”
At least he spoke, and Everett decided to capitalize on that. He stepped cl
oser and stood in front of the hay bale, leaning against the double doors usually open three seasons out of the year to let in fresh air. “Can we talk?”
“Don’t see as we have anything to say to each other.” Daed cut a long strip of birch from the project he was whittling, which was starting to take the shape of some sort of animal. He was especially good at animals. His father was a talented carver, but he did it strictly as a hobby.
“It’s been ten years.” Everett shoved his hands into his pockets. “We have a lot to say to each other.”
Daed finally glanced at him, peering at him over his glasses. “Maybe you do.”
Everett paused. His father had changed, at least physically. His hair was almost all gray, matching his gray beard, which reached the top of his chest. The hands that gripped the knife and wood were covered in age spots, and his knuckles were swollen. And at the supper table, Everett had noticed a stoop to his posture He looked older than sixty-two. Far older. Once again, guilt made an appearance. “Will you at least listen?”
Daed paused, whittled away a strip, then gave one short nod.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I was wrong to take off and move to Indiana without telling you first.”
“Yep.”
Everett was about to point out that it wasn’t completely his fault—his father had been pushing him to oversee the restaurant in the future, which Everett absolutely hadn’t wanted to do. He’d already worked in the place since he was eight, and the thought of spending the rest of his life dealing with rude customers, filling in for cooks, and even washing dishes when the diner was extra busy had made his nerves raw.
He tried telling Daed, but his father wouldn’t listen, pointing out that owning a business, especially an Amish restaurant that had been successful for over twenty years, was more stable than jumping from job to job.
“You done?” Daed said, still not looking at him.
He tamped down his resentment of his father’s blame. First, it wouldn’t do any good, and second, God had pointed out that this wasn’t about blame. It was about reconciliation. “I want to work for you again.” There, he said it. And it hadn’t been as bad as he thought.
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