A Time to Love (12 page)

"Even if we concede that the work you do is worthy, that is not to say that you won't feel a need to show your world something you think needs to be improved in ours," a man named Benjamin said, sitting back in his chair and stroking his bristly beard.

"I'm here to heal from my injuries," she said quietly. "When I first came, I had trouble walking and talking."

Her hand went to the scar on her face. "I know that the Plain People think the
Englisch
are fancy and too concerned with appearances, with the shallow and not the spiritual. And maybe you're right. But even if I wanted to go on the air, I feel that many people would be paying so much attention to how I still look and sound that they would miss any message I might have."

Phoebe made a sound and Jenny turned to her with a smile."I'm sorry that I upset you when I say that. But it's true."

She got up to serve more coffee and felt their eyes on her moving slowly with the use of her cane. For once she didn't mind because it just emphasized her words. She hadn't done it deliberately, she had just felt the tension and needed to move.

"But let me tell you why David, the man who works at the network, came to see me the other day," she said as she sat down again. "Months ago, the network reported on how a car bomber came after me and they showed the film that was being shot at the time. People have been writing to say they're worried about how I'm recovering. David wants to interview me and show them that I'm doing well." She laughed, but it wasn't a sound of humor. "Or let's say as well as can be expected. Anyway, I told him that he couldn't do this here, that I didn't want the community upset in any way with such an intrusion."

Her hip was really hurting, not just from sitting but maybe also from the tension she was feeling. There was no way, though, that she would show any discomfort to the men; she didn't want them to think she was manipulating their sympathy."What I going to do is return to New York City so that David can film the interview there."

She looked at each of the men to try to judge whether she was reaching them. "I felt very peaceful returning here. Like I was coming home. Some of you may remember me spending summers here as a teenager with my grandmother."

"I remember your father," Josiah said, frowning. "He rejected life here."

Jenny nodded. "I know it can seem that way. Although he didn't choose to be baptized and stay here he didn't forget God. Daddy made sure that we went to church, and I grew to love God the way he did."

She looked at her grandmother. "My father let me come here for two summers to be with my grandmother, to know the life here. He even encouraged my studying German in school. I grew up to respect your way of life from him, not to show it—" she stopped, fighting for the word—"disrespect." She paused.

"You know, some people see only the difference in clothing, in the way you live without what they see as conveniences. I know that it's about wanting to stay separate, for your desire to live your lives according to your religious principles. To do the best for your family."

She drew a breath. "I've done a lot of talking today," she said. "Do you have any questions?"

"What about you and Matthew?" Josiah wanted to know.

Jenny straightened. "Whether Matthew is a friend or if he is something more is between us," she said quietly but with dignity.

"Not when you behave as you did Sunday."

Stunned, Jenny stared at him. "I don't know what you mean."

"The two of you were standing outside, standing close. And he had his hand on your face."

Now she remembered. How could he twist something so innocent? "He merely touched my face to get me to look at him, to talk about why I was standing outside when it was so cold. He thought someone might have hurt my feelings at the service. It was a gesture of concern, not inappropriate flirting."

"Did you not feel welcome with the women?" asked Isaac, his eyes intent on her.

Gesturing at her cane, Jenny shook her head. "It wasn't that. I felt in the way because I can't move as well as I should."

"All in God's time, child," said Phoebe. "There is a time and a season and a reason."

"Wise words," Benjamin agreed, nodding.

"When are you going back to your home?" Josiah asked abruptly, not sounding friendly at all.

Sighing inwardly, Jenny tried to smile. "I'm not sure. I'm still healing, and I'm on a leave of absence from work."

Isaac shuffled together the papers she'd given him. "I will read these tonight. I'm glad we had this talk," he said as he stood. "Benjamin?"

The other man nodded. "I'll do so as well." He turned to smile at Phoebe. "Thank you for your hospitality, Phoebe. No one bakes a cake like you."

"Jenny helped," she said, smiling at her.

Not much,
thought Jenny.

They left and when Jenny turned to clear the table she saw that Josiah had left his papers. She sighed.

Phoebe patted her back. "You cannot please everyone, Jenny. You know that."

Jenny nodded. "I did the best I could." She reached for her grandmother's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you for helping me."

"You're
willkumm,
dear one."

Jenny thought later about the conversation in the kitchen.

Not the conversation with the elders—the one with her grandmother about cooking. It seemed every woman here was a good cook. Even Matthew's daughters knew how to cook with their aunt's help.

She thought about how things had gotten awkward the other night when her cell phone had rung during dinner and Matthew had been stern with Joshua about his interest. How things had become strained that night between her and Matthew.

"Could I cook supper and invite Matthew and his children to eat with us here?" she asked her grandmother as they spent a quiet afternoon reading before a crackling fire.

"That would be wonderful," Phoebe said, beaming.

"I don't cook much, but I know how to follow a recipe." She bit her lip. "But I would like to make the meal myself, if you don't mind?"

"Whatever you wish. There's a ham I was going to bake tonight, but we can save it for tomorrow if you'd like to make something else."

"No, that sounds good. And it's not hard to do, is it?"

