what that presence would accomplish down at the ranch. But she dismissed the notion quickly at the thought of Dorothy’s snapping eyes and her unladylike snort.
“They need pie on the men’s table,” Erma said, whisking past with an empty water pitcher held aloft.
Sadie turned to the pie rack to extricate one, then slid out another before turning to head for the men’s table, where she found Reuben enthusiastically spreading a huge glob of the peanut-butter spread on a thick slice of whole wheat bread. She held her breath as he lifted it to his mouth, then grinned when he gave her a thumbs-up sign, peanut butter spread all over his fingers, the knife, and his face.
Sadie chose to walk home in spite of the heat. It would be worse, packed in the surrey with her sisters, Reuben yelling and complaining as always. Rebekah said she would accompany her and invited her friend Clara and, of all people, Erma Keim.
“Why Erma?” Sadie hissed behind a horizontal palm.
“She gets lonely on Sunday afternoon,” Rebekah said quietly. “Besides, you’re almost the same age. Both entering spinsterhood.”
There was no time for an answer. Erma caught up from the rear in long, purposeful strides, her face alight with the prospect of spending an afternoon at the Miller home.
“Boy, that pie was nasty!” she bellowed into Sadie’s ear. “Must be Ketty was baking again!”
Sadie shrank from the grating sound of Erma’s raucous laugh, but smiled politely.
“Poor Fred Ketty.”
The whole afternoon was spent in the kitchen, making popcorn loaded with melted butter. They tried all different kinds of seasoning, laughing uproariously when Reuben sprinkled hot pepper sauce on top of his dish, then raced for the water faucet, his tongue on fire.
Mam even joined in the fun, and Dat read The Budget , grinning behind it, sometimes lowering the paper to peer over his glasses when Erma said something exceptionally peculiar.
There was no doubt that she eyed the world in a different light and with strangely colored lenses. Men were a huge bother, not worth the ground they walked on, except for Moses in the Bible, Abraham Lincoln, and maybe John F. Kennedy, although he was a Democrat and they were a bit liberal for her taste. She thought the locals all looked alike in their cowboy hats, though the hats vastly improved their faces, which, the way they spent all their time outdoors, resembled the surface of the moon.
Not one boy had ever asked her out. Not one. She was as uncaring about that fact as she was about her looks, though Sadie wondered if this was really true.
She made a homemade pizza from scratch that tasted better than anyone’s, she assured them airily. She ate four square slices of it, belched, wiped her mouth, excused herself, and decided it was time to go home.
“I know we’re not supposed to call a driver, but I don’t have a horse and buggy, so how else am I supposed to get home?”
With that, she marched to the phone shanty and called her neighbor lady, then sat on the porch swing to wait for her.
“Why don’t you go along to the supper and singing at Melvin Troyer’s?” Leah asked.
“Me? You want me to? Nah. People would say I’m setting my hat for Yoni’s Crist. He’s 40 now, did you know that? Everybody thinks he should ask me for a date, then, you know, marry me. I wouldn’t take him. He has no ambition. You can tell by the way he walks that he doesn’t like to get up in the morning. Not for me, no sir.”
Sadie laughed. “Come on, Erma. I’m going to set up a blind date for you.”
Erma leaped out of the porch swing, coming down squarely on both feet, her hands in the air, her mouth open wide.
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Come on, Erma. Please? We’ll get a driver and go to Critchfield. You pick your favorite restaurant, okay?”
“No. Absolutely not. I do not want a man. Certainly not Crist.”
“Why not?”
“I told you why not.”
“If I ask Mark Peight to
“They need pie on the men’s table,” Erma said, whisking past with an empty water pitcher held aloft.
Sadie turned to the pie rack to extricate one, then slid out another before turning to head for the men’s table, where she found Reuben enthusiastically spreading a huge glob of the peanut-butter spread on a thick slice of whole wheat bread. She held her breath as he lifted it to his mouth, then grinned when he gave her a thumbs-up sign, peanut butter spread all over his fingers, the knife, and his face.
Sadie chose to walk home in spite of the heat. It would be worse, packed in the surrey with her sisters, Reuben yelling and complaining as always. Rebekah said she would accompany her and invited her friend Clara and, of all people, Erma Keim.
“Why Erma?” Sadie hissed behind a horizontal palm.
“She gets lonely on Sunday afternoon,” Rebekah said quietly. “Besides, you’re almost the same age. Both entering spinsterhood.”
There was no time for an answer. Erma caught up from the rear in long, purposeful strides, her face alight with the prospect of spending an afternoon at the Miller home.
“Boy, that pie was nasty!” she bellowed into Sadie’s ear. “Must be Ketty was baking again!”
Sadie shrank from the grating sound of Erma’s raucous laugh, but smiled politely.
“Poor Fred Ketty.”
The whole afternoon was spent in the kitchen, making popcorn loaded with melted butter. They tried all different kinds of seasoning, laughing uproariously when Reuben sprinkled hot pepper sauce on top of his dish, then raced for the water faucet, his tongue on fire.
Mam even joined in the fun, and Dat read The Budget , grinning behind it, sometimes lowering the paper to peer over his glasses when Erma said something exceptionally peculiar.
There was no doubt that she eyed the world in a different light and with strangely colored lenses. Men were a huge bother, not worth the ground they walked on, except for Moses in the Bible, Abraham Lincoln, and maybe John F. Kennedy, although he was a Democrat and they were a bit liberal for her taste. She thought the locals all looked alike in their cowboy hats, though the hats vastly improved their faces, which, the way they spent all their time outdoors, resembled the surface of the moon.
Not one boy had ever asked her out. Not one. She was as uncaring about that fact as she was about her looks, though Sadie wondered if this was really true.
She made a homemade pizza from scratch that tasted better than anyone’s, she assured them airily. She ate four square slices of it, belched, wiped her mouth, excused herself, and decided it was time to go home.
“I know we’re not supposed to call a driver, but I don’t have a horse and buggy, so how else am I supposed to get home?”
With that, she marched to the phone shanty and called her neighbor lady, then sat on the porch swing to wait for her.
“Why don’t you go along to the supper and singing at Melvin Troyer’s?” Leah asked.
“Me? You want me to? Nah. People would say I’m setting my hat for Yoni’s Crist. He’s 40 now, did you know that? Everybody thinks he should ask me for a date, then, you know, marry me. I wouldn’t take him. He has no ambition. You can tell by the way he walks that he doesn’t like to get up in the morning. Not for me, no sir.”
Sadie laughed. “Come on, Erma. I’m going to set up a blind date for you.”
Erma leaped out of the porch swing, coming down squarely on both feet, her hands in the air, her mouth open wide.
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Come on, Erma. Please? We’ll get a driver and go to Critchfield. You pick your favorite restaurant, okay?”
“No. Absolutely not. I do not want a man. Certainly not Crist.”
“Why not?”
“I told you why not.”
“If I ask Mark Peight to
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