Look Out, Lancaster County Page 20

  Rachel frowned again. Could Orlie’s sled really be that fast?

  Orlie jumped on his sled, pushed off with his feet, and—zip!—he sailed down the hill so fast it looked like he was flying.

  “Oh great,” she muttered. “Unless I can figure out some way to make my sled go faster than that, I’ll never win a race against Orlie.”

  “That wasn’t much of a ride, was it?” Rachel asked when Mary trudged up the hill several minutes later. Orlie was right behind her, wearing a triumphant smile.

  Mary shrugged. “I thought the ride was okay.”

  “Maybe I need to wax the runners.” Rachel wished she’d brought one of Mom’s candles from home. Her brother Henry had told her once that candles worked well for waxing sled runners.

  Orlie sauntered up to Rachel and shook his head. “Your sled is really slow. Are you sure you want to race me, Rachel?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t race Orlie,” Mary said. She leaned close to Rachel’s ear. “His sled is really fast, and yours goes really slow. I don’t see how you can win a race against him.”

  Rachel patted her cold cheeks to warm them as she pondered the problem. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” Orlie called as Rachel hurried toward the schoolhouse.

  She just kept trotting.

  Rachel returned several minutes later with a candle she’d borrowed from their teacher. She smiled at Mary. “I’ll take my sled now, please.”

  “What are you planning to do with that candle?” Mary asked.

  “You’ll see.” Rachel squatted beside her sled, flipped it over, and rubbed the candle back and forth across the runners. “That should do the trick!” She turned the sled over again, grabbed the rope, and pulled it to the edge of the hill. “I’m ready when you are, Orlie!”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be!” Orlie looked at Rachel and winked. “This will be a piece of cake.”

  Rachel nodded. “I’m sure it will, only it will be my piece of cake.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Orlie grunted.

  “Want me to say when to start?” Mary asked.

  Rachel nodded. So did Orlie. All the other children lined up at the top of the hill to watch.

  Mary cupped her hands around her mouth. “Get ready … Get set … Go!”

  Everyone cheered as Rachel and Orlie pushed off with their feet. Orlie’s sled whooshed ahead of Rachel’s, but Rachel’s sled picked up speed as it zoomed down the hill. It went so fast she could barely hold the rope. “Yippee!” she hollered. “I’m going to win this race!”

  Whap!—the rope snapped in two. Rachel could no longer control which way she was going. “Oh no!” she cried. Rachel’s sled was out of control—she headed straight for the creek!

  Chapter 2

  A Troublesome Day

  Rachel rose out of the water sputtering and mumbling, “Always trouble somewhere.”

  A hand reached out to Rachel. Orlie stood in the water beside her sled. “What happened, Rachel? Are you okay?”

  “I–I’m not hurt. I’m sure I’ll be fine once my clothes are dry.” Rachel tried to get up on her own, but fell back in the water with a splash!

  “Here, let me help you,” Orlie offered, extending his hand again.

  Rachel took Orlie’s hand, clambered to her feet, and plodded out of the water, pulling her sled along.

  Mary stepped up to Rachel. “You shouldn’t have waxed those runners so much. What were you thinking?”

  “I thought if I waxed the runners it would make my sled go faster so I could win the race,” Rachel explained. “My sled did go faster. If the rope hadn’t broken, I would have won.”

  “Jah, right,” Orlie said, shaking his head.

  Mary grabbed one end of the broken rope while Rachel grabbed the other. As they sloshed back up the hill, Rachel grumbled. She didn’t like being wet and cold, and she didn’t like losing the race. She wished she hadn’t raced Orlie at all. She wished it was summer!

  When Rachel entered the classroom, Elizabeth exclaimed, “Rachel, your clothes are wet! What happened?”

  Rachel explained about the race and the broken rope that caused her to lose control of her sled.

  “You shouldn’t have waxed those runners,” Mary put in.

  “I—I know. You s–said that already.” Rachel’s teeth chattered so much she could barely talk. “If the r–rope hadn’t broken, and the cr–creek hadn’t b–been in the way, I would have w–won that race.”

  “You don’t always have to win, Rachel,” Mary said.

  Rachel just rubbed her hands briskly over her cold arms.

