"That soup smells good."
"My vegetable beef. I'm about to put it on the table."
She wrapped a potholder around the metal handle.
"Wait! Let me help you with that. It's too heavy for you."
"Young man, I've been lifting heavy pots like this for many years," she told him with a trace of tartness.
"Well, I'm here right now and my grandma would be very upset with me if I didn't help. Just let me wash my hands."
He glanced back as he left the room. "Don't you go picking that up while I'm gone."
She smiled. "I won't."
When he returned, he saw that she'd listened to him and hadn't moved the pot.
"Thanks for listening to me."
She regarded him with a slight smile. "It seemed a shame to have you losing a chance to use those good manners you learned from your grandmother."
Chris took the potholder she gave him and together they lifted the handle and carefully carried the pot to the table where she'd put a trivet.
"Do you want to ring the dinner bell?" When he nodded, Phoebe smiled. "Kumm."
He followed her to the porch, grasped the metal bar, and began banging it against the inside of the triangular shape, producing that unique sound he remembered from his days on his farm.
Then he saw that the men were already halfway to the house. Chris turned and looked at Phoebe.
"Something tells me that Matthew didn't need to send me to ask if dinner was ready."
She patted his cheek and smiled at him, her eyes wise but shrewd. "No. We eat at the same time each day during harvest.I'm sure Matthew just didn't want you to overdo since he knew you'd been in the hospital recently."
"I'm fine now."
"You need a break. Come sit and keep me company while the men wash up."
He sank into a chair and watched her check something in the oven. It smelled of apples and cinnamon and sugar. He hoped she'd made it for dinner, not supper.
"My grandma used to lift me up to ring the bell on the farm," he told Phoebe. "When I got too big for her to lift, then I stood on a stool. But I had the most fun when she lifted me up, I think."
"That's a nice memory."
"I miss her. She died while I was serving overseas."
"I'm sorry," she said.
She patted his shoulder, touching him more by her gesture than her words.
"You know," she said, "I was a little concerned when I heard that one of Matthew's part-time workers couldn't help him.Then I remembered Matthew 9:35: 'Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.' "
She sat and folded her hands as she looked steadily at him."God sent you at the right time."
Chris shifted uncomfortably. "It's just a coincidence that I came here and Matthew needed someone."
"Oh, so you believe in coincidences?"
Surprised, Chris nodded. "Doesn't everyone?"
"A friend of mine once said that she didn't believe in coincidence, that it was God working in her life, not a coincidence every time something unexpected worked out."
She tilted her head and studied him. "You know, you remind me of Jenny when she first came home."
"Jenny?"
Phoebe nodded. "She had old eyes. She'd seen so much.You seem troubled. I think you've seen too much, too, Chris. I hope you find the healing and peace Jenny has found here."
The front door opened and boots clomped inside.
She stood and greeted the men as they streamed into the kitchen and took their seats. They bent their heads to say a prayer over the meal and when Chris lifted his head, his eyes met Phoebe's. She'd given him a lot to think about.
Food made the rounds of the table. There was little conversation.The men were too hungry, time too precious. Before long, they were thanking Phoebe for the meal and heading back out the door.
Chris followed them. He wasn't sure how much he'd contributed that morning or how much longer he'd last, but the rest and the food had helped. He looked forward to being out under the vast blue bowl of a sky, harvesting the crops.
Hannah usually loved her time teaching quilting to the local Englisch and tourists who wanted to learn more about the craft.
But even though the small class appeared excited and eager, she found her attention wandering back home, back to the conversation she'd had with Chris that morning. She knew she'd been feeling a vague sense of . . . well, she didn't know the word for it because she usually felt in tune with her life, her work, her community.
But it became harder each year when autumn came and people started pairing off like they were invited to sail on Noah's Ark. Weddings were always planned for after harvest.Some days, there would be two, even three weddings.
She wasn't a romantic—she was quite practical, in fact.But just like the other day, at the kinner's schul, she found her thoughts returning to those niggling little uneasy areas that hovered like a gray cloud this time of year. She wasn't happy about her thoughts; she did her best to believe in God's will.