help replace what you lost.”
“All that?” Irwin asked. “That’s a lot.”
She looked at the wagon, mentally calculating the number of bales stacked on it. “We didn’t have that much to begin with,” she said, “and not all our bales were ruined.”
Charley tilted his straw hat with an index finger and chuckled. “Don’t be so pigheaded, Miriam. I’m putting this in your barn. You’ll take it with grace, or explain to your uncle Reuben, the preacher, why you cannot accept a gift from the members of your church who love you.”
Moisture stung the back of her eyelids, and a lump rose in her throat. “Ya,” she managed. “It is kind of you all.”
Charley had always been kind. Since she’d been a child, she’d known that she could always count on him in times of trouble. When her father had died, without being asked Charley had taken over the chores and organized the young men to set up tables for supper after the funeral and carry messages to everyone in the neighborhood. A good man…a pleasant-looking man—even if he did usually need a haircut. But he’s just not the man I’d want for a husband, she thought, recalling her conversation with Ruth last night. Not for me, no matter what everyone else thinks.
He walked toward her, solid, sandy-haired Charley, bits of hay clinging to his pants and shirt, and pale blue eyes dancing. Pure joy of God’s good life, her father called that sparkle in some folks’ eyes. He was such a nice guy, perfect for a friend. Ruth was right, he would make someone a good husband; he would be perfect for sweet Anna. But Charley was a catch and he’d pick a cute little bride with a bit of land and a houseful of brothers, not her dear Plain sister.
“We’re family. We look out for our neighbors.”
She nodded, so full of gratitude that she wanted to hug him. This is what the English never saw, how they lived with an extended family that would never see one of their own do without.
“I’m happy to make the delivery and I’d not turn down a cup of coffee,” Charley said. “Or a sausage biscuit, if it was offered.” He gestured toward the house. “That’s Anna’s homemade sausage I smell, isn’t it? She seasons it better than the butcher shop.”
“Ya,” Irwin said. “It’s Anna’s sausage, fresh ground. And pancakes and eggs.”
Miriam laughed. “We’re just sitting down to breakfast. Would you like to join us?”
“Are Reuben’s sermons long?” Charley chuckled at his own jest as he brushed hay from his pants. “I missed last night’s supper. I’m not going to turn down a second chance at Anna’s cooking.” Then he glanced back toward the barn. “How are your horses?”
“Blackie’s stiff, but his appetite is fine. Molly’s no worse. I got her to eat a little grain this morning, but she’s still favoring that hoof. John said he’d stop by this afternoon.” She followed him up onto the porch and into the house. Irwin and the dog trailed after them.
“Miriam invited me to breakfast,” Charley announced as he entered the kitchen, leaving his straw hat on a peg near the door.
Mam rose from her place. “It’s good to have you.”
“He brought us a load of hay,” Miriam explained, grabbing a plate and extra silverware before sitting down. She set the place setting beside hers and scooted over on the bench to make room for him. “A gift from Uncle Reuben, Samuel and Charley’s father.”
Ruth smiled at him as she passed a plate of buckwheat pancakes to their guest. “It’s good of you. Of all who thought of us.”
“I mean to spread those bales that got wet,” Charley explained, needing no further invitation to heap his plate high with pancakes. “If the rain holds off, it could dry out again. I wouldn’t give it to the horses, but for the cows—”
“We could rake it up and pile it loose in the barn when it dries,” Miriam said, thinking out loud. “That could work. It’s a good idea.”
“A good idea,” Susanna echoed.
The clock on the mantel chimed the half hour. “Ach, I’ll be late for school,” Mam exclaimed. She took another swallow of coffee and got to her feet. When Charley started to rise, she waved him back. “Ne, you eat your fill. It’s my fault I’m running late. The girls and I were chattering like wrens this morning and I didn’t watch the time. Come, Irwin. There will be no excuses of illness today.”
Irwin popped up, rolling his last bit of sausage into a pancake and taking it with him.
“It wouldn’t do for the teacher to be late.” Anna collected Mam’s and Irwin’s dinner buckets and handed them out. “Have a good day.”
“Good day,” Irwin mumbled through a mouthful of sausage and pancake as he dodged out the door. “Watch Jeremiah, Susanna!”
“I will,” she called after him, obviously proud to be given such an important job every day. “He’s a good dog for me,” she announced to no one in particular.
“Don’t forget to meet me at the school after dinner with the buggy.” Mam tied her black bonnet under her chin. “Since there’s only a half day today, we’ve plenty of time to drive to Johnson’s orchard.”
“I won’t,” Miriam answered. Their neighbor, Samuel Mast, who was sweet on Mam, had loaned them a driving horse until Blackie recovered from his injuries. They’d have apples ripe in a few weeks here on the farm, but Mam liked to get an early start on her applesauce and canned apples. The orchard down the road had several early varieties that made great applesauce.
Once their mother was out the door, they continued the hearty meal. Miriam had been up since five and she suspected that Charley had been, too. They were all hungry and it would be hours until dinner. Having him at the table was comfortable; he was like family. Everyone liked him, even Irwin, who was rarely at ease with anyone other than her Mam and her sisters.
The only sticky moments of the pleasant breakfast were when Charley began to ask questions about John. “You say he’s coming back today?”
Miriam nodded. “The stitches need to stay in for a few days, but John wants to have a look at them today.”
“He thinks he has to look at ’em himself? You tell him you could do it? I know something about stitches. We both do.”
“He likes Miriam,” Susanna supplied, smiling and nodding. “He always comes and talks, talks, talks to her at the sale. And sometimes he buys her a soda—orange, the kind she likes. Ruffie says that Miriam had better watch out, because Mennonite boys are—”
“Hard workers,” Ruth put in.
Susanna’s eyes widened. “But that’s not what you said,” she insisted. “You said—”
Anna tipped over her glass, spilling water on Susanna’s skirt.
Susanna squealed and jumped up. “Oops.” She giggled. “You made a mess, Anna.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Anna hurried to get a dishtowel to mop up the water on the tablecloth.
“My apron is all wet,” Susanna announced.
