Almost Amish (9 page)

“Challenge?” The words squeaked as they came out. “Already?”

“The show must go on, right? Will there be a problem?”

Calm down and act professional.
“No. No problem at all. Can you tell me what the challenge is?”

Kendra nodded. “We’re going to start you out slow. The challenge is simply to make an Amish staple—shoo-fly pie.”

“Shoo-fly pie?” She’d heard of it but had never made one. Still, cooking was her thing. “Sounds good.”

“It is . . . if it’s made correctly. If it’s not . . . ” Kendra grinned. “Well, I’m sure Julie won’t have any trouble.”

“Julie? She’ll be fine. She can just be my helper.”

“Uh . . . no.” Kendra’s smile looked all too pleased. “Julie will be working alone on this challenge. We already know that you are a good cook, and so does our audience. So we decided to let someone who isn’t as . . . domestically inclined . . . try out some of the old ways of doing things. You have the ingredients you need, including the molasses we bought on our Amish country tour. She’ll have a few Amish recipe books to browse for tips. We’ll give Julie the actual recipe we want her to use just before filming. Should be a snap.”

As much as Julie disliked cooking, Susan doubted very seriously that she would even approach comfort. Judging from the grin on Kendra’s face, she knew the same thing. And then Susan realized the truth—that was the whole idea. They wanted Julie to be awkward. They wanted her to fail. They thought that would make for interesting television.

Well, it might make for interesting television, but they would have to look elsewhere. It wasn’t going to be easy, but by show time, Susan was going to have turned Julie into an adequate pie chef. One who could work even under primitive circumstances, and with the added pressure of cameras and all that went with them.

A door slammed and soon a voice called out “Hey, what happened to our kitchen?” Whitney leaned into the living room.

“Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten. While we were out today they did a little work in there.”

Whitney jumped over the steps. “Yeah, I see the stone they put on the floor and the wall, but they forgot one thing. They forgot to put the stove and oven back in place.”

“The oven’s not here, and we’ve got a baking challenge in two days?” Heat prickled across Susan’s scalp. She’d been so focused on the living room, she hadn’t even entered the kitchen.

“Not to worry. That old gas range was a fire hazard, so we took it out. Your brand-new oven will be installed in plenty of time for the baking challenge.”

Julie picked up the amorphous piece of dough and tried to fit it into the pie tin. During the course of rolling it out, it had become less of a circle and more of a rectangle. This proved to be a problem now, because it wasn’t wide enough on two sides. She cut the extra dough from the longer sides and tried to squish them onto the shorter sides.

“Julie, that looks piecemeal. Besides, it will break apart at the seam when you try to serve it. If you get it nice and round, then you won’t have this problem.” Susan shook her head as she said the words.

“I think it just wants to be a rectangle. And you told me not to mess with the dough too much or it would get tough. Now, which way do you want me to play it?”

Susan thought for a second before replying, “I want you to make it round.”

“It’s not like I’m not trying, you know. Until this very moment, I don’t think I’ve ever tried to make my own pie crust before.”

“That can’t possibly be true. You make homemade pecan pie at Christmas.”

“I make the pie, not the crust. That’s why they have the refrigerated section in the grocery store, for things like pre-made pie crusts.”

“Okay, how about when you were in Home Economics?”

“I took World Geography instead.”

“When you were a kid during the holidays?”

“Dad and I bought a box of dressing mix, a can of creamed corn, and a frozen pie and called it good.”

“Wow.” Susan pondered this for a minute. “I keep forgetting about your past. I guess it’s no wonder you’re not a very good—” Her face reddened and she looked away. “I mean, that you didn’t learn a lot of the things I take for granted.”

Julie turned her attention back to the pie plate, trying to ignore the sting caused by Susan’s slip. She pulled the crust out and couldn’t help but put some of her frustration into smashing the dough back into a ball, prepared to try again.

“Okay, everyone, your new clothes washer has arrived. Come check it out.” Kendra breezed into the kitchen, followed closely by the camera crew. A broad smile lit her face as she gestured toward the back door. “Gary and Chris are about to unload it right now.”

Julie wondered why Kendra would be so obviously delighted about something so mundane. And why would she feel the need to have the camera crew follow her into the house when she made this announcement?

Whatever the reason, it temporarily freed her from her doughy task, so she gratefully plopped the dough into the mixing bowl, washed the flour off her hands and forearms, and followed Kendra through the door to the back porch. She stopped short when she saw what was in the back of the rusted white pickup truck parked outside. “What is that?”

“I told you, it’s your new washing machine.” Kendra walked over to the truck and put her hand on what looked to Julie like a half barrel with legs sticking out of it, and some sort of device sticking up from one end. “Its design is based on the washing machines of the past, but there have been a few modifications that make it work a little better. The triangular shape of the agitator, for instance, supposedly makes the soap move through the clothes better.”

Julie heard whispering and turned to see Angie saying something to Whitney, who nodded her head every couple of seconds. Then she looked up and said, “Wait just a second. We’ve done some research about the Amish, and this is not what they use. They use gas-powered washers. We”—she looked at Angie, who looked down—“I think they might have those wringer things, but they don’t have the complete hand-wash unit like that.”

Kendra’s expression went from delighted to something far less civil. Whitney had been the one to challenge her, and Julie could see that the woman’s face bordered on downright agitation. “Well, I’m glad to see you did some research, Whitney. That is always an admirable quality—one that is often lacking in
children
your age. I’m sure your mother is happy to hear about your research, too. You’re focusing too much on the specific details. Our segment is being called
Going
Almost
Amish
. I know you know the
almost
word—you have used it yourself in order to avoid plain dresses, outhouses, and a house without air-conditioning. You’ve used it to barter for your brother’s telescopes. Now I guess I’m using it to introduce you to your new washing machine.”

