Chapter 1
Three weeks later Arthur, Illinois
EMMA BONTRAGER SAID GOODBYE TO her female driver and stepped out of the vehicle.
A lump formed in her throat when she gazed at the familiar farmhouse and spotted her grandparents seated upon a wooden bench on their front porch.
Over the years, Emma had enjoyed spending time with Grandma and Grandpa whenever her family had come here for visits.
But this time things would be different.
At her mother’s insistence and her father’s agreement, Emma had been sent here to hone her domestic skills.
Not that she really had any. Truthfully, from the time Emma was a little girl, she’d done everything she could think of to avoid helping her mother in the kitchen.
Mom hadn’t pressured Emma back then, because Emma’s older sister Rachel loved everything about learning how to cook, and she’d taken to the sewing needle really well too.
Now Emma was about to embark on a new adventure that would tie up her entire summer, doing things that had no appeal to her whatsoever.
Emma started up the path leading to her grandparents’ home, hauling her suitcase with one hand and an oversized canvas tote bag with the other. She wasn’t one bit surprised when Grandpa stepped off the porch, and Grandma followed. “Willkumm, Emma!” they said in unison.
Grandpa gave Emma a firm hug before taking the suitcase from her. “I’ll haul this inside for you.”
Then it was Grandma’s turn to wrap her arms around Emma’s waist, giving her a tender squeeze. “Ever since your mamm wrote and said you were coming, we’ve been looking forward to your extended visit.”
Emma wished she could say the same. It wasn’t that she didn’t like spending time with Grandma and Grandpa; she just didn’t like the reason she’d been sent here for three whole months. Even so, Emma politely smiled and said, “You and Grandpa are looking well.”
“We’re both in pretty good health,” Grandma responded. “And we’re ever so thankful for that.”
“For sure,” Grandpa said as they all started into the house. “And I credit most of that to your grossmammi’s healthy and hearty cooking.” He glanced over his shoulder and winked at Emma. “In no time at all, you’ll be cookin’ up a storm and loving every minute of it.”
Emma doubted that would ever happen, but she kept her opinion to herself. No point in upsetting the applecart, so to speak. If she was going to be here for the next three months, she planned to be as pleasant as possible and never say anything rude to either one of her grandparents.
“You’re just in time to help me fix lunch,” Grandma said when Grandpa disappeared up the stairs with Emma’s suitcase and tote bag.
Emma cringed inwardly but kept a forced smile on her face. She was tired after the nearly five-hour drive from Shipshewana to Arthur, and the last thing she wanted to do was help her grandmother make anything in the kitchen, especially when she didn’t feel the least bit hungry.
I hope it’s nothing too difficult, she thought. I just want to go upstairs to one of the guest rooms and unpack. After that, it would be real nice if I could lie down and take a little nap. But I suppose that’s out of the question.
“What kind of sandwich would you like?” Grandma asked when she and Emma entered her spacious kitchen.
Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll eat whatever you and Grandpa are having.”
“Do you like liverwurst with mayonnaise, mustard, and lots of lettuce?”
Emma struggled not to wrinkle her nose as she replied, “Uh … not particularly. My mamm likes it though,” she quickly added.
“Jah, I am aware. It was one of her favorite sandwiches when she was a little girl,” Grandma commented. “How about your daed? Does he also enjoy liverwurst?”
Emma shook her head. “He’s never been fond of it, so guess I take after him—at least in that regard.”
Grandma moved to the end of the counter and removed a loaf of bread from the bread box.
“It’s normal for most children to have likes and dislikes that either or both of their parents had.
You could learn to acquire a taste for liverwurst, though.
That’s how it’s been for me over the years when trying new foods that I had avoided eating in my younger years. ”
Emma made no comment, because she’d glanced out the window and spotted the old tree house Grandpa had built back when she was a young girl.
He’d said it was for all his grandchildren to enjoy whenever they came to visit.
But Emma had always assumed he’d built the sturdy structure just for her because he knew how much joy it would bring her, and he had been right.
Emma’s sister Rachel, who was four years older than her, had never shown much interest in the tree house.
In fact, she’d often said that it was too dangerous to climb way up there just to sit on the wooden platform and stare down at the backyard.
