The heat billowed inside just as it did outside. From the smell of it, supper involved fried pork chops and fried potatoes and onions. His stomach growled at the thought. It had been a long time since the noonday meal of navy beans, ham, and cornbread. He hoped his nose was right. It rarely failed him. Ella looked up from her spot next to the prep table where she dropped rolls into a basket big enough to hold a load of laundry. “Ouch, yikes, hot, hot!” she yelped as she tossed in another one. “Wow, those are hot.” “As is to be expected when you take them out of the oven, little sister.” Matthew ruffled the top of her head, shoving her kapp a little to one side. “Ever hear of oven mitts?” Grinning, she ducked away from his touch. “Didn’t have time. Daed’s chomping at the bit to eat. You’re late.” “I wanted to get the last of the alfalfa cut so it has time to dry. We may get some rain later in the week.” “They keep saying that, but it never comes.” At eight years old, Ella sounded like an old hand at this farming business.
