Current Day, November
Phoebe Kropf rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned, feeling the crisp air from this last day of November seeping through the windows of her small bedroom. It was still dark outside, but she could tell by glancing at the clock that she’d overslept. Mamm and Rhoda would already be up and busy in the kitchen. With a determined sigh, she swung her legs out of bed and stretched.
She crossed the room to fetch her clothes, ignoring the chill from the cool floorboards on her bare feet. As she dressed, Phoebe whispered a little prayer.
Gotte, I know I for sure and for certain messed up on Thanksgiving Day, making a mess when I dropped Mamm’s sweet potato and marshmallow casserole all over the floor. But I haven’t spilled or broken anything in the days since then—and for that I am truly grateful. Please help me to remember to move with deliberation, to not anticipate or improvise, to always follow Mamm’s and Rhoda’s lead. And to not get jealous or rattled when I see Mamm share the handwritten recipes, some from her own mamm, with Rhoda. I want to be helpful the way a woman of twenty-one should be and to please my eldre.
As she adjusted the strings on her kapp, Phoebe smiled at her latest origami creation sitting on her dresser. The prancing horse with one leg slightly raised and the knee bent was the picture of grace and strength. If only she could be like that.
Shaking off those thoughts and ready to face whatever the day would bring, Phoebe made her way downstairs, smiling at the familiar creak of the third and eighth treads. When she nearly lost her footing on the bottom stair, though, she reminded herself of her earlier vow to move with deliberation rather than haste.
She entered the kitchen to find Mamm and Rhoda already bustling about, preparing breakfast. Inhaling the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee, she allowed the warmth from the oven and stovetop to chase the chill from her bones.
“Gut matin,” she greeted as she grabbed a worn apron from the hook near the door. “I’m sorry I overslept.”
Mamm’s face softened in an indulgent smile. “It’s all right, liebchen, Rhoda and I are taking care of getting breakfast ready.”
It had been two weeks since the wedding and Phoebe was becoming accustomed to seeing Rhoda as a member of the household. What was harder to get used to was how much Mamm had come to rely on Paul’s new wife and how well the two of them worked together.
It was wrong to be jealous, and she was working hard to overcome those feelings. It should have been easy since she and Rhoda had been scholars together for eight years. But somehow it wasn’t.
Determinedly pushing away those thoughts, she offered a bright smile. “I’m here now so I can help. I see the eggs aren’t out. I’ll fetch them and get to whisking.”
As she finished tying the apron around her waist Phoebe noted the look that passed between her mamm and Rhoda. Was it because she was late or because they didn’t trust her with the eggs?
“I was just about to ask Rhoda to take care of that,” Mamm said. “Why don’t you set the table instead?”
Rhoda cast her a look that was a strange mix of apology and sympathy as she wiped her hands on her apron and moved toward the refrigerator.
She supposed that answered her question—Mamm clearly didn’t trust her to handle the eggs and Rhoda didn’t entirely disagree. Sure, she’d tripped in the chicken yard a week ago and dropped an entire pail of eggs. But it wasn’t her fault a hen had gotten underfoot. And Mamm knew it was only when she was in a hurry, or nervous or excited, that she was so clumsy.
Deciding she would remain positive, Phoebe nodded and moved to the sideboard to collect the dishes and silverware.
Counting out five plates, she placed them on the table without incident, then did the same with the flatware and glasses. That done, Phoebe pulled out the butter, blackberry jam and apple butter and put them on the center of the table.
There. She’d accomplished her assigned task without mishap. What else could she do?
Phoebe looked around the kitchen and noted the fresh-baked loaf of bread sitting on the counter. Since Mamm and Rhoda seemed to have their hands full she’d just take care of slicing it herself. Humming, Phoebe grabbed a large knife and began cutting the bread into nice thick slices, just like her daed and bruder liked.
“Phoebe!” Her mamm’s sharp cry startled Phoebe and her hand slipped, tracing a thin red line on the side of her hand.
Mamm rushed over and took Phoebe’s bleeding hand in her own. “Ach du lieva. What were you thinking? I’ve told you to let me or Rhoda handle the sharp knives.”
She wanted to shout that she wasn’t a child and that she wouldn’t have cut herself if she hadn’t been startled. But that wouldn’t prove to anyone that she was an adult—only actions could do that. “I’m sorry. It was just a bread knife.”
Mamm tsked. “There’s no ‘just’ when you talk about sharp implements.” Then her expression softened. “You know I only want to keep you safe, don’t you?”
“Jah.” But why did it always feel like she was being punished? True, she was somewhat accident-prone, and she’d had trouble with her studies all through her schooling and still could barely read. But why couldn’t Mamm see she wasn’t a kinner anymore? In fact, she was old enough to have a mann and home of her own. Rhoda was proof of that.
Perhaps it was having Rhoda take her place in their home. Perhaps it was just restlessness. But lately she’d begun to chafe more and more under the way she was always treated as if she needed help with all but the most basic of tasks.
Mamm finished examining the cut and patted Phoebe’s hand. “It looks like a shallow cut, and it’s already stopped bleeding. Run a little water on it and let me and Rhoda finish getting breakfast ready.”
Phoebe nodded, noting that Rhoda had already quietly stepped in and finished slicing the bread.
Just then, the kitchen door swung open and her daed entered, fresh from the barn, closely followed by her bruder Paul, Rhoda’s husband. As the pair shed their coats and boots, setting them by the door, Daed inhaled appreciatively. “Ach, these smells alone are enough to warm a man’s insides.” Then he spotted Phoebe and his expression drew down in concern. “Dochder, have you hurt yourself?”
He didn’t say again, but the word hung on the air, as if it were understood.
“It’s nothing.” Phoebe forced a cheerful tone. “Just a shallow cut.”
Daed crossed the room and placed a gentle hand on Phoebe’s shoulder. “We know you’re trying, Phoebe. Just remember, everyone has their strengths. Yours may lie elsewhere.”
Phoebe nodded, appreciating his words of encouragement. But why couldn’t she be more like Mamm and Rhoda?
Like every other girl of her acquaintance?
She saw the warm smile exchanged between Rhoda and Paul across the room and felt an ache deep inside. Would she ever find that for herself?
As Daed and Paul washed their hands, Phoebe couldn’t shake the feelings of inadequacy and frustration that gnawed at her. Would she ever be able to prove to her family that they didn’t have to treat her like a kinner?
Her family loved her, of that she had no doubt. Her four brieder had always been protective and were indulgent, even when they teased her. Part of that was because she was the only girl. But it was also because she was the boppli of the family. It had been thought that after Paul, her mother couldn’t have any additional children, so Phoebe’s appearance five years later was a welcome surprise.
She just wished she could have lived up to their expectations for her.
When everyone was finally seated and they bowed their heads for a moment of silent prayer, she again asked for the patience to be deliberate in her actions and accepting of the role her family—and Gotte—expected her to play.
The talk around the table centered mostly on Honey, one of the cows who might or might not be slowing down her milk production, and the possible causes.
