Chapter 9
THURSDAY MORNING, WHEN EMMA REACHED the last step at the bottom of the staircase, the aromatic odor of coffee brewing filled her senses. She entered the kitchen and found her grandmother holding the small of her back with one hand while she bent over to check something in the oven.
“Guder mariye,” Emma greeted as she approached.
Standing upright, Grandma turned and winced before offering Emma a smile. “Good morning, Emma. Did you sleep well?”
“I slept okay, but I should be asking you that question. Is your back hurting again?”
“Jah, and I will surely be glad when our new mattress arrives.”
“Hopefully it won’t be too long.” Emma pointed to the oven door, still hanging open. “Were you getting ready to put something in there?”
“I was just going to warm up some of the banana muffins I made yesterday after we got back from Ida Mae’s.” Grandma gestured to the baking pan on the counter, covered with aluminum foil. “I thought they would be good with the oatmeal you’ll be cooking for our breakfast this morning.”
Emma pointed to herself. “Me?”
“Jah. You’re the only other person in the room besides me. It’s part of your cooking lesson today, and it won’t be hard at all,” Grandma said. “I’ll walk you through it, step-by-step.”
“Oh, I thought we’d be doing the lesson after breakfast. I—I mean, closer to lunchtime.”
Grandma shook her head. “There’s no time like the present, and by getting it done now, once we’ve had our noon meal, Grandpa can drive you over to Ida Mae’s for your first lesson with her.”
“Oh yes—I’m really looking forward to that, and I hope I do well and don’t mess up.” Emma’s words were rushed. She was eager to see Ida Mae, but at the same time, she couldn’t help creating a mental tally of what could go wrong. She couldn’t help wondering if it was in her nature to mess things up.
Emma reached up and rubbed the back of her neck. Maybe some people aren’t meant to have a talent, and I could be one of them.
Luellen heard the back door open, and she hurried out to the utility room to speak to her husband before he came into the kitchen for breakfast.
“I need to talk to you,” she whispered.
“Can it wait till after breakfast?” Marlin patted his belly. “I’m hungerich.”
She gave a quick shake of her head. “No, I need to say this now.”
The wrinkles in his forehead deepened. “You look so serious. Has something bad happened that I should know about?”
“It’s not bad. At least, I hope it’s not.” Luellen guided her husband to the far end of the narrow room and kept her voice low in case their granddaughter was in earshot. “I wanted you to know ahead of time that Emma made the oatmeal this morning.”
He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Oh, great. Sure hope it’s not sticky or tasteless.” He tapped his fist against his lips and mumbled, “That girl sure doesn’t know much about cooking.”
“That’s why she’s here, remember?”
“Of course I do. My taste buds just don’t like her practicing on me.”
Luellen held back the groan threatening to escape her lips.
“I know,” she said in a continued hushed tone.
“We just need to be patient and encouraging as she strives to learn and do her best. In time, I feel sure she’ll get the hang of it.
” She squeezed his forearm. “In the meantime, though, we must try not to hurt Emma’s feelings.
Even if we don’t particularly care for something she makes in my kitchen, we must not say unkind things.
You do understand that, don’t you, Marlin? ”
“Jah, and I’ll do my best to bite my tongue if it becomes necessary.” He paused a few seconds. “But I can’t promise I’ll eat the oatmeal if it’s not to my liking, so I hope there’ll be something else on the table. Otherwise, I’ll be as hungerich when I leave the table as I was when I sat down.”
Luellen reached up and gave her husband’s beard a little tug. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
“I’m not sure what that means, but if you say so then I guess I must be.”
“It means, dear Marlin, that you’re hopeless.”
“Is that so? Well tell me this, dear wife of mine. How’d ya learn such a big, fancy word like that?”
“I saw it in the dictionary one evening when I was looking for the right word to fill in on a crossword puzzle.” She patted his arm and grinned. “Now let’s get on in to breakfast, shall we?”
Marlin leaned down and kissed Luellen’s cheek. “You’re right, I am hopeless—hopelessly in love with you.”
“I love you too,” she responded.
He motioned to the kitchen door. “Lead the way, and I shall follow.”
Emma held her breath as she watched Grandpa take his first bite of oatmeal. Grandma was right—it really wasn’t that difficult to make. She hoped the consistency was okay and it wasn’t over- or undercooked.
Grandpa’s nose wrinkled for a brief moment, and then he swallowed and gave Emma a wavering smile.
“How’s it taste?” Emma dared to ask. “Is the texture all right?” She hadn’t even tasted it herself, which was probably a mistake.
