First thing the next morning, Annie tiptoed to Louisa’s room. She knocked lightly and whispered, ‘‘You awake?’’ Aware of a small groan, she inched the door open and peeked in. ‘‘Psst! Louisa? All right if I come in?’’
‘‘You’re halfway in already, you goof.’’
Annie sat on the bed, smiling. ‘‘I want to show you around today.’’
‘‘What about chores?’’ Louisa sat up and stretched her arms. ‘‘And when’s that quilting bee you talked about?’’
‘‘You’ll see how quickly chores get done . . . and we’ll even sew you up a dress or two before noon.’’ She was surprised Louisa had remembered the comment made to Esther about the quilting bee. ‘‘The quilting’s tomorrow—would you like to learn how to make the teeniest tiniest stitches ever?’’
Louisa looked at her, a sleepy haze still evident on her pretty face. ‘‘That’s why I’m here, right?’’
‘‘Oh you!’’ Annie plopped down on the pillow next to Louisa’s; her cat came right over. ‘‘What did I ever do without a sister?’’
‘‘Aw, you’re too sweet, Annie.’’
‘‘I mean it.’’
‘‘Well, I feel the same way. And I have so much catching up to do if I’m going to be a good big sister . . . starting with you showing me how to cook on that funky stove of yours.’’
‘‘Honestly? You want to make breakfast today?’’
Louisa nodded, reaching for Muffin. ‘‘I’ll give it my best shot.’’
‘‘Sounds like Yonie and his hunting adventure . . . probably shooting everything in sight.’’
‘‘I’ll need time to de-feminize the place so he doesn’t freak when he returns.’’ Louisa glanced at the room.
‘‘No matter what, you’ll have to open the window and air it out.’’ Annie laughed, but she meant it.
‘‘Hey,’’ Louisa protested, ‘‘I told you I wanted to bathe more often!’’
‘‘I didn’t mean it like that—it smells far too perty in here, that’s what.’’
‘‘Mm-hmm, sure. . . . So, what did you want to show me today?’’
‘‘This afternoon, I’ll take you to Pequea Creek, where little Isaac disappeared.’’ She paused, looking over her shoulder to see that the door was securely shut. ‘‘And we’ll smuggle along our sketchbooks, too, if ya want.’’
Louisa raised her eyebrows. ‘‘You’re one rebellious chick.’’
Chick? ‘‘So now I’ve been reduced to a fowl?’’
‘‘You crack me up, Annie. Go get dressed.’’
‘‘I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.’’ Annie headed to the door.
‘‘Too short. I need time for a sponge bath.’’
Annie gave a little laugh. ‘‘You showered at Julia’s yesterday. How clean must ya be?’’
Louisa shook her head, feigning a pout.
‘‘Okay, I’ll bring up some heated water in a bit.’’
‘‘Thanks, Annie. Maybe I’ll actually be able to live with myself now.’’
Annie wasted no time giving Louisa a thorough lesson on how to cook on a wood stove. She began by talking about a good grate and how important it was to have a tight fit when it came to tending a fire, as well as keeping it from smoking up the house. ‘‘The fire is the focus of your attention, really. Once you get used to how hot you need the surface to be, you’ll be fine.’’ She paused, watching Louisa’s expression.
‘‘Want to help me get the fire started?’’ Louisa asked.
‘‘This time, sure. Next time, you’ll be ready to do it yourself.’’ Annie pointed out the vents, ash box, and dampers and explained their functions. ‘‘Actually, a firebox this size is wonderful-good, ’cause it can hold a fire longer and requires less tending.’’
‘‘I’ve read that food cooked or baked on a wood stove tastes better.’’
‘‘Prob’ly so, but I haven’t had much experience otherwise.’’ Annie remembered eating at Cousin Julia’s and, once in a blue moon, when she and Rudy were courting, she’d enjoyed supper at Harvest Drive Restaurant, as well as at Dienner’s.
‘‘I’ll try to remember everything.’’ Louisa reached for the big iron skillet and set it on the counter.
‘‘Do you want to gather eggs or set the table?’’ Annie asked, curious to know which Louisa would choose.
