Noah's Sweetheart. Rebecca Kertz

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      Chapter Two

      The aroma of baking bread drew Rachel from the bedroom, which she shared with her cousins Charlotte and Nancy. She had overslept. Last night her sleep had been fraught with memories of the buggy accident that she’d been involved in a year ago, the near accident yesterday...and her unforgettable first encounter with Noah Lapp.

      She felt terrible that she hadn’t awakened earlier to help with the chores. Her relatives had been kind enough to provide a place for her; earning her keep was the least she could do.

      The delicious smell grew stronger and mingled with the tantalizing scents of pies and biscuits as she descended the stairs and neared the kitchen. The warmth from the oven filled the room, surrounding her as she entered, making her feel instantly at ease, taking away some of the feeling of being far from home.

      Charlotte, Nancy and Aunt Mae were gathered around the flour-dusted kitchen table, kneading dough and assembling pies. There was a streak of flour across Nancy’s cheek and a dusting down the front of Charlotte’s apron. Tendrils of hair had escaped from beneath their black kapps and their cheeks were flushed from the heat of the oven, but they didn’t seem to notice or care, so intent were they on the tasks at hand. Nancy looked a lot like her older sister, but her hair was brown whereas Charlotte’s was golden. Both had pretty blue eyes and ready grins.

      Aunt Mae looked spotless. She wore a white kapp and her light brown hair in a bun from a center part that was drawn back more severely than Nancy’s and Charlotte’s. But there was a softness about Mae’s expression that told Rachel how much her aunt enjoyed working with her daughters. As the King women worked, they chatted happily, giggling at something Nancy and then Charlotte said.

      Rachel felt her heart lighten at their laughter as she approached.

      After setting a layer of crust on the bottom of a pie pan, Charlotte looked up and saw her. “Rachel. Gut morning.”

      Rachel smiled. “Gut morning. May I help?” she asked.

      “You’re up,” Aunt Mae said with satisfaction. “Ja, you can help.”

      “You didn’t sleep well,” Charlotte said, her gaze sharp as she studied her cousin.

      “I’m sorry I overslept.”

      “You needed your rest,” her aunt said. “Would you like breakfast?”

      “I’d rather help with the baking.”

      Grinning, Charlotte and Nancy made room at the table for Rachel. “Here, Rachel,” Nancy invited. “You can work here.”

      Rachel slid between her cousins, grabbed a bowl of dough, and without instruction began to roll and cut out strips to make lattice for a strawberry pie that Charlotte was assembling. Working in the kitchen, she felt instantly at home.

      “It’s kind of you to have me.” She smiled at her cousins. “I appreciate your sharing.”

      “We don’t mind,” Charlotte said. “We are family.”

      “There is plenty of room,” Nancy agreed. “You are comfortable?”

      “Ja. The bed is gut. Yesterday it was a long journey from Millersburg to Lancaster.”

      “It is a long way. It has been many years since I have visited my brother’s family,” Aunt Mae agreed. “Your driver? He is a gut man?”

      “Ja, Aunt Mae, he is from Ohio, too, and has family in Lancaster County. We had to leave early, as his brother-in-law is ill and his sister needed help.”

      “Family is important. I am glad you had a driver who understands that.” She glanced at Rachel’s handiwork as she kneaded and rolled out pie dough. “Nice work. Your mudder, if I recall correctly, was a gut cook, but she does not enjoy it in the kitchen much. Who taught you to cook?”

      “Grossmudder. She loved to bake and insisted I help whenever it was baking day.” Rachel had enjoyed cooking and baking with her grandmother. Grossmudder had been a perfectionist when it came to her cakes, biscuits and pies, and she had instilled that trait in her eldest granddaughter. And Aunt Mae was right: her mudder did not like to cook, but she took care of her family, as a good wife should. Rachel and her siblings always ate well. But it was Grossmudder who shared her love of cooking and baking with her granddaughter, imparting a sense of understanding that family and good food went hand in hand.

      Rachel began to assemble the pie lattice, placing each dough strip carefully over the filling, spacing each evenly in a lovely woven pattern. When she was done, she stood back to eye her handiwork. “Bread, biscuits and pies,” she said with a smile. “Are we having company? Or are these all for family?”

      Nancy spoke up. “Nay. We sell baked goods to a new shop in Kitchen Kettle Village. We bring them pies at least once or twice a week. Our pies sell well, and the owner is pleased to have them.”

      “The bread, too? It smells delicious.”

      Aunt Mae grinned. “The bread is for dinner this evening.”

      Rachel grinned with pleasure. “I can almost taste it now.”

      An hour later, Rachel had rolled out dough enough for three pies, made a filling for one crust, cut out biscuits and stirred the ingredients of an upside-down chocolate cake into a pan. The smell of all this good food made her stomach growl.

      Charlotte chuckled. “I think you should take time for breakfast.”

      Her stomach protesting loudly again, Rachel said, “Ja. I think you’re right.”

      “Fresh biscuits out of the oven?” Aunt Mae asked.

      Rachel’s mouth watered. “Ja. A fresh biscuit sounds gut!”

      She ate her biscuit and СКАЧАТЬ