Summer Promise (5 page)

“I'll look forward to it,” Miriam said. “Thank you again, Rachel.”

Miriam turned and walked with quick steps back toward the road. With every step she took, it seemed to her that her heart felt lighter than it had in many months.

Perhaps Rachel is right,
she thought.
Perhaps I should laugh more.

Now all she had to do was to figure out how.

* * *

From the window of her upstairs bedroom, Leah watched Miriam walk swiftly down the Millers' drive. Leah had flown through setting the table for dinner, hoping against hope that the two women would call her back outside so that her
aenti
could share what she had decided about Leah working at the farm stand. That hadn't happened, though. So, after giving the table a final check to make sure everything was as it should be, Leah had dashed upstairs. Her bedroom was in the left front corner of the house, and her windows faced both front, toward the drive, and to the side, over the kitchen garden.

I'm not really spying,
she thought.
I just want to see what Aenti Rachel and Miriam look like.
Were they smiling or serious? And which expression might mean that Leah would be allowed to work at the farm stand?

But being able to see her
aenti
and Miriam hadn't helped matters one single bit. As a matter of fact, the more she studied them, the more clear it became to Leah that she couldn't figure out what Aenti Rachel and Miriam were talking about at all. Miriam looked so sober and serious.
So sad,
Leah thought. Then, she was laughing in the blink of an eye. But it was what happened next that caught Leah's attention and held it fast. As she watched, Aenti Rachel reached out and laid her palm against Miriam's cheek.

Now I
know
they're not talking about the farm stand,
she thought. And she knew something else. She knew that her aunt cared for Miriam Brennemann very much. For this was Aenti Rachel's
special gesture
, the one she used as a way of offering comfort or consolation when no words would suffice.

For as long as Leah could remember, Aenti Rachel had touched Leah's own cheek in just that fashion whenever Leah felt bad,
really
bad. Whether it was the flu she'd had just last year, the one that had left her feeling so miserable she wanted to cry like a baby, or the time she had been daydreaming while doing the dishes and let her favorite cup—the one that had once belonged to her mother and was one of the few mementos she had of her—slip from her fingers and fall to the floor, shattering into pieces too numerous to count. Leah had been horrified by the accident, too upset even to cry. She'd simply stood in the kitchen, gazing down at the shards of crockery surrounding her bare feet. She could have walked on the pieces and not bled, she had thought, her body was that numb.

And then Aenti Rachel was there, in the kitchen doorway, taking in the situation with one glance, taking charge at once.

“
Ach
, Leah!” she had softly exclaimed. “Stay still. I will clean this up.”

Quickly, Aenti Rachel had retrieved the broom and dustpan and swept the shards from around Leah's feet. Then she had gone for Leah's slippers in case there were pieces of crockery too small to see that still might cut. It was as Leah braced herself, one hand on her
aenti
's shoulder, that the words—and tears—began to flow.

“It was the only thing I had of Mamm's, and now it's gone.”

“I know,” Aenti Rachel said. “I know it feels that way. You treasured the cup, and I am sorry you have lost it. But you have many things of your mother's, Leah. When you are calmer, you will see.”

But Leah would not be consoled. She had moved through the rest of that evening in a fog of misery, longing only for the moment when she could go to bed and close her eyes. But as she reached to turn down the lamp, her aunt had come into her room. Aenti
Rachel had smoothed the coverlet, tucking Leah in just as she had done when Leah was very small. Then she leaned over and gently placed her palm against Leah's cheek, gazing steadily into her eyes.

And it was in that moment that Leah understood. She had not lost everything connected to her mother after all. In fact, she still had something far more important than any possession could ever be. She had her mother's sister, Aenti
Rachel herself.

“
I love you, Aenti Rachel,” she had whispered.

“As I love you,
schatzi
,” her aunt had replied. “Go to sleep now. Things will seem better in the morning.”

Before her aunt could get up, Leah had reached to cover her aunt's hand with her own. “Things are better
now
.”

Aenti Rachel was silent for many moments, so many that Leah thought she might not speak at all.

