“Was there any chocolate amongst the choices?” Lena asked, momentarily getting up for the dishes of chocolate pudding she had prepared.
“Nope, never was,” Solomon said with a tug on his long beard. “Might’ve been too expensive to give away.” He chuckled. “’Course, that would’ve made choosin’ real easy!”
Lena laughed right along with him.
“Things were awful tight when I was growing up. Dat had to put cardboard in the soles of us kids’ shoes to cover up the holes.”
“Was there enough food to go around?” she asked. She’d loved to hear her Dawdi Schwartz talk about this time in history.
“Sometimes my Mamm made soup from little more than turkey bones and vegetables from our garden, but we never went to bed hungry. Things had to be kept simple—Mamm couldn’t afford sugar to make desserts.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine a meal without dessert?” he said, pushing a spoon into his chocolate pudding. “Mostly, it was a time of faith. We had to put our trust in Gott, and He took care of us.”
Lena considered this as she savored her own pudding, thankful for this time with him.
When she’d washed the dishes, she and Solomon went to sit in the other room near the stove, where Solomon relaxed with a number of periodicals, most particularly The Budget. His faithful dog, Blackie, lay near his feet, rarely moving as Solomon dozed off now and then and caught himself with a shake of his head.
“Whenever you’re ready to retire for the night, that’s all right,” Lena assured him, looking up from the letter she was writing to brother Benjamin. “No need stayin’ awake for me.”
But Solomon just picked up his paper again and read till he nodded off once more.
Finally, when the day clock struck nine times, Solomon folded his paper and said, “Well, gut Nacht, Lena Rose. Kumm ball widder.”
“Sure,” she said, “I’ll come again soon.” And when Solomon had gone to his room, she headed back to the main house to make a card for Timothy, who would be celebrating his ninth birthday the end of next month.
Lena remembered clearly the day Timothy was born. The midwife had been late arriving because of deep snow on the unplowed side roads, so ten-year-old Lena had helped deliver her baby brother with only her Mamma’s murmured instructions to guide her. Dat had been so pleased with Lena when he returned with the midwife late that afternoon—he’d gotten stuck in the snow near Murk’s Village Store in downtown Centreville.
Lena had never been so glad to see her father, even though newly born Timothy was pink and obviously healthy, wailing as he was at the top of his tiny lungs. “Sometimes, babies just don’t wait for midwives or snowplows,” Mamma had said afterward, and Lena had never forgotten.
Sitting now in her room at the small writing table, she heard Eli’s open carriage rumble into the driveway around ten o’clock. She put down her pen and noticed a dent on the fleshy part of her third finger. Evidently she’d been writing for nearly an hour already.
Fleetingly, she wondered if Eli might have talked with Arden at the Singing. And if so, what might he have said?
But she rejected the urge to let her mind wander in that direction. After all, it really didn’t matter if Arden was disappointed she hadn’t gone.
CHAPTER
22
The next morning, after the four o’clock milking and a nice hot breakfast, Mimi suggested Harley take a lemon pound cake over to Abram Mast’s for his birthday. Abram, moving more slowly than usual, motioned Harley out to his office in the barn, where they sat on old wooden stools, Abram leaning against the makeshift desk, shadows under his eyes.
“Just between us, Harley, I’m thinkin’ of renting out my dairy and the cropland,” Abram said, his brow furrowed deep between his shaggy dark eyebrows.
Harley was surprised. “Didn’t expect to hear this from you.”
“Honest to Pete, I can’t get any of my family interested in takin’ it off my hands.” Abram shook his head, his eyes glistening just then. “Don’t know whether to be mad or sad or . . .” His voice trailed off. “And I’m ready to call it quits.”
Harley felt for his lifelong friend. “Understandable.”
“Arden is bent on leavin’ the farm and givin’ working with Manny a try—says they’ve already accepted a couple of jobs and should do real well. So that’s that.” Abram grimaced and rubbed his stubby nose. “’Course, once I sign a lease agreement, it won’t be easy to get out of, so I told Arden he’d better be mighty certain ’bout the path he’s takin’.”
“True, and somethin’ for him to ponder but gut.”
Abram nodded. “As for me, I need to keep busy. Don’t wanna just sit around and rot. Maybe I’ll make some furniture, like I used to, and sell it at market. Come to think of it, that could be what whet Arden’s appetite as a youngster.”
“Well now.” Harley smiled. “But if ya rent out the dairy and your cropland, you’ll still be tempted to roam about the farm, won’t ya? Keep your hands in it?”
“Maybe so. But I’m not gonna twiddle my thumbs in the house and waste away.” Abram chuckled. “Would
