Chapter 6
Kyle was a sweaty mess and he’d been that way for most of the day. For the last four hours, he’d been plowing the Millers’ largest field with a team of four horses.
The horses, all of them Percherons, were beautiful and lived up to their breed.
Docile and strong, the team worked in perfect unison.
Kyle reckoned a team of men would have difficulty working as well together as they did.
But the ground hadn’t been as soft as he’d hoped and the temperatures had risen a bit higher than he would’ve liked.
The only saving grace was that he’d been able to get Mervin out of the way.
For the first hour, his boss had attempted to help but had done more harm than good. He was always a little too slow and didn’t keep his balance behind the horses as well as he needed to.
When Mervin had tripped and the horses had needed to stop abruptly, Kyle’s heart had felt as if it was lodged in his throat. The Percherons were strong and steady, but they were also expensive animals who could get hurt.
Then, too, was Mr. Miller. Mervin might be a spry fifty-eight-year-old, but he was still a lot older than Kyle. He also had little to no experience leading a plow team through a large field.
Kyle had been so afraid Mervin was going to hurt himself, the horses, or the plow, he’d asked Mervin to help Ruthie plant potatoes and carrots in her garden.
The way Mervin had hardly protested about his help had been a good indication that the man had been as ready to walk off that field as Kyle had been ready for him to leave. After he’d gone, even the horses had settled down.
“Y’all could sense his nervousness, didn’t ya?” Kyle asked when the five of them took a brief water break.
One of the geldings, a gorgeous seven-year-old named Bandit, gave him a side-eye in response. Probably to let him know that he not only agreed but thought it was an understatement.
After allowing each horse to partake a bit of water from the portable trough attached to the plow, he hooked them up again.
George and Wilma blew out wet bursts of air but stood complacently while Kyle hooked them up. The last member of the team, a four-year-old mare named Mint, attempted to prance a bit.
“Settle on down now, Minty. We have less than two hours to go. That ain’t too long, all things considered.”
Mint pawed at the dirt and blew out a burst of air. It was obvious that she wasn’t buying his optimistic reassurance one bit.
“You make me laugh, girl,” he teased good-naturedly as he snapped the reins, signaling them to move forward.
And move forward, they did. The four were powerful together and Kyle couldn’t help but give thanks that he had the opportunity to work with them.
The horses were a fine team and he felt that it was a blessing to lead such good stock.
He was especially grateful that they had gotten used to him quickly.
Mervin had even teased him, saying that the horses enjoyed listening to his Kentucky accent while they worked.
Since he exaggerated it because they seemed to enjoy the lilt, Kyle thought there might be something to that, though he also thought it was his constant praise and encouragement that enabled the horses to give their workday an extra push.
After drinking one more cup of water, he got back on the plow and spent one more hour finishing tilling the soil. In two days, he and Mervin would plant the corn. It would be a far easier task, given the fact that they would be walking down the rows and not involving the horses.
After he brought the horses in, watered and rubbed them down, he cleaned the plow and straightened the equipment in the barn.
By the time he felt good about leaving to take a shower, it was nearing four o’clock. Though he’d brought a couple of Ruthie’s surprisingly good homemade granola bars for sustenance, he was ready to have a meal. Preferably a huge one at the Millers’ table.
Almost every evening, he went to the Millers’ dinner table for supper.
It was part of his pay and work agreement.
He worked five and a half days a week. Usually, he had Sundays and Wednesday afternoons off.
In addition to his pay, the Millers provided him with basic necessities like milk, eggs, and a loaf of bread a week, along with two loads of laundry.
Ruthie had even offered to feed him every evening—telling him that she was cooking no matter what—but Kyle had been the one to refuse.
The Millers were wonderful people, but he was used to a far quieter life. His parents were on the quiet side and his younger sister, Sarah, had a hearing disability. She could only hear out of one ear, and not all that well.
He’d gotten used to eating without much conversation so as not to create more stress for Sarah.
Though, now that he thought about it, she might have preferred to listen to chatter while she ate.
He enjoyed the food and the conversation, but also appreciated the silence in the evening as well. Three suppers a week seemed like a good compromise.
By the time he finally walked into the dawdi haus, everything in the barn was in good order and the horses were happily munching their supper.