“I’d rather be inside reading a book, or helping Grandma bake brownies, than be outside with all the bugs and dirt to mess up my dress,” Rachel had often said.
She did, however, help pull weeds in the garden and harvest the produce each year, but they weren’t her favorite things to do.
Emma loved being outdoors. She enjoyed the scent of freshly mowed grass and even liked smelling the smoke from Grandpa’s old firepit they sometimes used for roasting hot dogs on sticks.
Emma had never minded getting dirty, and she even enjoyed the prickly feeling of grass under her bare feet.
The sound of grasshoppers and crickets was like music to her ears.
Even listening to the chatter of squirrels and croaking frogs had brought a smile to her lips during childhood, and it still did.
“Emma, dear, did you hear what I said?”
At the sound of Grandma’s voice, Emma’s head jerked as she turned away from the window. “Uh … no … I guess not. Would you mind repeating it, Grandma?”
“I asked if you would rather have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch instead of what your grandfather and I are having.”
“Oh jah, please. That sounds good to me.”
Grandma pushed the loaf of bread to the other end of the counter, closer to where Emma stood. “Here you go. You’ll find the peanut butter and some strawberry preserves in the pantry.” She pointed in that direction.
Emma remembered all the times that she’d come here as a child.
Not once had Grandma asked Emma or any of her siblings to make their own sandwich.
She’d always graciously done it for them and had looked quite content when they’d all taken seats at the kitchen table.
What had changed? Well, at least Emma would be fixing something she liked that wasn’t the least bit difficult to make.
It was a comfort. Of course, nothing would be as comforting or comfortable as lying on the guest bed and sleeping for a few hours. But that wasn’t to be.
Emma removed two slices of bread and placed them on a plate. Or better yet, I wonder if Grandpa would mind if I went outside for a while and took a nap in his hammock. She sucked in her bottom lip. Guess I won’t know till I ask him, which I plan to do while we’re eating our noon meal.
When Grandpa took his place at the head of the table and bowed his head, Emma and Grandma did the same.
Other than thanking God for the peanut butter and jelly sandwich on her plate, Emma wasn’t sure what to pray about.
She didn’t feel thankful that she’d been sent here to become domesticated like her sister, who could cook and sew quite well, or any of her brothers’ wives, who all seemed to enjoy their roles as homemakers.
Benjamin’s wife, Anna, was very competent in the kitchen and baked some of the best-tasting pies.
Phoebe, who was married to Harvey, also loved to cook, and made a fine beef stew.
Jacob’s wife, Elizabeth, was noted for her country-style baked beans, which she often served at family gatherings.
And then there’s me, Emma thought ruefully. Sandwiches I can make, but not much of anything else to brag about. Of course, she mentally added, bragging about one’s abilities—cooking, sewing, or otherwise—would be considered hochmut, so even if I was good at something, I would never boast about it.
Emma’s eyes snapped open when she heard Grandpa clear his throat. She noticed that both his and Grandma’s eyes were open, and she wondered how long they’d sat waiting for her to finish praying.
Emma’s face felt warmer than usual, and she quickly reached for her glass of lemonade.
After taking a drink, she set the glass down and allowed her contemplations to resume as she stared across the room, where a ray of sunlight filtered in through the kitchen window above the sink.
I don’t understand why my parents think I need to learn how to cook or sew.
I’ve never had a boyfriend, and it’s not likely that I’ll ever get married, so what’s the point in trying to teach me how to run a household?
I will probably spend the rest of my life as an old maid, living alone and eating simple things like cold cereal and easy-to-make sandwiches.
“Emma, didn’t you hear what your grandmother said?”
Grandpa’s deep voice pulled Emma’s thoughts aside, and she blinked in rapid succession. “Uh, no.” She turned to face her grandmother. “Sorry, Grandma. What did you say?”
Grandma reached over and placed her hand on Emma’s arm. “I asked if you were going to write your parents a letter to let them know that you arrived safely.”
“Oh, um, jah, I should do that as soon as we’re done eating.
” Emma picked up the remainder of her sandwich and was about to take a bite, when another thought popped into her head.
“It’s probably not necessary, though. I’m sure when my driver, Helen, gets back to Shipshewana she’ll let Mom and Dad know I made it here safely. ”