PIE? WHAT DO you—” Tabitha broke off as the mail truck pulled to a stop alongside them on the road.
“Letter for Miss Elizabeth Beiler and postcard for Miss Tabitha Beiler,” announced Freddy Bann, the friendly but rather nosy Englisch mailman. “It’s from Rob Yoder, out there in O-hi-o. Says everything’s goin’ okay. All right . . . gotta get movin’.” He tipped his hat and spun away, leaving Tabitha holding the card and longing to savor its words.
John cleared his throat. “I’d better be headed back home. I’ll take that tea some other time. Give my regards to your aenti.” He turned and started off down the side of the road and Tabitha barely glanced at his retreating back.
She studied the photo of the bright field on the front of the card then turned it over, wishing for a brief second that Rob might have chosen to write a letter instead for more privacy. But then she began to read.
Dear Tabby,
All is going well here. Grossdaudi needs regular care at the hospital and is working to regain some strength. I expect I’ll be here some time. It’s not the same as Paradise, but it’s interesting here and people are friendly. I hope this card finds you well.
Best,
Rob
Tabitha read it again and then again, seeking some cryptic language that might remind her how much he loved her. Instead she wondered who “people” were and if that included Amish girls—then she shook her head. I’m not jealous by nature, and I won’t start now. And surely Rob was wise to write a simple postcard with no obvious remarks.
She hugged the postcard to her chest and smiled to herself as she headed back down the lane, all mention of Frau Yoder and John’s pie comment forgotten for the time. Then she wandered down the road to the house, keeping her own postcard snug and hidden within her shawl.
She found her aunt in the kitchen. “There’s a letter for you,” she said.
Aenti Beth wheeled around to face Tabitha. With a surprised lift of her brow she said, “A letter?”
“Ya.” Tabitha handed it to her. “No return address, though.”
Her aunt studied the letter, and after a few seconds passed, her normally vibrant cheeks turned gray. Alarmed, Tabitha went to her. “What’s wrong?”
Placing the letter on her lap, Aenti Beth smiled. “Nothing. I’m sure it’s . . . nothing.”
But her aunt’s words did little to stem Tabitha’s dismay. The smile didn’t reach Aenti Beth’s eyes, and her pallor continued. Yet when her aunt wheeled back to the counter and began stirring the macaroni salad, Tabitha knew not to press her. Perhaps her aunt was correct, and whatever was in the letter was nothing.
After Tabitha left the kitchen, Elizabeth sighed softly to herself. She set the spoon next to the macaroni salad and wheeled herself to the table. She looked at the letter again. She’d recognized her bruder Fram’s scrawled handwriting instantly. She eased her chair to the table and reluctantly opened the envelope, feeling as though the contents might come tearing out to bite her when she considered her brother’s bad temper.
The wording was brief:
Beth,
Will arrive soon for a visit to take a look at the land and haus.
Fram Beiler
“Well,” she muttered aloud to herself, “at least he had the courtesy to say he was coming.” Elizabeth set the letter on the table and wheeled over to the sink. She glanced out the window as she automatically began to peel potatoes that would be added to a thick stew for supper tonight. There was no mistaking the fact that Fram’s letter had disturbed her in both mind and spirit. She discerned the true message behind Fram’s simple words.
Elizabeth had inherited, from her beloved grandmother, the small house and lands as well as a sum of money sufficient to meet her meager needs for a lifetime. Then, when Tabby had come to live with her, there’d been an amount of money saved by the little girl’s parents, which had then been given to Beth by the bishop’s charge for Tabby’s care. All of this added up to resentment on Fram’s part, for her bruder loved money. He’d always considered himself the true owner of the property. That their grandmother had bucked tradition and passed the inheritance to Beth, who was not only a cripple but also a woman, had angered him profoundly. Who knew what legal measures he’d taken to make sure Tabitha didn’t receive her inheritance? She wouldn’t put it past her brother to seek out legal counsel, even though it wasn’t often done among their people.
Beth stopped the scraping of the potato she held and felt its damp sturdiness against her hand. Surely the Gott who brings fruit from the soil is substantial enough to meet all of my needs—and to take care of all of my worries. She bent her head and began to pray.
