An Amish Kitchen, page 7
Aenti Rose was nowhere to be seen, but the table was well set with many of the things to eat that had arrived at various points the day before—sticky buns, fruit salad, warmed-up sausage-and-bacon breakfast casserole, as well as fresh scrambled eggs and fried potatoes and boiled eggs.
Fern glanced toward the closed door of her grandmother’s bedroom, then jumped when the front screen door banged open. Aenti Rose hobbled in briskly on her cane with Alexander in close attendance.
“Well, I can see that I’ll be doing my own work around here. Esther may have trained you to be lax, but I’m not of a similar mind. My land, girl, the cat and I have already been out for a morning walk!”
“I’m sorry,” Fern apologized sincerely. “I suppose I was overly tired from yesterday.”
Her aunt waved her silent. “I hear a car coming. Must be the undertaker. Good thing I saw some buggies up the way. We’ll need the men to carry the body in.” She turned back to open the screen door, and Fern saw two buggies pull up behind the hearse.
Fern fastened her apron more snugly about her waist and realized that she hadn’t much to do. It was the gut way of Amish deaths that the community arose as a whole to offer care and support. Two men would dig the grave by hand this morning for the afternoon burial. Someone else would go to the cabinet-maker and pick out the simple pine coffin with its two openings on top—one to cover the lower two-thirds of the body and the other to open on hinges so that the face of the dear one might be viewed. The bishop would manage the funeral service at the house that afternoon. No, there was little for her to do. Even the expense of the death was taken care of by the community.
She moved through the day as if it were some distant dream. At the funeral she listened to the words of Bishop Smucker as he extolled the righteousness of the Almighty. Fern had read that it was the Englisch way to eulogize the life of the deceased, but the Amish focused on the praise of Derr Herr, with only occasional mention of the one gone from their midst.
And then, in the beautiful summer afternoon, she was at the grave site and found herself longing to see Abram in the gathered crowd.
“Stand still,” Abram ordered for the third time as John squirmed under the wet comb.
“You don’t do it like Mamm,” the little boy complained.
Abram shook his head. He had no idea how his mother, in fact, got the whole bunch ready for church meeting, let alone for a burial service. And they were going to be late if Luke and Mark didn’t show up soon. They’d had to miss the actual preaching because Abram had spent a full hour tramping the fields trying to find his brothers and had then decided that they’d come home eventually, though he was haunted by images of broken arms and legs.
Mary sat stiffly in her black and dark blue, the only two colors acceptable to wear for a burial, except for the light straw of the men’s summer hats. Matthew had braided her hair and pinned it under her black bonnet after getting himself ready. Abram shot his brother a look of appreciation as the boy swiped at a spot on one of his shoes.
“Matt, go have one more holler around for those two. We have to leave. I’ll get my hat.”
Abram arrived with the three children in time to join the end of the line filing past the coffin with its open-hinged top half. This was the last chance to view Esther Zook before the actual burial, and he caught a firm hold on Mary’s little hand. It was not the Amish way to shield children from the death and burial process, but he hoped that his baby sister wouldn’t burst out crying. There was still no sign of Mark and Luke, and he could only dream that they weren’t stuck in some mess of Mark’s creation.
They reached the coffin, and Abram gazed down into the sweet, serene old face. The undertaker used no cosmetics, nor was there a need to with the aged beauty of one like Esther Zook. There was dignity about death, Abram considered as he slowly filed past the coffin; a somber mystery and majesty that was a keen reminder of the all-powerful hand of God.
He crossed with Mary, John, and Matt to the other side of the open grave and looked up to find Fern smiling at him. He smiled back, longing to murmur something comforting to her, but only silence was appropriate. So he tried to speak with his eyes instead—encouragement for her heart and praise for her beauty, the gentle curves of her pale skin against the black of her bonnet, and the luminous glowing of her green eyes . . . And then he heard it.
From the other side of the white-picket-fenced enclosure of tombstones came the tumultuous whoop and holler of children. “Whoop! Whoop! Whoopppeeeee! Hiya!”
Abram looked up and thought he might be losing his mind at the strange apparition headed for the graveyard. A giant sow with a rope around her neck galloped full-tilt toward the fence. Two boys were on her great back, screaming and holding on for dear life. Abram’s heart sank to his shoes. He’d found Luke and Mark.
When the sow crashed through the fence, there was no use pretending that it wasn’t happening. Everyone at the graveside had turned to watch in silent fascination as the pig made straight for them, gamboling over tombstones and kicking grass clods up in the air. At the last possible second the sow veered off from the group, but not before everyone had a chance to identify the two riders . . . Mark had a grin on his face and Luke held on, deathly pale. To add to the mayhem, Aenti Rose’s cat, which had apparently followed his owner to the burial, screeched and took off like a black streak after the pig. Alexander leapt straight into the air and landed square on the sow’s long rear end, sending it flying over another tombstone and then squalling as it flattened the other side of the fence and cut across a field, leaving the group at the graveside in stunned silence.
