as the bishop says? A fine Amish husband, as Papa wishes? I pray it be so. And I pray he will be the second son of his father so that he will come home with me to Apple Grove and take over Papa’s farm when the time comes.
A female sniffled behind her. Not Katie, but Rebecca. A twist inside Emma’s rib cage nearly sent tears to her eyes. Oh, how she would miss her sister when Rebecca left Troyer to return home with Papa. She vowed to make the most of their time together on the trail between here and there.
Bishop Miller ended the prayer with a blessing in High German, his hand on the head of the closest oxen. When the last word fell on the quiet crowd, Maummi’s voice sliced through the cool morning air. “Now that we’re seen off proper, someone help me up. We’ll be gone before the sun moves another inch across the sky.”
Though she’d proved earlier that she could make the leap herself at need, Maummi allowed Papa and the bishop to lift her into the wagon. She took her seat in her rocking chair, which was wedged between the covered hutch and one high side of the wagon bed. With a protective pat on the hutch, she settled her sewing basket at her feet and pulled a piece of mending onto her lap. No idle hands for Maummi. By the time they made Troyer, she’d have all the mending done, and the darning too, and a good start on a new quilt.
Emma spared one more embrace for Katie, steadfastly ignored Amos’s mournful stare, and allowed the bishop to help her up onto the bench seat. She scooted over to the far end to make room for Papa, and then Rebecca was lifted up to sit on the other side of him. A snug fit, but they would be okay for the six-day journey to Troyer. Emma settled her black dress and smoothed her apron.
“Now, Jonas, mind you what I said.” Maummi’s voice from behind their heads sounded a bit shrill in the quiet morning. “You cut a wide path around Hays. I’ll not have my granddaughters witness the ufrooish of those wild Englischers.”
On the other side of Papa, Rebecca heaved a loud sigh. Emma hid her grin. No doubt Rebecca would love to witness the rowdy riots of wild cowboy Englischers in the infamous railroad town of Hays.
Papa mumbled something under his breath that sounded like “This will be the longest journey of my life,” but aloud he said, “Ja, Mader.”
With a flick of the rope, he urged the oxen forward. The wagon creaked and pitched as it rolled on its gigantic wheels. Emma grabbed the side of the bench with one hand and lifted her other hand in a final farewell as her home fell away behind her.
TWO
After three long days on the trail, the jostling wagon had jarred Emma’s body until every muscle ached. She couldn’t bear one more day sitting on the hard wooden bench and took to walking beside the wagon, as Papa did.
The July sun beat down mercilessly from a clear blue sky. A refreshing wind had swept across the prairie only the day before, but today the air gathered like a stagnant pool around her. Oh, how she wished she could shed the heavy black dress and apron the way Papa shed his coat. She glanced to where he walked up at the head of the oxen, at the line of his suspenders fastened to the back of his trousers and up over white-clad shoulders. His shirtsleeves had been rolled up to the elbows, exposing the tanned skin of strong arms. Even that relief from the sweltering heat inside her dress would be welcome, but the Ordnung forbade women to bare their arms in the open.
“I’m hot.” Rebecca’s whine came from the bench behind the oxen. “And the sun is coloring my face. By the time we get to Troyer I shall be beet red. Papa, can I wear one of your hats to shade my face?”
“Ach, what a question.” Maummi straightened in her rocking chair to scold her younger granddaughter. “We’re not three days from home, and already you’re throwing aside the Plain ways. Put on your bonnet, girl.”
“My head will bake inside that black cloth.” If Emma hadn’t been walking near the bench, she wouldn’t have heard the rest of Rebecca’s sullen answer. “When I have my rumspringa, I’ll wear hats if I choose.”
Emma was