“Whatever,” Whitney mumbled, her face splotched red with anger. Or embarrassment. Julie wasn’t quite certain.

Chris stood at the tailgate beside a man Julie had not yet seen. He was older, maybe mid-fifties. He had gray hair and wore faded jeans and a denim shirt, but something about the way he held himself made him seem a bit refined. “Where do you want it?” he asked.

“Just outside the back porch, the one off the kitchen.”

The men set it in place. It was obvious from the strain of their arms that it was heavy, but neither of them gave any outward expression to show this. Chris’s face remained as impassive as if he were watching paint dry, and the older man had something of a smile on his face. “How’s this?”

Kendra nodded. “Just right. Thank you.” She turned toward the family then. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet your handyman.” She walked over closer to the older man. “You’ll be seeing a lot of him. He’ll be the one teaching you how to take care of the animals, repair fences, grow your vegetables—whatever it is that you need help with.”

Gary nodded a greeting toward the group, and only then did Julie notice his eyes. They were that incredible shade of blue she’d always thought of as Paul Newman–esque. In fact, Gary was nice looking all around, in a rugged sort of way. “I have a rudimentary understanding of how this contraption works, if you’d like me to show you what I know. Just need some hot water and some laundry soap.”

Julie couldn’t help casting a glance toward Susan. Susan was looking at him, no doubt about it. Not gawking, by any means, but how long had it been since Susan had looked at any man with curiosity or interest? It was nice to see there was a little spark left in her eyes.

It didn’t last long. “Angie and Whitney, go pull down the curtains from the living room. We’ll clean them first and go from there.”

Maybe it’d just been the machine.

Neither of the girls said anything, but they both turned to go inside and do as they were told. Julie started after them. “I’ll get the hot water.”

“I can carry the water out if you’ll just fill a couple of large pots for me,” Gary said.

“I’ve got this, Julie. You need to get back on pie-crust practice. I’ll be back in to help you as soon as we get things going out here.”

“Oh, okay.” Julie reluctantly went back into the kitchen. She rolled out the dough as Susan and Gary filled pots with hot water. This time it began to form something closer to an oval than a rectangle. Well, at least it didn’t have sides. She picked it up and rolled it back into a ball and tried again. And again.

Three attempts in, Julie realized something. She was actually sort of enjoying it, and that stunned her.

She’d always hated to cook, at least for all of her adult life. And this certainly wasn’t coming naturally, but it felt almost relaxing. Why? It took a moment before she landed on the obvious truth. The phone wasn’t ringing, there wasn’t a carpool to drive, or a practice to get one of her kids to, and no office parties she needed to be planning. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that the last couple of days had been altogether pretty wonderful. She’d been distracted enough by Susan’s uptightness that she hadn’t noticed it right away, but there was something about the quietness of this life she thought she just might like. A lot.

She walked away from her task and out to the back porch, determined to savor this place a bit more. “How’s the laundry coming?”

“This thing’s pretty cool. Look at this.” Whitney pulled a long handle back and forth, which caused the clothes in the tub to roll back and forth with a pleasant swishing sound.

Julie stepped forward and looked down through the clear lid and into the swirling, sudsy water. “You’re right. That is pretty cool.” When was the last time they’d ever used those words in conjunction with doing laundry?

“Hang around for a minute and you can watch us try out the wringer.” Angie leaned over the washer and grinned.

“Sounds great.” And it did.

“No, you better get back to work on your pie crust so Aunt Susan won’t be all cranky tonight,” Whitney mumbled just loud enough to be heard.

“Where is Aunt Susan?” Julie looked all around and saw no sign of her.

“She and Brian walked down to the shed with that guy Gary. He was going to help Brian get his telescope all set up.”

Hmm, Susan and Gary had walked off together. There were lots of possibilities there.

As they walked toward the shed, Gary gestured around at the rolling hills. “Ms. Reynolds, I hope you and your family will enjoy being surrounded by all this beauty. It’s just amazing, isn’t it?” Gary’s smile seemed so serene, so content. “Just listen to the creek gurgling in the distance. This place is paradise. Don’t you think?”

Susan could have told him she might have enjoyed this all a bit more if there weren’t so much pressure on her. But she didn’t. He was a part-time handyman; he didn’t want to hear her problems. Somehow, she managed to say, “It is beautiful.” She paused for just a moment before continuing with what she really wanted to say. “Listen, I was wondering, the windowsills inside really need to be repainted. Do you think you could get us the supplies to scrape, sand, and repaint?”

“I’m sure I could.” He nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds like a good idea.” He pulled open the door of the old shed, whose rusty hinges emitted an earsplitting screech. Gary looked toward the offending rusted metal and shook his head. “First, though, I’m charged with configuring young Mr. Brian’s telescope in a satisfactory setup.”

“Thanks.” Brian walked inside and flipped the switch, which illuminated a single bulb dangling from a long cord in the ceiling. “The little building the show provided is nice and all, but here’s the deal. My telescope is precision scientific equipment. Dust is not a good thing, neither are spiders and mice and such. We need to do something to make my observatory a bit more”—Brian wrung his hands together—“workable.”

Gary nodded and smiled. “I see what you’re saying. Mice and dust are never good ideas in observatories.” He walked around and inspected the walls and ceiling. “I must say I’m pleasantly surprised. I assumed there would be more in the way of cobwebs in here.”