Almost Amish (37 page)

She pulled back and nodded. “You’re right. That alone would have been worth it.” She looked toward the shack and giggled a little more.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Susan, I need to tell you. . . . ”

Her heart all of sudden lurched.

“I’ve . . . got to leave. Tomorrow. It looks like I might not make it back before the end of the summer. But I didn’t want to leave without saying that being here with you has made this summer so worth it. To me.”

“Where are you going?”

He stared off in the distance. “Long story.”

The sound of hammering and saws started up again as the boys finished their treats. Susan looked at Gary, and the feelings of abandonment she’d just gotten over all came flooding back. “They need your help over there. I guess it’s best that we say good-bye now.”

“Susan, wait, I really want to see you after this is all over.”

“Sure. The next time you’re in California, give me a call.”

Like that was ever going to happen. She turned and hurried into the house, not wanting to show the emotion that was overcoming her. All along she’d been telling herself she wasn’t interested, and yet, with just one good-bye, that proved to be a lie. And now it was over without even really ever having started.

As the last of the kids left, Julie collapsed in a chair. “Whew. That was quite the shindig.”

“The house still smells good.” Thomas made an appreciative sniff of the air. “In spite of a couple of burned pies.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” Whitney dropped to the floor, a chocolate-chip cookie in her hand. “So, Angie, in those Amish books you read, do they talk about how hot the house gets during those cooking frolics? We’ve got air-conditioning here, and I’m still soaked with sweat.”

Angie, her face still a little dreamy, shook her head. “Nobody wants to read about sweat. They read those books to escape for a little while into a simpler lifestyle. One they wish they could lead.”

Whitney twisted her hair around her finger and looked up at the ceiling as if in thought. “Seems to me, we’re the ones who make our own lives overly complicated. We’ve got lots more choices than Amish people do—if we choose to do thirty things, then we shouldn’t be whining about how busy it is.”

Whitney’s words sank right through to Julie. There was so much truth in them.

Then the story of Stephen came back to her. Even the apostles couldn’t do everything, no matter if it was a good thing, a thing that truly needed to be done. What she needed to do was find out what it was she was
supposed
to do, and do it with all her strength. She just didn’t know what that was.

As they climbed into bed that night, Thomas said, “I’m really amazed at the difference in you and the kids after this summer. You all seem so much happier and more content.”

Julie shrugged. “We’ve been out of the pressure cooker for a while.”

“You’re like a different person.” He put his hand on her cheek. “I was a large part of the heat in that cooker, I know, and I think we need to figure all that out. I want to hold on to what you have found here, if we can. We need to sit down and perhaps look at our goals for the coming year, and readjust accordingly.”

“I was thinking the same thing earlier tonight. We need to pick out the things that are most important to us and focus more on them.”

He nodded. “Maybe we should make a mission statement for our family and ourselves. Try to stay more on task in the future.”

Julie nodded, having no idea what her mission statement might entail, other than taking care of her family. But how did something as vague as that protect her from exactly the same situation she’d already been in?

She didn’t know the answer, but she went to bed praying that God would show her.

The final weeks passed without major event—good or bad. Susan somehow managed to push her way through them, put on a happy face, and do what she’d come here to do. Angie would be able to complete high school in the home she’d grown up in—that had been secured—and she had further solidified her plans for the new BodyBuilders. Those were the things that were most important.

She padded down the stairs for the final morning. Clanking sounds were coming from the kitchen, letting her know that Julie was already up and about. Time to celebrate their successful completion. “Good morning.” She rounded the corner, already smiling.

“ ’Morning.” Julie quickly turned away, busying herself at the stove. She had turned fast, too fast.

Susan walked closer. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Julie didn’t look at her; she just sniffled.

“What’s wrong?”

Julie shrugged and turned toward her, blinking fast. “I don’t want to go back.”

Susan stopped herself from her impulsive response,
you’re kidding me.
“Julie, you are one of the smartest women I know, but there’s a new word I want to teach you, and you need to add it to your vocabulary effective immediately.”

“Really? What?”

“No.” Susan paused long enough for it to sink in a little. “You can’t allow people to pressure you into filling your schedule so full that you don’t have time to do what you do best. Pick one or two projects you are really passionate about, and let someone else step up to the plate to handle the others.”

“It sounds like a cop-out to me.”

“No, it’s not; it’s common sense.” She knew that Julie wasn’t convinced. “Have I shown you my newest sketches for BodyBuilders?”

“No.”

Susan hurried upstairs, then back again. She pulled out the sketch showing the skeleton but with some of the muscles and organs inside.

“I see where Angie gets her artistic talent. This looks like it’s straight out of a science book.”

