Isaiah had explained the kinder’s grandparents were in Ghana, Clara was able to understand the boy’s “’freeca” meant Africa. She struggled to hold on to her smile as she said, “But I offered to make supper tonight. It’s nice to share chores sometimes, isn’t it? Your onkel and I will be sharing the work.”
“I’ll help,” crowed Andrew at the top of his lungs.
“Me, too!” shouted his twin.
Before Clara could ask them to lower their voices, Nettie Mae began to pout. “Me too little.”
“Nonsense,” Clara replied. “My grossmammi says God has work for all his kinder, no matter if they’re young or old.” She turned the buggy at a corner, following the directions Daniel Stoltzfus had given her. “Sometimes it means taking care of the beasts in the fields or making a nice home for our families. Other times, it’s letting Him know we love Him. We can sing a song for God. Do you know ‘Jesus Loves the Little Children’?”
“Ja!” they shouted.
She put her finger to her lips, but was relieved that they hadn’t withdrawn as they had when she told the joke. “Do you know sometimes Jesus hears the song best if we sing quietly?”
“Really?” asked Andrew.
Already she could tell he was the one who spoke for his siblings. She suspected he was also their leader when they got into mischief.
“Ja,” she answered. “Jesus listens to what’s in our hearts, so when we sing quietly, it helps Him hear our hearts’ voices.”
Singing along with the youngsters, she watched for the lane leading to the Beachys’ farm. Her hopes were high this job would be the perfect way for her to have time to decide what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. The kinder were easy to be around...as long as she kept them entertained. Their onkel would be busy with work, so she probably wouldn’t see him other than at meals.
Driving up the lane toward the large white house with its well-kept barns set behind it, she imagined the first day her parents found money from her in their mailbox. She planned to send her pay home to her parents. Perhaps even Daed would be pleased with her efforts and acknowledge she wasn’t a silly girl any longer. There was a first time for everything. Wasn’t that what the old adage said?
Clara kept the twins busy once they arrived at the Beachys’ house and had put Bella in a stall in the stable out back. The boys’ straw hats hung on pegs next to her bonnet by the door. The kitchen was a spacious room with cream walls and white cupboards. A large table was set near a bow window with a wunderbaar view of the dark pink blossoms ready to burst on the pair of crabapple trees. Every inch was covered with toys or stacks of dirty dishes.
When she asked the youngsters to pick up their toys and put them in the box in the front room, they kept her busy showing off their dolls and blocks and wooden animals and more trucks and tractors than she had guessed existed. She tried one more time to tell them a silly story, but again they became as silent as a moonless night.
What was she doing wrong? She must mention this to Isaiah when he returned to the house. Maybe after the kinder were in bed, though she’d be wiser to talk to him in the morning when the youngsters were focused on breakfast and paid no attention to the conversation.
Help me find the truth, Lord, she prayed as she put another stack of dishes in the sudsy water and began washing them. The youngsters wanted to help, but she had visions of water splashed everywhere. Instead, she made up a game, and they arranged boots by size beside the door. The weather might be warm, but a good spring rain would turn the yard into mud. It’d be a few weeks before they’d put winter boots away in the cellar.
As the twins debated which boot went where as if it were a matter of the greatest importance, Clara hid her smile and finished the dishes. She took the youngsters upstairs so she could see their rooms after she had swept and mopped the kitchen floor. Once it dried, her shoes wouldn’t stick to the wood on every step.
All the kinder slept in the same room. It was the breadth of the rear of the house, and she guessed from patches in the wood floor it once had been two rooms. Had their daed planned to put the wall up again once the twins were older? She silenced her sigh so she didn’t upset her charges. Not that they would have noticed. One after another tugged on her hand, urging her to come and see the dresser and the pegs on the wall where their clothes hung or to look out the windows, both with a view of the fields beyond the barns and a pond. By summer, the frogs living there would sing a lullaby each night to soothe them to sleep.
The sound of the mantel clock downstairs tolling the hour interrupted Andrew, who was eager for Clara to see his coloring book.
“Time to make supper,” she said.
“Me help!” Nancy and Nettie Mae cried at the same time.
“Everyone can help.” She led the way down the stairs, looking over her shoulder to make sure she was not going too fast for their short legs.
It wasn’t easy, but Clara found jobs for each kind with setting the table or helping her find the bread, as well as telling her where the pickles were stored in the cellar. The twins were excited when she uncovered a bright red oilcloth in the laundry room and spread it over the table. Using it under the youngsters’ plates would make cleaning up afterward simpler and quicker.
Once the twins were carrying spoons and plastic glasses to the table, she went to the refrigerator. As she’d expected, it was full of food brought by caring neighbors. She lifted out a large casserole pan. Peeling back one corner of the foil covering the dish, she discovered it was a mixture of tomato sauce, hamburger and noodles. She hoped the kinder and Isaiah would enjoy it. She was sure they would savor the chocolate cake she’d found in an upper cupboard. She lit the oven with matches from a nearby drawer, put the casserole in, set the timer and went to help the youngsters finish setting the table. Several glasses and two spoons hit the floor on the way to the table, but she rinsed them off and handed them back to the twin who’d been carrying them.
Soon a fragrant, spicy scent filled the kitchen. The casserole must contain salsa as well as tomato sauce. Her stomach growled, and the kids kept asking when supper would be served. She reminded them each time that they needed to wait for Onkel Isaiah. That satisfied them until they asked the same question thirty seconds later.
Hearing the unmistakable sounds of a horse-drawn buggy coming toward the house, Clara helped the kinder wash their hands. She scrubbed their faces clean before urging them to take their seats at the table. As the timer went off, she opened the oven and lifted out the casserole. She was putting it on top of the stove when the kitchen door opened and Isaiah walked in, the twins instantly surrounding him.
He started to speak, but a peculiar choked sound came out of him as he scanned the room as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He set his straw hat on an empty peg next to her bonnet and strode past the long maple table where the twins again sat. He paused between the gas stove and the kitchen sink, turned to look in each direction before his gaze settled on her.
“Am I in the right house?” he asked.
She couldn’t help smiling in spite of her determination to keep Isaiah at arm’s length. As long as the only thing between them was business, everything should be fine. “I hope so, because this is where your brother said to go, and we’ve spent the past two
