Chapter 3 #2
Ivan grabbed another cookie and dunked it in his coffee.
No, I’d best just sit here and mind my own business.
After all, if she is visiting the Herschbergers, she’ll likely be going back to wherever she is from within the next day or so, and I may never see her again.
Ivan ate the cookie and washed it down with a swallow of coffee.
And why do I care anyhow? For all I know, she could be married.
Even if she’s not, it makes no difference to me.
Ivan refocused on what was left on his plate and started a conversation with his brother Peter, who sat to the left of him.
When Emma and her grandparents got home from church, Grandma announced that they had been invited to her friend Ida Mae Yoder’s house for a light supper. “We want you to go along too,” she said, gesturing to Emma.
“Well, I’m kind of tired and thought I might take a gelegge,” Emma responded, dropping her gaze.
“We won’t be leaving for a couple of hours, so you have plenty of time for a nap,” Grandma said. “The Yoders are nice people, and some of the children still live at home, so there will be young people to talk to.” She gave Emma’s shoulder a gentle pat. “I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”
To be compliant, Emma looked at Grandma and managed a smile of her own. “All right, I’ll go with you.” What else could Emma say? She didn’t want to upset her grandmother by refusing to go.
“Good to hear. I’ll wake you about thirty minutes before we’re ready to leave.”
“Okay.” Emma headed up the stairs and entered her room.
After removing her church clothes and shoes, including her head covering, she slipped on a lightweight robe and collapsed onto the bed.
With the concern she felt about going to someone’s home she didn’t really know, Emma wasn’t sure she could even fall asleep.
She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but all kinds of jumbled thoughts rolled around in her head.
What if she didn’t fit in? What if the young people who lived there weren’t even home?
Worse yet—what if they were at home but weren’t interested in talking to her?
Maybe she should have spoken up and told her grandmother that she really did not want to go.
Emma shifted her body, trying to find a comfortable position. When that didn’t help her relax, she rubbed her arms as if they were cold, which made no sense considering that the room was hot and stuffy, even with the window slightly ajar.
Emma engaged in self-talk, hoping to encourage positive thinking and optimism.
Going to visit Grandma and Grandpa’s friends probably won’t be nearly as bad as I’m making it out to be.
I’m just second-guessing what might happen while we are there, and it makes no sense at all.
When I met Mrs. Yoder at the fabric store yesterday, she seemed nice enough, and I’m sure the rest of her family will be too.
I just need to set my insecurities aside and go there expecting the best.
“Oh, look, there’s a group of young people playing baseball in that open field,” Grandma said when Grandpa directed their horse and buggy into the Yoders’ yard and up to the hitching rack.
Emma looked toward where her grandmother was pointing.
Despite the warm late-afternoon sun, the whoops and hollers coming from the field was a good indication that everyone was having a great time and didn’t seem to mind the heat.
She longed to hop down from the buggy and join them, but without an invitation it would be too bold.
Instead, when Emma got out, she went around to the front of the horse and secured him to the rail.
Grandma got out too and suggested that Emma come with her to meet some of the women who had gathered on the lawn.
Before Emma could respond, Grandpa moved toward Emma and said, “I’m going over to watch the game for a while. Would ya like to join me?”
Emma didn’t hesitate to bob her head. Even though she wasn’t brave enough to ask if she could join the game, it would be fun to at least watch the goings-on. It would be much more exciting than sitting around trying to make conversation with a bunch of older women she didn’t know.
As Grandma wandered into the yard, carrying a basket of cookies she’d brought along, Emma followed Grandpa over to the fence line dividing the Yoders’ yard from the field.
“I sure do miss the days when I was young and spry enough to hit the ball and run around the bases,” Grandpa commented as he leaned on the wooden fence rail. “Now the best I can do is watch and cheer the players on.”
Emma wasn’t sure what to say in response, so she simply put her hand on his arm and gave it a few pats.
Seeing the slump of his shoulders and hearing the regret in his tone made her feel kind of gloomy.
A person might be wiser when they reached their senior years, but it was sad to think about all the things they could no longer do.
She wondered how things might be for her when she was Grandpa and Grandma’s age.
As long as my health holds out, maybe when my hair turns gray and my face is full of wrinkles, I won’t care that I can’t do all the physical things, like playing ball, Emma reasoned.
They stood quietly watching for several minutes, and then Grandpa turned to Emma and said, “Guess I’ll go on over and visit with some of the menfolk for a while. You wanna go be with your grandma or stay here and continue watching the baseball get hit around?”
“Think I’ll keep watching until the game is over,” she replied. “I’d like to see which team wins.”
“Okay.” Grandpa turned and walked away, and Emma’s attention went back to the game.
The young man up to bat had reddish-brown hair and a determined look on his face as he waited for the pitcher to throw the ball.
She’d seen him today after church during the simple meal and had thought he might be looking at her.
I probably imagined it, Emma told herself.
He was most likely looking past me, at someone else.
She kept watching until the ball came hard and fast, and then—whack! The young man hit it with such force, it sailed way over the pitcher’s head and clear past center field. Two players went after the ball and almost collided. Meanwhile, the hitter made his way around the bases at lightning speed.
Emma was impressed. She’d never seen anyone who could hit a ball like that and run with such ease.
As a woman, with a skirt to contend with, there was no way she could have run even half that well, nor hit the ball with such force.
She stood watching in awe as the man’s team members cheered when his feet hit home plate.
The game was obviously over, and he followed the others as they left the field and headed for the picnic tables that had been set up on the front lawn.
As the young man made a detour and approached Emma, he paused and flashed her a dimpled smile. “I saw you after church today. Are you new to the area, or just visiting?” he questioned.
Emma opened her mouth to respond, but the only sound that came out was a little squeak. She leaned heavily against the fence board, fighting the desire to turn and run.