An Amish Family Reunion (19 page)

Phoebe wrapped up the rest of her sandwich for later. “I suppose it’s the same Riehls. I met Eli on the bus to Niagara Falls and seemed to have more in common with him than with most other people.”

“Why is that? Did you develop a sudden hankering for pork chops?”

“
Mamm
, could you stop thinking about food for one moment? Eli is different than most boys. He doesn’t talk endlessly about horses or baseball or fishing. He likes to make up stories as his hobby. He asked me to draw some pictures to go along with one of his favorite stories.”

Hannah placed her hand over her heart. “You may have met the other matching shoe, Phoebe! Shall I buy yards of soft blue fabric and enough white lawn to make a wedding outfit? Of course, your father won’t let you marry until you’re at least twenty. He still sees you as his little girl—”

“Stop, please. Let’s go back to discussing food. Eli and I are just friends. That’s all.” She picked up her tote bag and headed for the door. “Shouldn’t we get going? Doctors don’t like to be kept waiting. I’ll get the buggy.”

Her brother met Phoebe halfway to the barn with the open two-seater already hitched to the Morgan. “
Danki
, Ben,” she said, taking the reins and climbing inside.

“Bring me some candy from town. Any kind will do,” he said with a ten-year-old’s exuberance.

Hannah climbed in a few moments later and they trotted the horse briskly all the way to Winesburg, but Phoebe still arrived at the library twenty minutes late.

Eli was sitting at the same table flanked by a high pile of books, same as before. “I had almost abandoned hope,” he called the moment she entered the well-lit reading room.

The same librarian was on duty and nodded as Phoebe passed her desk. The woman mimed pinching someone’s cheek when the younger woman smiled in her direction.

“My mother dropped me off. She had some errands to run and needed to come into town,” said Phoebe, settling into the chair beside his.

Eli jutted out his lower lip. “How long do we have before she retrieves you? Has she just come for an ice-cream cone and then turning around?”

“Not to worry. I told her to go home without me when she finishes her appointments.” She graced him with her prettiest smile.

“That’s very brave to volunteer to walk. I hope you wore comfortable shoes. It’s quite a distance, no?” He opened the top book to the page he had marked with a small slip of paper.

Phoebe’s expression fell while her brows beetled above the bridge of her nose. “Walk? I thought surely you would offer to drive me home.” Her shyness vanished with the possibility of a four-mile hike.

Eli met her eye. “You thought surely?” he asked from under his silky hair.

“I did. I hope I didn’t err with my supposition.”

He laughed with abandon. “I seem to be rubbing off on you. That never happens at home. And since you’ve made an effort to expand your vocabulary, I shall drive you home. Now, let’s take a look at these examples of illustrations—all very good but all very different.”

Phoebe appreciated the distraction because she didn’t know how to interpret Eli. Was he teasing yet again? Or was he honestly not thrilled about adding another eight miles to his trip today? That could cause him to be late for evening chores. She’d never met anyone Amish who was as difficult to decipher as an algebra textbook.

Turning her attention to the open pages, she marveled at images of scenes that couldn’t possibly take place in nature. “I can’t fathom how they did this.” She tapped her finger on the page. “These look like photographs, but how do you take a picture of a pig in a top hat, dancing on hind legs? Or this one, wearing a dress?”

“I was wondering the same thing.” Eli leaned over the book. “But my guess is the artist scanned his or her sketches into a computer, and the software added the color and glossiness to achieve the overall effect. I know that graphic illustrators can do amazing things with the right computer program.”

True to form, Phoebe stared at him with an idiotic expression on her face. “I’ll have to take your word on that.”

“Only for now you do. But one day I intend to show you what I’m talking about. Let’s look at the other books I selected. I picked these because I believe they have all been digitally enhanced.”

Her expression changed to total bafflement. “Would you speak English, please?”