It had all happened in seconds, but to Abram the scene had played out in sickening slow motion. He willed himself to look up and face his community. At first he couldn’t believe it when he heard it, but Fern started to laugh, light and free like crystal tinkling. The Englisch undertaker coughed, then joined in, and then the bishop slapped his thigh and burst out in a loud guffaw. Everyone laughed then, and Abram found himself being patted on the back in commiseration. Somehow the flying fleet-footed pig had turned the gathering into a joyous one.
Abram’s heart was full when Fern passed him afterward and leaned close to whisper, “Mammi would have loved to see that.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AENTI ROSE WAS STILL IN ATTENDANCE A WEEK AFTER the burial, and Fern began to fear that the woman might stay permanently, especially after she remarked that she enjoyed the bishop’s preaching at the church service the day before.
Fern sought refuge in her garden. She wished at times that she might make it larger, but its space was enough now that she could hardly manage it alone. She was cutting back echinacea and wondering when she’d get to see Abram again when her aunt came out into the garden.
“Deborah, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Fern discreetly shooed Alexander away from a yellow butterfly and turned to her aunt.
“It’s obvious,” the old lady continued, “that you cannot live in this house alone and carry out your . . . work, as you call it. I would like to invite you to return to the mountains with me instead. There are many marital prospects there, although some are a bit older and have children already. You will make a fine wife, I believe, with proper instruction. And while it would be nice to think that you’d have a chance with men hereabouts, even young Abram Fisher, you must acknowledge that your looks are somewhat of a detriment.”
The old woman paused for breath, and Fern eyed her with a raised brow. “My looks . . . are a detriment?”
“Well,” Rose blustered, “when I was your age, I was as slender as a willow.”
“And had twice its bark,” Fern muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Aenti Rose, while I appreciate your offer, I must refuse. And further, I’d like you to consider how . . . how I actually might be attractive to a man.”
“With an emphasis on might, my dear.”
Fern twirled a stem of echinacea thoughtfully. “Perhaps, but perhaps not.”
“Well, suit yourself. In any case, I’m phoning for Billy to come and pick me up today.”
“Danki, Aenti. For all that you have done. I’ve appreciated it,” Fern said humbly.
The old lady nodded and turned, and Fern gave a final shoo to the stubborn cat.
Abram inhaled deeply as he walked through the cornfield with Joe. The kinner were back at the Mast house admiring the new baby, whom they’d named Deborah in honor of Fern. Abram regretted that the avalanche of chores he’d been trying to keep up with had kept him away from her. He chuckled to himself when he thought of Mark’s face after the pig incident at the burial. The boy had clearly expected to go over his brother’s knee but had received laughter instead.
“What’s funny?” Joe asked.
“Mark . . .”
“You were just like him when you were his age, you know?”
“I was not.”
“Ya, and I should know, because I was your helpless accomplice.”
They both laughed, then Abram cleared his throat. “Joe, I’ve been thinking lately . . .”
“About?”
“Fern.”
“Ach, well.”
“She’s sort of behind my eyelids when I go to sleep . . .”
“And when you wake up?”
“Yeah.”
“So marry her.”
“See, that’s it. It sounds so easy when you say it, but I don’t even know if she’d be willing to date me. And now, with her grandmother gone, she doesn’t really have anyone to talk to about this stuff.”
“Women talk to other women. Is that really what’s wrong?”
“Nee . . . you know me too well. The trouble is that I can’t picture how I’d be at it . . . a husband, a father . . . You’ve got it down pat.”
Joe laughed. “Marriage is always a true struggle, but it’s worth it. And it seems like you’re on the right track with Fern . . . two whole people coming together to make one.”
“What do you mean, ‘whole people’?”
“I don’t know. I guess some can marry because one has troublesome needs and the other can fill them. I think it’s better when you’re real and she’s real, and then you have the marriage.”
“Again . . . it sounds so simple.”
Joe clapped him on the shoulder. “Simple as pie.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ON TUESDAY, FERN SAW HER AENTI OFF WITH LITTLE regret, then returned to her garden. The zucchini were running wild, and she picked thirteen of them and carried them to the back door in a small wheelbarrow. She decided she’d make zucchini bread to take to Abram and the kinner. She was still a bit nervous about going to his house unannounced, but supposed a bold step here or there wouldn’t hurt.
She went into the house and was struck by the sense of emptiness now that her aenti had left. It seemed that even plunking the zucchini on the table made a disheartening thud. She was relieved when she heard a buggy pull up.
She went out onto the porch and was glad to see Eve Bender step down from the buggy.
“Thought you could use a bit of company.”
“I’d love nothing more,” Fern said with a smile.
She let her friend into the kitchen, and Eve glanced at the zucchini. “Going to make bread? I can help.”
“Ya, if you’d like. I-I’m making it for Abram Fisher and his family.”
Eve gave her a conspiratorial grin. “So the prettiest girl I know has managed to snag the attention of the beautiful but remote Abram Fisher. Are you going to tell me the story?”
Fern felt herself blush. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t really know how to handle a man’s attention, as you call it. And I didn’t snag him . . . at least, I don’t think so.”