  “Rachel and Orlie, you both need to stand in front of the woodstove until your clothes are dry,” Elizabeth instructed. “Otherwise, you might catch a cold.”

  “I’m not that wet, Teacher,” Orlie said. “Just my boots and the bottom of my pants got wet when I went to help Rachel.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Then take off your boots and socks and set them by the stove.”

  Orlie did as their teacher said then sat at his desk.

  “What about my schoolwork?” Rachel asked. “How can I do that if I’m standing in front of the stove?”

  “Maybe we could move your desk closer to the stove,” Elizabeth suggested.

  Rachel opened her mouth to reply, but all that came out was a big ah-choo!

  Elizabeth’s forehead wrinkled. “I think it will take too long for your clothes to dry with you still wearing them. You probably need to go home for the rest of the day.”

  “What about the spelling test tomorrow?” Spelling was Rachel’s best subject, and she didn’t want to miss studying for it.

  “I’ll give you the list of words,” Elizabeth said. “You can practice them at home.” She motioned to her helper, Sharon Smucker, who was helping the younger children with their coats. “Sharon, would you please get your horse and buggy ready and take Rachel home?”

  “Of course I’ll take her home.” Sharon smiled at Rachel. “I should have the horse and buggy ready to go in a few minutes, so you stay here where it’s warm. I’ll pull up out front when I’m ready.”

  “Danki [thank you].” Rachel moved closer to the stove, and Sharon hurried out the door.

  When Rachel arrived home from school, she found Mom sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. The fire in the woodstove crackled and snapped, spilling its warmth into the room.

  Mom looked up as Rachel stepped in. “Rachel, what are you doing home from school so soon?” She glanced at the clock on the far wall. “It’s not even noon yet.”

  Rachel explained about the sled going out of control, and how she’d landed in the creek.

  Mom squinted. “Ach [oh], Rachel, you’re right—you are soaking wet!”

  Rachel sneezed. “That’s why Elizabeth sent me home. She didn’t think my clothes would dry fast enough in front of the woodstove at school.”

  “You could go back to school after you change clothes,” Mom suggested, “but I’m worried you might catch a cold.”

  “Elizabeth said I could stay home the rest of the day.” Rachel lifted her backpack. “She gave me a list of spelling words to study.”

  “That’s good,” Mom said with a smile. “While you’re getting out of those wet clothes, I’ll run warm water in the tub so you can take a bath. After you finish your homework, you can help me bake a shoofly pie.”

  Rachel licked her lips. “Yum.” She always enjoyed eating one of Mom’s delicious molasses-filled pies.

  After Rachel had gone over her spelling lesson, Mom set out a glass pie pan. “After the pie is done, I’ll whip some cream, so we can have it with our pie tonight.” Her glasses had slipped to the middle of her nose, and she pushed them back in place.

  “That sounds gut [good],” Rachel said as she put her choring apron over her dress. “Mom, I’ve been wondering about something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Since your glasses never seem to stay in place, why you don’
t get some new ones.”

  “New glasses wouldn’t do me any good,” Mom said.

  “Why not?”

  Mom reached under her glasses and rubbed the skinniest part of her nose. “The bridge of my nose is very narrow. I’ve always had trouble keeping my glasses in place.”

  Rachel touched the bridge of her own nose and frowned. She hoped she never had to wear glasses.

  “Why don’t you get out the pie ingredients while I roll the dough?” Mom motioned to the cupboard across the room.

  “What do I need?”

  “You’ll need molasses, baking soda, brown sugar, eggs, and hot water for the filling. For the crumb part, you’ll need flour, brown sugar, butter, nutmeg, and cinnamon,” Mom said. “Oh, and would you please get some salt? I’ll need to fill the salt shaker on the table before we have supper.”

  Rachel hurried to the cupboard where Mom kept baking supplies. She set out each item while repeating it to Mom so she wouldn’t forget anything. She didn’t want the shoofly pie to turn out terrible, like the cookies she made last summer when she used baking soda instead of baking powder and didn’t put in enough sugar.

