Chapter 4
E LLIE
No matter what I do, I can’t get that stupid amazing kiss from Henry Yoder out of my head.
The look of compassion in his eyes and the gentleness of his touch are what did me in. It was like he… cared .
I’m worried about my sanity now. Because I knew where we were heading, and I didn’t stop it. Why didn’t I stop it? Am I getting sucked into Henry’s charms?
It would be much easier if Henry’s kiss had been terrible. Why couldn’t the kiss have been terrible? Like that time Arlen Yutzy kissed me on the playground with his new braces. But no. Henry’s kiss just had to be amazing.
Now, I’ll have to face Henry again when he and Elijah and the other guys play hockey at Henry’s pond later. I’ll just have to skate on the girls’ end the whole time and pretend Henry Yoder doesn’t exist.
Right.
“Ellie, do you know what this is all about?” Mamm calls up the stairs.
I push my reminiscing aside, wipe the last of the sleep crusties from my eyes, and move to the top of the stairs. I peer down at Mamm , a foil covered plate in her hand.
I have no idea why Mamm is asking me . “Am I supposed to?”
“It’s got your name on it.” Mamm holds up a piece of lined paper.
I stare at the plate, puzzled. “Where did it come from?”
“It was on the front steps this morning. It’s a wonder the cats didn’t find it.”
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t have my name on it. Why don’t you come check?”
I glance down at my nightgown. “Are the boys inside?”
“They’ve already headed out to do chores. Someone overslept.” Mamm’s accusatory tone makes me squirm.
Jah , I didn’t want to wake up from my dream. The one where Henry’s lips?—
Ach ! What on earth am I doing? This is Henry Yoder, for crying out loud! The one I haven’t been able to stand since fourth grade. Now, I’m dreaming about kissing him? I think I really do need to have my head examined.
Sure, Henry Yoder is devastatingly good looking—probably the handsomest man I know—but still. That is no excuse to waste away the morning fantasizing about how wunderbaar his lips would feel against mine again. Or how much strength his arms exhibited when he hauled me over his broad shoulder. Or how nice his?—
I clear my throat to demand my thoughts get back on track. Ach , I’m a complete and utter mess! Just one more reason to steer clear of Henry today.
I shake my head as I notice Mamm eyeing me, a quizzical look on her face. No doubt she’s trying to figure out why I’m so ferhoodled this morning. Then I remember my nightgown. “Let me change right quick, in case the boys return.”
“ Nee , just kumm down and see what it is. The suspense is killing me.”
I laugh at Mamm’s eagerness. “Okay.”
I hurry down the stairs and retrieve the plate from Mamm’s hand. I study my name on the note, then realize there is more written on the other side.
Roses are red, violets are blue. These whoopie pies were made specially for you.
“ Ach , that’s so sweet!” Mamm peers over my shoulder, her hand on her heart.
“ Mamm , you’re not supposed to spy.” I huff. It is nearly impossible to get even a second of privacy in this family.
“Do you know who they’re from?” Mamm did not just bounce on her toes.
Oh, no. I can see it in Mamm’s eyes, clear as day. She is already picking out material for my wedding dress.
I. Am. Doomed.
But there is no way on earth I’d ever marry Henry Yoder—no matter how delicious his kisses are.
“It doesn’t matter.” I open the trash can and dump the entire plate inside.
“Ellie Petersheim! You should be ashamed of yourself.” Mamm hurries to salvage the whoopie pies. Not that they’re ruined, since there is a layer of plastic wrap under the foil.
“I don’t want them. He’s just trying to butter me up.” I squint at the whoopie pies as though they are to blame for Henry’s insolence.
Mamm claps her hands. “So, they are from a bu ! I knew it!”
“They’re just from Henry Yoder.” I smack my hand over my mouth. Great. Now, I will never hear the end of it. Never. Mamm might just love Henry even more than Elijah, and he’s my brother.
“What a sweet, sweet boy! You know I’ve always been fond of Henry.”
“He’s not a boy anymore, Mamm .” Not by the way he lifted me over his broad shoulders. Or carried me in his muscular arms. His masculine scented body wash—or whatever it was—still teases my senses. Nope, definitely not a boy.