‘‘You’re way better at the egg thing, so have at it.’’
‘‘Ach, you’ll be doin’ that in your sleep by the time Christmas comes.’’ And then it dawned on her: if Louisa stayed put, she could attend the annual school program at the one-room school, along with all the other fun holiday activities.
Louisa was studying her. ‘‘You think I’ll ever gather eggs without getting pecked to death by defensive hens?’’
‘‘Maybe not.’’ She offered a smile. ‘‘When I return from the henhouse, I’ll show you how to test the stove’s surface for adequate heat, with water droplets. All right?’’
Louisa nodded, smiling, and turned to wash her hands. When she’d dried them, she pulled out the utensil drawer and counted eight place settings, including enough for the grandparents next door. ‘‘You must be laughing at me, Annie.’’
‘‘Now, why’s that?’’
‘‘I must seem nearly helpless in the kitchen . . . at least to your way of doing things.’’
Annie looked her over good. ‘‘I daresay you definitely need another dress or two. That one’s got a telltale sign on it, by the way—paint from yesterday’s visit to the attic.’’ Here, she lowered her voice to a whisper.
Louisa grimaced. ‘‘An apron will remedy that, jah?’’ She went to the back of the cellar door and removed Barbara’s work apron off the hook. ‘‘There. Ta-dah!’’
Annie had to laugh. ‘‘You’ve come a long way in a few days, Miss Lou. You look and cook Plain, and you talk our first language.’’ With that, she headed for the mud room to put on her work boots.
Miss Lou? Hey, I like that.
Louisa watched Annie leave the house, then went to the trestle table and, remembering precisely where each person always sat at mealtime, she began to set the table. ‘‘If my mom could see me now. . . .’’
At that instant, a little furry creature appeared from under the cellar door and skittered across the width of the kitchen floor. Louisa stifled a squeal, looking around for safety. The mouse ran toward the sink and hid in the shadows. In turn, Louisa dashed to the long bench pushed against the table and hopped up.
Shaking with fright, she spied the rodent running the length of the counter. Then it zipped behind the cookstove. Louisa got up on the table and sat cross-legged there. This would never happen in my apartment! she thought.
She contemplated the contrast between the black-and-white checkerboard linoleum floor here and her own high-end ceramic-tiled kitchen with its state-of-the-art Sub-Zero fridge and stainless steel sink. Definitely no mice!
Her pulse pounded in her head, because more than anything, she despised rodents—filthy, disease-ridden critters. She leaned down, putting her hands over her face, and groaned. Her mother would be appalled and Michael would be splitting his sides with laughter. Yeah, they were so sure she wouldn’t last here, and at the moment Louisa couldn’t see herself ever getting down off this table. Never!
Without a warning, Annie’s grandma wandered over from the Dawdi Haus. ‘‘Mornin’ to ya, Missy,’’ she said, her head covering a bit cockeyed as she stared at Louisa. ‘‘You city girls do yogurt exercises on tables?’’
Louisa squelched a nervous laugh. ‘‘Uh, no, this isn’t exactly yoga.’’ She hated to reveal what a total wimp she was. ‘‘I . . . er . . . saw a mouse.’’ She felt ridiculous, but she was too freaked to budge.
Grandma flashed a smile. ‘‘Well now, that explains it.’’ She stood there staring. ‘‘Did I hear voices a bit ago? Annie’s, maybe?’’
Nodding, Louisa glanced at the floor. ‘‘I had a cooking lesson . . . before the mouse showed up.’’
‘‘Annie’s got you workin’, does she?’’
‘‘I’d like to pull my weight around here.’’ That struck her funny, and she imagined how strange she must look perched up here.
Grandma Zook shook her cane about, as if shooing away the unwelcome visitor. ‘‘There. I daresay it’s safe for you to come down now, if you’ve got your wits ’bout you.’’
That was definitely her cue to start acting like the empowered young woman she believed herself to be. She unfolded her long legs and hopped to the bench, standing there for a second before entrusting her feet to the floor.
‘‘Quite a morning, already, jah?’’ Grandma teased.
