Far better than that. He set the bar high when it came to following the example of their Lord Jesus Christ. Rebekah picked up the book and began to read.

SIXTEEN.

The Byler kitchen smelled like home. With Mordecai's library book and a tattered paperback English-Spanish dictionary stuck under her arm and the bag of groceries in the other, Rebekah peeked into the kitchen. Martha had Lupe peeling potatoes. She wore her new T-shirt with a kitty on the front of it and pale-blue jeans only a little worn in the knees. Flip-flops had been abandoned under the prep table. She seemed at home in the kitchen. Maybe she'd helped her mother with cooking in El Salvador. Maybe she missed cooking.

Rebekah always felt safe in the kitchen with a pot of stew on the stove and bread in the oven. The smells alone gave a person comfort. Lupe hadn't said much more about San Antonio and her father, but Rebekah often saw her watching as if waiting for something. As if ready to run at the drop of a stranger's hat. How much longer would she wait before slipping away to find a father she hadn't seen in years?

Rebekah would like to be content as well. Instead she paced about the schoolroom all day until Susan told her to go outside and run around until she burned off the excess energy. As if that were possible. At least it was Sat.u.r.day. Another week gone. She had to stop living for the weekends. If she were to be a schoolteacher, she needed to embrace it.

She glanced back. Deborah grinned at her and hoisted little Melinda on her hip. Timothy toddled behind, gnawing on one fist, no doubt trying to a.s.suage gum pain from teething. Susan was on her way with Mudder and Hazel in tow. They were bringing fresh tomatoes, cilantro, and jalapenos from the garden. Naomi had a tortilla press she'd used to make tortillas from scratch. Esther had two heads of cabbage to go with the one Mordecai had provided on the trip into town to the Goodwill store. Tonight, the menfolk would come in from the fields and the apiaries and eat food from a land far away prepared by the womenfolk who knew how to make children feel welcome in a strange new land.

A group effort as all frolics should be. Lupe would experience the true meaning of extended family here in Bee County, far from her own family. The girl handled a paring knife with ease, but worry creased her brow and made her look older than she was. Someone-probably her mother-had taught her to peel potatoes, it seemed. If only language weren't a barrier, Rebekah could reach across the divide and make the girl feel more at ease somehow. She slipped into the kitchen and took a whiff of the peanut b.u.t.ter cookies still on the sheet, fresh from the oven. "Mmmm."

Martha grinned and wiped her hands on a dish towel. "You're here! Lupe and I are making fried potatoes for supper. I figure they go with everything-even things we can't p.r.o.nounce. I didn't tell her you were coming. I reckoned it would be a good surprise."

"Where is Diego?" What she really wanted to know was the whereabouts of Tobias. She hadn't run into him since that day with Leila. For which she was eternally grateful. He had done what he thought was right. What was right? She'd been in the wrong and she asked him to lie about it. It couldn't be undone now. "I thought he might like the food too."

"Daed and Tobias took Liam and Diego to the shop this morning. They can help clean and sweep the floor. Muck out the stalls in the barn. Daed will put them to good work. They should be back for the noon meal, though."

Which meant there would be no avoiding Tobias. It was a small district. She would run into him sooner or later. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as if he might walk in the door any minute. "They're in for a big surprise then."

Lupe paused, the knife in the air. Her long, almost-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had a patch of flour on her forehead just above a big mosquito bite. "Surprise?"

"Sorpresa." Rebekah waved a hand toward Deborah and the kinner. "Mi hermana Deborah and her babies, Melinda and Timothy."

Lupe nodded and held out her wet hand. Looking very serious, Deborah shook it. "Pleased to meet you, Lupe."

"Igualmente."

"I think that means the same." At Deborah's puzzled look, Rebekah shrugged. It would be a long afternoon at this rate. "It doesn't matter, though. We can communicate through food. That's the universal language."

Rebekah laid the books on the counter and slipped two cookies from the sheet, careful not to singe her fingertips. She gave one to Timothy, who plopped down on the floor and crowed before taking a bite. She held out the other one to Lupe. "For you."

Lupe dropped the knife and accepted the gift. "Mmmm." She nibbled at the edge. "Caliente."

"Jah. Yes, hot. Do you cook in El Salvador?" Rebekah pantomimed stirring with a ladle. "Comida?"

Lupe gave a vigorous nod. She touched the large head of cabbage sticking from the top of the bag on the table. "We make curtido with repollo."

The other word from the book that Mordecai couldn't p.r.o.nounce. "Cabbage?"

"Cabbage." Lupe p.r.o.nounced the word with care. "For curtido. Ensalada."

"Salad?" Salad made with cabbage. Rebekah wasn't a big fan of salad, but she generally preferred lettuce to cabbage when she did eat it. She grabbed the dictionary and slid into the chair at the prep table. "What else?"

