Almost Amish (21 page)

She went to the door and looked out, but saw or heard nothing. They were up to something; there was no doubt about it.

It was another hour before they all came home. “Well, we’re tired. We’re going to head to bed. See you all in the morning.” Whitney didn’t even look her way as she said the words, neither did the rest of the kids. “Yep, we’re tired.” They all made a show of yawning and stretching the whole way up the stairs.

“Well, they certainly calmed down. After all that initial bellyaching, I thought they would come in with some new tactic to get us to change our minds.” Susan shook her head and looked toward them. “I don’t know what happened, but whatever it is, I’m glad.”

“Yes, glad.”
Then again . . . maybe not.

By the time Susan woke Saturday morning, the house had been without air-conditioning for five or six hours, and the air already felt thick and oppressive. How bad would it get by the end of seven days? She walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, bracing herself to go downstairs and light the stove for breakfast.

She tiptoed down the steps toward the kitchen. Normally, she didn’t try overly hard not to wake the kids because they had to get up and do chores, too. Today, with the heat already pressing in, she thought she might give them a bit longer of blissful unawareness.

She checked to make certain the grate was as high as it would go in the woodbox, then searched for the smallest pieces of wood possible. After she got the fire going and put the coffeepot on the burner, she stepped out onto the screened-in porch. It was definitely cooler out here. Not by a lot, not yet, but after the stove had been used throughout the day, that might change. Yes, they were going to need to move their beds somewhere else.

When she went back inside, the water for coffee had not yet even begun to boil. Perhaps she’d been too sparse in her use of wood. Reluctantly, she added another piece. She probably should just go with milk, fruit, and cheese for breakfast, as none of those things needed heat. But what would the viewers want her to do in the situation? Taking the easy way out was likely not the answer. So she pulled out the griddle and went about making pancake batter. She added another piece of wood to the fire to make certain she had enough heat to cook bacon as well, hoping that the viewers would appreciate this effort.

“Ew-wee, it’s hot in here.” Whitney came tromping through the kitchen, followed closely by Angie and Brian.

“Good morning, Aunt Susan.”

“Good morning, Aunt Susan.”

“Good morning, Mom.”

The kids passed through the kitchen in quick progression, then disappeared out the back door on their way to the barn and morning chores.

“Hurry back. I’ve got pancakes about to go on the griddle.”

“Sounds delish,” Whitney called back over her shoulder.

Julie came traipsing in from the front door just then. “Whew. If this morning is any indication, this is going to be the hottest day yet.” She carried a basketful of berries from the garden. “Doesn’t it just figure that it would be the week we don’t have electricity?” She went to the sink and washed the berries, then set them in the strainer to dry. “I bet Kendra has been watching the weather reports ever since we arrived, waiting.” She pulled the butter out of the large cooler, which had been brought in last night. “Which is not going to make the week a lot of fun, but in the long run, this will be good for us all.”

By now, Susan was standing over the steaming griddle, wiping her forehead with her pajama sleeve. “You’re probably right.” Footsteps on the back porch announced the kids’ return. “Everyone hurry and wash your hands. Breakfast will be ready in about one minute.”

“Oh, sorry, it’s just me. I didn’t mean to interrupt breakfast.” Gary’s voice came from the other side of the screened door. Susan glanced up to see him standing there, looking all fresh and cool in a pale blue T-shirt and faded jeans. “I was just stopping by to see if y’all would like some help moving the beds around today. I heard a rumor that this was the no-electricity week, and I thought we could at least move the beds downstairs. It’ll make your living room a bit crowded, but it’ll make sleeping more comfortable.”

Susan was suddenly all too aware of the fact that she was standing there with her hair a mess, still wearing her shapeless blue cotton pajamas. It wasn’t like she cared what she looked like for Gary, in particular, it’s just that she really didn’t want anyone to see her looking this way.

“You read our minds.” Julie walked over and swung the door open. “Come on in. Join us for breakfast.”

Oh, great. That was easy for Julie to say. She’d obviously gotten up in time to wash her still-damp hair and put on some clean clothes.