John had barely a quarter mile’s walk to home from the Beilers’ when a buggy pulled abreast of him. He slowed his steps to a stop, and Barbara Esch smiled at him with determined charm from where she sat, practically reaching over her mamm’s lap to wave in greeting.
Great, John thought. Just great.
But Frau Esch smiled at him also with slightly faded green eyes that held all the calculation of her daughter’s. “John, the bishop and I were wanting some new flower boxes for spring. Barbara and I are driving to your daed’s shop to put in our order, but perhaps you might take on the job yourself?”
John held out his hands. He wasn’t about to turn down the bishop and his wife, even though it would surely mean more unwanted contact with Barbara. “Sure. I’m headed to the shop now.”
He heard Barbara suck in her breath as she leaned even further across her mamm. “Ach, John, you’re bleeding!”
He longed to roll his eyes; instead he shook his head, glancing at the thumb Tabitha had already tended. “A simple cut—nothing more.”
Frau Esch spoke firmly. “It’s only a bit of a ways back to our haus, John. I insist that you let Bar . . . I mean us tend to your wound, and then you can use our tools to measure for the flower boxes. Barbara can drive you home after.”
John met the older woman’s quelling gaze. If he had any intention of being close to Tabitha at youth events, he needed Barbara, despite her pursuing him like a bass chasing a worm, which was definitely getting on his nerves. He drew a sharp breath as he stepped toward the buggy and realized that “needing” Barbara also meant using her—and that was not something he was comfortable doing for long.
In any case Frau Esch promptly handed him the reins, hauled her not inconsiderable bulk into the back of the buggy, and seemed disinterested when Barbara opened a lap robe and sat near him.
John found her cloying behavior started to give him the beginnings of a headache and wondered briefly why all girls couldn’t have Tabitha’s unself-conscious charm. Then he concentrated on turning the horse and headed reluctantly for the Esch home.
Tabitha felt slightly guilty hiding Rob’s postcard between her mattress and box spring. She realized that she’d taken to a lot of secrecy lately, and it wasn’t normal between her and Aenti Elizabeth. But Tabitha wanted to keep this first writing a secret to herself alone—despite the fact that the postman and John knew about it.
She suddenly recalled John’s mention of pie as the mysterious means to Rob’s mamm’s heart and decided she needed to brush up on her pie-making skills. Her pumpkin was all right but sometimes failed to set perfectly. Perhaps blueberry would be a safer choice.
She scampered down the stairs, wondering if she could get Aenti Beth to give her a few pie-baking tips.
“Lattice-top crust blueberry pie?” Aenti Beth peered up at her through delicate spectacles. Tabitha was glad to see the color had returned to her aunt’s face, meaning that the letter must have been of little importance.
“Do you have the time?” Aenti Beth asked as she slid cut potatoes into a large cooking pot. “Isn’t it wash day, Tabby?”
“Ach, I could do both. Surely when I marry, I’ll have to be able to keep the wash going and make a pie for supper.” Tabitha bit her lip at the thought of what it might be like to cook and keep house for Rob, then had to refocus her attention when she realized that Aenti Beth had repeated herself.
“Um . . . what did you say?”
“I wonder where your mind is these days, Tabby,” her aenti said with a slight smile. “Could it be that you have thoughts of a certain man?”
Tabitha flinched. Her Aenti Beth knew her so well, and yet she’d so far succeeded in keeping knowledge of Rob from her beloved relative, and she had no desire to begin revelations now. Her relationship with Rob felt too new and uncertain to subject to the scrutiny of her aenti.
“Nee, Aenti Beth, only thinking that I must improve on things—especially pie, since it seems to be a favorite of everyone.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” her aenti murmured. “Well, go and fetch the ingredients. I think there’s a few jars of blueberry pie filling left in the pantry. We’ll have to put some more up this summer.”
Tabitha bent and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then hurried to gather the things she needed.
An hour later she was torn between thoughts of pie, Rob, and his distant mamm.
“You’re not concentrating, child,” Aenti Beth gently admonished, and Tabitha suppressed a sigh and rerolled the pie dough that she was using to practice.