‘‘I’m still getting acclimated to the country,’’ she said with a smile. Then—‘‘Any mousetraps around here?’’
‘‘No need, really, with all them barn cats. And your Muffin . . . where is that feline when he’s needed?’’ Grandma’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
Cringing at the thought of her beloved kitty’s paws getting anywhere near another disgusting mouse, Louisa went immediately to the sink to wash her hands. Then, returning to the table, she folded the white paper napkins and placed one beneath each fork.
The older woman smiled broadly, nodding deliberately.
‘‘Annie will have you cookin’ all the time, if you’re not careful.
She’s a good teacher . . . but not much interested in domestic chores, seems to me.’’ She hobbled over and sat in the chair at the foot of the table. ‘‘My granddaughter’s got other things takin’ up space in her head . . . ever since she was a wee girl.’’
Louisa kept her eye out for a return of the mouse.
Grandma Zook continued. ‘‘We just don’t know ’bout that one. Good-hearted, for sure and for certain, but our Annie thinks her own thoughts.’’ She shook her head in short, quick jerks. ‘‘If you have any sway over her, I should hope you can steer her in the right direction.’’
That’s a tall order, thought Louisa.
‘‘Her Dawdi and Daed are both worried, ’tween you and me.’’
Louisa perked up her ears. ‘‘Why would that be?’’ She wasn’t playing dumb. She really wanted to know what this little demure grandma was thinking.
‘‘It’s a cryin’ shame for Annie to snub her nose at the Good Lord.’’ Sighing, Grandma continued. ‘‘Seems to me she should’ve been first in line to join church when she turned courting age, or soon after. Just makes not a whit of sense.’’
Louisa found it interesting that Annie’s grandmother, whom she scarcely knew, felt comfortable opening up like this. ‘‘Well, I’m sure Annie will eventually do the right thing.’’
‘‘I should hope so . . . for the Good Lord and the People,’’ Grandma was quick to say with the fire of sincerity in her eyes.
When Annie returned to the house, Louisa was amazed at the large quantity of eggs in her wire basket.
Annie smiled big. ‘‘ ’Mornin’, Mammi . . . I got me a perty big batch.’’
‘‘Well,’’ said her grandmother, staring at Annie. ‘‘You missed all the excitement.’’
Louisa shrugged, wishing to forget the appearance of the mouse. And when Grandma didn’t attempt to tell on her, Louisa was rather pleased . . . as if the older woman and she shared a small secret.
Annie looked somewhat confused. Not inquiring, she motioned for Louisa to go to the sink for some water. ‘‘See if the droplets bead and roll . . . and hiss on the stove. You try it.’’
‘‘Jah . . . bead, roll, and spit. Bead, roll . . . spit,’’ chanted the elderly woman.
When Louisa tested the heat, the water did precisely that. ‘‘That’s cool,’’ she said.
‘‘No, that’s hot,’’ Annie said. ‘‘You’re ready to scramble up some eggs.’’
‘‘Mustn’t forget the bacon.’’ Grandma Zook came over to observe.
Louisa welcomed her presence. She wasn’t hovering the way Louisa’s mom typically did. The woman, oddly enough, was most supportive and encouraging, though she merely nodded her little gray head, folding her hands now and then.
But in a few short minutes, even though she tried to keep ahead of the fire by continually scraping the eggs from the bottom of the cast-iron frying pan, Louisa had burned the eggs to a crispy mess. Chagrined, she wished she had attempted fried eggs instead. ‘‘I’m so sorry,’’ she said, looking to Annie. ‘‘I’ll have to start over. What about a back-up plan?’’
‘‘Such as what?’’ asked Annie.
‘‘Peahens’ eggs?’’
Annie covered her mouth, trying not to laugh, but her eyes told the truth. ‘‘No . . . no, those eggs are our future peacocks and peahens.’’
Even Mammi Zook had to hold herself together, she cackled so hard.
‘‘Maybe I’d do better with pancakes,’’ Louisa suggested, hoping so.
Annie quit laughing long enough to say she’d help Louisa figure out when to flip the pancakes.