Of course, taking so much care of them meant that he’d barely had time to shower and change before rushing through the door from the living room into the main house.
“Kyle, you’re here on time. I’m so glad,” Ruthie said. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I am. What is for supper this evening?”
She smiled happily. “Roast, mashed potatoes, canned green beans, and gravy.”
“Ruthie made blondies, too,” Mervin said as he joined them in the kitchen.
His mouth was watering. “It smells so good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I know it’s a warm day, but plowing looks like a mighty exhausting job. I figured you needed something to stick to your ribs,” Ruthie added as she handed him the serving bowl of potatoes to take to the table.
“Ruthie was going to fry up some fish, but then noticed how long you were out there with the team,” Mervin said as he carried the gravy boat.
“I was worried that fried walleye might not fill you up enough,” Ruthie explained as she brought over a plate of sliced roast.
“Anything you make is wonderful, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to being grateful for this hearty meal. I’m grateful and it smells delicious.”
Ruthie’s cheeks pinkened. “You’re a pleasure to cook for, son. I tell that to Aaron every time he calls.”
After each of them trotted back and forth to get the last of the serving dishes, they took their places at the table. In many ways, it reminded Kyle of the way he grew up. Ruthie sat at one end and Mervin sat at the other. Kyle was on the side, just as he and Sarah had been with his own parents.
After they prayed and gave thanks, Ruthie began passing the dishes.
The routine was different than the way he’d grown up. His mother hadn’t enjoyed washing dishes and therefore hadn’t seen any reason to wash serving dishes when one could serve themselves from the pots and pans and then carry their own plates to the table.
Kyle had at first worried that Ruthie and Mervin were treating him like company instead of their worker, but Aaron had confided that was how his mother liked to do things. She enjoyed doing everything “just so,” and that included how she liked to serve meals in the evening.
Now that he’d gotten used to it, Kyle couldn’t deny that it was rather nice to have all the serving bowls right in front of him. Ruthie’s cooking was so good, it was nearly impossible for him to not have second helpings.
As he’d expected, his first bite of roast beef was as good as it had looked. So were all the sides. Especially the mashed potatoes, since Ruthie added cream cheese to them.
They also had lemonade and ice water.
He was happy to quietly enjoy the meal as Ruthie and Mervin discussed the weather and a visit from two of Ruthie’s friends from the quilt shop where she’d worked.
“By the time I showed them around the house and we took our cups of coffee to the parlor, it had seemed as if we hadn’t seen each other in two days instead of two months,” she said.
“You were the glue at Sew and So,” Mervin pointed out. “You were organized and caring.” Turning to Kyle, he explained. “Ruthie talked to them about work, but also about their families and interests. That’s rare to have in a manager.”
“You give me too much credit, Mervin.”
“I disagree,” he replied with a sweet look her way. “All I’m saying is that I’m sure they miss you. Your replacement had big shoes to fill.”
“I suppose they miss me at work, but we were friends, too. It’s hard to go from seeing gut friends nearly every day to just a few times a year.”
There was a wistful note to her voice that was new. Resting his fork on his plate, Kyle felt compelled to give her some encouragement. “Maybe you should set a date and time to see them once a month, then you wouldn’t miss them so much.”
Longing filled her eyes before she promptly shut it down. “Oh, they probably wouldn’t have time.”
“You’re busy here but you would make the time,” Mervin said. “That’s a gut idea, Kyle.”
“Thank you, but my parents used to do the same thing. They’d have standing supper dates with friends once a month. Daed used to tell me that farming was a lonely life for a guy like him.”
“A guy like him?”
“He liked conversation. My mother was the type to be happy enough to see her friends at church twice a month and maybe for a coffee break every now and then. But Daed was the social one.”
Mervin seemed taken aback by the idea. “I thought he liked farming.”
“He did. But one can like to farm and still need to do other things, too. Like you, Mervin, Daed hadn’t grown up as a farmer. His father was a blacksmith.”
Mervin nodded in understanding. “Ah. Well, that there is a social job, for sure.”
“For sure.” Kyle grinned. “My dawdi knew everyone in our community. He was as strong as an ox, too.”
Mervin nodded. “Blacksmiths usually are.”
“All right. You’ve talked me into it, Kyle. I think I will ask Jenni and Sylvia if there’s a day and time every month when we could see each other.”