Home to Paradise. Barbara Cameron

to go and ran out of here.”

      “I’ll go check on her.”

      Rose Anna roamed the room greeting other women and helping with projects. When Kate returned fifteen minutes later she came alone.

      “She got a little overwhelmed,” Kate explained quietly. “She just needs to take things slowly for a while. I told her to come back today if she wants, and if not, we’ll look forward to seeing her later this week or next week.” She smiled at Rose Anna. “I think she will. She told me to thank you. She said she enjoyed talking to you.”

      “I get to meet such interesting people in the class,” Rose Anna mused. “I’m glad you asked Lavina to help you or none of us sisters would have done something like this. Mamm told me that there’s not as much contact with those outside our community in other places. I suppose it’s because we have more tourism and less farming here so we see more of each other.”

      “It’s a unique place for sure,” Kate said. “I’m glad I settled here after I separated from the Army.”

      The hours passed quickly, and before she knew it, the women were packing up their sewing in their project boxes, stacking them on the shelves and chatting about what was on the lunch menu on their way out of the room.

      “If you have time I thought we could stop for a few minutes at Sewn in Hope on the way home, drop some crafts off.”

      “Sure. And remember what you said earlier? That I should just let you know when I was ready to talk? I have a question for you.”

      Kate picked up a box from a nearby table. “I’m all ears.”

      ***

      John walked into the kitchen and checked out the contents of the refrigerator.

      Nothing new had appeared.

      Now that he lived alone he couldn’t expect anything new unless he shopped for it. When he and Sam shared an apartment, Sam would sometimes bring home groceries or—even better—something that Mary Elizabeth cooked.

      His stomach growled, and he found himself envying the supper his two brothers were undoubtedly eating right now. Both of them had married women who not only possessed sweet personalities but were wonderful Amish cooks. He enjoyed helping both his brothers with their farms because their wives always insisted on him staying for supper after a workday and then sent him home with a bag full of leftovers.

      When his stomach growled again at the reminder of the last time he’d enjoyed a second-day feast, he told himself having regular—delicious—home-cooked meals was not a good reason to get married.

      Actually he couldn’t think of any reason to get married. His brothers had good marriages, but the memory of his parents’ relationship was still too vivid for him to contemplate. An Amish marriage was forever. He didn’t want to chance getting into one and not being able to get out.

      He got a paper plate and plastic fork from the cupboard, found a package of ramen noodles. A check of the freezer revealed some hamburger patties from Sam’s last barbecue. All he had to do was defrost them in the microwave, then add some bottled spaghetti sauce and serve it over ramen noodles. A poor man’s spaghetti dinner he decided as he sprinkled parmesan cheese on top and settled in front of the television set to eat.

      When he’d lived with Sam after they’d moved out of their family home, Sam had been a rather overbearing older brother. Sam nagged him about chores, about keeping the place clean, about where was his half of the rent. He’d criticized his going out with friends to have a couple of beers, to go to a party.

      But now as he settled in front of the television for a solitary supper, he found himself missing Sam. He shook his head. Sam would have given him a hard time over what he’d cooked. He’d shaken his head over John’s cooking, teased him about his endless variations of ramen noodle dishes.

      John plunged his fork into the noodles in front of him. Hey, they were quick and they were cheap. Two important considerations for a bachelor cook.

      And since he was living alone, it was even more important to watch the pennies. He finished his supper, tried not to think of what his brothers were having. They were undoubtedly eating much better tonight. He didn’t want to think about what they were having for dessert.

      Well, he’d never envied anyone, and he wasn’t going to start now. If he was going to remain single he was going to have to become a better cook. Maybe he’d ask his friend Joseph Miller for a recipe. He’d become a good cook after living alone for a long time. Many a single Amish woman had brought by meals and baked goods. His mother and sisters had done the same.

      Until Joseph had, as he put it, “opened my mouth and put my big foot in it” by saying “how hard could cooking be?” to one of his sisters. She had handed him a salt shaker and invited him to eat his words. Joseph had almost burned his kitchen down the first time he cooked. Now Joseph was often asked for his recipe for macaroni and cheese when the community had a fundraiser potluck supper.

      John carried his plate and fork into the kitchen, tossed them into the trash, and popped the top on a can of soft drink. Now it was time to do some work on the place before he showered and went to bed.

      Some exciting evening. In the first six months or so after he left the Amish community with Sam, he’d partied hard and enjoyed being out from under the stern eye of his father. He’d had to scramble to find work, of course. His father had used his sons as farm labor and only gave them a small allowance. It hadn’t been much preparation for working in the Englisch world.

      His name was John, but he’d become a Jack-of-all-trades doing all manner of work. He hadn’t much liked farming, but he was good with his hands and could fix or build just about anything. Since he’d been driving his brother’s hand-me-down truck, he’d even become pretty good at car and truck repair as well. Peter had hired him recently in his now-thriving construction business. Wages weren’t much just yet, but as business got better he knew Peter would be able to pay better.

      John looked around at the small place he rented and debated what to work on for a few hours. He’d painted the living room and dining room the night before so tonight he decided to cut and nail trim and baseboards. The place was already looking better than it had when he moved in. He and Sam had collected a few items of furniture from thrift stores and discards sitting out for the trash collector. Sam hadn’t needed them for his farm. He’d made some furniture for the farm he shared with Mary Elizabeth. So John had inherited a sofa and a battered recliner recently and gotten rid of the lawn furniture he’d used for a time. That was enough for now.

      At eleven he quit, swept up sawdust, and hit the shower. He was sore when he went to bed, but it felt good to have accomplished so much in one day.

      He might not have much, but he had a skill, a strong body, and a determination to make his own way.

      He figured he had a lot after all.

      ***

      “So what’s your question?” Kate asked as she started her car and backed out of the shelter drive later that afternoon.

      “How do you get a man to do what you want?”

      “I—well,” Kate said, and she paused. “I have to think about that for a minute.”

      Rose Anna twirled the ends of one of the strings to her kapp around her finger. “You don’t have to answer. I guess it’s a silly question.”

      “I can use a silly question. I had a rough night at work.” She stopped at a red light and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “I suppose it depends on what you want them to do. But basically, men do what you want if they think it’s the right thing to do. If they care about you.” She glanced over at Rose Anna. “And, sad to say, if it’s what they want to do.”

      “If it’s what they want to do,” Rose Anna repeated slowly. “So maybe if you convince them they want to do something they will.”

      Kate pulled into the parking lot behind the Sewn in