Never Far From Home (The Miller Family 2) (7 page)

She shook her head. “No, we don’t all know each other. I’ve never been to Farmerstown.” They entered the barn, but she paused at the bottom of the loft steps.

He looked bewildered. “I just thought maybe there was a chance you’d met. What are you so cranky about today? Did I say or do something to offend you, Miss Miller?
Already
?”

Emma clenched and unclenched her fists.
How can I explain he makes me feel nervous and giddy and bashful, all rolled into one?
“No, you haven’t done anything. I guess I’m just a little overexcited, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

“So is it true then?” He lifted his eyebrows almost comically.

She glanced around the barn. The horses, the sow, even the tabby cat seemed to be waiting for her answer. “Is what true?” she asked and then held her breath.

“That now you’re allowed to start dating?” James lowered the hand truck’s wheels to the ground and leaned his elbow on the box.

“My parents must decide if I’m ready for courting, but yes, I imagine they will say I can.” What she didn’t add was that they wouldn’t allow her to court an
Englischer
in a million years.

“That’s good to hear. I mean, if I get a hankering to ask you out sometime in the future, and if you get a notion to say yes, we’d at least have this particular birthday behind you.” He grinned with his clear blue eyes brimming with vim and vigor. She noticed that his eyelashes were dark, not the pale yellow many blond-haired people have.

“Look at you standing there…all full of yourself,” Emma said, finally regaining some of her courage. “You look like your picture should be on a box of breakfast cereal.”

“Thank you, I think.” His laughter filled the barn, but unfortunately it also brought Matthew and Henry over to see what the fuss was about.

“Hey, Emma. What’s in the box?” Matthew asked. He was eyeing the stranger with more interest than whatever he’d delivered.

“This is James Davis, a fellow sheep farmer and my friend. He brought the loom I’ve been saving up for. James, this is my brother, Matthew. And behind him is Henry.” But her younger, shyer sibling was already wandering back to the horse stalls.

“How ya doing,” James said, stretching out his hand.

Matthew shook it heartily. “Need some help getting that up the steps? Emma’s not that strong.”

Before she could protest James leaned the box on its side, and he and Matthew each grabbed an end. They carried it upstairs almost before she could walk up herself. “Please set it there,” she said, pointing to the vacated area under the skylight window.

“Pa put that window in for our aunt before she decided to get married and move around the corner,” Matthew said, dusting off his hands.

“Yes, I met your Aunt Hannah. Looks like your sister will reap the rewards of your dad’s good idea.” James was speaking to Matthew but kept glancing at Emma.

Both of them turned to stare at Emma…as if waiting for her to say or do something interesting. She was momentarily at a loss. Folding her arms, she asked, “Neither of you has anything better to do than gawk at me?”

“I’ve got plenty of better things to do,” Matthew said, and then he headed downstairs.

James stood for a few moments as though pondering the question. “Nothing really
better
to do, but I did promise my dad I’d work on his diesel generator today.” He started down the steps too.

Emma suddenly didn’t want him to leave. Not yet, anyway. “Wait, James!” She hurried after him. He halted at the bottom and looked back.

“I want to give you something for your trouble,” she said.

“No, Miss Miller, I won’t take—”

“Don’t call me Miss Miller. It’s Emma. Plain folk aren’t all that formal. Anyway, it’s just birthday cake. Would you like to take a slice of cake home to have after supper?”

His grin grew so wide she could practically count each tooth in his mouth. “Sure, I’d like that a lot. I’ll load the dolly in my truck and wait for you there.”

Emma walked very slowly to the house—slowly because she would have to explain to
mamm
why she was cutting into a fresh-from-the-oven cake, not even frosted yet, before her family had a chance to sing “Happy Birthday.”

In the bathroom Julia swallowed two tablets of pain reliever with a full glass of water. “Work fast,” she whispered. “I’ve still got plenty to do today.”

She wrapped her gift to Emma and tied it with raffia from the dollar store. It was a hummingbird feeder made by a Mennonite glass-blower from the next county. Two small bottles of red food coloring would tint the boiled sugar water that would refill it all summer long. It had taken two months of saving her egg money to afford it, but it was worth every penny. Emma so enjoyed the tiny, darting birds that zoomed in and out of the morning glories and foxglove by the kitchen window. Hanging a feeder there would keep the birds coming long after the blooms were gone.

Leah was frying chicken and baking sweet potatoes for supper—two of Emma’s favorites. All that remained to be done was to wash some early spinach leaves for a salad and frost the chocolate cake. With a deep, steadying breath and silent prayer for relief from this flare-up of rheumatoid arthritis, Julia limped back into the kitchen.

Her morning accomplishment sat forlornly lopsided on the counter, tilting from a missing wedge. “Leah, did you eat a piece of your sister’s cake?” As soon as the words were out, Julia realized the ridiculousness of her question. “
Ach
, I know you didn’t. Was it your
bruders
? Did they sneak in and help themselves?”

Leah turned over another chicken leg in the frying pan before speaking. “No,
mamm
, it was Emma. She cut a big slice to give to that deliveryman.”

“What deliveryman?” Julia asked, perplexed.

“That yellow-haired boy who brought her loom. He sure kept smiling at Emma, like she was telling him a funny story. But she wasn’t talking a’tal.” Leah glanced at Julia before she finished flipping the chicken pieces.