“I am glad to hear you say so,” she finally said. “You are growing into a fine young woman, Leah. I believe your mother would be proud. Get a good night's sleep now. You'll have that floor to mop in the morning.”

Then she turned down the lamp and left the room. Leah was smiling as she closed her eyes.

“Leah? Where have you got to?” Her aunt's voice pulled her back to the present.

“Here I am, Aenti Rachel,” Leah called. “I'll be right down.”

She dashed out of her bedroom and raced downstairs, clutching at the banister so that she could take the stairs two at a time. Not until she reached the bottom did she remember that her aunt had forbidden her to do that very thing. Leah slowed her pace.

“The table looks lovely, Leah,” her aunt said as Leah entered the kitchen.

“
Danki
,” Leah said at once.

“If the work you perform for Miriam is half so nice, I am sure she will be pleased,” Rachel Miller went on.

“You said yes?” Leah cried.

“I said yes,” her aunt confirmed. “You will start work at the Stony Field Farm Stand first thing tomorrow morning.”

Five

M
iriam stepped into her kitchen, still feeling lighter from the visit she'd just had with Rachel, only to find Sarah, clutching a fork and looking frantic.

“Oh, Miriam!” Sarah spun around to face her. “There you are. I overslept. I know I overslept. I'm sorry. I guess I'm still on west coast time.”

She darted around to the far side of the table and set the fork in its place with a
whack
.

“You saved me some coffee. That was nice,” she continued before Miriam could get a word in edgewise. “But then, when I went to the farm stand you weren't there and I didn't know where to look and then I thought it must be almost dinnertime and so then I came back here and I—”

“Sarah,” Miriam said, finally halting the flow of her sister's words.

“What?”

“It's all right. Calm down.”

“I am calm,” Sarah protested, her tone slightly indignant. “I just didn't know what you expected me to do, that's all.”

“I didn't expect you to do anything,” Miriam said. “No, wait,” she added quickly at the stricken look in Sarah's eyes. She crossed the room to lay a hand on her sister's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she said. “That came out wrong. I only meant you needn't have worried. I would have been home in plenty of time if we needed to fix dinner. I never meant to leave it for you to do, especially as it's just your first day here. Your first ordinary day,” she added.

“But, Daniel—” Sarah faltered.

“Is helping Lucas,” Miriam told her. “He'll have his dinner at his mother's table, not ours.”

Miriam couldn't help but notice her sister's concern for
her
husband. Daniel talked of Sarah, and Sarah talked of Daniel. The two seemed equally matched in their concern for each other. It made Miriam feel small, as if she were disappearing out of her own life.

Still, Miriam wanted her sister's stay to be a good one. She had loved Sarah all her life, and that was what she wanted to feel in her sister's presence. Not this awful, crippling jealousy.
She's my sister. I will be loving toward her,
Miriam silently resolved.

“Oh,” Sarah said, sounding distressed. She gazed down at the table.

“Sarah, what is it? What's wrong?” Miriam asked, surprised by Sarah's distress. The Sarah of her memory always seemed so confident, so self-assured. The Sarah standing beside her wasn't like that at all. Sarah was dressed in jeans and button-down shirt with a flowered print. The clothing was modest and yet seemed so out of place.

“I guess it just feels strange to be back,” Sarah said, echoing Miriam's thought. “And without Daed, the house feels so . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“So empty,” Miriam filled in quietly. “I know. I feel that way, too.”

“Empty,” Sarah echoed. “That's a nicer way of putting it than what I came up with.”

“What was that?”

“Wrong.”

“I suppose I can see how you would feel that way,” Miriam acknowledged. “But Daed's death comes from God just as his life did, Sarah. It can't be wrong.”

“I know,” Sarah said. “I know that. I guess I'm just having a harder time believing it than I expected.” She pulled in a deep breath. “So,” she went on in a deliberately brighter tone. “It's just you and me. What shall we do for our lunch?”

“How about a picnic?” Miriam suggested. “We can go out onto the porch. It's such a lovely day. There's still plenty of cold food left over from yesterday, and if we take paper plates, we won't have any washing up.”