“That means the artist used a computer to alter and improve the original drawings.” As the two pored over several children’s books, Eli pointed out various aspects he either liked or disliked. He certainly had strong opinions regarding what he was looking for.

When they finished the last volume, Phoebe lifted her tote bag onto her lap. “Would you like to see what I came up with during this past week?” Her voice had the intensity of a baby sparrow’s first cheep.

“Of course I would!” Eli shoved everything out of the way while she extracted her sketch pad. With trembling fingers she opened the cover to the first drawing.

He pulled the tablet in front of him. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “This is great!” Unlike her, he could have been heard in Wooster.

“Please keep your voices down, or I’ll be forced to pinch some cheeks,” warned the librarian, chuckling merrily as she resumed her work.

Eli blushed as he studied all four creations: a young Amish girl talking to the mean-spirited cow, the cow stuck in river mud while the other cows abandoned her, the little girl trying to pull Bessie out, and then the girl enlisting help from the pet dog and the family rabbit. The cow had been cruel to the dog by mocking his bad breath and had humiliated the rabbit because of his protruding front teeth. Yet both animals tried to help the friendless cow in her time of need.

“These are wonderful, Phoebe. They are exactly what I was thinking of.” Impulsively, Eli snaked his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “You read my mind—a feat that’s never been accomplished before in the annals of history.”

A warm sensation began in the pit of her stomach and spread down to her toes. “It’s your story that’s
wunderbaar
,” she said. “I love how you used animals to demonstrate proper Christian behavior. You’re teaching children in a fun way to turn the other cheek when wronged by others.”

“We’re in this together, Phoebe.” He placed his hand atop hers. “I hope every parent and schoolteacher will rush out to buy our book for their kids. Then behavior among Ohio children will improve dramatically—both Amish and English.” Eli dropped her hand to lace his fingers together behind his head.

“
Buy
our book?” she asked, still shaky from his touch.

“Of course. That’s what authors do—they make a living writing books that folks buy and enjoy.” He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “That sure would beat mucking hog pens for the rest of my life. I could hire someone to help Dad while I sit on the back porch making up stories.”

“Where would we sell them? From a stand alongside the highway?”

Eli hooted with laughter, drawing a glance from the front desk. “No, sweet peach. These aren’t cups of lemonade or bushels of fruit. They would be sold in bookstores like those in Sugar Creek, Millersburg, and Berlin. Even the grocery and hardware stores have spinner racks of books. I think tourists would love to take our book home as a souvenir.” His eyes glazed to an unusual brightness.

Phoebe didn’t appreciate being mocked. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Eli Riehl. In case you haven’t looked in the mirror lately, we’re Amish. We don’t have computers or that fancy-schmancy software you’re talking about. I’ll bet you don’t even own a typewriter.” She rolled her eyes. “What we have is one giant sketch pad and an adorable story, but that’s a long way from the book rack at Lehman’s.” She snapped her mouth shut, not meaning to sound so negative and spiteful. She was sure her one true friend—her other matched shoe, as
mamm
called him—was about to stomp out in a huff…leaving her with a four-mile walk home.

Surprisingly, he did not. Eli didn’t seem offended by her outburst. “All true, Miss Miller. I do have a habit of getting ahead of myself, but every business venture must start with a plan. And I have a few tricks up my sleeve that I’m not ready to reveal quite yet.”

“Because you need to work out some glitches?”

“Exactly, but tell me, are you willing to step forward in faith with only our talents? I have a fine, low-tech steno pad and pen you can use to take notes if you wish to hear the rest of my story.”

She nodded, grabbing the pad and pen. “Why not?” she said with a smile. “Maybe I’ll be able to pay Ben to pick slugs off cabbages with my share of the book sales.” Phoebe turned to a fresh sheet, feeling that warm sensation build again throughout her body
. Could they really do this? Create a real book for children that people would buy? She didn’t think so, yet knew she would enjoy every minute of their joint attempt.

