Chapter 2
AFTER A FITFUL NIGHT OF tossing and turning, Emma awoke the following morning feeling like she had not slept at all.
If only she hadn’t messed up the meat loaf and lumpy potatoes.
Her feeble attempt at cooking left a lot to be desired, but she felt like a failure in so many aspects of life.
She knew Bible verses that referred to talents and gifts, but Emma was quite sure she had been left out in the talent department.
Oh sure, she could catch and clean a fish, but cooking one was another story.
Emma figured her biggest roadblock was that she had no reason to learn domestic skills other than to appease her mother and grandmother, who obviously thought cooking and sewing were necessary.
Maybe it would be necessary if I were planning to get married, Emma thought as she slid out of bed.
I just wish Mom and Grandma understood that.
Emma’s lips compressed. I wonder what will happen if, by the end of summer, I still haven’t learned to cook or sew.
Will I be allowed to go home, or will my parents insist that I remain here for the rest of the year or at least until I can prove that I’ve mastered the skills they expect me to?
With a heavy sigh, Emma removed her nightgown and put on a clean dress.
It was time to go downstairs and see what Grandma expected her to do to help with breakfast. No doubt Emma would be in for another cooking lesson.
Maybe Grandma would expect her to fry Grandpa’s eggs.
Emma remembered from previous visits that he liked them over easy with the yolks intact.
She had made decent scrambled eggs a time or two, but every time Emma had tried to cook eggs over easy, she’d ended up breaking the yolks.
And one time while boiling some eggs, Emma had left the kitchen long enough to feed the cats, and when she’d returned, the kettle was dry. Every single egg had been overcooked.
Emma doubted that she would ever be proficient in the kitchen. There were too many things she’d rather do besides slave over a hot stove or get her hands sticky rolling out dough to make bread, rolls, or cutout cookies.
She heaved a sigh. Guess I’d better get downstairs to the kitchen before someone comes looking for me.
When Emma entered the kitchen, she was surprised to see that the table had been set and Grandma was at the stove flipping pancakes with an oversized spatula. “What do you need me to do?” Emma asked when she approached her grandmother.
“Nothing at all. I have it under control.” Grandma paused what she’d been doing and turned to look at Emma. “I’m sorry that the comments your grandfather and I made last evening about your meat loaf sent you to your room in tears. We didn’t mean to upset you.”
“That’s right,” Grandpa spoke up from where he sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in one hand. “We should have realized how insensitive we were being, and I’m sorry for my part in it too. Will you forgive us?”
“Jah, of course, and I’m sorry for running out of the room like a crybaby,” Emma said. “Guess I’m too sensitive at times.”
“You were upset because we’d hurt your feelings, and that’s understandable,” Grandma acknowledged. “So let’s just put it behind us now, okay?”
Emma nodded and moved closer to the stove. “Will you be giving me another cooking lesson today?”
Grandma shrugged her shoulders. “We’ll see what the day brings. Right now, though, please take a seat at the table so we can eat before the pancakes get cold.”
Emma did as she was told, seating herself in the chair across from where her grandmother had sat yesterday.
She still didn’t understand why Grandma had fixed breakfast without her help and wondered if it really was because she felt guilty about her comment last night about Emma’s meat loaf.
Or maybe, Emma thought, Grandma and Grandpa don’t want their breakfast ruined, because, in true form, I’d probably make a mess of whatever I’d been asked to fix.
Grandpa got the syrup and butter, and when Grandma set the platter of pancakes on the table, everyone bowed their heads for silent prayer.
This time, Emma thanked God for the breakfast she knew would be delicious, for protection over her family in Indiana, and for loving grandparents who’d been willing to apologize for hurting her feelings.
Once they had all started eating, Grandpa made a few comments to Grandma about the exceptionally warm weather they’d been having, and then he looked over at Emma and said, “While you are here this summer, how would you like to go fishing with me sometime?”
She tilted her head in his direction. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely. Of course, that will be when you’re not here in the kitchen with Grandma for lessons.”
She smiled. “I’d like that a lot, Grandpa. I’ve enjoyed fishing since I was a young girl.”