“Umm … yeah … it’s fine. My only complaint is that I don’t taste any cinnamon. Did you forget to include that?”
Emma’s head snapped in Grandma’s direction. “Did you tell me to add cinnamon to the oatmeal?”
Grandma rubbed the middle of her nose, pushing her glasses back into place. “Well, I thought I did, but maybe I forgot. That happens sometimes when I get busy doing something else.”
“It’s okay,” Grandpa said with a wave of his hand. “I’ll get the cinnamon and add it to my bowl.”
“Yes, yes … we can all do that,” Grandma was quick to say. “And don’t bother getting up, Marlin. Since this is my kitchen, I know exactly where to find it.” She was up on her feet before either Grandpa or Emma could comment.
Emma watched as her grandmother hobbled across the room like a lame duck, holding the small of her back and limping a bit. Poor thing, she’s still hurting. I should have been the one to get the cinnamon, she thought. I’m the person who didn’t sprinkle some in the oatmeal while it was cooking.
It was too late to do anything about that now, since Grandma was already heading back to the table with the cinnamon. She handed Grandpa the jar, then lowered herself into her chair.
“Danki,” he said, seemingly unaware of her pain. Grandpa sprinkled a fair amount of the spice on his oatmeal, then handed the bottle to Emma. “Want some?”
“I guess so.” Emma dusted some on and passed it to Grandma. Meanwhile, Grandpa had added several scoops of brown sugar, stirred it around, and poured milk over the top.
With the churning of her empty stomach, Emma decided it was time to take her first bite. The hot cereal was kind of dry, and it wasn’t sweet at all, so she followed Grandpa’s lead. Since he was eating his without complaint, Emma picked up her spoon and dug right in.
Hmm … not too bad, I guess. Better than the chicken and mashed potatoes I messed up earlier this week, Emma mused.
Grandma’s muffins were passed around next, and after Grandpa slathered the two he chose with creamy butter, Emma took one and handed the basket to Grandma.
Grandma seemed unusually quiet during the rest of the meal, and Emma wondered if it had to do with the pain she felt in her back, or could something else be wrong?
As Emma stood at the sink, washing their dishes from lunch, she spotted Grandpa heading for the barn.
No doubt he was on the way to get his horse so he could hitch it to the buggy that would take Emma to her first quilting lesson.
Emma’s gaze rested on the empty hammock.
She wished she was in the hammock right now instead of helping Grandma do the dishes.
Of course, if she had been able to lie in the hammock, she’d have probably dozed off and would have missed her quilting lesson.
Another thought popped into Emma’s head. If I do poorly today, it could be my first and last quilting lesson.
Soon Grandpa came inside and informed Emma that he was ready to take her over to Ida Mae’s. He said he would come back for her around four o’clock.
“Okay,” she replied. “I’ll finish the last few dishes, and then I’ll head right out to the buggy.”
“That’s all right, Emma.” Grandma interjected. “I can finish them for you.”
Emma shook her head. “You have enough to do just drying the dishes and putting them away. I can finish off the dishes so you can go rest.”
“Rest?” Grandpa chuckled. “You oughta know by now that your grossmammi likes to keep busy.”
Emma was about to comment, but Grandpa was already out the door. She turned to her grandmother and said, “I really don’t mind washing the dishes.”
Grandma gave Emma’s shoulder a tender pat. “There’s no need for that. Now you dry your hands and go along with your grandpa. I’m sure the horse is eager to head out, and you should be as well.”
“I am,” Emma admitted. “Just a little naerfich is all.”
“There’s no need to be nervous, dear one. Ida Mae is a kind person, and she’ll be patient with you.”
Emma hoped her grandmother was right, because even though she was quite excited to learn quilting, her mind continued to be filled with doubts about how well she would do.
Guess I won’t know till I try, Emma told herself as she finished the last dish and handed it to Grandma to dry. I just need to keep a positive attitude and do my best.
Feeling nervous again now that she was here, Emma rapped on the Yoders’ front door. A few minutes passed, and then the door opened and Ida Mae greeted Emma with a smile and a hug.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” Ida Mae said. “I have everything laid out and ready for your first lesson. But before we start, can I get you something cold to drink, or perhaps a few peanut butter kichlin?”
“Maybe a glass of wasser, but I don’t need any cookies. We just ate our noon meal not long ago, and I’m still full from that.” Emma glanced around, wondering if anyone else was at home, or if she and Ida Mae were here alone.