  Mom watched Rachel measure the ingredients. When the filling and crumbs had been mixed in a bowl and put into the pie shell, Mom smiled at Rachel and said, “It looks like I have enough dough left over for another pie. Why don’t you make the second pie? Then you can put both pies in the oven.”

  “Will you watch me make the second pie?” Rachel asked.

  Mom covered her mouth and yawned. “I’m feeling kind of tired, so I thought I’d lie on the sofa awhile.”

  “Are you okay, Mom?”

  “I’m fine—just tired,” Mom said as she turned on the oven. “I’m sure you’ll do okay, but if you need any help, follow the recipe in the cookbook on the counter.”

  Mom sure is tired a lot lately. I guess it’s because she’ll soon have a baby. Rachel looked at the pie she’d put together with Mom. I did all right when Mom was here. I hope I don’t mess things up on my own.

  Rachel propped the toe of her right foot on the heel of her left foot as she stared at the ingredients on the counter. “Everything’s here. I just need to make sure I put the right amount of each ingredient in the pie.”

  As Rachel added a cup of molasses to the bowl, she thought about the spelling test they would have at school tomorrow. Even though spelling was her best subject and she’d already read through the list, she wanted to study more so she’d get a perfect score.

  She glanced at her backpack, hanging from a wall peg near the back door. Maybe she could study for the spelling test while she made the pie. Jah, that’s just what I’ll do!

  Rachel placed her spelling words on the counter next to the cookbook. As she added another ingredient to the bowl, she said the first spelling word: “Celebrate. C-e-l-e-b-r-a-t-e.”

  She stirred the filling with a wooden spoon as she said the next word. “Mediate. M-e-d-i-t-a-t-e.” She shook her head. “No, it’s mediate, not meditate. M-e-d-i-a-t-e.” Rachel moved to the next word. “Selection. S-e-l-e-c-t-i-o-n. These words are so easy—a piece of cake,” she said with a giggle. “No, make that a piece of pie.”

  Rachel continued to repeat the spelling words as she added the rest of the ingredients and poured half the filling into the pie crust. Next, she sprinkled half the crumb mixture over the filling then added more filling and the rest of the crumbs. Carefully, she carried the pie to the oven and set it on the rack. Then she did the same with the pie she and Mom had made together. She closed the oven door and set the timer for ten minutes.

  Rachel grabbed her spelling words and sat at the table. Soon the kitchen was filled with warmth from the stove and a delicious aroma of pies baking in the oven.

  Ding! Ding! Ding!—the timer went off. Rachel turned the heat down to 350 degrees and set the timer for fifty more minutes. Rachel set two cooling racks on the counter and went back to the table to study her list of spelling words.

  Ding! Ding! Ding!—the timer went off again.

  When Rachel opened the oven door this time, the sweet smell of molasses rose with the steam. The edges of both pies were lightly brown—just perfect. She removed the pies and set them on the cooling racks then headed back to the table. If she studied her spelling words until Mom came back to the kitchen, she was sure to get a good grade on the test.

  After supper that evening, Mom announced that she and Rachel had made shoofly pie for dessert.

  “Yum.” Jacob smacked his lips. “Is there any whipping cream to go with it?”

  “Jah, there is,” Mom said as she set one of the pies on the table. She smiled at Rachel. “I put the second pie shell in an aluminum pan, so this I know is the one you baked yourself. Would you like to cut and serve it for us?”

  Rachel nodded, feeling pleased with herself. The pie she had baked looked as good as the one in the glass pan that she’d helped Mom make. She was sure her pie would taste delicious.

  Rachel hurried across the room, took out six plates, and placed them on the table—one each for Grandpa Schrock, Pap, Henry, Jacob, Mom, and one for herself. Next, she got out a knife and cut the pie into six hefty pieces. She lifted out the first one and placed it on Grandpa’s plate. Since he was the oldest member of their family, she thought he should be the first to taste her delicious pie.

  While Rachel was serving the others, Grandpa dipped a spoon into the bowl of whipping cream Mom had set on the table. He winked at Rachel and forked a piece of pie into his mouth. As he began to chew, a strange look came over his face. His bushy gray eyebrows pulled together. His nose twitched. His lips curled up at the corners.

  Rachel figured Mom probably hadn’t put enough sugar in the whipping cream.

