"Nothing," she said. Bemused, she walked toward the house with Jenny.
Matthew caught up with Chris just outside the barn.
"Wait!"
Chris stopped and turned.
"I didn't mean to sound suspicious."
"Sure you did," Chris said without rancor. "But I don't blame you. I'd be the same about the people who mattered to me."
"Verdraue—trust—is hard with outsiders," Matthew said slowly. "But if Jenny thinks you're entitled to that trust, that's good enough for me."
Matthew walked up the steps to the farmhouse and held open the door. "Willkumm."
Chris stepped inside, and the warm, delicious aromas of food cooking greeted him. An older woman stood at the stove, stirring a pot with a big wooden spoon. She glanced up and smiled. "Well, gut-n-owed. Who have we here?"
"Someone who knows Jenny stopped by for a visit," Matthew told her as he took off his hat and hung it on a peg near the door.
He gestured for Chris to come closer. "Phoebe, this is Chris Matlock. Chris, this is Phoebe, Jenny's grandmother."
Phoebe held out her hand and Chris took it. Despite her slight frame, she had a firm grip. Her faded blue eyes were kind but shrewd. She had drawn her gray hair back from a center part and tucked it under the same white cap thing as the other women wore. She also wore a dark gray dress.
She gestured at the long benches on either side of the kitchen table. "Have a seat, Chris."
Phoebe was even smaller than Hannah. Her movements were quick and energetic. As she flitted around the kitchen she reminded Chris of an energetic little bird.
He took off the backpack, tucked it under the table, and sat at the enormous wooden farm table that reminded him of the one back home—big and roomy, with scars from frequent use.
"How about a cup of coffee, Chris?"
"That would be wonderful, ma'am. If it's no trouble."
He breathed deeply of the delicious aromas emanating from the stove. His stomach growled. He hoped no one heard, but when Phoebe smiled and he saw the twinkle in her eyes, he figured she had.
She set his coffee before him and pushed the cream and sugar closer. There was no artificial sweetener on the table, he noted. Not that he ever used it.
"You're joining us for supper, aren't you?"
"I've been invited," Chris said, glancing at Matthew. "If it's not too much trouble."
"A friend of Jenny's is always welcome. Did you work with her in television?"
"Uh, no, I—" He jumped and broke off as he heard a clatter at the top of stairs.
Phoebe smiled. "That's not a herd of buffalo, just the kinner."
Three children came into view, with hair the color of summer wheat and big, blue eyes like their father. They looked like what his mother always called "stairsteppers"—children with just a year or two between them—with the oldest, a girl, appearing to be about ten, a boy of about eight, and the youngest, a charmer, a little girl he guessed to be about six.
"This is your mother's friend, Chris, come to visit," Matthew told them. "This is Mary, Joshua, and Annie."
They greeted him and then eyed him with curiosity as they moved quietly around the room, getting out plates and flatware to set the table, pouring glasses of iced tea, and helping Phoebe place serving dishes of food on the table.
The kitchen appliances surprised him. He knew the Amish rejected the use of electricity, so he'd expected a wood-burning stove instead of a modern one run by propane. Their refrigerator, too, ran on the same power.
Chris's mouth watered as he watched the platter of meatloaf join the dish of mashed potatoes, a ceramic boat filled with brown gravy, and a big bowl of mixed vegetables. When Phoebe drew a pan of rolls from the oven and the sight and scent of them reached him, he decided he was indeed in Paradise.
Jenny walked in with Hannah. "You did everything!" Jenny exclaimed. "You were supposed to take it easy."
Phoebe shrugged. "You'd just about finished cooking. I'm just putting it on the table."
The two younger women went to the sink to wash their hands and then seated themselves. Matthew asked for quiet for the blessing, and when Chris glanced in Hannah's direction, she smiled at him before she bent her head. Chris did the same, feeling a familiarity with the ritual from his childhood, grateful for the meal since he hadn't eaten much that day, too eager to make his way here before dark.
But his stomach decided to let him know how empty it felt at just that moment, so he quickly piled food on his plate, hoping no one noticed the noise.
But when the children giggled, he grinned. "Sorry. Bet my stomach will be real happy in a few minutes when all this wonderful food hits home."