had never gotten along, and with the onset of Alzheimer’s, Anna doubted that the situation would improve. Luckily, everyone adored Grossmama’s younger sister, Jezebel; unlike Grossmama, Aunt Jezebel was easygoing and would fit smoothly into the household.
“We’re paintin’ because Grossmama’s coming,” Susanna chirped. Her speech wasn’t always perfect, but her family understood every word she said. “She baked me a gingerbread man.”
“Ya,” Anna agreed. “She did.” Susanna was the one person in the household who her grandmother never found fault with, and that was a good thing. If Grossmama could see how precious Susanna was, she couldn’t be that bad, could she?
Once, when she was visiting years ago, Grossmama had spent the afternoon baking cookies and had made Susanna a gingerbread man with raisin eyes, a cranberry nose and a marshmallow beard. Susanna had never forgotten, and whenever their grandmother was mentioned, Susanna reminded them of the gingerbread treat.
Grossmama had fallen on the stairs at her house the previous year, fracturing a hip, so Mam hadn’t wanted her climbing the steps to a second-floor bedroom here. Instead, they’d decided to move Anna and Susanna upstairs to join Leah and Rebecca in the dormitory-style chamber over the kitchen. Grossmama and Aunt Jezebel could share this large downstairs room just a few feet away from the bathroom.
It was a lovely room, with tall windows and plenty of room for two beds, a chest of drawers and a rocking chair. Anna knew that Grossmama and Aunt Jezebel would be comfortable here … except for the color. Anna couldn’t remember which of her sisters had chosen the original color for the walls, but Grossmama hated it. She’d made a fuss when Mam had written to explain the new arrangements. Grossmama said that she could never sleep one night in a bed surrounded by fancy “English” walls.
By saying “English,” Anna understood that her grandmother meant “not Plain.” To Grossmama, white was properly Plain; blue was Plain. Since the ceiling, the window trim, the doors and the fireplace mantel were white, blue was the color in Anna’s paint can. Actually, Anna didn’t see anything improper about the color the room was now. The muted purple was closer to lavender, and she had a lavender dress and cape that she really loved. But once Grossmama set her mind on a thing or against it, there was no changing it.
Standing in the bedroom now, staring at the walls, Anna wished Ruth was there. Ruth was a good painter. Anna prided herself on her skill at cooking, perhaps more than she should have, but she knew that her painting ability was sketchy at best. But, since the choice was between Susanna or her, Anna knew who had to paint the room.
Of course, she’d meant to get started sooner, but the week had gotten away from her. Susanna had a dentist appointment on Monday, which took all afternoon by the time they had to wait for the driver. On Tuesday, there had been extra eggs, which needed to go to Spence’s Auction and Bazaar. Normally, they didn’t go to Spence’s in the winter months, but Aunt Martha and Dorcas had opened a baked-goods stand. Anna had taken the opportunity to leave Susanna with their oldest sister, Johanna, so that she could go with Aunt Martha to sell her eggs and jams.
Now it was Wednesday. After Mam left at dawn, Anna and Susanna had spent the morning scrubbing, dusting, polishing and setting her yeast dough to rise. Now there were no more excuses. Anna had to start painting if she wanted to be finished on time. Because they were alone, Anna wore her oldest dress, the one with the blackberry stains, and had covered her hair—not with a proper white kapp, but with a blue scarf that Irwin’s terrier had chewed holes in.
Knowing that Susanna would be certain to lean against a freshly painted wall, Anna had made sure that Susanna’s clothing was equally worn. That way, if the dresses were ruined it wouldn’t be a waste. Anna’s final precaution was to remove her shoes and stockings and ask Susanna to do the same. Paint would scrub off bare feet. Black stockings and sneakers wouldn’t be so lucky.
Gingerly setting the can on the little shelf on the ladder, Anna climbed the rickety rungs, dipped her brush in the can and began to carefully paint along the wall, just below the ceiling. She’d barely gone two feet when Susanna announced that she was hungry. “Wait a little,” Anna coaxed. “It’s still early. When I get as far as the window, we’ll have some lunch.”
“But, Anna, I’m hungry now.”
“All right. Go and fix yourself a honey biscuit.”
“‘Fff … thirsty, too,” she said, struggling to pronounce the word properly.
“Milk or tea. You don’t need my help.”
“I’ll make you a biscuit, too.”
“Ne. I’ll eat later. Don’t wander off,” she cautioned her sister. “Stay in the house.” Susanna was capable of taking care of herself on the farm, but it was cold today, with snow flurries in the forecast, and she didn’t always remember to wear her coat. It wouldn’t do for Mam to come home and find Susanna sick with a cold.
Anna continued to paint. The blue covered the lavender better than she thought it would. It would need a second coat, but she had expected as much. As she carefully brushed paint on the wall in a line along the ceiling’s edge, Anna began to hum and then to sing one of her favorite fast tunes from the Liedersammlung. She liked to sing when she was alone. Her voice wasn’t as good as Johanna’s or Ruth’s, but singing made her feel bubbly inside. And now, with only Susanna to hear, she could sing as loudly as she wanted. If she was a bit off-key, her little sister wouldn’t complain.
“Anna? Maybe we come at a bad time?”
Startled by a deep male voice, Anna stopped singing midword and spun around, holding onto the ladder with her free hand. “Samuel!”
Their nearest neighbor, the widower Samuel Mast, stood inside the bedroom holding his youngest daughter, Mae, by the hand. Mortified by her appearance and imagining how awful her singing must have sounded, Anna wanted to shrink up and hide behind the paint can. Of all the people to catch her in such a condition, it had to be Samuel Mast. Tall, broad-shouldered, handsome Samuel Mast. Anna’s cheeks felt as though they were on fire, and she knew she must be as flame-colored as a ripe tomato.
“I remembered what you said.” Susanna hopped from one foot to the other in the doorway. “I didn’t go outside. Let Samuel and Mae in.” She beamed.
“You’re busy,” Samuel said, tugging on Mae’s hand. “We can come back another—”
“Ne,” Anna interrupted, setting her brush carefully across the paint can and coming down the ladder. “Just … you surprised me.” She tried to cover her embarrassment with a smile, but knew it was lopsided. Samuel. Of all the people to see her like this, in her patched clothing and bare legs, it had to be Samuel. Her stomach felt as though she’d swallowed a feather duster. “It’s not a bad time,’’ she babbled in a rush. “I’m painting the room. Blue.”
“Ya, blue. I can see that.” Samuel looked as uncomfortable as she felt. Anna had never seen him looking so flustered. Or untidy, for that matter. Samuel’s nut-brown hair, which badly needed cutting, stuck out in clumps and appeared to have gobs of oatmeal stuck in it. His shirt was wrinkled, and one suspender hung by a thread. Even his trousers and shoes were smeared with dried oatmeal.
“Something wrong?” Anna glanced at Mae. The child was red-eyed from crying, her nose was running, her kapp was missing, and her face and hands were smeared with dried oatmeal, too. Anna’s heart immediately went out to the little girl. She’d left her aunt’s only two weeks ago, to live with her father for the first time,