  Pap took a bite of his pie and quickly reached for his glass of water.

  “This pie sure looks good,” Henry said. He took a bite, dashed across the room, and spit the pie into the sink. “Ugh! That tastes baremlich [terrible]! What did you do to this pie, Rachel?”

  “I—I don’t know. I thought I did everything Mom told me to do with the first pie.” Rachel’s throat felt clogged and tears sprang to her eyes. First the mishap with her sled at school and now a ruined pie! Couldn’t she do anything right? This had sure been a troublesome day!

  Jacob tasted his pie then, and quickly dumped it in the garbage can. “This is the worst shoofly pie I’ve ever tasted! It’s not even fit for a fly.” He squinted at Rachel. “We’ll probably all get the fly flu after eating this, and then our faces will turn blue.”

  “Jacob Yoder, that’s a terrible thing to say,” Mom said, shaking her head. “I’m sure Rachel didn’t ruin the pie.” She poked her fork into her piece and took a bite. Her lips curled, the way Grandpa’s had, and she reached for her glass of water. “Ach, Rachel, the pie’s not sweet enough, and it tastes salty.”

  Jacob placed his plate in the sink next to Henry’s. “Maybe Rachel ruined the pie on purpose so we’d all get the fly flu and our faces would turn blue.”

  Rachel’s chin quivered. I won’t cry in front of Jacob. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Stop teasing your sister, Jacob,” Pap scolded. “I’m sure you couldn’t bake a pie any better than hers.”

  “Bet I could.”

  Rachel was on the verge of telling Jacob that he could help Mom do the baking from now on, but Mom spoke first. “How much melassich [molasses] did you use, Rachel?”

  “One cup,” Rachel replied.

  “How much brown sugar did you put in the filling?”

  “Brown sugar?” Rachel stared at a stain on the tablecloth. “I—uh—think maybe I forgot the brown sugar.”

  “Did you put brown sugar in the crumb mixture?” Grandpa asked, his bushy gray eyebrows lifting high on his forehead.

  Rachel pursed her lips. “I’m not sure. I was studying my spelling words while I mixed the ingredients. That must be why I forgot the brown sugar.”

  “Did you use any salt?” Mom asked.

>   Rachel thought hard. “Jah, I think I did. It was sitting on the cupboard, so—”

  Mom shook her head as she clucked her tongue. “The recipe I use calls for cinnamon and nutmeg in the crumb mixture, but no salt.”

  “But a box of salt was on the cupboard,” Rachel sputtered.

  “I asked you to set that out so I could fill the salt shaker on the table, remember?”

  Rachel nodded slowly.

  “No wonder Rachel’s pie tastes so baremlich,” Jacob said when he returned to the table. “Can I have a piece of the pie you made, Mom?”

  Mom shook her head. “Not until you apologize to your sister for saying her pie is baremlich.”

  “But it is terrible,” Jacob insisted. “In fact, it’s the worst shoofly pie I’ve ever tasted!”

  Rachel couldn’t stand anymore. Sniffling, she ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs two at a time. She flew into her room and flopped onto her bed. She lay there staring at the ceiling. “I am a little bensel!”

  A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and Mom stepped into the room. She sat beside Rachel and took her hand. “A ruined pie isn’t the end of the world.”

  “Jacob and Henry think it is. They always make fun of me when I mess up.” Sniff! Sniff! “I can never do anything right.”

  “That’s not true.” Mom pointed across the room to the collection of rocks Rachel had painted. “You made those look like ladybugs and turtles. Not everyone can paint as well as you do, daughter.”

  Rachel swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I thought I might try painting a rock to look like Cuddles sometime.”

  “That’s a fine idea,” Mom said with a nod.

  Rachel remembered that she hadn’t told Mom the truth about the cat in the house last night. She swallowed hard and sat up. “I—I need to tell you something, Mom.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When Cuddles bumped into the dustpan this morning, and you said you wondered how she’d gotten inside, I should have told you the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “I heard scratching at my window last night. When I opened it, Cuddles was in the tree, begging to get in.” Rachel drew in a quick breath. “The wind was howling, and it was cold out there in the snow, so I—”