Chapter 7 #2
Emma turned to the task of cutting the potatoes and sighed. She’d helped with this chore at home many times, but because Mom or Rachel always took care of this chore, she had never been responsible for cooking the potatoes or mashing them.
“Guess it can’t be that hard,” Emma murmured.
At Luellen’s call, Ivan and Marlin came into the dining room, slid their chairs out, and took a seat while the two women carried out the supper dishes and set it all in the middle of the table.
Once they prayed together in silence, Emma’s grandfather was quick to dish up a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes, and Luellen offered Ivan the chicken.
I don’t think chicken is supposed to taste like that, Ivan thought as he drank water from his glass past his lips to moisten the piece of chicken in his mouth.
He chewed on the meat as though it were a stick of bubble gum.
Tastes better watered down at least, but it’s definitely overdone.
I think Emma must have left it in the frying pan too long.
Ivan gulped it down, then set the glass near his napkin and rubbed the condensation from his hand on his pant leg.
Taking a breather from gnawing on the dried-up meat, Ivan picked up his fork, preparing to sample the mashed potatoes drizzled with the gravy he’d poured out of the gravy boat.
Unfortunately, the chicken wasn’t the only thing on Ivan’s plate that hadn’t been cooked well.
The potatoes resting on his tongue were lumpy, while the gravy was overly floury and kind of bitter.
Ivan realized he hadn’t been masking how he responded to Emma’s cooking very well when his gaze met hers across the table.
Emma’s glance fell on her plate, and judging by the looks of it, she hadn’t even touched a thing.
“It isn’t good.” With a pensive expression, Emma’s shoulders curled as she twisted the corner of her napkin. “I’m sorry. I messed up, didn’t I?”
Before Ivan could swallow his mouthful of food and respond to her, Emma’s grandfather cut in and said, “I’ll say! What happened while you were in the kitchen, Emma? I would’ve thought you’d at least know how to make something as simple as chicken and mashed potatoes.”
I thought Emma had said that cooking was one of her pastimes, but it seems more like she’s a beginner, trying to learn how.
I’ll bet that’s what she meant by being in the kitchen with her grandmother while she’s here.
It makes sense why Emma didn’t seem thrilled that I was invited here tonight.
Ivan bit down on his bottom lip. Poor Emma must’ve tried her hardest to make all of this for us.
She must be devastated that supper did not turn out well, and I sure don’t want to discourage her from attempting to make anything else.
“The chicken is nicely seasoned, Emma,” Ivan commented.
“And I can’t get enough of the mashed potatoes you made.
” He stuffed another heap of the potatoes into his mouth, then another, and another, to prove his case.
Ivan gave it a thumbs-up after chewing and swallowing, and then said, “I love having lumps in my spuds. It’s great exercise for my mouth. ”
“What are you saying, Ivan?” Marlin grimaced. “Mashed potatoes aren’t supposed to have lumps—”
A thump resounded from underneath the table, and Marlin let out a yelp. His neck twisted toward his wife. “Hey! What’d ya do that for?”
“Shh,” Luellen whispered with her finger pressed to her lips. “I believe you’ve said enough, Marlin. Now please, eat the rest of your supper.”
Ivan continued to scoop up the remainder of the lumpy potatoes that rested on his plate.
Though the gravy was the least appealing part of the meal and covered the mounds of potato, Ivan felt confident that he could finish devouring it efficiently, unlike the chicken.
Ivan took the last bite of his mashed potatoes and looked around the table, then right at Emma, offering her a reassuring smile.
Unfortunately, she barely met his gaze as she began to cut into the chicken on her plate.
“Say, I have an idea,” Emma’s grandpa announced after the supper dishes had been cleared and put in the pan that had been placed inside the kitchen sink to soak.
“What idea is that, Marlin?” Grandma asked.
“Well now, as I’m sure you all know, it’s still pretty hot in the house, so I was thinking it might be nice if I go outside, build a feier, and …”
“A fire?” Grandma’s thin brows shot up. “You want us to sit around a hot bonfire?”
“Don’t look so concerned, Luellen,” he responded. “I’m not planning to make a big roaring fire. I’ll make sure it’s just enough so we can roast marshmallows. It’ll be our dessert.” His gaze swept over everyone in the room. “How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good to me,” Ivan was quick to say.