“Ah, thanks for the offer, but I don’t want to impose. Besides, I ate a bowl of cereal a while ago, so I’m plenty good.”

“Nonsense, nonsense. We’re all about hospitality, right, Susan? Here, let me pull you up another chair.”

Susan turned to see Gary looking at her, waiting for her response. She looked down at herself and shrugged. “You’re welcome to stay”—she glanced down again—“but you may want to sit facing the other direction. I obviously wasn’t expecting company this morning.”

He walked up beside her, close enough that she could feel his shoulder as it brushed up to hers. “I think you take the first-thing-in-the-morning-rumpled look to a whole new level of chic.”

“Liar.”

“Not even a little bit.” He pulled a loose strand of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

Susan looked into those baby-blue eyes of his and wanted so badly to believe him. She knew better, but would it hurt just to let herself go emotionally, just for a while? Just while they were here?

The kids came clattering up the back stairs at the same time Julie returned to the kitchen with a chair from the living room. “Wash up, everyone. Breakfast is ready. Gary is joining us this morning.”

Julie pulled out the chair from the head of the table. “This one’s for you, Gary. Everyone else, shift down a place, starting with you, Brian. We’ll keep the adults on one end of the table.” She carried over a plate of pancakes to put on each end of the table.

Susan sat at her place, still so embarrassed to be sitting here looking like this that it took her a few seconds to realize the room had fallen silent. She normally led them in grace.

Julie finally spoke up. “Gary, would you like to say grace, or would you prefer that I do it?”

“I’d be happy to.” They all bowed their heads and closed their eyes. “Dear Father, thank You so much for this amazing family You’ve brought to us here. Help us not to take for granted what a blessing we’re experiencing right now. Thank You for this food and the cooks who worked so hard to prepare it. Amen.”

The table fell more or less into silence as everyone began to eat their pancakes. The clank of fork against plate and the occasional “pass the pancakes, please” testified to the fact that the pancakes were a hit.

“So why are you eating with us this morning? I think I missed that part of the conversation.” Brian stuffed another bite of pancake into his mouth, his expression showing nothing but innocent curiosity at his question.

“I invited him,” Julie said. “He’s going to help us move some of the beds downstairs, so perhaps we’ll be a bit cooler tonight than we would be upstairs.”

Brian nodded. “Oh, great. Thanks for doing that.”

“You are most welcome, Brian. And I still want to come check out that fancy telescope of yours sometime.”

Brian choked on his milk but nodded. “That would be great. I’m pretty busy working on a class project this week, but next week would be great.”

“All right. Next week it is.”

Susan swept the living room while Julie and the girls pulled out all their quilting supplies. They were chatting and laughing, and with every single word, Susan’s blood pressure crept a little higher. The stack of mattresses against the wall looked haphazard at best—far from the Amish standarad of neatness. Just because it was Saturday and the kids didn’t have school didn’t mean they could just goof off. There were always things to be done—certainly more pressing things than quilting.

“Aunt Susan, I don’t know why you’re sweeping the floor now. It’s just going to have strings and thread all over it by the time we’re done.”

Susan wondered if her face and neck were bright red, the way her mother’s used to get when she was about to have an explosion. Susan stopped sweeping so she could look Whitney directly in the eye. “Why make the bed if you’re just going to sleep in it again tonight? Why wash the dishes if they’re just going to get dirty again? For that matter, why even cook the dinner, if you’re just going to have to do it again the next night?” Her voice gained volume with each repeated question.

“Susan.” Julie set down a pile of fabric and walked across the room. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. But I’m sick and tired of being the only one who does anything around here. If it weren’t for me, nothing would ever get accomplished. Why can’t all of you take a little more initiative instead of just counting on me?”

“I . . . uh . . .” There were tears in Julie’s eyes as she looked from the girls back to Susan. “Girls, why don’t you put that fabric up on the chairs. Angie and Whitney, go get the supplies and scrape another sill. I’ll just go get another broom and help Susan.”

