Free When Strawberries Bloom by Linda Byler Page A

was crying. Lizzie couldn’t tell him, because maybe she was acting like a baby. But she really did not like that man and his little boy. So Dat just kept his arm around her and let her cry quietly.
    Lizzie felt a bit better after she was finished crying. When Dat patted her shoulder, she relaxed. She thought of snitz pie and cheese bread and wished it was time for church to be over. She drifted off to sleep, dreaming that she was eating peanut butter bread and bologna, and that the black-haired man took it from her and dipped it in his coffee.
    Emma had never had any hesitation about church, just as she seemed so certain about Joshua.
    “Mam, don’t you know that old tradition of being asked to marry when the strawberries bloom?” Emma asked, her eyes twinkling.
    “Pshaw!” Mam snorted. “Never heard of such a thing.”
    Lizzie giggled. That was Mam, all right. Because she came from Ohio where the culture was a bit different, she didn’t like “these eastern old wives’ tales.” If it was an old Ohio tradition, it was all right, which always made Dat smile and shake his head. Mam was born and raised in Ohio, and that’s just how she was.
    “Joshua’s parents come from the real old traditional state of Maryland,” Emma said.
    “His mother doesn’t,” Mam argued.
    “Wherever. She knows all those sayings and even abides by them. Her favorite saying is, ‘We didn’t use to do that in the old days.’”
    “Well, if Joshua waits to ask you to marry him until June …”
    “Not June, Mam,” Emma broke in. “Strawberries bloom in May!”
    And sure enough, the next Monday morning, the first in May, Emma fairly danced down the steps, her cheeks flushed as she whistled nervously under her breath.
    Uh-oh, here it comes, Lizzie thought from her seat on the bench where she sagged wearily after a late evening at a singing.
    Mam had her back turned, flipping pancakes on the griddle.
    “Is that you, Emma? Come put the toast in the broiler,” she said.
    Emma obeyed, saying nothing as she pulled out the broiler drawer from the gas stove, arranging the sliced white bread in neat rows. Lizzie yawned, her eyes watering, and she dabbed at them with the back of her hand. It was nearing the end of school, and she was happily looking forward to sleeping in during the summer.
    “Boy, I’m tired! Wish school was over this week,” she mumbled.
    “Why?” Emma asked, straightening her back.
    “I could sleep later in the morning.”
    “You won’t be sleeping late too many mornings if we have a wedding at our house,” Emma said, blushing.
    “Who’s having a wedding?” Mam asked without turning around.
    “We are, Mam. Joshua asked me to marry him this fall,” Emma said.
    “What?”
    Mam’s spatula clattered to the floor as she whirled around, her eyes wide. Emma was laughing with tears in her eyes.
    “Really, Emma? For real?” Mam quavered.
    “Yes, for real, Mam.”
    Mam returned to her pancake turning, but Lizzie knew she only went back to her duty to hide her emotions. After awhile, when the pancakes were arranged on a plate, she turned.
    “So, Emma, this is what you always wanted, isn’t it?” But there was a catch in her voice, and her eyes glistened.
    “Yes. You know it is,” Emma said, almost shyly.
    The breakfast table that morning was absolute bedlam. Everyone congratulating Emma, everyone asking about the wedding plans, everyone talking at once while no one listened.
    Dat was very excited. His eyes weren’t bothering him as much these days, and Lizzie hoped that whatever had ailed a few weeks ago was gone. Dat could hardly wait to tear down the dilapidated old washhouse, add a new basement for the laundry, and build a large, new living room. He loved to remodel, fix things, and make them look nice. Mam always said Dat was never happier than the times he was building something.
    They planned, laughed, and talked until Lizzie had only 20 minutes to put on her cape and apron. She flew up the stairs,