Emma nodded, and so did Grandma. Letting out a sigh, Emma pushed aside the lingering embarrassment of tonight’s supper mishap to the back of her mind. After all, they might need a firepit gathering under the stars to forget about the dried chicken and lumpy potatoes she had served.
Grandpa rubbed his hands together and offered them a wide grin. “All right then. I’m gonna head outside.” He looked at Ivan. “You comin’?”
“Sure, I’ll help you get the fire started.” Ivan glanced at Emma over his shoulder before following her grandfather out the back door.
“I feel terrible about messing up our supper,” Emma told her grandmother. “I can only imagine what Ivan must think of me and my cooking skills.” She frowned. “Or it might be better to say—the lack of them.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It really wasn’t that bad.” Grandma patted Emma gently on the back. “You’re still learning, remember?”
“Jah, learning to mess up everything.” Emma lifted her hands, and then she touched her sweltering cheeks. “I’m sure Ivan must realize that I can’t cook. He was just being polite by eating his meal and not agreeing with the things Grandpa said.”
“Humph!” Grandma’s features tightened as she folded her arms. “That husband of mine deserved the kick I gave him under the table. Sometimes he’s entirely too blunt, and he doesn’t even think about whether he will hurt someone’s feelings or embarrass them, which I’m sure he succeeded in doing. Right, Emma?”
Emma lowered her gaze, fighting back tears of frustration. “I was embarrassed, but what he said was the truth. There was nothing good about the meal I cooked for us this evening.”
“You’ll get the hang of it soon, just wait and see. Practice makes …”
“I know—perfect.”
“That’s right. And now, my dear granddaughter, it’s time for the two of us to join the menfolk outside.”
“I’m sorry about the way supper turned out,” Emma said when she took a seat on a bench beside Ivan.
“Wh–what do you mean?” he questioned.
Emma scrunched up her nose. “My grandpa was right. The gravy was awful, the potatoes were chunky, and the chicken was way too dry. I think you were just being polite by eating the food and not agreeing with him.”
“Well, I—”
“I saw the way you cringed when you took your first bite of those lumpy, bumpy potatoes. And of course, the gravy was just as bad, not to mention the chewy pieces of hinkel.”
Ivan squirmed on the bench. He couldn’t lie, but at the same time, he wasn’t about to tell Emma the truth and hurt her feelings. Even though she was well aware of his reaction to the food she had prepared, it wouldn’t be right to agree with her.
“Things happen sometimes in the kitchen,” he said. “Mistakes can be made by anyone, don’t ya know? Least that’s what my mamm always says.”
“Yes, I do know,” Emma stated with a firm nod. “And for me, things always go bad when I’m in the kitchen, and would you like to know why?”
“Umm … I guess so.” Ivan felt concerned when he saw Emma’s hunched posture and drooping head. Whatever she was about to say, he had a feeling she really didn’t want to say it, but he would listen nonetheless.
“You may as well hear this from me,” Emma said in a near whisper. “Because I’m sure the truth will come out sooner or later, and everyone in the town of Arthur, and possibly other towns in this area, will hear it too.”
“What truth is that?” he dared to ask.
Emma raised her head and looked right at him with a trembling chin.
“I can’t cook or sew. I’m good at outdoor things but not in the house.
” Her shoulders lifted as she heaved a big sigh.
“I came here to live with my grandparents for the summer so Grandma could teach me those skills. But I think I’m a lost cause. ”
Ivan took a few seconds to formulate his response. Then, impulsively, he reached out, clasped her hand, and said, “Well, don’t give up trying, and even if you never learn the fine art of cooking, it’s not the end of the world.”
“You don’t think so?”
He gave a vigorous shake of his head. “All you have to do is find a man who can cook, get married, and there you go. Problem solved.”
Emma gave him a blank stare at first, and then she broke out in laughter. When Ivan saw her facial features relax, he gave a loud chuckle too.
“You know what, Ivan?” Emma nudged his shoulder. “That might be the most helpful advice I’ve ever received.”
“Glad I can help ya out with your dilemma.” Ivan grinned, and they both continued to laugh.