their feet. Rebecca let out a disappointed moan. “Papa, please,” she pleaded.
Emma reached out and gave her sister’s sleeve a warning shake. “If Maummi says to stay, here we will stay.” The stern note in her voice brooked no argument, though she cast a quick longing glance of her own down the street.
Luke turned to face the old lady, who stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Ma’am, that shady porch is pretty inviting, I’ll give you that, but I’m thinking you might want to go into the store and start selecting some provisions while we check on transportation. That is, unless you’re planning on going without food until you get wherever you’re going.”
The scowl on her face deepened, but the grip of her hands on her arms loosened as she considered his suggestion.
“Oh, I’m sure Papa can arrange for our provisions,” Emma told him. “After all, whether we go on to Troyer or return to Apple Grove, we’ll arrive in another three days…at least, as long as the weather stays good and we don’t encounter even more trouble. Surely he can get everything we need for only three days.”
Though she spoke in a tone free of guile, Luke noticed her eyes went a little rounder with what might be feigned innocence. The effect of her words on her grandmother was obvious. The woman straightened and her hands dropped to her sides. Her eyebrows drew together as she studied Jonas with obvious mistrust. Apparently, she didn’t like the idea of leaving the responsibility of food shopping to her son.
After only a moment’s hesitation, she marched down the steps and into the street. As she passed, she hooked arms with both girls and dragged them with her.
“We’ll need two baskets,” she announced. “One for each of you to carry.”
If she knew she’d been manipulated by her eldest granddaughter, she didn’t deign to show it. Jonas nodded, a smile twitching the corners of his clean-shaven mouth. He exchanged an amused glance with Luke and then started after them.
Luke followed, watching the three black-clad women stride down the street, arm-in-arm. There was nothing dull-witted about that Emma. She knew how to get what she wanted.
SIX
Emma stood in the open doorway, a basket slung over her arm, while Rebecca followed Maummi around the small store. The shopkeeper sat on a stool behind a wide counter arranged with a variety of goods, puffing on a pipe. The tangy odor of vinegar from the pickle barrel mingled with the sweet-smelling smoke. Canned goods were stacked in crates along one side, and bins of beans and flour lined the rear wall. While Maummi inspected the store’s assortment of pans and roasting spits, Emma leaned out of the doorway and strained to catch the sound of male voices coming from the nearby blacksmith’s shop.
Luke had certainly surprised her with his news of their wagon, and especially with his generosity. She’d watched closely to see if he treated Papa with any hint of arrogance, and she could detect none. Perhaps she had judged him harshly yesterday.
The low drone of the men’s conversation drifted to her. She was able to identify Papa’s higher-pitched voice from Luke’s low drawl, but she couldn’t make out a single word.
Frustrated, she took a cautious step backward. Her grandmother was so engrossed in searching for bargains on the store’s shelves that maybe she wouldn’t notice if Emma edged away to see how the negotiation was progressing.
“Emma!”
She jerked upright. Though she hadn’t appeared to be watching, Maummi turned a stern glance on her. Disapproval darkened her scowl. “Lift that pan down for me. The one on the hook.” A gnarled finger pointed at a heavy iron skillet hanging perfectly within the old lady’s reach.
Flushing damply beneath her high collar, Emma crossed the floor to comply. The shopkeeper hurried out from behind his counter, his pipe clutched in one hand, and arrived at Maummi’s side a step ahead of her.
“Allow me, ma’am. This here’s a mite heavy for a little thing like you.” He lifted the pan off the hook, and placed it in Maummi’s hands. “A fine piece of cookware. Of course, it needs seasoning, but I expect an experienced cook like yourself knows that.”
“Hmm.” Maummi gave Emma a final warning look and then turned her attention to examining the cookware. She weighed it in her hands. “Not as heavy as mine.”
“Ah, but this one packs lighter for traveling. Besides, it’s the skill of the cook that matters the most, not the weight of