smiled at him. “Listen to me. When I’m nervous, I talk too much.” She chuckled. “Truth is, I always talk too much. Are you thirsty? Hungry? There are vending machines over there. The least I can do is to buy you a drink. Wait, I’ll go see what they have.” She got up, taking her purse with her, and threaded her way through the waiting people to the corner.
Sara glanced at him. The corners of her mouth were drawn up in a “cat that swallowed the cream” hint of a smile. “Ruby talks a lot, doesn’t she?”
“Not too much,” Joseph defended, watching Ruby. “Just the right amount, I think.”
Ruby returned. “They have Coke, orange, lemon-lime and root beer. Then there’s bottled water and iced tea in a can. What would you like?”
Joseph reached for his wallet.
“Ne,” Ruby said firmly, patting her purse. “This is my treat. I insist.”
“All right.” Feeling bold, he returned her smile and said, “Next time, I pay.”
“But what would you like?” she asked.
“Soda is good.”
“But what kind?”
He shrugged. “Anything wet.”
She giggled. “Ne, you have to tell me what you like best.”
“R-root beer,” he managed. “I like root beer.”
The smile spread across her face, making her even more beautiful. “Me too. I love it. My daddi says that I like it too well. It’s not good for my teeth. But I drink it anyway.”
Her teeth looked fine to him. White and even and sparkling.
“And now you get to choose a snack. Pretzels. Chips. Candy. Or peanut butter crackers.”
“Crackers,” he said. “I like...crackers.”
“Me too.” She laughed, looking down at him like he was the cleverest man she had ever met. “Isn’t that funny? We both like the same treats. Sara, I’m not forgetting you. What would you like?”
Sara glanced up from her book. “I’m fine. Too many treats and I’ll grow out of my clothes. You young people enjoy your snacks.”
“If you’re sure,” Ruby said, turning back to Joseph. “I’ll be right back with your soda and crackers.”
As she walked away, he noticed that she was wearing a green dress. He liked green. He smiled to himself as he watched her. His head hurt and he was still feeling a little dazed, but it didn’t matter because this was turning out to be the best day of his life.
Joseph pushed back his plate. He’d eaten only a few bites of potato salad and nibbled at a fried chicken leg. The truth was the back of his head where he’d gotten the stitches stung and he didn’t have much of an appetite. And he had more on his mind than eating.
“Joseph, you’ve barely put a thing in your mouth.” His mother’s delicate forehead wrinkled with concern. “I knew you should have stayed in bed this morning. Does your head hurt? Are you dizzy?” She fluttered her hands helplessly over her plate. For a small woman, Joseph was always amazed at how much his mother could eat and never gain an extra pound.
He forced a smile and took a sip of the glass of buttermilk next to his plate. Normally, he loved buttermilk, but today, it tasted flat on his tongue. “Now, don’t fuss. A few stitches. Nothing for you to worry yourself over.”
His mother rose, came around the table and pressed a cool palm to his forehead. “You feel a little warm to me. You might be running a fever.”
“Ne, no fever,” he protested. “It’s a hot day. Near ninety, I’d guess. And you’ve made enough food for two families.” It was stifling there in the kitchen. All the windows were open, but no breeze stirred the plain white curtains. It made a man think longingly of cool autumn mornings.
His mother, Magdalena, nibbled at her lower lip. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to go back to the doctor.”
Joseph raised a hand in protest. “Mother, ne, really. There’s no need for you to be concerned. I slipped in the mud and knocked my head. It’s nothing. I’ve had far worse. Remember when I fell out of the hayloft?”
“And landed in the pile of manure your father had just forked out of the cow stall,” she finished for him with a chuckle. “At least you had no stitches then.”
“No stitches, but I broke my arm in two places.”
“We felt so awful.” She shook her head ruefully. “My only kinder, my precious seven-year-old son in so much pain. We rushed you to the hospital and there you were all covered in muck and stinking like an outhouse with all them Englishers staring at us. Such a bad mother, they must have thought, to have no care for her child.”
They traded smiles at the shared memory. He’d long ago forgotten the hurt of the broken arm. What he remembered was that he’d gone all that summer unable to swim in the pond with his friends, and that his father and mother had churned ice cream for him every Saturday. He wiped his eyes with the napkin, rubbing away the tears of laughter and maybe something more. That summer and the taste of that sweet ice cream on his tongue were some of the last memories he had of his father. His dat had been killed in a farming accident that September.
His mother was still hovering, something she had a tendency to do. “Maybe you could manage a slice of pie?” she coaxed. “Peach. Your favorite. I made it especially for you.”
Which was what she said of most meals... “Save it all for supper tonight,” Joseph answered. “I’ve got an errand to run this afternoon, and I’ll be sure to be hungry later. We’ll have everything cold, and you won’t even have to heat up the kitchen by turning on the stove.” His mother pursed her lips and began clearing away the dishes. Her silence and the pained expression on her face was an obvious sign of her disapproval.
“Can I help you clean up?” he offered.
She shook her head. “This is my job, Joseph. It’s the least I can do, being a widow and dependent on your charity.”
Joseph bit back the retort that this house was hers as long as she lived and he loved her and would never consider her a burden. He’d said that many times before. Instead, he rose to put the milk and chicken into the refrigerator.
Theirs was a small kitchen for an Amish house, but it provided everything his mother needed to cook and preserve food from her garden. He’d worked hard since he was fifteen to provide for the two of them, and his mam had done her share by keeping their home as shiny as a new penny. The Bible said to honor your mother and father, and he tried to always remember that when she was being difficult.
There’d never been any doubt in Joseph’s mind that she loved him and wanted what was best for him. Twice she could have remarried, but both times she’d refused, even though both prospective husbands could have given her a more spacious home and an easier life. “A stepfather
