The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County) by Irvin Kelly

Author:Irvin, Kelly [Irvin, Kelly]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2015-01-11T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

Inhaling the scent of seasoned salt, fish, and hot oil, Abigail slid the chunks of breaded fish into the skillet and adjusted the flame on the Coleman stove Susan had placed on top of the picnic table. They had done well, considering they’d fished for only a couple of hours. Enough catfish to feed the whole family. The farmer who visited the store had been right. Stink bait did the trick.

Abigail’s stomach rumbled. She loved a good piece of fried fish with buttered, boiled potatoes and corn on the cob. The fish and potatoes, her sore mouth could handle. Corn on the cob would be more than her tooth could bear. She needed to go to the dentist, but dentists cost money. She sighed and breathed a prayer for healing.

All in all, it had been a good morning. Mordecai squatted next to a bucket he’d filled with water from a nearby spigot. Butch lay at his side, as if keeping watch, his panting loud in the still afternoon air. A skinny white bird with a long neck ambled toward them, two babies following after. It seemed they wanted their bite of fish too. His ears up, Butch lifted his head and growled low in his throat. The birds trotted away.

Mordecai washed his knife and the board he’d used to skin and fillet the fish in the fish-cleaning area as fast as the boys brought him their catches. He hummed the tune of a familiar German hymn as he scrubbed the knife, then his hands. The off-key, breathy effort made her smile as she scooped another chunk of fish onto a paper plate for Samuel.

Despite the heat, the flies, and the sweat trickling between her shoulder blades in an irritating tickle, Abigail felt content. At peace. Mordecai had been right about this day of rest. The only place she felt closer to Gott than Sunday prayer service was when she worked in the garden. This park, with its lake of lapping water and tree branches rustling in the breeze and birds jabbering from their perches on wooden pilings that stuck up in the water and atop picnic benches, came a close second.

Mordecai looked up at her and smiled. She smiled back. His eyes were more blue than green today against the blue of the sky and lake. The smile spread and became a knowing grin. Her own grew to match. “What’s so funny?”

He shrugged and straightened. “You have flour on your nose.”

“Do not.” She scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand. “Well, maybe a little. You smell like fish guts.”

“Best smell around.” He tossed the water into the grass and settled the bucket on the cement. “Next to bread baking.”

“Nee, the best smell around is cherry pie.”

“True. Or pumpkin. I like pumpkin.”

He liked pumpkin pie. She made a good one, if she did say so herself. “Maybe come Thanksgiving, I’ll bake you one.”

“The fish are burning.” John approached with a full plate in one hand, the other hand waving the air as if trying to clear imaginary smoke Abigail couldn’t see.

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