Lupe took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. A blissful look spread across her face. She closed her eyes and smiled a beautiful smile. "Me gustan las galletas."

"Galletas." Rebekah thumbed through the dictionary. This would take years. "Cookies, crackers. I like them too."

Lupe squeezed into a chair across from Rebekah. She rolled the cabbage around in front of her as if contemplating tossing it to Rebekah. "Pupusas."

Bingo. Just as Mordecai had said. The book explained that pupusas were a Salvadoran dish like corn tortillas, only thicker and stuffed with cheese, beans, or meat. Sold hot at small restaurants called pupuseras. They always came with a cabbage salad called curtido and a spicy tomato sauce called salsa roja.

What fun it would be to visit a faraway place like El Salvador and eat food with strange names in restaurants with even stranger names. With red sauce that burned the tongue. She sighed.

"Sad?"

"Jah, schweschder, sad?" Deborah's eyes narrowed. She picked up a cookie and held it out. "One for you too. Cookies make everything better."

Rebekah took the cookie and tasted it. Delicious. Life was good when a person had family and hot cookies from the oven. No sense in being a spoiled brat about it. "Life is gut. Gott is good."

She had to learn to curb her discontent. Mordecai was right. She had work to do here. For whatever reason, G.o.d had planted her in this place at this time and she had to be a good friend to Lupe and Diego. That was her job right now. Tomorrow night she would go to a singing. She would rest in the a.s.surance that Gott would bring her a mann in His time. She would believe.

Melinda began to fuss, her loud squall blotting out any attempt at conversation. "She's hungry." Deborah swayed back and forth, rubbing the baby's back. "Keep an eye on Timothy for me? I'll sit in the rocking chair and feed her. Maybe she'll go down for a nap afterward."

"Come back when she's down." Rebekah c.o.c.ked her head toward Timothy. "He's happy with his cookie now, but he'll be looking for you any second."

She studied the recipe. Mordecai's bag held a bag of masa that looked like flour only coa.r.s.er. "You made pupusas from scratch?"

Lupe looked perplexed. "With hands." She slapped her palms back and forth. "As, as."

Rebekah rummaged in the sack and produced the package of masa. "We'll make them. Pupusas and curtido. And salsa roja." She pointed to Susan who bustled into the room, a basket with tomatoes, green peppers, and onions in her plump arms, followed by Mudder and Hazel. Esther trailed behind them. "We cook."

Lupe understood. Her wide grin said so. She popped from the chair and enveloped Rebekah in a quick, hard hug that ended before she could reciprocate. "Gracas. Diego, he like too."

"No big deal."

"Yes, big deal." Lupe enunciated each word carefully. She patted the dictionary. "You nice."

"I try." The knot in Rebekah's throat grew, making it hard to form the words. "You deserve nice."

She opened the book to the recipe and began to arrange the ingredients on the prep table. Masa de harina. They'd used it before to make tortillas from scratch. Tasty. Carrots, tomatoes, cabbage. Garlic. Onion. Cilantro. Serranos. Not a typical Plain recipe.

All the better. Seeing the world through the kitchen. That's what Mordecai had meant. He saw it through books. She could see it that way too. And live it. Smell and taste it. "I'll start the masa if you and Deborah want to work on the fillings. I think Ruth Anne might come, too, but she has been feeling poorly since she lost the baby."

"Ach, poor thing. We'll take her some food tomorrow if she doesn't make it." Martha studied the recipe. She was a sweet girl. She didn't even know Ruth Anne Stetler-yet. "We have the venison sausage we can use for the filling. And we have beans we can mash to make refried beans. There's some white cheese left from the enchiladas I made last night. Let's make a lot so you can take some home to Mordecai since it was his idea."

Lupe knew what to do, and once she had the ingredients in front of her, there was no stopping her. She grinned and giggled and talked, although neither Rebekah nor the other women could understand her. She mixed the masa with water, rolled the dough into a long roll, then cut it into eight pieces. By then Naomi had arrived with her tortilla press. The women gathered around and watched as the little girl pressed an indentation in each ball of dough, added the mixture of sausage, grated cheese, and refried beans that Martha and Esther had made, and enclosed the dough around it.

Lupe pressed the ball into the palm of her hand, forming a disc that trapped the filling. "As, as." She grinned, looking like the little girl she was. "Me gusta!"

"Now what?" Naomi pushed black-rimmed gla.s.ses up her wrinkled nose and crossed her arms over her skinny chest. "What's the tortilla press for?"

Her smile wide, Lupe slipped some plastic wrap over the metal press and added the ball of dough and filling. She pressed the two sides together, lifted the press, and displayed the neatly pressed dough. "Pupusa revuelta. Me like."

"Me like too." Hazel crowded between Esther and Mudder. "Me try."

"You try." Lupe presented her with a ball of dough. "You make pupusa."