At that moment, Annie’s mother entered the kitchen, looking quite stunned at seeing an Englisher standing at her cook-stove. And a worldly artist, at that! Louisa was sure Barbara held her at arm’s length and would continue to do so. And no wonder. Annie offered no explanation but quickly began to mix up the pancake batter. Her mother, who must have sniffed the burnt offering, set about making coffee.
It was Mammi Zook who nodded her head silently, patting Louisa’s arm before heading over to the table to sit. What a sweetheart, thought Louisa, wondering why the older woman hadn’t coached her earlier. Learning by doing. A concept her own mom had ignored early on as a young mother, too eager to step in and do things herself instead of allowing Louisa to try and possibly fail.
Part of why I love this place, Louisa thought. I’m free to fall flat on my face.
Thinking ahead, she had difficulty envisioning the process of cutting out a cape dress and sewing it up in a few hours. But then, a few weeks ago she never would have believed she’d be running from an Amish mouse or wreaking havoc with breakfast for Annie’s family!
Louisa was heartened by Annie’s patience toward her . . . stretching the measuring tape from nape of neck to waist, and waistline to hem, as well as all the other vital measurements . . . to marking the hem. ‘‘Good thing we’re sewing another dress for me. I have to admit, I have a hard time wearing something more than once. And it might be nice to have a nightgown, too. If you think I can sew one of those.’’
‘‘Oh, well, if you really want to sew your nightclothes, that’s fine, but I usually get mine at Wal-Mart.’’
‘‘No kidding?’’
Annie smiled playfully. ‘‘They have a hitchin’ post out behind the store for us horse-’n’-buggy folk.’’
‘‘Wow . . . interesting.’’
‘‘Yeah, we show up every so often in pictures on the pages of the Lancaster New Era, one of the local newspapers, I’m told.’’
Louisa was captivated. ‘‘The juxtaposition of the old ways and the modern high-tech world is really quite a clash—nearly startling, actually. Who would believe that people live this way . . . in the twenty-first century?’’
She tried to focus on Annie’s instruction. It was as if she were in seventh grade home ec class all over again. Except she’d never seen a treadle sewing machine, let alone operated one. It was so tricky to get the rhythm of her feet pressing back and forth. She felt absolutely inept.
‘‘Here, I’ll show you once more,’’ Annie offered. ‘‘It’s like eatin’ watermelon, spitting out the seeds, and walking at the same time, jah?’’
‘‘I feel like such a klutz.’’
‘‘You mean clumsy, jah? Here we say dabbich.’’
Louisa repeated the Dutch word and smiled. ‘‘I’m slowly building my new vocabulary.’’
‘‘That you are.’’ Annie’s feet worked the treadle, smooth as satin. ‘‘It takes some doin’ . . . you almost don’t want to think ’bout it too hard, though.’’
Louisa watched and was soon ready to try again. ‘‘Your grandmother said you’re a good teacher, and you’re proving it to me.’’
‘‘Did she also remind you that I taught at the one-room school for several years?’’
‘‘No, but I remember those letters back then. You were waking before sunup to crank up the ol’ wood stove so your students— all eight grades together—wouldn’t shiver during the first hour of school.’’
‘‘But I quit the second year Rudy was courtin’ me. It looked as if I might be getting married that fall, but as you know, I didn’t. By then, another girl had taken my spot as teacher.’’ Annie explained how once she graduated from the eighth grade she was immediately eligible to instruct the younger students. ‘‘But the minute you’re married, you’re out.’’
‘‘How come?’’
‘‘A bride is expected to put all her attention into makin’ a home for her husband and preparing to bear many children.’’
‘‘So you couldn’t have gone back to teaching even if you wanted to?’’
‘‘Nee, wouldn’t think of it,’’ Annie said. ‘‘Such would set me up for tongue-waggin’.’’
Not wanting to press further, Louisa could read between the lines. Preacher Jesse’s daughter was a conundrum to the community. Big time.
And my coming adds even more fuel to the fire, Louisa thought. Yet she felt no urgency to abandon Annie and cut short the visit. If anything, she was even more determined to stay and encourage her friend to follow her heart.