“And,” her aenti warned kindly, “if you work the dough too much, your crust will lose its flakiness.”
Tabitha frowned and abandoned the dough ball, exchanging it for a fresh one from the large yellow mixing bowl with a chipped edge that had been part of the kitchen for as long as she could remember. Yet still, even with the comfortable familiarity of the flour on her hands, her thoughts drifted.
Knowing now that Ann Yoder did not approve of her, Tabitha wondered why Rob had never said anything about it. Perhaps Rob meant not to hurt me and was hoping his mother would come around.
“That’s salt, not sugar,” her aenti said pointedly.
Tabitha moved her hand with haste and decided to take an impulsive risk. She glanced down at her aenti and tried to sound as casual as possible. “Aenti Beth, how well do you know Ann Yoder?”
Elizabeth looked up at her niece, not missing for one moment the fact that the child was seeking information—and about Ann Yoder. Rob Yoder’s handsome face suddenly filled Elizabeth’s consciousness, and she knew instinctively what Tabby’s seemingly innocent question meant. The child was in love with Rob Yoder, and Ann, given the history of Tabby’s family, was probably fit to be tied.
Yet a selfish part of her was glad for the distraction. The moment Tabitha had entered the kitchen and asked for help making blueberry pie, Beth had been able to put aside Fram’s letter and focus on helping her niece. Now it seemed her niece needed more than mere cooking tips.
“Well, I know her,” Beth said. “As we each know each other in community, of course.”
Tabby shrugged. “Ach, I thought maybe you might have been friends at one time or another when you were girls, although I know you’re older.”
“Ya. . . Ann and I were never too close, but your mamm. . .” Elizabeth paused cautiously. “Your mamm was her friend at one time.”
Tabby slapped down the lump of dough and dropped into a chair. “Really? Can you tell me about it?”
Elizabeth gazed into the eager blue eyes before her and wondered how she could begin.
John drew the reins at the Esches’ farm and set the brake. He saw the bishop stepping off the front porch, and yet he noticed Barbara made no effort to conceal her giggling pleasure at having John move to help her down.
“Hiram,” Frau Esch called as she ignored John’s hand and clambered down out of the buggy. “I told you to take down that wash before we got home. Now John Miller is here and our underthings are out to dry.”
John shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then he met kind Bishop Esch’s mild brown eyes and suppressed a laugh.
“It’s all right, my dear,” the bishop spoke lightly. “I would imagine John recognizes underclothes when he sees them.”
“Not Barbara’s,” the erstwhile mother hissed, and once again John had to try not to laugh. He wondered idly if the woman threw her dochder at every man or just the ones that seemed older and more unsuspecting.
“John’s hurt, Fater,” Barbara simpered. “I must tend to him.”
“Really?” the bishop smiled at John and stroked his long grey beard. “You seem well enough to me, sohn.”
“A cut,” John explained, indicating his hand. “It’s nothing—but your family was kind enough to um . . . bring me back here for a quick bandaging.”
“And flower boxes,” Frau Esch reminded him in an imperious tone.
“Right,” John nodded. “I’ll have to borrow a measuring stick, sir.”
The bishop nodded. “Certainly. I’ll go and fetch it. Miriam, perhaps you might get started on the laundry while Barbara . . . uh . . . tends to John.”
John found himself rustled into the three-story brick farmhouse and seated at the kitchen table while Barbara rushed about, tearing cloths and bringing a basin of water to him.
She took his injured hand and plopped it in the water; John wiped his eye.
“There’s a singing on Friday at Henry Lantz’s haus,” Barbara said invitingly.
Ach, how I hope Rob comes back soon—or maybe Tabitha will stay home, though I doubt it.
He nearly jumped when she yanked the bandage too tightly, then found himself having to squirm down the bench as she tried to move an inch closer.
“Uh, Barbara, look, I . . .”
“Ya, John?” Her green eyes were like cold marbles and he blinked.
“I—um better check about those flower boxes for your mamm, but I’ll—I’ll see you at the singing on Friday.” He slid off the end of the bench, got to his feet, then turned away, ignoring his would-be nursemaid’s obvious pout.