CHAPTER 3
E ven though their long talks and many questions sometimes wore him out, Jonny loved his grandparents with his whole heart. Josiah and Sylvia were in their early seventies and so smart. They were also easy to be around and kind. They had a knack for encouraging him to ask questions about living Amish without making him feel either embarrassed or like he was prying into their lives.
They also were fairly spry and didn’t need help with much except maybe splitting logs for the wood-burning fireplace in the living room.
All in all, Jonny thought living with them was great. He hardly even noticed that they didn’t have electricity anymore. Life was simply easy at their house.
Except when it came to suppertime. He was starting to dread the meal.
He was embarrassed about that, too.
In his defense, he had some pretty good reasons for his feelings. The first had to do with timing. Supper was promptly every evening at five thirty. Him needing to work late didn’t come into consideration. As far as his mommi and dawdi were concerned, they’d eaten most of their meals at five thirty and it had served them well.
It didn’t serve his hours at the bike shop all that well, however.
They didn’t care about that.
More than once, Jonny had found himself pedaling home as fast as he could to sit down at the table on time. And yes, they noticed if he was five minutes late.
As far as Jonny was concerned, he was a little too old to be stressed about getting to a dinner table on time every single night.
The second reason dinner was difficult was because his grandmother was ignoring his new dietary needs. Completely.
This had come as a surprise.
He’d explained to both of them about his need to eat more vegetables, chicken, whole grains, and fish. His mommi had patted his hand and said she’d understood.
Then she’d ignored everything and continued cooking the way she had for fifty years.
No matter how many times he’d reminded her about his new diet, she’d refused to make any changes. She also got her feelings hurt if he either tried to make a heart-healthy substitution (such as steamed broccoli instead of cheesy broccoli-rice casserole) or didn’t eat big helpings of calorie- and fat-laden food. It was maddening.
His dawdi was no help at all. Not only did he seem unconcerned about Jonny’s doctor’s instructions, he also never took Jonny’s side when he complained that every item on the plate was filled with butter or covered in sauce. Actually, the most his grandfather ever did when his grandmother started on her guilt lecture was give Jonny a sympathetic look.
The final reason supper was beginning to really bother him was because of how long the meal took. Not only was it a large meal, it also was his grandparents’ time to visit and relax. Jonny understood and appreciated that.
But sometimes a meal lasted almost two hours. Add to that helping in the kitchen to clean up everything, then any chores outside or in the barn . . . well, it made for a long evening.
And he’d already worked a long day.
If he was going to remain at their house, Jonny knew something had to be done. He just didn’t know how to broach it.
All that was why he was currently sitting in his chair, in need of a shower because he hadn’t gotten home in time to take one, and staring at a plate of mashed potatoes, gravy, fried fish, creamed spinach, and rolls.
And could barely control his irritation when his lovely, very sweet—but very stubborn—grandmother directed a question at him.
“How was your day, dear?”
Jonny paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “It was good. Things at the shop are going well.”
“Did you do anything interesting?”
“Not really.”
“Hmm.”
He glanced at his grandfather, who was paying close attention to his plate of fried perch.
His dawdi didn’t care for fish, a sure sign that something was on his grandmother’s mind but she was taking her time to meander over to it in the conversation.
“Why do you ask?” he finally asked.
His mommi refolded the napkin in her lap. “Oh, no reason.”
“Okay.” He popped the fork of mashed potatoes in his mouth at last. Even though he knew he shouldn’t be eating them, happiness exploded in his mouth. “You really do make the best mashed potatoes, Mommi.”
“I’m surprised you noticed. You hardly put any on your plate.”
“I’m not supposed to be eating foods with butter and cream,” he reminded her. Yet again.
“A little bit now and then won’t hurt ya.” She leaned forward. “But I would still like to know what else you did today.”
He put his fork down. “Mommi, I got up early, did chores, worked at the bicycle shop all day, and hurried home to have supper with you and Dawdi. I love you, but I’m hungry and in need of a shower. I’m also too tired to try to figure out what you’re needing to know.”
Her eyes widened. “Jonathan, I don’t need to ‘need’ anything.”
His dawdi grunted. “Sylvia, give the boy a break, jah ? It’s obvious that he’s got no conversation left today.”
Jonny shot his grandfather a grateful look as he shoveled in another bite of fish.
“Fine,” his grandmother said as she rearranged the napkin on her lap. “I heard from Rachel Lapp. She spotted you at Treva’s Trailside Café. Was Rachel imagining things?”
“ Nee . I did go over there.”
“Well, what did you think?”
“The coffee was good.”
“And the apricot bars? Did you love them?”
“I didn’t eat one.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
Jonny didn’t know if he could go through his dietary needs yet again.
Placing his fork down, he realized that he was barely holding his temper in check. “Why is what I ordered a conversational point? Are you really discussing my every move with Rachel Lapp?”
Hurt filled her eyes. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It sounds like it was.”
After an exaggerated sigh, she said, “Fine. Some people—”
“That would be Rachel,” his dawdi said.
“Thought that there were some sparks happening between the two of you.”
“I ordered some coffee. I paid money for it. She handed me both after I paid, and we chatted for a minute or two. Then I rode back to the shop. That’s the end of the story.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
When his grandfather started laughing, she scowled at him. “Stop laughing, Josiah.”
“It’s kind of hard not to. You are playing matchmaker to our handsome grandson, who likely hasn’t ever needed help finding a girl to date his entire life.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Jonny said.
“Close enough.”
His grandmother picked up her fork again. “All right, Jonny, I’ll let this subject go. But I do hope you visit Trailside again.”
“I probably will. The coffee was great.”
“The owner is great, too. Give Treva a chance, dear. And eat your supper. You’ve hardly touched a thing.” Reaching for the plate of fish, she said, “How about another piece?”
Jonny’s stomach clenched. He had a feeling it was going to be easier to fall in love with Treva than to convince his grandmother to change her cooking habits.
“Pick your battles, son,” his dawdi said as he reached for the plate of fish. “It will make suppertime a whole lot easier for you.”
Jonny reckoned his grandfather had a good point.