“I am well aware.” He reached over and gave Emma’s arm a tap. “You can’t be cooped up in the house all the time, and it’s always nice to get some exercise in the fresh air and sunshine.”
“It would be fun,” Emma admitted, “but it sounds like Grandma has other plans for me this summer.”
“Not every single day,” Grandma spoke up. “And certainly not every single hour of each day.”
“If you are too busy during the week, then some Saturdays we could try out a few of the ponds in our area.” Grandpa grinned, and his blue eyes held more sparkle than usual.
“And who knows—you might strike up a friendship with one or more of the young people in our church district, and then you could end up going fishing with some of them while you’re here too. ”
Emma shrugged. “Since I’ll only be here a few months, it’s doubtful that I will make any friends. And even if I did, with me living in Indiana, I would only see my new friends when I came for a visit.”
“Don’t close yourself off to the idea,” Grandma interjected. “We all need friends, even if we live miles apart. Letter writing can hold the friendship together.”
Emma’s mind wandered as she ate the rest of her tasty buttermilk pancakes, oozing with fresh creamy butter and just enough mouthwatering syrup. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to make pancakes or any other breakfast food that tasted this good.
Emma’s thoughts changed direction. She had made friends with a few of the young women back home, but most of them were married now, and those who weren’t had steady boyfriends.
Emma didn’t feel that she fit in with the group she’d hung out with during her teen years anymore, and she had concluded that she didn’t need to have a close friend—or a boyfriend either.
Accepting that fact was far better than sitting around feeling sorry for herself or wishing for something that would probably never happen.
“As soon as you’ve finished eating, Emma, we can get the breakfast dishes done and be on our way.”
“Huh?” Emma pulled her thoughts aside to give her grandmother full attention.
Grandma repeated herself.
“Where are we going?” Emma asked.
“To the fabric store in town. Weren’t you listening when I mentioned that previously?”
“I—I guess not. Sorry, Grandma.”
“I bet she was enjoying your pancakes so much that her mind couldn’t absorb what you were saying, Luellen.
” Grandpa chuckled. “That happens to me sometimes when I’m eating a good meal.
I say something, eat a few bites, and then can’t remember what I said because my thoughts are solely on the good food. ”
“Why are we going to the fabric store?” Emma asked, focusing on Grandma again.
“As I mentioned before, we’re going to buy some material so you can begin your first sewing lesson when we return home.” Grandma finished what was on her plate, pushed her chair aside, and stood. “So let’s hurry and get the dishes done, and then we can be on our way.”
Oh great,” Emma thought. A cooking lesson yesterday that turned out badly, and now Grandma expects me to learn how to sew.
I wonder what kind of blunders I’ll make this afternoon with a needle and thread in my hands.
Or maybe she’ll expect me to use her treadle sewing machine.
Oh my! I wonder what kind of a mess I’d make with that.
Probably end up sewing the sleeve of the dress I’m wearing to the material under the needle.
When Emma and her grandmother entered the quaint-looking store where fabric, quilt patterns, and even a few colorful quilts were sold, Emma felt a sense of foreboding.
What if, despite Grandma’s teachings, I simply can’t learn how to sew?
If I go back home at the end of summer, and haven’t learned what I came to Arthur for, how will it make my parents feel?
I’m sure they won’t blame Grandma for it.
I’ll be the one in the wrong because I refused to learn or was unteachable.
Emma swallowed around the constriction in her throat.
Too bad I wasn’t born a boy—then the need to cook and sew wouldn’t even be a problem.
Emma stood off to one side while Grandma spoke to the Amish woman behind the front counter.
They chatted for a bit, and from some of the conversation she heard, Emma figured her grandmother and the woman might be friends.
When she got tired of standing still, Emma decided to wander around the building for a closer look at the fabric.
Emma hoped Grandma would allow her to choose some burgundy or maybe a royal-blue material and not some boring brown or ghastly green fabric.
Emma didn’t care for dresses in either of those colors, and she’d had to plead with her mother many times over what color material to buy for her clothes.
Emma was about to approach a bolt of blue material when Grandma called out to her. “Emma, dear, please come over here to the counter.”
Emma did as she’d been requested.