Chapter 1 #2
“Most likely you’re right,” Grandpa put in. “But it would still be nice if they heard the news directly from you. Don’t you agree, Emma?”
She nodded. “Jah. I’ll take care of that after I’ve helped Grandma do the lunch dishes.”
“There are only a few,” Grandma said, “so I can manage those by myself.”
Emma smiled. “Okay, danki.” She looked forward to going outdoors and walking to the mailbox, where the air was fresh and much cooler than here in Grandma’s kitchen. Emma would write the letter while sitting outside too.
When the three of them had finished their lunch, Emma followed Grandma’s instructions and got a notepad, envelope, and stamp from the old rolltop desk, and then she excused herself and scooted out the back door.
Pausing on the porch and leaning her head back, she savored the fresh early-summer air.
Emma remained in place for several minutes, breathing slowly in and out.
It felt good to be out here. If only she could stay out of the suffocating air inside the house for the rest of the day.
Taking her time to absorb the fragrance of flowers growing in Grandma’s yard, while listening to the chattering of birds swooping from tree to tree, Emma made her way around the side of the house.
Upon entering the front yard, she spotted the extra-long wooden picnic table Grandpa had made several years ago.
She remembered well the many times when her family had come to visit and gathered in the yard, sharing meals at this rustic table.
Emma took a seat on the same side she’d sat upon as a child.
She’d always thought that food tasted better when eaten outdoors.
Maybe I’ll suggest that we eat breakfast out here sometime, Emma thought as she placed the notebook in front of her, in readiness to write her folks a letter.
She really didn’t have much to say. She clasped the pencil between her second and third finger and began to write a short message saying she’d arrived safely and that it was good to see her grandparents again.
A short time later, Emma had written enough to fill one page and figured that was enough. After placing the letter in the envelope, addressing it, and sealing it shut, Emma put a postage stamp on it and rose from her seat.
When she got to the mailbox and pulled the door open, she nearly got hit in the face by a cobweb.
Or maybe it’s not a simple schpinnenescht, she thought.
It could be a web spun by some lurking schpinn just waiting to get me.
Emma had an aversion to spiders, especially the big ones that ran fast when she tried to get them, and she didn’t like the hopping kind of spider either.
As far as she was concerned, God must have made a mistake when He’d created the creepy insects known as spiders.
Emma wasn’t sure why she had a fear of the crawling insects.
She’d never been bitten by one, but there was always a first time.
Seeing no sign of a spider, Emma pushed the web aside, reached inside the mailbox, and was surprised that there was no mail inside.
She remembered then that Grandpa had mentioned once that their mail was always delivered in the latter part of the day, but usually before suppertime.
Emma placed the envelope inside, and after closing the door, she lifted the metal flag on the side of the box to let the letter carrier know there was mail to be picked up.
Emma was about to turn back toward the house when a well-groomed chestnut-colored horse pulling an open carriage approached.
A young, beardless Amish man with reddish-brown hair was seated on the driver’s side and lifted his hand to wave as he went by.
Emma didn’t recognize him and figured he must not live close by.
Either that or he was new to the area since her last visit.
She smiled and waved in response. It was the polite thing to do.
Emma watched for a few seconds as the clip-clop sounds grew quieter and the horse and buggy continued down the road.
Emma turned and made her way up the driveway, hoping she could rest in the hammock for a little while.
Even though she hadn’t asked Grandpa’s permission yet, she felt sure he wouldn’t mind.
She was almost to the hammock when she discovered a cluster of lovely daffodils in the flower bed bordering the front of the house.
She decided to take a few minutes to admire their beauty, and for the first time in her adult life, Emma wished she had a camera and could snap a picture to capture the essence of the bright yellow blooms. After squatting down for a closer look, Emma almost let out a yelp when Grandma came out the front door and called to her.
“It’s time for your first cooking lesson, Emma. Since it’s almost the right hour to start supper preparations, you may as well begin now.”
Emma sighed as she glanced up at the billowy white clouds floating overhead.
So much for taking a nap in Grandpa’s hammock today.
She’d forgotten to ask him about it during their early lunch, and now it was too late to ask, since Grandma had decided it was time to start supper.
Oh, how Emma wished she’d only come here for a short visit, and not to spend the entire summer learning how to cook and sew.
She didn’t want to leave all this wonderful fresh air and sunshine for the confines of the hot and stuffy kitchen.
“All right, Grandma, I’m coming,” Emma called in return to her grandmother’s request. What other choice did she have?
Grandma glanced at the battery-operated kitchen clock, and then she looked at Emma. “Are you ready to begin?”
“I—I guess so. What are we making?”
