Forever Amish Read Online Free PDF Page B

every evening. They live in the Daadi Haus .” Lizzie pointed to what appeared to be a smaller house attached to the corner of her parents’ spacious home. “They’ll be sorely disappointed if you don’t come in.”
    â€œHow would they know anything about me?”
    â€œJeremy will have told them.”
    â€œBut he’s still in the barn.”
    A pretty woman in her early fifties stepped outside, bringing with her a cloud of tantalizing scents: warm biscuits, stewing beef, and steaming vegetables.
    â€œGood evening.” The woman, clad in a mid-calf–length navy- blue dress and black apron, descended the steps. “ Kumm rei —come in,” she said. A white, heart-shaped cap like Lizzie’s covered her sable-brown hair. “We were just talking—well, we were discussing something a little too loudly, I regret to say.”
    â€œDon’t let her leave, Mamm.” Lizzie’s eyes pleaded with the woman. “She’s been on the road all afternoon.”
    The woman nodded at Lizzie, then turned her attention to me. “I’m Rhoda Zook, Lizzie’s mamm.” Her voice was kind and gentle, the way a mother’s should sound. “Since you’re here, please won’t ya join us?”
    â€œHow much does dinner cost?” I asked, stalling. I couldn’t take any more surprises.
    â€œNo charge, after our rilpsich —foolish—behavior.” Rhoda examined me with what seemed to be curiosity. Her gaze settled on my face, my blue eyes that played chameleon depending what color I was wearing. Today, a khaki-colored safari jacket and a long-sleeved powder-pink T-shirt.
    â€œPlease, the supper’s getting cold,” she said, moving closer. “My husband, he’s been workin’ hard since sunup.”
    Voracious hunger edged out what Pops would call good sense. “Okay, thank you,” I said. “Since I’m here—”
    â€œYah, you’re here, aren’t ya?” Lizzie lightly clapped her hands.
    With Lizzie mincing at my heels, I followed Rhoda up the back stairs, through the utility room into the large kitchen. Lizzie opened the door, and I was embraced by the warm air, the temperature inside spiking twenty degrees. A myriad of delectable aromas, including cooking blackberries, filled my nostrils. The heat urged me to discard my jacket.
    A group of half a dozen Amish people—all gawking at me and spanning several generations—hemmed the perimeter of a rectangular table, plates and napkins set before them. At the head hunched a brown-haired man tugging on his bushy beard. Next to him stood an empty seat; Jeremy plunked onto it.
    â€œSorry, Dat.”
    No answer from the man, whose hair was flattened on top and fashioned like Jeremy’s. I guessed he was Pops’s age, but this husky guy owned wide shoulders and muscled forearms. His hands were large, like a boxer’s, and his nails chipped.
    I dropped the Mustang’s key in my jacket pocket and Rhoda hung it on a peg by the back door alongside several wide-brimmed straw hats. As Lizzie settled onto a bench, Rhoda directed me to a chair on the other side of the table, then sat at my side. Next to Lizzie perched an ancient-looking lady wearing wire-rimmed spectacles and the same white cap as the other women.
    Farther down the table sat two clean-shaven men—one younger than Jeremy, one maybe ten years older than I was, and a grizzly bearded gent. The men wore collared shirts and suspenders and had the same funky bowl-on-the-head haircuts.
    The man dominating the end of the table, who still hadn’t acknowledged me, let out a guttural sound and all heads bowed, as if choreographed, for an extended minute. While they prayed in silence, I scanned the sparsely decorated room and saw a calendar, a woodland scene gracing its top, but no other decorative touches. Drab linoleum covered the floor. A refrigerator—powered by what,