Family Blessings. Anna Schmidt

the twins as the three of them ran down the dusty road. “It’s like a party,” Pleasant heard her say.

      “Would you like to see the job I did for Herr Troyer?” Rolf asked as he helped Pleasant finish putting away the pans and bowls and scrub the counters.

      Pleasant saw the worried look the boy gave her. His father had always insisted on inspecting any task assigned to the boy and more often than not he had found something not quite to his liking.

      “You said that Herr Troyer was pleased with the work,” she reminded him.

      “I know but Papa …”

      “Your papa taught you well, Rolf,” Pleasant hurried to reassure him. “I can see from here that you did a fine job. If I didn’t know which was the newer post I wouldn’t be able to tell the new from the old. Now let’s finish up here and get home or our company will be there ahead of us.”

      It was an exaggeration, of course, but it made Rolf smile and the boy seemed unusually relaxed later as the two of them walked past the other shops and then the celery fields and other homes to the end of the road.

      “I like Herr Troyer,” Rolf murmured when they had almost reached their house. “He’s sort of like Herr Harnisher, Caleb’s father.”

      The two men were nothing alike—at least outwardly. Levi was a good man but he tended to be quiet and reserved while Jeremiah Troyer seemed to delight in getting to know people of all ages and backgrounds. But Rolf had a point. The two men did share a nature that invited others—even children and strangers—to open their hearts to them, share confidences and let down their guard of the normal Amish tendency toward reserve.

      Of course, her view of the ice cream maker was that he was a business associate of her father’s—nothing more. All right. He was also a neighbor and member of the congregation, but nothing more than that. Still, he had made Rolf glow with a pride of accomplishment that in spite of the Amish tendency to frown on such self-satisfaction, pleased her. Besides, until he was fully baptized and had joined the faith, Rolf was not yet truly Amish. He had been born of Amish parents but as a child he was not yet fully a member of the faith so a little pride was not a bad thing, she decided.

      “Rolf, perhaps from time to time you could help Herr Troyer as he gets ready to open his shop. There’s a great deal to do I expect and after all …”

      Rolf was looking up at her, his expression one of disbelief. “Do you mean it?” His voice quavered as if he didn’t dare give voice to his hope.

      “Helping a newcomer to our community is what our people do as a matter of course, Rolf.”

      The smile that split his face was his father’s smile—a smile she and the children had rarely seen. But she had only a second to bask in its radiance before the child threw his arms around her waist and hugged her, his hat sailing unheeded onto the ground. “Oh, thank you, Mama,” he said, his voice muffled against her apron.

      She smoothed his hair and relished the warmth of his thin arms clutching her. “You’ll still have to manage your chores here and your schoolwork,” she reminded him. “And you’re to take no payment. These are good deeds—neighbor helping neighbor. Do you understand?”

      “Yes, Mama.” He looked up at her. “May I tell Bettina?”

      “You may tell her that I have given permission for you to help Herr Troyer from time to time if he asks. This is not a job, Rolf.”

      He had rescued his hat and dashed away almost before the last word left her lips and she watched him go, running into the house, calling out for his sister. At last, she thought, realizing that she had finally broken through to the last and most reticent of Merle’s children. And she had Jeremiah Troyer to thank for it.

      It was pretty obvious that Pleasant had given him an extra large helping of the sprouts, Jeremiah thought as she handed him his plate. Her father sat at the head of the table, slicing a pot roast that smelled as good as it looked. He would place a slab on a plate from the stack in front of him and then pass it to Pleasant who would add potatoes and the dreaded green vegetable.

      “Bread, Herr Troyer?” Bettina asked with a sweet smile. “Sometimes it helps take away the taste,” she confided in a low whisper when Pleasant’s attention was drawn to the twins who were busy jostling one another for more room at the crowded table.

      Pleasant’s half sisters, Greta and Lydia, sat across from Jeremiah, eyeing him under the fan of their pale lashes. Rolf sat to one side of him and Bettina to the other. And once everyone was served Pleasant took her place opposite her father at the far end of the table.

      “Shall we pray?” Gunther asked and in unison every head bowed and silence filled the room. Even the twins were quiet.

      “Amen,” Gunther intoned after a long moment and the room erupted into the sounds of flatware on china, the twins’ chatter and water from a pitcher splashing into the empty glass that Gunther had just drained. “How are things coming along?” he asked, directing the question at Jeremiah.

      “At the shop? Fine. Good.”

      “How about your job at the ice plant?”

      “That’s worked out better than I could have hoped,” Jeremiah said. “My employers are especially pleased with the number of orders for block ice that I’ve gotten from people living here in Celery Fields. That business had fallen off considerably once the Englisch started using refrigerators instead of ice boxes.”

      Gunther nodded. “Ja. Better to buy from one of our own even if you are working for an Englisch company.”

      “And the cones?” Jeremiah asked and Gunther looked down the table at his eldest daughter.

      “I … that is …” Pleasant’s cheeks turned a most becoming shade of pink as every person at the table paused in midbite and looked her way. With an almost visible effort she composed herself and turned her attention to Jeremiah. “I apologize, Herr Troyer. We’ve had some extra orders at the bakery this week and …”

      Gunther frowned. “When’s your opening?” he asked Jeremiah.

      “I haven’t set a date yet. I was hoping to be open by the first of November.”

      “Less than a week,” Gunther said to Pleasant.

      “Plenty of time,” Jeremiah assured her and turned his attention to Lydia. “Fraulein Goodloe, I understand you are the schoolteacher for the community’s children.”

      “Yes,” she replied with a shy smile. “I am blessed to have been chosen.”

      Her sister Greta glanced at him and when Jeremiah smiled at her she almost choked on the food she was chewing.

      Perhaps it would be safer if he concentrated on his own plate, empty now except for the pile of Brussels sprouts and the round roll that Bettina had urged him to try. He picked up his knife and fork and cut into a sprout, put half of it in his mouth and then followed that with a bite of the roll and chewed.

      He was aware that Bettina was watching him and when he swallowed and repeated the process she whispered, “Told you so.”

      “More pot roast, Jeremiah,” Gunther boomed.

      “Thank you but, no. I have more than enough to finish here and I want to save room for ice cream.”

      The twins started to speak up but Pleasant silenced them by pointing out the untouched vegetables on their plates. “Only those who clean their plates get ice cream,” she reminded them.

      Jeremiah couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the boys. On the other hand, they only had two sprouts each to finish while he was still facing half a dozen. He squared his shoulders and picked up his fork. Slicing each sprout in half, he wolfed them down, chasing them from his mouth with the rest of the roll and gulps of cold water until there were only two left.

      He glanced at the twins who immediately saw the challenge he was