watching?”
“He didn’t recognize me.”
Daed dumped the suitcase on the porch and reached for the screen door. “When I got there yesterday, he called me Levi.”
“Who’s Levi?”
“I have no idea.”
Chapter 11
A dah scooped the steaming stewed tomatoes from the large pot with a long ladle and poured the contents into the Mason jar, careful not to spill a drop of it on her bare hand. She wiped at her sweating face with the back of her sleeve. The billowing steam coming from the pans on the propane stove enveloped the entire kitchen. The pungent aromas of fresh tomatoes, dill, onion, and oregano made her mouth water.
Three rows of six jars each already sat on the prep table, their lids popping in a merry tune that sang in her ears. They sang of contentment, prosperity, blessing, bountifulness. She hummed along in a tune that had no need of lyrics. The chatter ping-ponging among Matthew’s mother and his Grandma Frannie, Emma, Katie, Mudder, and Clara and Elizabeth Gringrich, who were seated around the prep table, provided the harmony as they cleaned and chopped cucumbers and onions, the knives rapping on wood, the percussion in this canning frolic.
“You’re sure quiet over there.” Emma’s voice wafted over the steady give and take of the other women. “Whatever are you thinking about, Adah? A boy, maybe?”
Not a boy anymore. A man. Men. Two men. A cowboy and a Plain man. Cowboy hat. Straw hat. Work boots. Cowboy boots. There was a song in there somewhere. Jackson had walked into her life like a cowboy right out of a country western song. Matthew had always been inher life, like a farmer working the fields year after year, certain he would reap what he sowed.
Adah kept her back to the other women so they couldn’t see the heat rising on her face. At least she could blame the steaming tomatoes for it. She’d been able to avoid Jackson for a couple of weeks now. He was off at doctor’s appointments or out with his father. Hopefully tomorrow would be the same. She hoped. Really. She would clean the house and that was it. In the meantime, she expected to see Matthew here, but so far their paths hadn’t crossed. He worked with the other men in the dawdi haus, finishing out the interior rooms, laying the linoleum in the kitchen, and painting.
“Adah? You really are daydreaming, aren’t you?”
She started, realizing Emma was waiting for a response. “Nee. I was thinking about the books Molly likes to read sometimes. Westerns.”
“Cowboys,” Emma giggled, a funny sound coming from the mother of three and stepmother to two more. “The cowboys around here are fun with their hats and boots and Western shirts.”
“And those big buckles,” added Katie, sounding more like a teenager than a grandma. “They do like to show off, don’t they?”
Big buckles. Show-off. Jackson didn’t strike Adah as a show-off, more as someone at ease with who he was and what he wanted. The heat deepened on her face, spreading to her neck. She could never be at ease, because what she wanted was something she shouldn’t want. Thankful she had her back to the other women, she wiped her hands on a dishtowel and threw it on the counter. “I’m going to see what’s taking the twins and Rebecca so long to dig up those beets. They should be back from the garden by now.”
“I’ll go.” Elizabeth rose from the table. “You have your hands full here.”
“Nee. I’ll go. Don’t worry about it.”
“It may take both of you to get them in here. They probably decided they’d rather pick strawberries. None of them likes beets much. ’Course, what one says, they all repeat.” Emma bent over and smoothed the hair of baby Jeremiah, sleeping in a basket at her feet.“Knowing little Mary, she probably took a detour to the barn to see the new batch of kittens.”
Emma’s younger twin sister, little Mary, so known to distinguish her from Matthew’s mother, Mary Troyer, had become known as the instigator of many
“He didn’t recognize me.”
Daed dumped the suitcase on the porch and reached for the screen door. “When I got there yesterday, he called me Levi.”
“Who’s Levi?”
“I have no idea.”
Chapter 11
A dah scooped the steaming stewed tomatoes from the large pot with a long ladle and poured the contents into the Mason jar, careful not to spill a drop of it on her bare hand. She wiped at her sweating face with the back of her sleeve. The billowing steam coming from the pans on the propane stove enveloped the entire kitchen. The pungent aromas of fresh tomatoes, dill, onion, and oregano made her mouth water.
Three rows of six jars each already sat on the prep table, their lids popping in a merry tune that sang in her ears. They sang of contentment, prosperity, blessing, bountifulness. She hummed along in a tune that had no need of lyrics. The chatter ping-ponging among Matthew’s mother and his Grandma Frannie, Emma, Katie, Mudder, and Clara and Elizabeth Gringrich, who were seated around the prep table, provided the harmony as they cleaned and chopped cucumbers and onions, the knives rapping on wood, the percussion in this canning frolic.
“You’re sure quiet over there.” Emma’s voice wafted over the steady give and take of the other women. “Whatever are you thinking about, Adah? A boy, maybe?”
Not a boy anymore. A man. Men. Two men. A cowboy and a Plain man. Cowboy hat. Straw hat. Work boots. Cowboy boots. There was a song in there somewhere. Jackson had walked into her life like a cowboy right out of a country western song. Matthew had always been inher life, like a farmer working the fields year after year, certain he would reap what he sowed.
Adah kept her back to the other women so they couldn’t see the heat rising on her face. At least she could blame the steaming tomatoes for it. She’d been able to avoid Jackson for a couple of weeks now. He was off at doctor’s appointments or out with his father. Hopefully tomorrow would be the same. She hoped. Really. She would clean the house and that was it. In the meantime, she expected to see Matthew here, but so far their paths hadn’t crossed. He worked with the other men in the dawdi haus, finishing out the interior rooms, laying the linoleum in the kitchen, and painting.
“Adah? You really are daydreaming, aren’t you?”
She started, realizing Emma was waiting for a response. “Nee. I was thinking about the books Molly likes to read sometimes. Westerns.”
“Cowboys,” Emma giggled, a funny sound coming from the mother of three and stepmother to two more. “The cowboys around here are fun with their hats and boots and Western shirts.”
“And those big buckles,” added Katie, sounding more like a teenager than a grandma. “They do like to show off, don’t they?”
Big buckles. Show-off. Jackson didn’t strike Adah as a show-off, more as someone at ease with who he was and what he wanted. The heat deepened on her face, spreading to her neck. She could never be at ease, because what she wanted was something she shouldn’t want. Thankful she had her back to the other women, she wiped her hands on a dishtowel and threw it on the counter. “I’m going to see what’s taking the twins and Rebecca so long to dig up those beets. They should be back from the garden by now.”
“I’ll go.” Elizabeth rose from the table. “You have your hands full here.”
“Nee. I’ll go. Don’t worry about it.”
“It may take both of you to get them in here. They probably decided they’d rather pick strawberries. None of them likes beets much. ’Course, what one says, they all repeat.” Emma bent over and smoothed the hair of baby Jeremiah, sleeping in a basket at her feet.“Knowing little Mary, she probably took a detour to the barn to see the new batch of kittens.”
Emma’s younger twin sister, little Mary, so known to distinguish her from Matthew’s mother, Mary Troyer, had become known as the instigator of many
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