Julia mulled this over while reaching for the bowl of butternut frosting. “Well, it’s her cake, isn’t it? Nice of her to share,” she said to Leah.

But passing out cake to
Englischers
who dropped by never had been Emma’s habit. Had she taken a shine to the young sheep farmer? Emma, who never had given them an ounce of trouble while young, had become secretive and distant lately. She spent hours by herself in her herb shed, the loft, or walking woodland paths with a burlap bag over her shoulder.

Emma was growing up whether Julia and Simon wanted to acknowledge it or not. It was time for her parents to talk. As soon as the odd-shaped cake was decorated, Julia would find Simon and formulate a parental plan. Better to be prepared for this sixteenth birthday party than to be caught unaware.

Her husband wasn’t hard to find in the least. He was headed up the path to the house from the barn. “Simon, come rock with me a while so we can talk,” Julia said, shuffling toward the porch swing.

“Couldn’t you talk at me while I wash up,
fraa
? I don’t want to hold up my little girl’s birthday dinner. Henry says we’re having fried chicken.” He tugged on his suspenders as though in anticipation.

“
Jah
, that’s what I mean,” Julia said, sitting down on the swing. “She’s no
boppli
anymore. She’s sixteen today. ’Spose it’s time to give her a little more freedom.”

With a weary sigh, Simon sat down next to his wife. “No need to rush things. Maybe Emma’s not ready to start running around yet. She’s so busy with her sheep and making those wreaths. And she’ll have half a dozen new lambs to keep an eye on as soon as Seth and Hannah arrive. No time to think about young men.” His scowl revealed much about the idea of his daughter starting to court.

“I see and hear things you don’t. You’ve got your mind on your duties as deacon, plus getting the crops planted.” She reached over to cover his hand with hers. “Emma is changing in small ways. She’s growing more concerned about appearances—if her clothes are clean, if her face is sweaty, or if her nails are ragged. Did you know she asked me the other day if I thought her forehead looked too high? Imagine, how could a forehead be too high? It’s right on her face where it’s supposed to be.”

Simon was staring at Julia as though she were speaking French.

Julia didn’t wish to worry him unnecessarily, and for that reason decided not to mention the slice of cake given to James Davis unless Simon noticed the missing piece. Emma could have been just grateful for the timely delivery of the loom.

“Foreheads notwithstanding, I think we should tell our daughter she can start going to Sunday singings. Maybe after she opens her gifts, while we’re having cake and ice cream. When she’s ready, of course,” Julia added quickly.

Simon gave his beard a long, thoughtful pull. “I don’t know why you’re rushing things, wife, when she hasn’t started pestering us yet. The bishop said his daughter asked for months before they allowed her to attend singings.”

Julia squeezed his hand, as much as the arthritis would allow.

“But you’re the knowledgeable one on daughter-matters, Julia, so I’ll trust your judgment.” He struggled to his feet, his back having stiffened in the swing. “Just as long as she knows we’re in no hurry for her to start courting. Twenty, even twenty-two, is still time enough for a gal to pick out a good husband.”

Julia smiled as Simon went inside to wash up for dinner. He made it sound as though finding a life-mate were no more difficult than selecting a new standardbred buggy horse. But she wasn’t in any hurry for changes within the family either. As far as she was concerned, everything could stay the same for many years to come.

And yet she also knew that God brought change to people’s lives whether they were ready or not. One needed to trust Him and believe all things were by His hand, part of His divine plan.

Although Julia had tried to prepare Simon for what was to come, neither was ready for Emma’s announcement later that night. Seth, Hannah, and Phoebe arrived on time for the fried chicken dinner. Every last piece of chicken was eaten, a compliment to young Leah’s skill in the kitchen. Emma opened the hummingbird feeder from her parents with wide-eyed wonder. “
Danki, mamm
and
daed
!” she exclaimed. “I love it.” Leah’s hand-embroidered pillow slips were praised and appreciated. Emma gushed over the box of pecan candies and the book on raising purple martins from Seth and Hannah. The birthday girl also thanked her aunt and uncle warmly for the six new lambs in the pasture.

But the surprise birthday present came from Emma’s two brothers. The two boys marched a young Angora goat onto the porch to present to her through the screen door. They had hidden their purchase since the last auction day.

Matthew declared, “This is the perfect gift. It’ll produce wool for you to shear and sell, plus we can tie it to a stake and he’ll keep the grass short.” The boys were clearly hoping to circumvent cutting the lawn around the house with the push mower all summer.

Everyone laughed, but no one more than Emma. “That’s my
bruders
. Always looking for a way around chores.”

Julia’s energy level began waning as everyone was finishing their cake and ice cream. Thoughts of granting Emma new freedom had been forgotten in her fatigue. So Emma’s announcement came as a surprise, if not an outright shock.

Emma looked from one parent to the other, cleared her voice, and said, “
Danki
for a wonderful birthday dinner,
mamm
and
daed
. Now that I am sixteen I want to take my full
Rumschpringe
.”

No amount of porch swing chitchat could have prepared Simon and Julia for that.

T
he next day Hannah was surprised to find Seth still at the kitchen table when she returned from the cellar. This time of year he usually ate fast to get an early start on spring planting. “Here, Phoebe, more strawberry preserves for your toast. Now finish breakfast. We’ve got plenty to do today.”