The Calling of Emily Evans (17 page)

Mrs. Reilly was the first to mention the Harvest Picnic to Emily.“Of course you’ll go,” she declared.“Everyone does. It will be a wonderful opportunity for you to meet the neighborhood in a less formal way.”

“I haven’t even heard about it,” said Emily.“Tell me more.”

“We have it every year as soon as the harvesting is over. Everybody comes. It’s at the fairgrounds. The meat is supplied by various farmers. We all take turns. Then everybody brings favorite dishes and potluck for the rest of the meal. It’s great fun.”

“It sounds fun,” agreed Emily. She hadn’t done anything just for fun in a long time.

“There are races and tugs-of-war and a ball game. Sometimes we even have booths for the kids. You know—balls to throw, a fish pond, apple dunking… things like that. They love it. It’s the big event of the year.”

“I’d love to go!” exclaimed Emily enthusiastically.

From then on the fall picnic came often to Emily’s attention. Everywhere she went people were talking about it. Posters, made by the school children, began to turn up all over town. Word had it that Big John was going to provide some firecrackers for the event, and the farm kids were already coaxing their folks to stay late enough to be able to watch them.

Emily wondered what she should bring as her share of the meal. Her grocery supplies were depleting rapidly, and she still faced the long winter months.

Maybe I should take a trip home and get some more,
she wondered, but it was such a long way to go and it was late enough in the fall that a winter storm could sweep in at any time. No, if she had been going to travel home for supplies, she should have done it weeks earlier.

She refused to write home to her father for money. She was sure he would send what he could if he knew of her plight, but she was on her own now—and serving the Lord. Didn’t she believe that the Lord would provide? Where was her faith if she had to rush to her earthly father when the cupboard got a bit bare?

“Hold steady!” Emily often said to herself.“Be still, and know that He is God,” she quoted from her beloved Bible.

But Emily had to admit that the coming event was a worry on her mind.

I have milk and eggs,
she thought suddenly.“I’ll make a custard,” she announced, brightening.

That made Emily feel better, but she was sure she was expected to bring more than one dish.
I do have potatoes—and onions,
she mused.
I guess I’ll just have to experiment.

But Emily didn’t feel too confident about experimentation when the community at large would be sampling her work.

On the day of the picnic Emily made her custard as planned and was pleased that it turned out just right. She sprinkled nutmeg over the top and turned to her experimental dish. She cooked a pot of potatoes and mashed them until they were light and fluffy, generously adding some of Mrs. Reilly’s farm cream. Then she stirred in a few chopped onions. Last of all she whipped up some eggs, which she seasoned, then poured the mixture into the little pockets she had scooped in the potatoes in her pan.

“If I just had some cheese to sprinkle over the top,” she murmured thoughtfully as she slid the pan into the oven.

A knock at her door turned out to be Mrs. Reilly.

“How are you coming?” she asked.“Ummm, that custard looks good.”

“I’ve just popped my second dish into the oven,” Emily responded cheerfully. Then she stopped short.“Oh no!” she wailed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mrs. Reilly anxiously.

“The supper—it won’t be eaten till evening! Who will want to eat cold potatoes and eggs? I didn’t think—”

Mrs. Reilly looked relieved.“Is that all,” she said, waving aside Emily’s consternation.“Don’t worry about it. Keep it for your Sunday dinner. You can rewarm it later. Anyway, the custard is more than your fair share. There’s always much more food than can ever be eaten. I’ve got to run. I’m helping with the ice cream. Here’s your milk and eggs. And there’s a bit of cheese there, too. George’s sister brought me a great wedge of it. We’ll never manage to eat it all on our own.”

Cheese! Emily’s eyes opened wide.

“Now don’t be late,” the older woman admonished as she hurried off.

Emily prepared herself carefully for the outing. She chose her prettiest housedress, pinned up her hair extra carefully, and for a long moment debated about her deaconess bonnet. Should or shouldn’t she wear it? Would the parishioners expect to see her appear properly attired as the town mission worker, or would she look foolish attending a picnic in her ministry garb?”

At last Emily laid her bonnet back on the shelf. She would go without the hat.

She could smell her cookery as she entered her kitchen to lift the hot pan from the oven. Emily was tempted to try a small forkful of the food.

It
was
tasty. She scraped a few shreds of cheese onto another mouthful and took another bite. That made it even better.
Just one
more bite,
she decided. It was good. Really good.