A silence so heavy had descended on the group that the sound of each footstep across the wood floors sounded painfully loud. The swooshing of the broom against the floor, the scrape of metal against wood, grew louder with each passing second. Nobody was speaking or even glancing up, and certainly none of them were looking anywhere near Susan. She looked at the group silently involved in their chores, faces set, and knew that she had been too abrupt. But everything she’d said had been the truth, too. She was tired of having to push and prod to get anything done around here.

Julie stepped out of the room for a second, returned with a rag, and began dusting around the firelplace. Susan finished sweeping and went to get her own rag. At least she could help Julie, perhaps build a little bridge between them. She walked over to the mantel. “Have you done this side yet?”

“No.” Julie’s voice was soft and low.

From the corner of her eye, Susan saw Julie’s hand go up to her face, and she glimpsed tears on her cheeks.

Susan ran her rag across the mantel, and just as she’d expected, it came away dusty. It had been two days since they’d done this, and since they were leaving the windows open all the time this week, a fine covering of dust and pollen had spread throughout the room. She hoped that Julie and the kids were noticing this and realizing that this had indeed been necessary.

“My, my. Aren’t you all a bunch of worker bees today?” Rosemary stood outside the screen door of the living room, since the wooden one was propped open. “You’re about as quiet as I’ve ever heard ya, too. We’ll have to see if we can’t do something about that, now won’t we?” She came inside, then stopped and fanned herself. “It’s a tad stuffy in here. What would you ladies think of taking our work outside on the porch?”

“I’ll . . . just go clean off the table and chairs real quick.” Whitney disappeared into the kitchen, reappeared with a rag and bottle of cleaning solution in her hands, and headed to the porch.

“I’ll help.” Angie went out the door, never looking back.

“What’s the matter with everyone around here? You’d think your last cow had just died or something.”

Julie walked toward the older woman. “Oh, sorry, we’re not being very hospitable, are we? Rosemary, would you like a nice cold water?”

“Sounds wonderful.” She picked up her large bag and started for the door. “I’ll just go see if the kids need my help.” As the door swung closed behind her, Susan heard her say something that included the words “prickly” and “uptight.”

Well, someone around here had to be. Nothing had changed from their life in Santa Barbara, only the setting. Once again, she carried the full burden of making certain that things were done correctly.

Julie breezed past her, three glasses full of water in her hands. She used her hip to push open the storm door. “Here you go, ladies. A round of water on the house.”

There was faint laughter from the girls before Julie said, “I’ll just go get some for Susan and me, and then I’ll be back and ready to stitch.”

“I’ll get it.” Susan set the dust rag aside and went about preparing a couple of glasses of ice water. She carried them outside, put one glass beside Julie’s chair, and brought the other with her to the last chair on the porch. She picked up a couple rows of fabric and began lining them up, just like Rosemary had taught her. She hated this. It was tedious, and boring, and a complete waste of her time. There were so many other things that needed doing.

“I’ve been thinking,” Julie said, looking up from her work. “I know that everyone in this town is well aware that we are out here filming, and they are all more than a little intrigued by that. So, I’m thinking, maybe if we actually finish a quilt that is good enough, we could auction it off to the local residents. The money could go to help with that Kids’ Club Whitney worked with the other night, or maybe the hospital here, or some other local charity that needs help.”

Rosemary nodded. “That’s what I call a terrific idea. I have a friend who’s an auctioneer. I bet he’d help us with it.” She rocked back and forth. “You’ve got a true gift, Julie, a true gift.”

“I may be good for a beginner, but even I know enough to know I’m not great.”

“I wasn’t speaking of sewing. You think that one over for a while.” Rosemary turned her attention to Susan. “So . . . you’re looking a little stressed over there. Needin’ some help with your stitching?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“I see.” Rosemary leaned forward, her elbows on the arms of the rocking chair, her watery blue eyes fixed on Susan. “Don’t look so fine to me. You carry a lot of burdens that you really don’t need to carry.”

Susan did not have the time or the patience for another Rosemary-the-shrink session. “I carry the burdens I have to carry in order to make certain my daughter and I survive in this world.”