“Not we—you.” Grandma pointed at Emma. “I’ll give you the directions and show you how to do specific things if necessary, but you won’t learn if I do it for you.”
Emma’s shoulders slumped. “Okay then—what will I be making?”
“I think a simple meat loaf would be a nice beginning, and it will be a hearty main dish for supper.”
Emma grimaced. She’d never cared much for meat loaf—simple, fancy, or otherwise. Just the thought of having to learn how to make it, much less sit at the supper table and force herself to eat some of it, took away any appetite she may have had for eating the evening meal.
Why, oh why, did my parents have to send me here?
Even if I were to learn the fine art of cooking, meat loaf would never be on my menu.
Now it was Emma’s turn to look at the clock.
She hoped this lesson wouldn’t take too long, because while the meat loaf was in the oven baking, she hoped to do something fun.
After Grandma instructed Emma about where she would find the necessary ingredients, Emma asked why she needed two pounds of ground beef instead of one.
“It’s simple, dear one,” Grandma responded. “If you make a big enough meat loaf, then we’ll have leftovers for kalt meat loaf sandwiches.”
“Oh, I see.” Emma didn’t voice her thoughts, but she didn’t care for cold meat loaf sandwiches any more than she did when the meat loaf was warm.
As she began gathering the ingredients listed on the recipe card her grandmother had given her, Grandma took their conversation in another direction by asking Emma what type of sewing she’d learned to do.
“Well, uh, I’ve sewed buttons on a few of my daed’s shirts.”
“Is that all?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake. Haven’t you made any dresses for yourself?”
Emma shook her head. “All my dresses, capes, and aprons have been made by Mom or Rachel.”
“How is your sister doing these days?” Grandma asked. “Is she still being courted by that Lambright fellow?”
Emma nodded. “Rachel and David have been seeing each other for nearly two years now, and my daed says if David doesn’t ask Rachel to marry him soon, Dad’s gonna tell her suitor that he either must propose or break things off with Rachel.”
Grandma’s mouth opened wider than normal. “Oh my. I can’t imagine how that would make poor Rachel feel. I’m sure your daed isn’t serious about his intentions.”
Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. He might be.”
“Now that would be most embarrassing for both Rachel and David. How about you, Emma? Do you have a steady beau back home?”
“No way! I don’t think I will ever get married.”
“Never say never. You might be surprised what the future holds.” Grandma wagged a finger in Emma’s direction.
“Now, changing the subject … We’ll go to the fabric store in town tomorrow so you can pick out the material you would like, and when we get home, we’ll start working on a new dress for you. ”
Emma’s fingers clenched around the small glass measuring cup she held to beat the eggs. Although cooking a meal wasn’t on her wish list, sewing a dress was definitely not something she wanted to do.
“With the exception of the dinner rolls I made today, Emma cooked all the main dishes for our evening meal.” Grandma gestured to the oddly shaped meat loaf, and then the bowl of lumpy mashed potatoes. Emma hoped the food would taste better than it looked.
“That’s terrific.” Grandpa grinned at Emma. “I can’t wait to try the meat loaf. It’s one of my favorite things to have for supper.”
Emma held her breath as Grandpa reached for the meat platter and cut two hefty pieces.
After placing them on his plate, he picked up the bowl of potatoes and took several spoonfuls.
He didn’t mention the lumps, so Emma thought that was a positive thing.
I should have tasted everything before putting them on the table, she thought.
But since I don’t like meat loaf, I wouldn’t have known if it was good or bad.
Guess I could have suggested that Grandma give it the taste test, though.
She blew out her breath and breathed in another one as Grandpa took his first bite of meat loaf.
He chewed, swallowed, and quickly grabbed for his glass of milk. After drinking most of it down, Grandpa looked right at Emma and said, “What in the world did you do to the meat loaf? It doesn’t taste anything like what I’m used to.”
“I—I just followed the recipe Grandma gave me when she left the kitchen to go outside and check the towels hanging on the line.”
“Here, Marlin, let me try it.” Grandma reached for the platter, but before she could pick it up, Grandpa forked another hunk off his plate, leaned forward, and popped it right into her mouth.
Grandma’s dark eyes widened as she grabbed a napkin and spit the piece of meat loaf into the paper. “Ach, Emma, didn’t you add any ketchup?”
“Well … umm … I thought I had.”
“And why so many brot grimmele?” Grandpa questioned. “Using too many breadcrumbs makes for a dry, crumbly meat loaf.”
Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes and threatened to spill over. It was bad enough that she’d been expected to cook a dish she didn’t like, but to find out that she had botched the job added insult to injury. Without asking to be excused, Emma pushed back her chair and fled the room.