“Is there still chow-chow?” Sarah asked, her tone slightly wistful. “There's no such thing in San Francisco, unless I make it myself.” She wrinkled her nose. “I've tried every type of relish they sell in that city, even at the fancy gourmet stores, and nothing even comes close.”

“Where exactly do you think you are?” Miriam asked, smiling.

“Well, now, let me see,” Sarah said. She regarded Miriam, her head cocked to one side.
She looks just like a bird studying a worm
, Miriam thought. “I see a woman dressed in Plain clothes with a white
kapp
on her head, and there's not an electric light switch in sight. I would say chances are very good that this
is
a Plain house.”

“In that case, you're in luck,” Miriam said. “There will be chow-chow.”

“And pie?”

“And pie.”

“Outstanding!” Sarah cried. “Though I'll have to watch myself. I could gain ten pounds in the blink of an eye. But what the heck! Bring on the paper plates!” She glanced at the wristwatch she wore and shook her head. “This will be more like breakfast for me.”

“I think you're right,” Miriam observed.

“About what?”

“You
are
still on west coast time.”

* * *

“That was so good!” Sarah exclaimed after she swallowed the last crumb of pie crust. “Sometimes I forget how good the food from home is.”

“Seeing as we've already established this is a Plain house,” Miriam said, “there's plenty more where that came from.”

“Oh, no,” Sarah said. She pushed her paper plate to arm's length. “If I eat another bite, I think I'll explode!”

“I know what you mean,” Miriam admitted. She regarded her own entirely empty plate. “I may have gotten a little carried away myself.”

“You know what Daed would say is the cure for that, don't you?” Sarah said.

“I do,” Miriam replied with a smile. “Just like I remember what we always
wanted
the answer to be.” She caught Sarah's eye.

“A nap,” the sisters said in unison, and then laughed.

After all the grief and tension of the last week, sitting on the porch and laughing with Sarah today was about the last thing Miriam would have imagined for herself. Nor could she have imagined that it would feel so good.

“We never got those naps,” Sarah remembered with a sigh. “Instead, we always wound up with Daed's cure for everything—good, old-fashioned hard work.”

“
Ja
,”
Miriam agreed. “I remember when I was nine and had the chicken pox and Daed seemed astonished that washing up the dishes didn't make me feel better.”

“He was stubborn that way,” Sarah said in a soft voice. “Do you remember how Amelia had to tell him to let you rest in bed until your fever broke? ‘Jacob, you cannot expect that child to scrub a floor now.'” Sarah got the indignant pitch of Amelia's voice perfectly. “And so then
I
had to scrub it!”

It occurred to Miriam that Sarah was the only person who knew her whole life this way. No one else had shared the house with Daed; no one else had
grown up with his presence
.
No one else would ever understand her so completely.

“Well, at least we can take doing the dishes off our list for now,” Miriam said.

“Good!” Sarah said with a smile. “But I know the way things work around here. I haven't been gone that long. There's probably something we're supposed to be doing right this very minute.”

“Well,” Miriam said, drawing out the single syllable. Sarah chuckled. “I had planned to spend the afternoon at the farm stand,” Miriam went on. “But there's a lot less to do there now, as I had some unexpected help this morning.”

“But we can still go down to the stand, can't we?” Sarah asked quickly. “You didn't get everything done.”

“You know what else Daed always said,” Miriam answered.

Sarah sat up a little straighter in her chair, imitating their father's ramrod posture. “‘There is always something more that can be done,'” she intoned. Then she slumped, becoming herself once more. “Trouble is, he was right.”

“He almost always was.”

“He was, wasn't he?” Sarah agreed softly.

Both sisters fell silent, gazing out over the green fields of the farm. From this vantage, everything looked peaceful, serene, unchanging, as if the farm existed out of time and the fields simply took care of themselves. But Miriam knew the truth.

