Rolf lapsed naturally into the Pennsylvania Dutch that Jeremiah assumed was most often spoken at home.
“What are you studying?”
Sticking with his native tongue, Rolf listed the subjects. “Arithmetic, history, geography.”
“Your classes are conducted in English?” Jeremiah assumed this might be the case since it was a common way to prepare young people for dealing with those outside the Amish community.
“Ja.”
“Does your mother use English at home?”
The paintbrush faltered for a moment. “My stepmother does—yes.”
Jeremiah considered the correction. Did it mean that Rolf resented Pleasant or simply that he felt a loyalty to his own mother? “I was about your age when my father died. Tougher on you, I expect, losing both your parents.”
This time, Rolf looked at him as if trying to decide where this conversation might be headed. “Mama is good to us,” he murmured, his tone slightly defensive.
Jeremiah let the silence settle around them for a long moment. “Do you like ice cream, Rolf?”
“Ja.”
“Me, too. I’ve been working on a new flavor. How about tasting it for me and telling me what you think?”
Rolf continued his long brush strokes. “I should ask permission first.”
Jeremiah covered a smile by glancing away toward the bakery. “That’s probably best. Your sister’s helping out at the bakery, is she?”
Rolf nodded. “After school she watches my brothers until Mama gets everything ready for tomorrow’s baking, then we all go home together.”
“Well, then the way I see it we’ve got ourselves a bunch of tasters. You finish up there and go get your mama and sister and brothers while I go get dishes and spoons and the ice cream.”
“You want me to bring them over here?” The kid’s eyes widened.
“Well, sure. I mean that’s where the ice cream is.”
Rolf’s hand shook slightly as he returned to his painting, now going over an area he’d covered adequately.
“Or I could go over and get the others while you clean up here. Looks to me like you’ve finished.” Without waiting for the boy’s reply he headed for the kitchen entrance to the bakery.
Through the open door he could hear the lively chatter of the twins and the clatter of the large metal pans and bowls that Pleasant used for making the breads and rolls she baked each morning. As he got closer, he could hear the low murmur of voices—Pleasant’s and the girl’s. Bettina, he reminded himself.
“Hello?” he called as much to give fair warning of his approach as to deliver a greeting.
Two pairs of small feet padded across the bakery floor at a run while everything else went silent.
“Well, hello there,” he said when the twins lined up at the door and stared out at him. “Is your mother here?”
“Is there a problem, Herr Troyer?” Pleasant glanced anxiously past him to where Rolf was cleaning the paintbrush.
Now why would she automatically assume that?
Jeremiah thought. “Actually, I’ve come to ask another favor.”
She waited, wiping her hands on the dish towel she held while the twins glanced from him to her and back to him.
“If we can be of help,” Pleasant said, “we’re more than …”
“I have this new flavor of ice cream I’ve concocted—vanilla with bits of mango mixed in. I wondered if you and the children might taste it for me and give me your honest opinion.”
The twins did not wait for her reply, but opened the screen door and burst out onto the back porch of the bakery seemingly ready to follow him anywhere as long as he held to his promise of ice cream.
“Boys,” Pleasant chided, then turned her attention back to Jeremiah. “I thought we had agreed on the end of the week. There is no possible way that I will have anything ready by …”
“You’d be doing me a great favor,” Jeremiah continued as if her protests had nothing to do with the topic at hand. “While you’re developing the cone recipe, don’t forget that I need to be working on special flavors for the ice cream. We can’t just offer the standard flavors, after all. Besides, I tend to be far too lenient when it comes to my own tastes for flavors.”
Bettina had joined Pleasant on the porch and she was smiling up at him. “What other flavors have you invented, Herr Troyer?” she asked.
Jeremiah removed his hat and scratched his head for a moment. “Well, let’s see now, there was the time I thought maybe there might be a market for frog’s leg chocolate.”
All three children giggled and miracle of miracles, he was pretty sure that Pleasant was fighting a smile.
“You made that up,” Bettina said.
“You’re right. I did. But I actually did think about adding prunes to vanilla once.” He made a face that had the twins convulsing with laughter. “So you see I’m not always the best judge when it comes to these things.”
“I wouldn’t want to spoil the children’s supper,” Pleasant hedged.
Jeremiah shrugged. “My guess is that you were planning to give them dessert with supper?”
“Well, yes, but …”
“So what if they have dessert first?”
Her mouth worked as she tried to find an answer to this unorthodox logic. “I … without the promise of …”
“They might not finish their peas and carrots?” Jeremiah guessed and Pleasant nodded. He frowned as he studied each child in turn. “Rolf, come over here a minute, would you?”
The boy’s bare feet sent puffs of sandy dust flying as he ran across the dry dirt yard. “Yes, sir?”
“Am I to understand that sometimes you children have to be coaxed to finish your vegetables?”
Rolf and Bettina nodded. The twins studied the ground. Jeremiah sighed.
“So you see, Herr Troyer, ice cream at this hour …”
All four children looked up at her, their eyes wide with protest as they realized they were about to lose this opportunity. “But Mama, if we promised?” Bettina pleaded.
Pleasant folded her arms across her chest and studied each child. “No. There have just been too many times …”
Jeremiah was almost as disappointed as the children were. He didn’t know why it meant so much to him but it did. “Your mother is right,” he began.
“Unless,” Pleasant interrupted, “Herr Troyer would agree to come for supper and bring some of his ice cream along for dessert.”
The children whooped with delight at what they clearly considered an acceptable solution.
Pleasant was watching him though. “You do like vegetables, do you not, Herr Troyer?”
“What kind?” he asked and hoped the answer would be green beans or perhaps carrots.
“Brussels sprouts,” Pleasant replied and he knew that the look of disgust that had flickered over his face for an instant was exactly what made her smile. “May we expect you at five-thirty then?”
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