noticed, shutting the door firmly behind her.
The heat of the milking parlor hit her—its warmth coming from the cows as much as the heater burning in the corner. Two gas lanterns hung from the ceiling, one on each end. The cows closest to the door, their necks in the stanchions, turned in her direction with only mild interest. The rest ignored her, their minds and mouths on the feed in front of their noses.
Her father already had a milker going and was ready to step away from the cow. Rebecca reached for the other milker that was hanging by its straps from the ceiling. She shook the snow off her coat before bringing the milker down.
“Good morning,” her father said, keeping his eyes on the milker he had just attached, which was making strange noises under the cow’s udder.
“Good morning,” she replied, without much enthusiasm.
“There’s something wrong with this milker,” he commented. “You notice anything last night?”
“No,” she said, “it was working fine then.”
“That’s how things go,” he muttered. “A snowy morning. Just the time for equipment to act up. Harder to get into town. Harder for everything.”
Rebecca made no reply, the comment making perfect sense to her. It did seem like that was the way things went.
Like me and John,
she thought.
She suddenly became conscious of her father’s eyes upon her. He was standing beside the cow, the milker now ceasing from its strange noises.
“How are you and John getting along?” he asked. “Takes an interested young man to help a girl with choring.”
“Okay,” Rebecca told him, not looking up.
“Sure?” he asked her. “You seem troubled this morning. Last night too.”
“I’m okay,” Rebecca insisted, still not raising her eyes from the floor as she headed toward a cow with the milker in both hands.
“You’re not misbehaving?” Lester asked, with concern in his voice. “You know the church rules.”
“Of course we do.” Rebecca smiled at the thought, raising her eyes to meet his, a picture of proper John flashing in her mind. “He’s a stickler for the rules.”
“That’s good,” her father allowed, “but sometimes that’s not enough. We need convictions of our own.”
“John’s got convictions. Don’t worry. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Have
you
?” he asked, his voice serious. “Convictions, I mean.”
“I try to,” she said, raising her eyes to look at him. “I really do.”
“Yes, I imagine you do,” he replied, sounding satisfied. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. John’s a nice boy.”
Rebecca nodded her head in thanks. “I like him too.”
“All right then,” her father said, moving along to the next cow.
The snowfall had increased as Rebecca headed in from the barn. The dawn was now an early morning glow, making each flake visible right up to the front door. Stopping on the porch, she shook her coat backward from her shoulders to throw off some of the snow.
After stepping inside, she kept the front door open long enough to remove her coat and give it one last shake outside. She hung it in the utility closet, away from the other coats to give it time to dry.
“It’s really coming down,” her mother called from the kitchen.
“Yes,” Rebecca said, “the English sure were right this time.”
“They usually are in those matters.”
Rebecca poked her head into the kitchen. “Pancakes?” she asked, seeing her mother mixing batter.
“Yes.” Mattie smiled. “When I saw it was snowing, I decided this was the morning for pancakes. Lester will take the time to eat properly because he can’t get outside work done.”
“You want me to get the children up?” Rebecca asked.
“Sure,” her mother replied, as she piled golden pancakes on a plate. “Matthew should have been up already. School and all.”
“Who’s teaching this year? I can’t seem to remember,” Rebecca asked.
“Yost Byler’s Margaret, with her cousin Naomi,” her mother said
The heat of the milking parlor hit her—its warmth coming from the cows as much as the heater burning in the corner. Two gas lanterns hung from the ceiling, one on each end. The cows closest to the door, their necks in the stanchions, turned in her direction with only mild interest. The rest ignored her, their minds and mouths on the feed in front of their noses.
Her father already had a milker going and was ready to step away from the cow. Rebecca reached for the other milker that was hanging by its straps from the ceiling. She shook the snow off her coat before bringing the milker down.
“Good morning,” her father said, keeping his eyes on the milker he had just attached, which was making strange noises under the cow’s udder.
“Good morning,” she replied, without much enthusiasm.
“There’s something wrong with this milker,” he commented. “You notice anything last night?”
“No,” she said, “it was working fine then.”
“That’s how things go,” he muttered. “A snowy morning. Just the time for equipment to act up. Harder to get into town. Harder for everything.”
Rebecca made no reply, the comment making perfect sense to her. It did seem like that was the way things went.
Like me and John,
she thought.
She suddenly became conscious of her father’s eyes upon her. He was standing beside the cow, the milker now ceasing from its strange noises.
“How are you and John getting along?” he asked. “Takes an interested young man to help a girl with choring.”
“Okay,” Rebecca told him, not looking up.
“Sure?” he asked her. “You seem troubled this morning. Last night too.”
“I’m okay,” Rebecca insisted, still not raising her eyes from the floor as she headed toward a cow with the milker in both hands.
“You’re not misbehaving?” Lester asked, with concern in his voice. “You know the church rules.”
“Of course we do.” Rebecca smiled at the thought, raising her eyes to meet his, a picture of proper John flashing in her mind. “He’s a stickler for the rules.”
“That’s good,” her father allowed, “but sometimes that’s not enough. We need convictions of our own.”
“John’s got convictions. Don’t worry. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Have
you
?” he asked, his voice serious. “Convictions, I mean.”
“I try to,” she said, raising her eyes to look at him. “I really do.”
“Yes, I imagine you do,” he replied, sounding satisfied. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. John’s a nice boy.”
Rebecca nodded her head in thanks. “I like him too.”
“All right then,” her father said, moving along to the next cow.
The snowfall had increased as Rebecca headed in from the barn. The dawn was now an early morning glow, making each flake visible right up to the front door. Stopping on the porch, she shook her coat backward from her shoulders to throw off some of the snow.
After stepping inside, she kept the front door open long enough to remove her coat and give it one last shake outside. She hung it in the utility closet, away from the other coats to give it time to dry.
“It’s really coming down,” her mother called from the kitchen.
“Yes,” Rebecca said, “the English sure were right this time.”
“They usually are in those matters.”
Rebecca poked her head into the kitchen. “Pancakes?” she asked, seeing her mother mixing batter.
“Yes.” Mattie smiled. “When I saw it was snowing, I decided this was the morning for pancakes. Lester will take the time to eat properly because he can’t get outside work done.”
“You want me to get the children up?” Rebecca asked.
“Sure,” her mother replied, as she piled golden pancakes on a plate. “Matthew should have been up already. School and all.”
“Who’s teaching this year? I can’t seem to remember,” Rebecca asked.
“Yost Byler’s Margaret, with her cousin Naomi,” her mother said
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