TABITHA WOKE BEFORE daybreak with the determination in mind to bake another pie for Rob’s mamm. She hoped it would assuage some of the churned-up feelings she was having and started to get out ingredients with quiet purpose. Aenti Beth was still sleeping, and Tabitha hoped to present her aenti with a warm piece of lemon meringue pie for breakfast.
She grated the lemon rind and carefully measured sugar and cracked eggs. The problem she had, as usual, was getting the meringue to brown nicely without burning in the fussy old oven. She double-checked the recipe with the lard-stained card Aenti Beth kept in the antique recipe box, then added everything to her already made pie crust. When she was through, she made a second pie, deciding to take the best-looking one to Rob’s mamm.
She’d carefully placed the second pie in the oven when there was a loud pounding at the back door. She hurried to open it, not wanting Aenti Beth to wake, as she glanced at the barely pink sky out of the kitchen window. She wondered who it might be at this time of the day and for a brief moment felt her heart stop at the thought that it might be Rob coming home.
She pulled on the doorknob only to step back as a tall, scowling man grunted hello at her. Ach, nee, she thought, feeling her heart drop.
“Onkel Fram.” She found her voice after a moment. “We didn’t expect you for a few more days.”
“Ya, well,” the old man bristled. “It’s to be my home. I expect I can kumme as I please.”
Tabitha fought back an angry retort at his brashness, then remembered her promise to Aenti Beth—to make Fram feel welcome and hopefully soften his heart with kindness. “Sei se gut, kumme in,” Tabitha said finally, widening the door.
She glanced with some dismay at the two old heavy-looking suitcases he carried in and dropped on the kitchen floor.
“Uh, Onkel Fram, I’ve got a pie in the oven and Aenti Beth is still asleep.”
“And?”
And I’m going to go against Amish tradition and bop you in the head if you mutter one more rude thing. “Would—would you like a piece of lemon meringue? It should be cool enough . . .” She trailed off as he gave a disdainful sniff.
“I’ll have eggs—scrambled, bacon, fried green tomatoes, and grilled cornbread. And you’d best hurry. I’m stiff from that van ride half the nacht and twice as hungry.”
Tabitha simply stared at him in mute fascination until he gave a loud clap of his hands. “Go on, girl. Are you short of hearing?”
She couldn’t fathom what she might have said if another knock hadn’t sounded at the door, this one low but purposeful. Tabitha stepped past her uncle to open the door and stare up in surprise at John’s handsome face.
“Uh—I know it’s early, Tabitha, but I had to talk to you and—”
“Who’s this now?” Onkel Fram demanded. “Some lame-brained suitor kumme courting at daybreak instead of at nacht?”
Tabitha gritted her teeth and forced a tight smile to her lips, remembering silently the morning that Rob had come courting. “John Miller, you might know Aenti Beth’s bruder, Fram Beiler?”
John gave a brief nod to the older man, then caught Tabitha’s hand in his. “Excuse us, sir,” Tabitha was amazed to hear John say, as he ignored her uncle’s rudeness and pulled her out the door at the same time. “We’ll only be a moment.”
John leaned wearily against the wooden banister of the Beilers’ back porch and stared down at Tabitha’s expectant face. He was exhausted, having been up all night writing to Rob and wrestling with the deception he was creating.
“What is it, John?” Tabitha asked softly. “You don’t look so well.”
“I didn’t sleep. Look, I was thinking that we’d might be doing Rob better service if we did try to cultivate a relationship with his mamm. . .” He trailed off cautiously, not wanting to upset her again.
But to his surprise, Tabitha clapped her hands like a little girl and smiled brightly. “We must be of one mind. I’ve got a pie in the oven for Frau Yoder right now.”
“Is it meringue?” John asked. “Because I think it might be burning.”
“Ach, nee!” She spun from him and fled back into the house, leaving the door ajar. John sighed and followed wearily.
The kitchen was filling with smoke, and he hurried to open the window. He turned and saw Tabitha open the oven door, causing a fresh wave of smoke to billow forth.
“Here.” He caught her slender wrist. “I’ll get it out. You might burn yourself.” He grabbed the oven mitts she held and slid the ruined pie out and into the sink in one deft motion. The meringue was a steaming, blackened mess as he pumped water onto it, conscious of Tabitha flailing a dishcloth about at the smoke.
“Now this is a fine welcome,” Fram Beiler spoke in a subdued roar. “I want my breakfast.”
John looked over his shoulder at the angry man and shook his head. “You won’t be eating this, sir.”
“I know that,” Fram blustered. “If this worthless girl knew how to cook, I’d be—”
John’s temper gave in a fine snap and he spoke up. “Sir, I would like you to know I am courting Tabitha, and I happen to know she is a very fine cook.” And now it means that I’m coming out with the idea of courting to a man—who might likely tell other folks—not merely the youth. Ach . . . what a mess.
“John, never mind,” Tabby murmured, still flapping her dish towel.
Fram looked smug. “Well, then she can cook for me while she’s still unattached.
John’s mood shifted and he stepped away, pleased that Tabitha could rout the old man herself with feminine accuracy. “You’ll have to get your own breakfast. Tabitha needs to get her aenti up, and then she and I have something to do with our early morning. And don’t”— John’s voice was level as Fram Beiler stepped toward the remaining lemon meringue—“lay a finger on that pie. It’s already promised.”
John had to suppress a grin when Fram froze in mid-stride then slowly backed away.
“I’ll make my own gosh darn eggs,” the old man growled.
“Gut,” John said evenly. “Very gut.”
Elizabeth had to smother a laugh in her pillow even as she cuddled Rough close to her chest. She’d heard nearly the whole of the exchange in the kitchen and felt especially giddy at the bold pronouncement John had made that he was courting Tabitha. Of course, Elizabeth couldn’t let on that she knew, but it thrilled her heart just the same. Ach, maybe now I can give the secret of the recipe box, for John is a fine man, but I must be sure of Tabitha—
She remembered the day her grossmuder had given her the seemingly simple box and the charge that went with it. It had been raining and high summer. She could still smell the wafting scent of earth and grass coming in through the open kitchen window, and there was something indelibly sweet and cleansing about those moments that still resonated in her soul. She wanted that for Tabitha, wanted the understanding of the secret for her.
Elizabeth looked up as Tabitha came into the room. The girl’s cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, and one golden tendril had worked loose from her kapp. Ach, what a beautiful sight she was, and what a handsome couple she and John Miller would make.
“I’m sorry, Aenti Beth. I burnt the meringue on a pie.” Her pleasant voice lowered. “And Onkel Fram is here.”
“Ach, well, we must deal with things as they kumme.” Elizabeth smiled.
“Ya,” Tabby hesitated visibly. “John Miller is here as well—he—uh—felt as I do about ministering to Ann Yoder. He suggested we take her the pie that survived . . . together.”
“A charming idea,” Elizabeth said, holding on to the strong young arms that helped her into a sitting position. “And so nice and early in the morning too. She might have a bite for breakfast.”
“Ya.” Tabby’s response was quiet, and Elizabeth struggled to hold her peace about the courtship. But then they set about the business of dressing and Beth focused on going out to meet her bruder—an unpleasant task, she knew, but still one that she prayed might be turned for Gott’s greater blessing in time.