Eve laughed as she deftly peeled the zucchini. “The most important thing to know about courting and marriage, my friend, is that your life is not his life.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s good for you to have all this.” Eve gestured with one arm to encircle the herbs and the kitchen. “This is you. Abram has his land too. Now you may find a way to bring those two pieces together somehow, to serve each other and the community—but to know yourself first is the most important thing.”
“So it’s like two wholes make a stronger whole?”
“I believe so.”
Fern sliced the zucchini thoughtfully. Her friend’s simple words touched her and made her consider once more how grateful she was for her grandmother’s influence in her life.
“Danki, Eve,” she said quietly.
Her friend leaned over to hug her close. “My pleasure.”
Abram saw Fern coming down the lane with a basket over her arm and made haste to douse his face and hands with fresh water. He’d been cleaning stalls and looked a mess, but there was no help for it. The children saw her coming too and ran out to greet her, laughing and talking. Abram hung back, watching her face light up with a bright smile.
“I brought some zucchini bread. I hope it’s all right that I came by.” She sounded shy, and Abram was surprised.
“Come over anytime. I’ve been working around here and wanted to give you some time to be with your aenti.”
Fern giggled at his dour face. “She went home.”
“Ach . . . well . . . nice.”
“Can we have some bread now, Fern?” Mark asked, jumping up and down.
“Of course.”
Abram led her into the relatively clean kitchen and fetched a knife and plates and the crock of butter. Fern doled out generous slices, and the children were quiet as they sat at the table.
“Would you like some?” she asked Abram. He shook his head and grabbed her hand instead.
“Nee, let’s go out on the porch and sit a bit. And you kinner can have seconds.”
He was pleased with the look of happiness that shone on Fern’s face at his suggestion. He led her out the door and onto the porch swing. “Sorry about the coveralls,” he said, ruefully brushing away some stray flecks of hay.
“I like them.”
He glanced at her sideways. “Really?”
She nodded. “I guess I like anything you wear.”
He caught her hand in his. “Fern Zook, you know how to talk to turn a man’s head.”
She shrugged. “It’s just the truth.”
He leaned closer to her, breathing in her fresh scent, and placed gentle lips to the bare skin of her neck. He felt her shiver in response, and she turned to look at him. There was both innocent invitation and desire in the depths of her green eyes. He was half-afraid of being interrupted, but he moved his mouth closer to hers, then softly kissed her full on the lips.
“That—that was wonderful,” he managed, half-laughing with the joy of the kiss. He looked at her anxiously then. “Was it wonderful?”
“Ya,” she said. “I wish—”
“Abram, I wanna give Fern a present.”
It was Mary, holding something close in her arms, and Abram could only be grateful that he’d actually gotten one kiss in. He couldn’t wait until his parents came home. “What’s the present?” he asked, faintly anxious that it wouldn’t be something odd or disgusting.
“Well, you know Sparkle had her babies a few weeks ago . . . I thought I’d let Fern have Mayflower so she won’t be alone since her mammi died.” Mary lifted the dish towel from her arm to reveal a beautiful soft gray kitten with a white chin and bright green eyes.
When Fern cried out in pleasure, Abram wished he’d thought of the gift himself.
“Ach, you darling! Danki, Mary. You are so right. Now I won’t have to be alone. And I love her name . . . Mayflower.” Fern cradled the animal to her breast and smiled at Abram. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
He looked deep and meaningfully into her eyes. “Yes, she surely is.”
A little later Fern walked home, barely noticing the summer storm clouds gathering as she stared down with pleasure at her new companion. She was traipsing through the field when suddenly there was the loud sound of cracking wood, and the ground gave way beneath her feet.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MATTHEW CAME RUNNING INTO THE KITCHEN. “ABRAM, it’s a letter from Mamm and Daed.”
Abram took the letter from his brother’s hand and sat down at the table to read, with Mary on his lap munching zucchini bread.
To: Abram Fisher
Paradise, Pa.
Dear Abram,
We hope that all is well with you and the kinner. Fater has improved and we think that we are not needed so much, though Elizabeth would love to have us stay. But we are missing home and have decided to come back at the end of next week. It surely will be good to be home. We appreciate how much work you’ve done so we could take this trip.
We love you, Sohn,
Mamm and Daed
“What’s it say?” Mary pulled on his arm.
Abram let the letter sink in and thought with dismay of all of the work to be done in the next few days. “Mamm and Daed are coming home early, that’s all.”
The kids whooped and hollered until Abram spoke sternly. “I know, I know. But we have a heap of work to do around this place before then. So we might as well start now.”
Sounds of disapproval met his response, then Mary spoke up suddenly. “Look, Abram, on the porch. It’s Mayflower. Why would Fern give her back?”
Abram strode to the screen door and caught the kitten up in his hands to make sure it was the right one. Then he glanced out at the ominous clouds threatening and the large drops of rain starting to fall.
“She wouldn’t,” he muttered, feeling uneasy. “She wouldn’t give it back.”
