Then on Saturday, while she’d been pinning clothes on the line, Ben had stopped by and asked if he could bring Tricia. Of course Emma had said yes. Having Tricia there would make Ben happy, and no doubt help Emma, too. Then, that afternoon, Tricia had shown up to see if she could bring her aunt Beverly. Emma had simply smiled weakly and nodded. She liked Beverly very much, and she knew that she’d be helpful, too, but on the other hand, Beverly managed a whole inn. She was used to entertaining large groups of people all the time. Why, she might look at Emma’s meager spread and think that it was hopelessly inadequate.
Which was why Emma now kept staring at all the food, feeling certain she hadn’t made enough.
“Maybe I should make some potatoes?” she mumbled. “Or soup? But if I make soup, do I even have enough bowls?” Rushing to the cupboard, she pulled open the cabinet door and started counting.
Lena, who had been sitting at the table, looked at her curiously. “Mommy, who are you talking to?”
“Myself.”
“How come you’re talking to yourself?”
Realizing that she likely looked a sight, Emma shrugged. “I do that from time to time. It helps me think better.”
Lena wrinkled her nose. “What are you thinking so hard about?”
“Serving lunch after church. I want to make sure we have enough food for everyone. Wouldn’t it be terrible if we ran out of food?”
Lena, being Lena, took her question seriously and nodded. “William would be sad.”
“We can’t have that now, can we?”
“What all did you make?”
“Tuna salad, chicken salad, taco casserole, and oatmeal cookies. And fresh bread. And I bought potato chips from the store and pickles and a relish plate.”
With each addition she listed, Lena’s eyes got bigger. “That’s a lot, Mommy.”
“It is.” Sheepishly, she added, “Jay and his boys are bringing fresh berries, too.”
“Oh, yum.”
“Jah. And, um, Tricia said Miss Beverly was going to bring a chocolate cake and maybe even some banana bread.”
“We’re gonna get to have oatmeal cookies, banana bread, fresh berries, and chocolate cake for dessert?” Lena now was wearing an expression she usually reserved for her birthday and Christmas.
“We might have all of that, but you certainly can’t eat all of those desserts. You’d get a stomachache.” The moment Emma finished her explanation, she giggled. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”
Lena grinned. “Uh-huh. We’re gonna have a lot of food.”
“Maybe too much?” Though Lena didn’t answer, Emma knew it was.
Then she looked down at her dress. It was dark purple; her girls were wearing matching shades of violet. All three were freshly washed and spotless.
And she’d put flowers in a glass milk jug, displayed on the table.
Ack! It was becoming obvious that she’d put a whole lot of time and effort and planning into this little impromptu meal. And it seemed she’d gone a bit overboard in her preparations. She hoped Jay wouldn’t get the wrong impression. Though, who even knew what impression she was wanting to make!
Lena kicked the legs of her wooden chair. “Our haus is sure gonna be crowded.”
“It is, for sure and for certain. It’s a good thing that it’s a pretty day. That way everyone can sit outside at our picnic table.”
“I like sitting outside!”
“Me too, dear.”
“Did Grandmommi get mad about us not going to her house today?”
“Of course not.” But that was a lie. Her mother had been very upset with her. She loved having her granddaughters over on Sunday afternoons. Foolishly, Emma had at first tried to not give any particular reason for canceling their usual plans, but that hadn’t gone over well. Her mother had asked so many questions that Emma had had no choice but to be completely honest. Yet the only thing her honesty had done was bring about an uncomfortable conversation.
“I fear you are making a mighty big mistake, Emma,” her mother had said. “You are jumping into a new relationship and putting the needs of your girls second.”
Oh, that had hurt. “I always put my daughters’ needs first. And they’re happy about me seeing Jay.”
She’d blinked. “So, you are seeing him. It’s serious, and you haven’t even introduced me to him and his family?”
She’d never thought of her mother as being manipulative, but after that, it had certainly felt that way. Her temper—a temper she hadn’t known she possessed—appeared and she’d let it fly. “Muder, enough.” When her mother stared at her in shock, Emma said, “You are twisting things around on purpose. I don’t appreciate it. I don’t deserve it, either.”