age. He’d grown more rigid.
Joshua shifted the sacks of groceries in his arms, opened the door and stepped back. “Ne! Get back, you two,” he said, laughing as he caught the pups with his booted foot, blocking their entry into the house. He looked up at Phoebe. “Go on in. If I let these two in again today, Rosemary will have me washing dishes for a week. I already accidentally let them in this morning. They made it through the kitchen, down the hall before Jesse caught them.”
“Really?” Phoebe asked, unable to hide her surprise. “You and your brothers do dishes?” She’d suspected the Miller household was less conservative than her stepfather’s, but the Amish stuck to the old ways, and male and female tasks were laid out very explicitly.
“Ne, not usually.” He laughed again. “We stick mostly to outside chores, but there’s no telling what Rosemary will say if I let these two drag mud through her house again.”
Phoebe nodded, then walked into the mudroom that looked like so many others she’d passed through. It even looked a lot like her mother’s, with rows of denim jackets on hooks, wool cloaks and an assortment of scarves and hats and bonnets on pegboards on the wall. On the floor were piles of boots and shoes in a great array of sizes, some set down neatly, others dropped carelessly. But the moment she stepped into the house, something had immediately felt different about it. Maybe it was her imagination, or maybe it was just the smell of baking apple pie, but Phoebe immediately felt herself relax. Because, somehow, she knew that in this house with its three-legged puppies and chatty little brothers, she would find the acceptance she had never found in her own home.
Talking to the dogs, Joshua closed the door behind Phoebe with his foot. Standing alone in the mudroom, she removed her cloak and black bonnet, found a free hook to hang them on and, travel bag in hand, entered the large but cozy kitchen.
“Goodness, this is hot. Mam, I think we need new pot holders!” a pretty strawberry blonde hollered from the far side of the room, startling Phoebe. Holding an enormous pie in her hands, she tried to close an oven door with her foot.
“I’ll get it.” Phoebe dropped her bag and hurried to help.
“Thank you,” the young woman said, gingerly setting the pie down on a sideboard. She shook her hands, still holding on to the pot holders. “I’ve been telling Mam for weeks that these were worn-out. Someone is going to get burned one of these days.” She grinned. “You must be Phoebe.”
Phoebe nodded.
“I’m Tarragon. Call me Tara.” She dropped the pot holders on the counter and walked to a massive farmhouse sink. “You’re my mother’s cousin.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Which I guess makes us cousins, too.”
Tara smiled again, and Phoebe couldn’t help but smile back. Tara was cute as a button, with green eyes and a small, upturned nose. She was wearing a calf-length pink dress and white apron, with a green scarf covering her hair and tied at the back of her neck. Wispy red tendrils peeked out from the scarf around her ears. On her feet, she wore a pair of denim blue sneakers with athletic socks. She looked like a fluttering little songbird in the bright airy kitchen, and Phoebe suddenly felt like an old crow. She was dressed in a black dress, thick black tights and clunky black shoes. She wondered if it was a mistake to think she could ever belong here, make a home here for herself and John-John.
“Ya,” Phoebe managed. “Cousins.”
“Mam!” Tara hollered, startling Phoebe again. No one ever raised their voice in her house. Words were always spoken softly and soberly.
“Cousin Phoebe’s here! Pie’s done!” Tara continued loudly. “The blue pot holders are going in the ragbag!”
“She’s here?” came a voice from down the hall. “Send her in!”
“Mam just had surgery on her foot. Did Joshua tell you? She’s supposed to be keeping it elevated.” Tara rolled her eyes. “That’s not been easy.” She pointed in the direction of the hall. “She’s in the parlor. She was so excited when your mother wrote to her about you coming to stay with us.”
Phoebe heard the back door open and close, and Joshua’s voice. “Jacob’s going to have to start kenneling those dogs or teach them to mind people better.” He walked into the kitchen carrying the bags of groceries. “See you met Tara,” he said to Phoebe.
“Ya, I was just going into the parlor. To see Rosemary.”
He set the paper bags down on one of the two enormous kitchen tables in the room. “Let me show you the way.”
“It’s just down the hall,” Tara quipped as she crossed the kitchen to dig into the bags. “You get my cereal? And the butter?”
“Ya, ya, it’s all in the bag.” Joshua told his stepsister as he motioned to Phoebe. “Come on. Come say hello to Rosemary.”
Phoebe followed him down the hall, past a staircase leading to the second floor. At a doorway, he halted. “Here we are,” he said to her. “Rosemary, look who I found at the bus station.”
Phoebe walked hesitantly to the doorway.
“There you are!”
It was her cousin Rosemary, seated on a sofa, her foot encased in a black cloth boot, propped on a stool. “What took you so long? I was beginning to worry.” She opened her arms. “I’d come to you, but this one will have a fit.” She pointed to the man seated beside her on the couch. “Benjamin has made me promise I won’t get up again until supper.”
The burly man with dark hair and a reddish beard rose. Dressed in denim trousers and a long-sleeved blue shirt and suspenders, he wore sheepskin slippers on his short, wide feet. “Now, Rosebud, you know you’re not going to heal properly if you don’t stay off that foot.” He nodded to Phoebe as he walked past her. “Velcom to our home. Know our door is open to you and yours always.” He met her gaze, something else Phoebe wasn’t used to among elder Amish men. “I think this will be a good place for you.” He gave her a little smile, his dark brown eyes twinkling. “And will you do me a favor?” he said as he walked past her.
“Ya...” His request surprised her. “Of course.”
“Keep my wife on that couch until supper. Her foot won’t heal if she doesn’t rest. There are plenty of able bodies to keep this household going. To care for our little ones.” He slipped his thumbs beneath his suspenders. “And now she has you to help as well, ya?”
“Ya...yes, of course.” A little flustered, Phoebe returned her attention to Rosemary as Benjamin left the parlor.
Joshua smiled at Phoebe, lifting his hand in a little wave, and went with his father.
“He worries too much,” Rosemary insisted, pointing at her husband as he disappeared down the hall. “Come, Phoebe, give me a hug.” She opened her arms wide.
Cousin Rosemary, who had to be in her late forties, could have passed for far younger with her pretty round face and, beneath her white prayer kapp, chestnut hair that didn’t seem to be graying. Phoebe knew Rosemary had to be nearing menopause because she remembered her mother fussing about Rosemary’s advanced age when they’d learned she and her new husband were expecting a baby. Which turned out to be twins. Phoebe hadn’t said anything at the time when they’d heard the news