“Hardly.” Susan shook her head, seeing a million flaws. “But here’s the point. We don’t just need the skeleton—structural people—in our lives. The body won’t live without its vital organs, either. I think that has become the problem with so many of the things we do as women. We need the heart.” She drew a circle around it. “No one really sees the heart; it’s buried beneath layers of bones and muscle. Think about the heart’s job. It shoots blood in a million different directions all over the body. Still, no one ever says, ‘Gee, the heart is really good at helping the brain,’ or ‘look at how well the heart helps the left leg balance the body while the right leg is injured.’ No, it is behind the scenes. And that . . . is you. You are the heart of almost anything we do. And I think we’ve spent far too long giving praise to the brain and the left leg without ever acknowledging the heart behind it all.”

“You are overstating. I’m just a little worker bee behind the scenes.”

“No. That’s not true. You take some time and pray about it. You’ll see that I’m right.”

The thud of footsteps on the back porch caused them both to turn. By the time Kendra had pushed open the kitchen door with her typical “Knock, knock,” Julie had wiped her eyes and busied herself at the coffeepot.

“Good morning, ladies. I have a little treat for the families today.”

“Really? What?” Susan asked.

“We were thinking that as your last activity here on the ranch, we would set up a television in the living room and let you watch all your episodes. I think you will find it eye-opening and entertaining.”

“Or embarrassing.” Julie sort of laughed as she said it.

“Endearing,” Kendra said. “That’s what this whole thing has been. As soon as the kids are done with their morning barn chores we’ll get started.”

“Sounds great.” Although in truth, Susan wasn’t so certain that it did. She’d come here as the woman who thought she knew everything about parenting and domestic life, and was leaving here realizing just how far she had to go. Something about watching the demise played out on television made her wonder if she wanted to watch. She thought perhaps Julie’s word might have summed it up best.

Embarrassing.

Julie and Susan sat in the rocking chairs, the kids gathered around them on the floor, as Kendra pointed the remote at the television monitor and pressed play. Of course, standing all around them was the camera crew, prepared to capture every expression, every sentence, in case they said or did something interesting during this viewing.

The opening scene showed Lisa Lee in her studio kitchen, gathering all the ingredients for shoo-fly pie. She was standing behind the counter, talking about the nuances involved in the recipe, and how even seasoned cooks had trouble making this one just right—at least just right for someone who knew what they were supposed to taste like.

She smiled at the camera and said, “So we’re going to have our
Almost Amish
family try their hand at making this. We’ve thrown in a few twists, just to make it a bit more interesting.” She grinned over to someone just off-camera. “Today, for instance, we’re going to show their first attempt at cooking on their new wood stove, and we’re going to have Julie be the one to cook. She’s not a fan of cooking or the spotlight, but let’s see what happens.” The scene went to a clip of Julie sitting in the interview room that first day.

“Get a grip, Julie.” She watched her hands tremble on the screen. “Stop being so melodramatic. It will be fine.”

The audience giggled; then the camera returned to Lisa Lee. “We’ve let Susan try to coach her for the last day or so, with some rather . . . interesting results. Take a look.”

The camera went to a snippet of Julie working on her pie crust, then looking out the window when the girls called her to come outside. It then cut to a wide-angle shot of Julie and the kids working the clothes wringer and laughing, with an obviously annoyed Susan approaching from behind. “Why aren’t you working on the pie?”

Julie and Susan argued on-screen a bit before ending with Julie saying, “It’s not about pies, or even clean curtains. It’s about slowing down enough to really spend time with the family. Now, get over here and start enjoying it.”

Everyone in the living room laughed at the memory of their first days there. Susan shook her head. “I had no idea I sounded so grumpy.”

Julie reached over and squeezed her arm. “I’m sure it was the editing.”

The scene then switched to Lisa Lee in the studio, laughing along with the rest of the studio audience at the clip they’d just seen. “To make things even more complicated, we put a couple of different kinds of molasses in the pantry. Of course, we put the
correct
one behind the less favorable one. Not only that, but we had the production assistant do something we call ‘Greeking the labels,’ which means covering up any kind of brand name. Julie went to select her ingredients about an hour ago. Let’s see which one she got.”

The camera showed Julie picking out the flour and sugar, and reaching for the front bottle of molasses. The scene flipped back to Lisa Lee. “Uh-oh. Wrong choice.” Everyone giggled. “All right, now I’m going to get us started on making a shoo-fly pie, and we’ll check back in on our Tennessee progress in a little while.”

By the time it got to the end of the episode, Julie had laughed so hard, she had tears pouring down her face. “It’s bad enough to have me cooking, but to set me up like that . . . no wonder.”

On they went to the next episode and the next. Over and over the pattern seemed to emerge of Julie noticing someone who needed help, or encouragement, or someone to talk to. As much as she knew that editing condensed everything, she began to understand for the first time that Susan maybe did have a point. She did notice things that no one else did. She noticed those things in her regular life, too, but she was often so busy she couldn’t take the time to stop and cheer someone up or praise someone.

For the first time in a long time she saw that she maybe did have a gift. And for the first time, she knew what she had to do. She had to make sure she had the time to use the gift, make sure she was available to help the people right in front of her needing help.

Julie stood outside her California home and stared. It had been three months since she’d seen it last, and she found it amazing what a new appreciation she had for the place. “It feels good to be home.”