I sigh.
“I knew you two would end up together. I just knew it. I can’t wait to talk to Martha Yoder about this.” Mamm reaches for her bonnet.
“ Mamm, nee ! You can’t talk to Henry’s mamm . And Henry and I are not going to end up together!” I probably sound like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, but this is ridiculous. No matter how many years Mamm and Martha Yoder plot against me, I am not going to marry Henry Yoder.
He may be irresistible to Mamm and all the other young women in the g’may , but I’m not about to fall for his charms. And it will take a whole lot more than a sorry plate of dumm whoopie pies to win me over.
Sounds of boot steps in the mudroom send me scurrying back to my bedroom upstairs to get dressed. The way this morning is going, Elijah will be walking through the door with Henry at his side. And the last thing I need is for Henry to see me with my hair down and in my nightgown.
I release a sigh of relief when I only hear my brieder . Hopefully, I won’t have to see Henry until ice skating this evening, and even then I plan to avoid him at all costs.
“Wow! Mamm , these are the best whoopie pies you’ve ever made.” I catch my brother’s voice through the vent between my room and the kitchen below. “Maybe even the best I’ve ever had.”
“I didn’t make them,” Mamm admits. “They were a gift for your schweschder .”
I picture Mamm’s eyebrows lifting and a dreamy smile on her face.
Please don’t let her tell him the whoopie pies are from Henry. I utter the silent prayer. Mercifully, Mamm doesn’t expound.
“Ellie, I’m eating all your whoopie pies.” Elijah calls up the stairs. “Tell whichever of your friends who made these that I want to marry her.”
I giggle. If he only knew.
When the kitchen is quiet again, I sneak back downstairs. I glance outside to see Mamm carrying a load of laundry to the clothesline. Wunderbaar , she must’ve abandoned her mission to visit Henry’s mamm . I look both ways to see if I am truly alone, then reach for one of Henry’s whoopie pies.
There are several different kinds to choose from, it seems. All the kinds I mentioned to Henry on our buggy ride last night. I sigh. It is a thoughtful gesture. Even I can admit that. I grab the lemon one first and bite into it.
I close my eyes and moan. I. Can. Not. Be. Lieve. It.
Did I taste a hint of finely grated lemon rind mixed in with the soury sweetness? The cream filling is truly decadent, almost like mousse.
It’s even better than the ones I tasted at the Whoopie Pie Festival in Pennsylvania a few years ago! Better than any I’ve had. Like. Ever.
No wonder Elijah wants to marry Henry! Okay, so he wouldn’t if he knew they were from his best friend.
I eat half of the lemon whoopie pie and set it aside, mentally apologizing to it for my neglect and promising to come back for more. But the other ones are just staring back at me all lonely. I have to try another flavor.
I greedily reach toward the plate and choose my next victim. This one appears to be chocolate with peanut butter filling and…oh, my!
My eyes roll back in pure ecstasy as the perfect blend of peanut butter and chocolate hit my tastebuds. Instead of the typical cake batter for the outside, it tastes like Henry used a brownie batter complete with melted chocolate chips. And it’s nothing short of amazing.
Jah , I think Henry Yoder missed his calling. Because I know for a fact that he could win any dessert baking contest anywhere with these extraordinary whoopie pies. What on earth was he doing working in construction and wasting his time building houses when he could clearly be a world-famous culinary artist?
Nee , not exactly an approved Amish profession. But still.
I hear noises outside and panic.
Then I grin like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland . Not that I know exactly what that means. But I’ve read about it before in books, and I tend to have quite an imagination. So I’m told. We were never allowed to read Alice in Wonderland growing up, but I never questioned why.
Before anyone comes back in to steal my edible treasures, I toss the foil back on the plate of whoopie pies and dash upstairs to stash them in my room. Because there is no way I’m going to share these delicious morsels from Heaven with anyone. I’m mourning the fact that I allowed Eli to snatch a few earlier. Ach, vell . Guess I can’t be too stingy.
How on earth did Henry Yoder manage to make the best whoopie pies ever?