“You won’t, not in this house. I’ve got one if you need to borrow it. Help yourself.” She picked up one of the potatoes Freeman had peeled. “Not bad,” she said, “not good, but not bad. Be more careful. Waste not.” She turned back to Katie. “I just made a fresh pot of tea, and I was hoping that you’d come to my house and have some with me.”
“I don’t know,” Katie hemmed. “I’ve got a lot to do.”
“It’ll wait,” Ivy told her, giving a wave. “Come on. We can get to know each other.” She looked up at Katie. “You know you want to.”
“You should go, Katie,” Jehu encouraged. “I’ll keep an eye on Trouble, here.” He tipped his head in Freeman’s direction.
Katie was torn. She did have a lot to do, but it seemed important to Ivy that they share a pot of tea. And God didn’t put them on the earth just to sweep and wash, did He? In the end, people mattered more than chores. It was something her mother, though a hard worker, had instilled in her young. “Oh...why not?” she conceded.
“I’d like some tea,” Freeman said. “But I like mine cold. The doctor said I should drink lots of fluids.” He frowned. “Katie’s busy. We didn’t hire her to sit and drink tea. She has chores to do, and we were having a serious conversation about—”
“Fishing,” his uncle supplied with a grin. “Which means that she’s certainly earned a break. Go along with Ivy, Katie. Enjoy your tea. I’ll make Grumpy his iced tea. Just as soon as he finishes peeling the potatoes.”
“Come along, dear. We’ll have a cup of tea and get to know each other better.” Ivy’s invitation was as warm and welcoming as her smile as she led Katie down the walkway between the two houses.
The grossmama haus stood under the trees on the far side of the farmhouse where Freeman and Jehu lived. To reach Ivy’s place, she and Katie had only to follow the brick path from Freeman’s porch to a white picket fence. There, a blue gate opened to a small yard filled with a riot of blooming flowers and decorative shrubs. Katie counted at least a dozen different blooming perennials she could put names to and several she couldn’t. There were climbing roses, hydrangea, hollyhocks and lilies, so many flowers that barely a patch of green lawn was visible.
Hummingbird feeders hung on either side of the front door, and the air was filled with the exciting sounds of the tiny, iridescent-feathered creatures, as well as the buzz of honeybees and the chattering voice of a wren. “How beautiful,” Katie said. “Your flowers.”
“They’re God’s gift to us and a constant joy to me,” Ivy said. “They ask only for sunshine and rain and a little care against the weeds and they bloom their hearts out for us. I’m so pleased that you like my garden. Are you interested in flowers?” She pushed open the front door, ushering Katie into a combined kitchen and sitting room.
Everything inside was neat and orderly. The furnishings were simple: a sofa, an easy chair, a rocker and a round oak table and matching chairs. The appliances were small but new, and they fit perfectly into the small, cheerful cottage with its large windows and hardwood flooring. Colorful family trees, cross-stitch Bible verses and a calendar hung on the walls. A sewing basket sat by the rocker, and a copy of the Amish newspaper, The Budget, lay open on the sofa. In the center of the table rested a blue pottery teapot, a sugar bowl and pitcher, with two cups and saucers.
“I do love my tea, even on a warm day,” Ivy said. “I hope you do, too. Coffee is invigorating, but tea calms the mind and spirit.” She waved toward the table. “Please, sit down.”
Katie took a seat at the table. “Your house is lovely.”
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Freeman had it built for me just last year. It’s the first new home I’ve ever lived in. I grew up in an old farmhouse near Lancaster, and then when I married Freeman’s grandfather, I came here to the millhouse as a bride. I never had cause to complain, but I do love my grossmama haus. It’s warm in winter, my stove doesn’t smoke and the floors don’t creak.”
Ivy poured tea into one of the cups and handed it to her. Even Ivy’s dishes showed her love of flowers. The cup and saucer were bright with green leaves and purple violets. “But I’m running on. It comes of living alone, I think. It’s not easy, you know. I fear that when I do have company I never give them a chance to get a word in.” Her speech was grandmotherly, but her eyes, alert and missing nothing, gave evidence of an intelligent and still vibrant woman. She smiled again, disarmingly. “So, tell me about your family, Katie. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Two brothers,” she answered. “I’m the youngest. There’s Isaac. He’s the oldest and was named after my father. Isaac has the family farm, and then there’s Robert, who lives across the road from us. Our family is small, but close. Isaac and Robert were always inseparable.”
“Two brothers,” Ivy echoed. “I always wanted brothers. I come from a small family myself. My mother had only two of us that lived past babyhood, my sister and me. My father longed so for sons, but it wasn’t to be.”
Katie stirred milk into her tea. “My father and mother were hoping for a girl. There hadn’t been any girls born in my father’s family for two generations.”
“Funny isn’t it, how patterns repeat in families? My husband was an only child and while we hoped for a large family, we were blessed with only the one child as well.” She looked at the window and sighed. “I always imagined having a wealth of grandbabies to hug and fuss over, but there was only Freeman. With two sons married, I suppose your fortunate mother has grandchildren.”
“Two so far, Robert’s. Isaac just married. It’s partially why I took this job. I really like Patsy, and I thought she should have time to settle into her home without a third woman in the house. Mother lives with us, as well. We lost my father a few years back.”
“I heard about that, and I’m so sorry. Your brother Robert has children?”
“Twins. Boys. Just learning to walk. I adore them.”
“So you’re fond of children?”
“I am.”
“I hope when you marry that you are blessed with more than a single child. It’s hard not to indulge them. But Freeman’s father was a precious child and a good man. He never gave us a night’s worry. I know he’s safe with the Lord, but losing him and Freeman’s mother in that accident was a terrible loss. She was like a daughter to me.”
“Freeman mentioned that they had died.”
“A boating accident. They were fishing on the Susquehanna. She was from Lancaster County, and her uncle took them out. We don’t know what happened. They may have struck a rock. They say the currents are dangerous. I was so distraught that the weight of it fell on Freeman’s shoulders.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Ivy sighed. “Death is part of life. But a mother should never have to bury her child. I don’t care what the bishop says. It goes against everything that is right and natural.” She ran her fingertips absently along the edge of her saucer. “You must think my faith is weak, to talk so.”
“Ne,” Katie assured her. “I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to lose both a husband and your only child.”
Ivy swallowed, her eyes, so much like Freeman’s, sparkled with tears unshed. “It was...very hard. They say it gets easier with time and prayer, but some days...” She broke off and looked out the window. A silence stretched between them, but it was one of shared loss rather than awkwardness. After a moment or two, she glanced at Katie and brightened. “How old are you?”
Katie thought it was an odd question. Why did Ivy care how old the housekeeper was? But she wasn’t offended in any way. “Twenty-three,”