“Oh, dear,” she giggled.“I won’t be able to enjoy any of that beef if I don’t quit!” Emily paused long enough to pick up her custard and grab her coat in case the evening was chilly, then left excitedly for the town fairgrounds.

Emily couldn’t remember when she had last had so much fun. She shared in the laughter as the sack racers toppled and scrambled for the finish line. She licked ice cream that ran down her cone before it could spill on her hands, she shouted encouragement to her Sunday school students as they took part in the wheelbarrow race, and cheered on the softball players. She even tried her hand at dunking for apples, soaking her face and the curls that framed it. The children laughed and squealed their delight when she tossed the ball that sent the mayor of the town into the dunk tank and urged her to try her hand at it again with the schoolteacher.

Before she knew it, it was time for the picnic supper.

Emily stood in line with Sophie’s Olivia on one side and little Rena Travis on the other. The food smelled delicious in spite of her sampling from the potato dish.

The line was long, and the two children got fidgety.

“Go ahead,” urged Emily when they saw an opportunity to dart ahead and join their own family members.“Your mothers are waiting for you.”

Emily stood near the end of the line, humming softly to herself. This was the first time she had really felt a part of the small community.

“How’s the preacher?” a voice asked at her elbow.

Which one of those young fellows is teasing me now?
Emily’s thought as her head came around.
They still laugh and jostle and throw out silly
dares to one another whenever I come in sight.

But it was Shad Austin who stood next to her, a teasing smile on his lips.

“If you are referring to me—I’m just fine,” she answered evenly.

His eyes conveyed an apology, though he did not express it aloud.“Actually, Aunt Moll sent me to get you. There’s an extra spot at the table over there. She said to tell you to join us.”

“Thank you,” Emily replied and moved up a step in the line.

He followed her. Emily noticed that he carried an empty plate.

“I didn’t realize you were here,” Emily commented for something to say.

“I never miss the Harvest Picnic,” he said.“I’ve been here most of the afternoon.”

Emily wondered fleetingly where he had been and why she hadn’t seen him.

“I was manning the dunk tank,” he continued, laughing.“I helped you dunk the mayor,” he remarked.

“But I—I thought the ball did that when—” began Emily.

“It should—if it’s working. Ours doesn’t work quite right. So someone has to be underneath to pull the rope and tip the seat.”

“Oh-h,” laughed Emily.“I didn’t think I was that good a shot. Well, thanks for the help.”

He smiled.“I just hope the mayor doesn’t find out who was responsible,” he quipped.

The line moved by tables weighted with the community’s bounty. Emily was faced with some difficult choices.

“That’s Mrs. Long’s potato salad,” Shad offered.“She makes the best salad I’ve ever tasted.” Or, “Mrs. Tennet’s pumpkin pie. I’m surprised there’s any left,” and again, “I knew it. Not a scrap of Mr. Willmore’s fudge cookies.”

“Mr. Willmore’s?”

“He brings them every year.”

Emily chuckled. She couldn’t imagine the no-nonsense schoolteacher standing over a hot oven baking fudge cookies.

“Which dish did you bring?” Shad wanted to know. Emily pointed out the custard, and he helped himself to the last serving.

When they had their plates filled to capacity, Shad directed her to the table where George and Molly Reilly ate with several neighbors.

Emily was content to sit and listen to the chatter and laughter. Occasionally a question was directed her way and she answered pleasantly.

“So what do you think of our Harvest Picnic?” a big farmer in bib overalls and a white shirt asked her.

“I love it,” she answered honestly.“I haven’t had so much fun since I was a school kid.”

“I agree,” enthused Molly Reilly.“I think we should have community picnics more often.”

“Guess the next big social event is the school Christmas program,” said a woman at the end of the table.

And so the talk and laughter continued. Emily snuggled into the warmth of belonging and wished that the evening could go on and on.

But eventually the women began to gather pots and dishes and the menfolk moved to take down the tables and load them on Eric Thorn’s farm truck. One by one families with young children began to leave, the little ones whining at missing the fireworks.

Emily gathered her own things under a nearby poplar. A soft darkness was beginning to steal across the open fairgrounds. With the night came a coolness and Emily buttoned her coat.

“Did you bring a blanket?” Mrs. Reilly called as she walked by, looking for a suitable place on the ground.

“I thought you’d gone,” answered Emily.“No. I didn’t even think of a blanket.”

“Well, come share mine,” the woman offered, “and no, I didn’t go. Shad drove George home to do the chores.”

So Shad is gone.
For a brief moment Emily felt a twinge of disappointment. Then she quickly put the thought out of her mind and went to catch up to Molly.