An hour later Eli stacked the books they had used on the library cart and escorted her toward the door. As they passed the librarian’s desk, the woman said, “Good luck, kids. I think it’s a great idea. Count on me for your first sale.” Phoebe nodded and smiled at her.

“Number one, we’re not kids,” he said as they climbed into his buggy. “And number two, I really must learn to speak quieter in that place. That
Englischer
heard every word we said.” He slapped the reins on the horse’s back and turned in the direction of the Miller farm.

But Phoebe barely heard anything else on the ride home. Her mind whirred with ideas for illustrations for the remaining scenes of Eli’s delightful story. If he believed so strongly they could do this, then so would she. Everyone needed a dream, and with perseverance and hard work this dream might someday come true.

T
he Miller family left the preaching service that Sunday in better spirits than they had known in a long while. The outpouring of concern and offers of financial help from their district overwhelmed Matthew and Martha, especially because they were still relative newcomers in their Amish community. Neither had any kin living in the area, yet members created quite a fuss when little Noah arrived with his arm in a cast and sling. Many folks reached for their wallets after lunch, wishing to help pay for the hospital or doctor. Matthew refused their offers graciously, insisting the bills had been paid. However, he didn’t admit to using his employer-provided health insurance due to Martha’s insistence. She said she couldn’t bear the shame or potential censure from the bishop. Her husband honored her request. Things had been tenuous between the two of them since Noah’s fall, with Martha often distant and distracted.

But today on the drive home, she seemed like her old self—bouncing their daughter on her lap, humming the old-fashioned hymn they’d sung during the service. Noah, wedged in between them in the buggy, enjoyed shooing flies away from the horse with the long-handled crop.

“What’s for supper tonight?” asked Matthew.

“We’ve just left the hosting farm, where you ate more than your share not more than two hours ago.” Martha’s large brown eyes glowed with health and mirth. “How many pieces of fried chicken did you eat—five, six?”

“I lost count, but I got in line several times so my gluttony wouldn’t be so noticeable.”

“I believe it might still be a sin, but I’m no one to criticize. I couldn’t leave that plate of walnut brownies alone until I’d eaten three.” She shook her head, peering down. “I’ll never lose this baby belly at this rate.”

“You are perfect just as you are.” Matthew leaned over Noah to kiss her cheek.

She grinned. “To answer your question, I made a meat loaf yesterday. So we’ll have cold sandwiches today with pickles and potato salad, but not until five thirty. You must hold out until then.”

Matthew clicked his tongue and the Standardbred picked up the pace. “I’ll take any leftovers with me tomorrow for my lunch for a couple days with a loaf of your homemade bread. They have been serving odd dishes lately in the bunkhouse. An older man from Guatemala does the cooking, and he loves frying up a big skillet of rice and vegetables. He throws just about anything into the pan—beef, chicken, leftover pork roast, ham cubes, even sausage. The last time there were two vegetables I didn’t recognize. The cook said they were artichokes and okra.” He shook his head.

“You’re joking, right? Sort of like a mystery rice stew?”

“I’m serious. Miguel calls it
pay-ella
and says at home he would use clams, mussels, and fish instead of meat because he lived near the ocean.”

“That sounds even stranger.” Martha wrinkled her nose. “How does this concoction taste?”

“Not too bad. The seasoning takes some getting used to, but Miguel will never be any match to Martha Miller.” He smacked another kiss on her cheek loudly.

“Stop trying to butter me up. You still must wait until five for the meat loaf.”

Matthew grinned as their buggy rolled up the drive of the rental house. The electric lines running from street pole to their home marred the view, but they couldn’t do much about it. “I suppose I’ll play ball with my boy if you girls don’t need me for anything.” His daughter now slept soundly, swaddled in a pink quilt in the crook of Martha’s arm.

“I’d like to talk to you about something first, Matthew. Let me put Mary in the crib and then I’ll meet you on the porch.” She stepped down as soon as the buggy stopped and headed to the house, not waiting for him to unhitch the horse.