Free The Keeper by Suzanne Woods Fisher Page B

shouldn’t do things like that to Fern. She’s not used to us yet. And she’s trying to help us.”
    Fern spun around on the porch and pointed to Menno. “No wonder that boy is the pick of the litter. He’s the only Lapp male with a lick of sense.”
    “She’s right,” Menno said earnestly. “Uncle Hank gets in as much trouble as M.K.”
    “Hey!” M.K. said, arms on her hips, a little general.
    “I heard that, young Menno! Try and catch this!” Uncle Hank tossed a balloon in Menno’s direction, but at the last second, Rome pushed Menno out of the way. Unfortunately, Julia was behind Menno. The balloon hit Julia right in her midsection and burst, showering her with cold water. After the initial shock wore off, she seared Rome with her gaze.
    A cackling sound like dry leaves floated down from the porch. It was Fern, laughing.

    The family went ahead with supper as Julia went upstairs to change into dry clothes. She hadn’t said a word after getting hit by the balloon; she just glared at Rome as if he had engineered the entire incident.
    Rome had been thinking about Julia a lot today, maybe because he felt more than a twinge of responsibility for Paul Fisher’s decision to back out of the wedding. But he was also thinking about Julia because it baffled him that she didn’t seem at all interested in impressing him. It was odd being with a woman who wasn’t interested in him. Odd and appealing. Oddly appealing.
    When she came into the kitchen, she avoided any eye contact with Rome; he was invisible to her. The only time she even acknowledged his presence was when M.K. mentioned that she had heard at school today that two more courtships had been broken and that the bishop considered there to be an epidemic of broken promises among the young people.
    “Bet my last dollar we’re going to be getting a sermon on it next week,” M.K. said glumly.
    Rome squirmed uncomfortably at M.K.’s remark—those same two fellows had been standing with Paul Fisher the other day when he had that infamous conversation about getting married.
    “In Ohio, young people keep their courting business to themselves,” Fern said.
    “It’s supposed to be that way here too,” M.K. said, “but everybody knows, anyway.”
    “What has happened to courtships?” Fern asked, shaking her head.
    “Ask Roman Troyer, why don’t you?” Julia said in a rather schoolmarmish way as she joined them at the table.
    All eyes turned to Rome. He occupied himself with buttering his bread.
    “Maybe there’s a good reason for a man to change his mind,” Amos said quietly.
    “Dad!” Julia looked horrified. “You’re defending him?” She meant Rome.
    This evening wasn’t going well. Rome suddenly wished he were anywhere but at the Lapps’ dinner table.
    “I’m only saying . . . ,” Amos started, “that sometimes a man just has to do what he thinks is right. Even if he might be wishing things were different.” He looked at Rome. “Isn’t that true?”
    Rome had no idea what Amos was getting at. Did Amos think Rome was sweet on Julia too? He hoped not. Julia Lapp was an intriguing girl, and she was pretty great to look at, but he wasn’t the settling down type. Not by a long shot.
    Fern had served Amos a special plate of food—low sodium, she said, and jumped up if he needed anything, as if she was afraid he might keel over. Just how sick was Amos? Rome would have to find out more, though since Julia wasn’t exactly talking to him, he wasn’t sure whom he could squeeze that information out of. He glanced at Sadie, sitting across from him, wondering if she might know more, but he doubted it. Sadie was looking down at her plate, a little stunned. She had filled her plate to overflowing, a double helping of mashed potatoes and four pieces of chicken. Fern snatched it away from her and set in its place a plate with one skinless, boiled chicken breast, and two sprigs of broccoli—even less substantial than Amos’s plate.
    Menno noticed