Johanna's Bridegroom. Emma Miller

he pulled out a ladder-back chair and took his place at the table. Both boys hurried to their chairs.

      On the table was a platter of fried chicken, another of biscuits, an ivory-colored bowl of green beans and another of peaches.

      “I thought it best just to put everything on the table and let us help ourselves,” Johanna said. “It’s the way we do it at home. I found the peaches and the green beans in the cellar. I hope you don’t mind that I opened them.”

      “Fine with me.” Roland’s mouth was watering and his stomach growling. Breakfast had been cold cereal and hard-boiled eggs. Last night’s supper had consisted of bologna and cheese without bread, tomato soup out of a can and slightly stale cookies to go with their milk. He hadn’t sat down to a meal like this since he’d been invited to dinner at Charley and Miriam’s house the previous week. Roland was just reaching for a biscuit when Johanna’s husky voice broke through his thoughts.

      “Bow your heads for the blessing, boys. We don’t eat before grace.”

      “Ne,” Roland chimed in, quick to change his reaching for a biscuit motion to folding his hands in silent prayer. Lord, God, thank You for this food, and thank You for the hands that prepared it. He opened one eye and saw that Johanna’s head was still modestly lowered. He couldn’t help noticing that the hair along her hairline was peeping out from under her Kapp and had curled into tight, damp ringlets. Seeing that and the way Johanna had tied up her bonnet strings at the nape of her neck made his throat tighten with emotion.

      Refusing to consider how pretty she looked, he clamped his eyes shut and slowly repeated the Lord’s Prayer. And this time, when he opened his eyes again, the others were waiting for him. Johanna had an amused look on her face, not exactly a smile, but definitely a pleased expression.

      “Now we can eat,” she said.

      Roland reached for the platter of chicken and passed it to her. “You didn’t need to clean my dirty kitchen, but we appreciate it.”

      “I did need to, if I was to cook a proper meal,” she replied, accepting a chicken thigh. “It’s no shame for you to leave housework undone when you have so much to do outside. I’m only sorry you haven’t asked for help from the community.”

      “We manage, J.J. and I.”

      “Roland Byler. You were the first to help when Silas lost the roof on his hog pen. You must have the grace to accept help as well as give it. You can’t be so stubborn.”

      “You think so?” he asked, stung by her criticism. Personally, he’d always thought that she was the stubborn one. True, he had wronged her and he’d embarrassed her with his behavior back when they’d been courting. He’d tried to apologize, more than once, but she’d never really accepted it. One night of bad choices, and she’d gone off and married another.

      “Dat?” J.J. giggled. “You broke your biscuit.”

      Roland looked down to see that he’d unknowingly crushed the biscuit in his hand. “Like it that way,” he mumbled as he dropped it onto his plate and stabbed a bite of chicken and a piece of biscuit with his fork.

      “Gut chicken,” J.J. said.

      “If you don’t eat all those biscuits, you can have one with peaches on it for dessert,” Johanna told the boys. “If you aren’t full, that is.”

      “We won’t be, Mam,” Jonah said. “I never get tired of your biscuits.”

      And I never get tired of watching you, Roland thought as he helped himself to more chicken. But he was building a barn out of straw, wishing for what he couldn’t have, for what he’d thrown away with both hands in the foolishness of his youth.

      Johanna’s kind acts of cleaning his kitchen and cooking dinner for them had been the charitable act of one neighbor to another, nothing more. And all the wishing in the world wouldn’t change that.

      Chapter Three

      At nine the following Saturday morning, Johanna stood in the combined kitchen-great room of the new farmhouse that her sisters Ruth and Miriam shared. Ruth and Eli had the downstairs. Miriam and Charley occupied an apartment on the second floor, but the two couples usually took their meals together and Ruth cooked. Miriam preferred outdoor work, and Ruth enjoyed the tasks of a homemaker. It was an odd arrangement for the Amish, one that Seven Poplars gossips found endlessly entertaining, but it worked for the four of them.

      “Miriam?” Johanna called up the steps. “Are you ready? Charley has the horse hitched.”

      Today, Mam, most of Johanna’s sisters and the small children were all off on an excursion to the Mennonite Strawberry Festival, a yearly event that everyone looked forward to. Their sister Grace, who still lived at home but attended the Mennonite Church, owned a car. She’d graciously offered to drive some of them, and Mam, Susanna, Rebecca, Katy and Aunt Jezzy had already gone ahead with her. But there were too many Yoders to fit in Grace’s automobile, so Miriam was driving a buggyful, as well. Anna loved the Strawberry Festival, but since Rose was so tiny, Anna had decided to remain at home and keep Ruth company. Ruth was in the last stage of pregnancy with twins and preferred staying close to home and out of the heat.

      “I feel bad going off and leaving the two of you,” Johanna said. “We had such a good time last year.”

      Ruth settled into a comfortable chair and rubbed the front of her protruding apron. “Until these two are born, I don’t have the energy to walk to the mailbox, let alone chase my nieces and nephews around the festival.”

      Anna smiled and switched small Rose, hidden modestly under a receiving blanket, to her other breast. The baby settled easily into her new position and began to nurse. “Don’t worry about us,” Anna said. “You’re so sweet to take my girls. They’ve been talking about it all week.”

      “No problem. And your Naomi is such a big help with Katy.” Johanna threw a longing glance at the baby. “First Leah, then you, and Ruth in a month. It will be Miriam next, I suppose.”

      “Miriam next for what?” Anna’s twin sister came hurrying down the steps in a new rose-colored dress, her prayer cap askew and her apron strings dangling.

      “Kapp,” Ruth reminded.

      Miriam rolled her eyes, straightened her head covering and tied her apron strings with a double knot behind her waist. “Satisfied?”

      “Ya.” Ruth, always the enforcer of proper behavior when out among the worldly English, nodded. “Much better.”

      “And what is it I’m next for?” Miriam asked, unwilling to have her question go unanswered.

      Anna chuckled again. “A boppli, of course. A baby of your own. A little wood chopper for Charley or a kitchen helper.”

      Miriam shrugged. “In God’s time. We haven’t been married that long. And it took Ruth and Eli ages to get around to it.” She glanced at Johanna with a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “How do you know it will be me? Maybe it will be your turn next. Look at you. You’ve got that look on your face when you hold Rose. You can’t wait to be a mother again.”

      “She’s right,” Ruth agreed. “You’ve mourned Wilmer long enough. It’s time you married again.”

      “To whom?”

      Miriam laughed. “You know who. I’ve heard you’ve been at his place three times this week. And cleaned his house.”

      “Only the kitchen. And he was only there the first day, the day J.J. was up the tree with the bees. The other two times he was off shoeing horses. I had to go check on the new hive. The swarm moved into my nuc box, and I’m getting free bees.” Johanna knew she was babbling on when she should have held her tongue. Arguing with Miriam always made things worse.

      “I see,” Miriam said. “You’re going to take care of the bees.”

      “Exactly.