Hazel patted the dough with her chubby hands and plopped a pile of filling into it. The meat teetered on the edge and fell to the floor, where Dolly, the Bylers' crotchety old hund, always at the ready, ate it in one quick gulp. "Look, Dolly likes Salvadoran food too." Hazel patted the dog's head, chortling with glee. "She probably speaks Spanish too."

The women all laughed, talking at once. "Let me try." Rebekah took a turn. Her pupusa was crooked. Bits of sausage and grated cheese stuck out on one side. She squeezed the dough together with her fingers, trying to capture it. "There must be a knack to this." She held it up. "Help me, Lupe."

A superior smile stretched across her face, Lupe took the poor pupusa and doctored it. "Is good?"

"Is good."

A few minutes later a skillet greased with lard was set on a low flame and the pupusas were frying. The kitchen smelled heavenly of fresh tortilla and onion. The grease sputtered and the dough turned a golden brown with tiny blisters. Lupe handled the spatula with ease, flipping the pupusas and then turning them onto a plate. "Is done."

"Looks like we got here at exactly the right time." Tobias stalked into the room, his mud-caked boots thumping on the wood, Diego and Liam on his heels. Levi and Mordecai brought up the rear. "Something smells gut. We heard something special was being cooked up here today."

He stood so tall. His eyes were so green. Rebekah edged toward the counter. His gaze landed on her. She forced herself not to look away. "It is special. Pupusas. Lupe showed us how." To her everlasting delight, her voice didn't quiver. "Wash up. We're putting them on the table. Now."

Lupe flung the spatula on the counter and dodged past Tobias. Her rapid-fire string of Spanish left Rebekah in the dust. Diego nodded. His cherubic cheeks split in a grin and he threw himself at Rebekah. "Gracas. Gracas."

Those were the only two words she understood, but they were enough. She accepted his hug and returned it, her hands tight on his skinny back, feeling every bony rib. "You're welcome. Now wash your hands and sit. We're having a feast."

"Looks like they're happy with you." Tobias brushed past her, headed to the tub of water in the sink. "They know who their friends are."

What was that supposed to mean? "I try."

"You're a good friend."

"Wait until you get to eat the cabbage salad." Martha picked up the big bowl of curtido. "Yum, yum."

Relieved at the change in subject, Rebekah took the bowl from her. "It has to sit and ferment at room temperature for a few hours."

"Ach no, I was looking forward to it." Tobias wiped his hands with a towel, his grin as wide as Diego's. "Mordecai told us all about it. Sounds like sauerkraut. I like sauerkraut."

"Probably because it's sour like you," Martha teased. "Go on, sit. You're in the way in the kitchen."

Rebekah waited until he was seated on the other side of the room to sink onto the bench on the women's side. She was sure she wouldn't be able to eat a bite with him so close. All the same, the salsa roja, which Esther and Martha had handled, was delicious. The tangy, tomatoey taste with the fresh bite of cilantro was just the right flavor to complement the pupusa.

After swallowing the last savory piece, she stood, wiped her hands, and picked up the pitcher of water. The men had been working hard planting onions and okra to sell to the grocery chain. They would be thirsty. At least that's what she told herself.

"I was going to do that." Susan stood next to her, hand still in the air. "You can finish eating. I'll pour the water."

"I'm finished. I've got it."

"Nee, you should eat another one."

"I'll full. I'm done."

Susan looked as if she might grab the pitcher from Rebekah's hand. Her gaze skittered to the men's table.

Levi glanced up. He smiled. At Susan.

Well. Well, indeed.

"Why don't you see if anyone wants more potatoes? There's still some in the skillet. I reckon the men will want some more."

Her face the color of beets, Susan nodded, whirled, and marched into the kitchen without looking back.

Who knew?

Smiling to herself, Rebekah traipsed up and down the men's table, pouring more water into every gla.s.s, just not Tobias's. If he wanted water, he could get his own.

Tobias had added two heaping spoons of the red sauce to his three pupusas. The sauce dripped down his hand and landed on his pants. He didn't seem the least bit worried about it. "I'll take some of that water." He smiled up at her as if there had never been a cross word between them. "This sauce has some kick to it."

She managed to pour water into his gla.s.s without spilling it. "You like it?"

He nodded and took a big bite. "Hmmm."

Rebekah handed him a napkin. "I can see that, I guess."

He swallowed and wiped at his face with the napkin. "I like to try new things."

"Me too."

"Gut."

What did that mean? "A person has to be open to new ideas."

"Agreed."

At least they agreed on something.

"I heard there's more pupusas in the skillet."

His p.r.o.nunciation of the word had to be worse than Mordecai's.

Rebekah took his plate. "I'll bring you some more."

Her fingers brushed his. His eyebrows rose and fell. A smile danced across his rugged face. "Danki."

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. The words of the old axiom fluttered in Rebekah's head like b.u.t.terflies released from a net.

And to a woman's heart?