Courting Ruth. Emma Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ climbed down out of the buggy and gathered their quilting supplies. “Did you hurt yourself?” she asked, noticing a soiled bandage on the boy’s left hand.

      “Ne.” He tucked his hand behind his back.

      “It’s all right, dear.” Mam smiled at him as she picked up the Blitzkuchen Anna had baked. “No need to explain. I’ll talk to Lydia about it.”

      His eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t do that, teacher.”

      “Then we’d best have a private talk. Come in early tomorrow morning.”

      “But that’s Saturday. There’s no school on Saturday.”

      “I need help to move some of the desks around to make room for Roman to do the repairs.” She paused. “And, Irwin? Don’t be late.”

      “Be careful with Blackie,” Ruth cautioned. “He’s easily spooked.”

      Irwin nodded. “Ya, I will.” He led the horse a few steps, then glanced back over his shoulder. “You won’t say nothin’ to Cousin Lydia, will ya?”

      “After we have our talk, I’ll decide if there’s anything Lydia and Norman need to know.”

      “I don’t mean to make trouble.” He shrugged. “It just happens.”

      “Sometimes trouble finds us all,” Mam said as she started up the steps to the house. Ruth hurried ahead and opened the door for her.

      Inside Lydia’s kitchen, Hannah and Ruth greeted several neighbors. From the next room, where everyone had gathered, Ruth could hear the excited buzz of voices as members of the community caught up on the latest news. One of Lydia’s girls took their black bonnets and capes, and Lydia turned from the stove to welcome them.

      Lydia was a tall, thin, freckle-faced woman with a narrow beak of a nose, a wide mouth and very little chin. “I’m so glad you could all come,” she said with genuine warmth, deftly sliding a pan of hot gingerbread onto the counter. Lydia’s voice came out flat, evidence of her mid-western upbringing. “After yesterday’s fire, I didn’t know if you’d feel up to joining us.”

      Ruth couldn’t help noting Lydia’s rounded tummy. Another baby on the way. God was certainly blessing the Beachy family. Lydia was a true inspiration to Ruth. She hadn’t hesitated when Irwin’s family had been lost, and she had welcomed him into her family.

      “It smells wonderful in here,” Mam said, glancing around at the pies and cakes set on the table and counters. “You know we wouldn’t miss your frolic. The quilt money will help with the school repairs.”

      Ruth looked around for her sister Johanna. The community quilting project to support the school was her idea. Johanna had sketched antique quilt patterns and carefully chosen the fabrics and colors. Everyone contributed to the cost of the material, and at each quilting night, every woman would sew one or more squares. Later this summer, they would assemble them in a daylong effort.

      Ruth wasn’t nearly as talented with a needle as Johanna, but she loved the chance to get together with friends and neighbors, especially when they were all working for such a good cause.

      Lydia’s crowded kitchen, smelling strongly of cinnamon, ginger and pine oil, was pandemonium as always. Both the woodstove and the gas stove were lit, and the room was overwarm. A large, shallow pan of milk, covered with a thin layer of cheesecloth, sat waiting for the cream to rise beside a spotless glass butter churn. On the counter and in the big soapstone sink, the last of the Beachy supper dishes stood, waiting to be washed. Without being asked, Ruth rolled up her sleeves, took down a work apron from a hook and went to the sink.

      Four small giggling children, one of them Johanna’s three-year-old son Jonah, darted around the long wooden table chasing an orange tabby. The cat leaped to a counter and dashed to safety, barely missing a lemon pie piled high with meringue, and headed for a direct collision with the unprotected pan of milk.

      Lydia juggled a pitcher of lemonade in one hand as she snagged the cat with the other. Without hesitation, she then separated two toddlers tugging on the same stuffed toy. “Out,” she commanded, shooing the children toward the sitting room. As the last little girl’s bonnet strings passed through the doorway, Lydia turned to Mam with a look of despair.

      “A long day?” Mam asked.

      “I hate to complain, Hannah.”

      “Complaining is not the same as sharing our woes.”

      “It’s that boy. I’m at my wits’ end with Irwin. I try to be patient, but—”

      Ruth turned back to the sink full of dishes and tried to give them a little privacy even though her mother and Lydia were only a few feet away.

      “I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, Lydia,” Mam supplied.

      “He is. He and our Vernon scrap like cats in a barrel. At twelve, the boy should have some sense, but…”

      “He’ll come around,” Mam soothed.

      Lydia lowered her voice. “It’s what I tell Norman, but he says we can’t trust the boy. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

      “No one doubts that you and Norman have been good to Irwin.”

      “We try, but he’s late for meals. Remiss in his chores. He let the dairy cows into the orchard twice.” Lydia sighed. “I hope we haven’t made a mistake in opening our home—”

      A baby’s wail cut through the murmur of female voices from the other room. “Is that your little Henry?” Mam asked.

      “Go, get off your feet and see to him, Lydia,” Ruth said, turning from the sink. “You, too, Mam. I can finish up here.” The dishes clean and stacked neatly in a wooden drying rack, she dried her hands on a towel. She was just reaching for the can of coffee when she heard her aunt Martha’s strident voice.

      “Hannah, here you are.” She bustled into the room, letting Lydia pass, but blocking Mam. “I wondered where you were.”

      Ruth forced a polite greeting. Aunt Martha was more trouble than a headache. According to Dat, his older sister’s hair had once been as red as his. Now the wisps of hair showing under her Kapp were gray, and the only auburn hairs were two curling ones sprouting on her chin. She was a tall, sparse woman with a thin mouth and a voice that could saw lumber.

      “How are the children?” Mam asked. “And Reuben? Is he well?”

      “His bad knee is troubling him. He thinks we might have rain all weekend. I left him working on his sermon for Sunday services.”

      “I’m sure it will be as good as his last service,” Ruth said, unable to help herself. Reuben was a good man, but he could be long-winded. Very long-winded. In fact, he could speak more and say less than anyone she knew.

      Mam threw Ruth a warning look, and Ruth hid a smile.

      Aunt Martha glanced around, a sure sign that she was about to launch into one of her reprimands. When she did that, Ruth could never be sure if she was looking to be sure no one was near, or hoping they were.

      “I’ve been wanting to СКАЧАТЬ