Daed was right,
she thought. There
was
always something more that could be done, especially on a farm. This place had been Jacob Lapp's home and life's work for all of his days, just as it had been his father's and grandfather's before him.
And now the farm is mine,
Miriam thought. It belonged to her and Daniel. It was up to them to carry on the traditions that had come before them. Traditions that supported Miriam, that gave her life meaning. Traditions that she loved.

She stood up. “One thing's for certain,” she said, “sitting here won't get anything done.”

“Gracious, Miriam,” Sarah said as she, too, rose. “You
do
sound just like Daed.”

“Come on,” Miriam said. “Let's get these plates taken care of. Then we can go down to the stand.”

“I just need to put some shoes on,” Sarah said. “I'm out of practice for going barefoot outdoors.”

“The
Englischers
don't go barefoot?” Miriam asked. She held the kitchen door open for Sarah as the two went back into the house.

“They do,” Sarah replied, “just not as often as you'd suppose, and children much more than adults. You almost never see a grown-up
Englisch
man without his shoes on, not even in a park. Though they do go barefoot on the beaches,” she added. “There are even signs in stores near the beach, telling people they have to wear shoes.”

Miriam found this interesting. “You mean, they have more rules than we do?”

“Just different ones,” Sarah said.

“And just what were you doing going around looking at what
Englisch
men have on their feet?” Miriam inquired.

Sarah laughed. “Never you mind. Give me a minute. I'll be right back.”

She sprinted up the stairs, her bare feet slapping against the wooden treads.

Quickly, Miriam put away the china plates Sarah had set out earlier, washed the silverware, and then put the paper plates and food scraps in the bucket for the compost. She would take it out to the garden compost pile after supper that night.

She was washing and drying her hands when Sarah came clattering back downstairs. “What on earth?” Miriam exclaimed as she turned toward the sound. “What did you do? Put on a pair of boots?”

“Hardly,” Sarah replied. She extended one leg, the better to display the strappy platform sandals she now wore. “These are considered very fashionable, I'll have you know.”

Miriam stared. “I could never walk in something like that,” she murmured. “I'd break a leg.”

“You wouldn't,” Sarah assured her. “You get used to them.”

“Honestly?”

Sarah put her hands on her hips. “Yes, honestly,” she said, and Miriam thought she detected both laughter and exasperation in her sister's voice. “Don't you ever go into any of the shoe stores in town?”

“Not to look for shoes like that, I don't. They would be next to useless on a farm.”

How could Sarah even ask such a foolish question? Surely she hadn't forgotten that much about Plain life.

Sarah sighed. “Never mind. I'm ready to head to the farm stand if you are.”

“I'm ready,” Miriam said.

Together, the sisters left the house. They walked in silence, the hard soles of Sarah's shoes crunching against the gravel of the drive.

“I didn't mean to offend you,” Miriam finally said. “It's just—I can't imagine—”

“I know,” Sarah said, cutting off Miriam's halting words. “I'm being foolish, Miriam, and I'm sorry for it. I just feel so out of sorts. I knew that I would feel sad, but I didn't expect the rest, I guess. I didn't expect to feel so much like a stranger, a foreigner.”

Miriam was silent.

“Thank you,” Sarah said after a moment.

“What for?”

“For not trying to tell me I'm not a stranger, I suppose.”

“I'll tell you the truth,” Miriam said, though she sent an inquiring glance in her sister's direction. Sarah nodded, as if to tell Miriam to go ahead. “I'm not sure I know what you are.”

“That makes us even, then,” Sarah answered. “Though,” she went on quickly, “when I'm out among the
Englischers
I feel as if I know, at least most of the time.”

“Why did you stay away so long?” Miriam hadn't meant to ask. The question, which she had wondered about for so long, just seemed to emerge on its own.

“A lot of reasons,” Sarah said. “I haven't had much time when I could leave. School was nonstop, and then I started my job the same week I graduated. My job, it's working with troubled kids. That is, kids who don't have strong families or even enough food. They need help all the time. It's hard to take time away from them. Also, though I work long hours, I'm not paid a lot and San Francisco is an expensive city to live in. For a long time, I didn't have enough money for a flight.”