"It's very easy."

Jenny went to look at supplies. Her grandmother kept an extensive pantry and the refrigerator and freezer were filled as well, unlike those in her kitchen back home in New York City. She found paper and a pencil and began making a menu.

Baked ham and a pan of scalloped potatoes, she decided. It was a good, hearty winter meal, one that could go into the oven while you did other things. And baking them would heat the kitchen and made it smell wonderful, which was a big plus. There was plenty of cake left. But that would be coasting on her grandmother's work. So what, then, for dessert?

She'd noticed Matthew liked apples and the children loved oatmeal cookies. What was that dish that used apples and cinnamon and oatmeal?

"Apple crisp," Phoebe told her when she asked.

The only thing left was a vegetable. Maybe some canned vegetables which would require just a quick warm-up. She wrote that down.

"Looks like a tasty
nachtesse,"
her grandmother said when Jenny showed her the list. "Have you made all of these things before?"

Jenny chewed on the pencil. "Well, no, but I think I can do it. I saw your recipe box. Could I look in it?"

Phoebe smiled and fetched it, placing it in front of her.

"I guess I just need to invite my guests to dinner, then."Jenny set down the pencil and wondered if she should use the telephone in the shanty to call them. The call was for a purpose, not idle chatter, so she could use it. But she still felt she wanted to make the invitation in person.

She pulled on her coat, muffler, hat, and gloves. "I'm going to walk over and invite them."

Then, just as she started to open the door, she glanced back."I don't suppose you'd take my suggestion to put your feet up and be a lady of leisure for an afternoon, would you?"

Phoebe tilted her head and considered that. "No," she decided with a smile. "But perhaps I will cut some more pieces for my quilt."

"I guess that's as close as
you
get to not doing anything," Jenny said with a chuckle.

Moving carefully, she walked to Matthew's house. Her knock was immediately answered by Hannah.

"Is Matthew home?"

"He's in the barn. Shall I get him for you?"

"No, I'll go out there, if you don't mind."

Hannah nodded. "Of course."

Jenny opened the door to the barn. The air inside smelled of hay and horses. Matthew looked up in surprise as she stepped inside. "Hi."

He walked toward her, the bridle he'd been repairing forgotten in his hand.

"Hello. What brings you here today?"

"I want to invite you and the children and Hannah to supper. Will you come?"

"I heard
Englisch
women don't cook much."

"I take . . . offense at that," she said, grinning. "Okay, many of us don't cook as much as Amish women. But most of us work outside the home these days, remember?" Actually, many Amish women these days did so as well, but Matthew didn't correct her on that. And she almost added that she often worked out of the country, in remote locations. But that would sound too defensive and besides, she seldom cooked even with her state-of-the-art kitchen.

"Yes, we would love to come."

Letting out a sigh of relief, she smiled. "Good. I'll go ask Hannah."

"I could tell her."

"No, she should get her own invitation. Can you come at six?"

"We'll be there."

Jenny stopped back by the house and invited Hannah, who couldn't have looked more surprised. "You haven't started supper yet, have you?" When Hannah shook her head, Jenny grinned. "Great. See you at six."

Cooking in her grandmother's kitchen was an adventure. The oven was nothing like the one at home. Well, she'd only used the appliances that were the latest stainless-steel design a couple of times; mostly she used the microwave. But it seemed like this older model white stove that ran on gas wasn't heating well. Each time she checked inside it, it didn't seem warm. Getting out the ham, she put it in a pan, scored the fat on top the way she'd seen her grandmother do, and set it into the oven.

Next came the scalloped potatoes. Jenny considered it a success when she only nicked herself twice peeling them.
Battle
scars, she told herself determinedly and worked more carefully as she sliced the potatoes. Once she was past peeling and slicing, the process was simple. She buttered the baking dish, layering the potatoes and dotting them with butter. Then she poured in the milk and carefully set the pan in the oven next to the ham.

That done, she glanced at the time to figure out when to check them. The vegetable was easy—there were rows upon rows of glass jars filled with brightly colored vegetables that had been canned during the height of their summer goodness. The canned tomatoes looked really good.

Jenny eyed the basket of apples. More peeling. Maybe it was time to think of another dessert. She flipped through her grandmother's recipe file but decided that other than the peeling, this was a simple dessert. So she sat down and peeled and peeled, then mixed the cinnamon and sugar and oatmeal and nuts for the crunchy topping.

"Mmm, it's smelling good in here," Phoebe said as she walked in.

Jenny checked the time. "I think I'll stop for a cup of tea. Will you join me?"

"Sounds good."

They sat in the comfortable kitchen, surrounded by more mess than her grandmother usually made when preparing a meal, and drank their tea.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself."

"I am," Jenny said, a little surprised at her own admission. "I don't usually have the time to do this. And honestly, it's just easier to pop something in the microwave."

"We need to feed ourselves first," Phoebe said. "And not just with food. Women are the nurturers, the caregivers. We need to have time to go to God in prayer, to find a quiet moment for ourselves, to take good care of ourselves, or we can't be there for others. Cooking is nurturing."