An Amish Holiday Wedding (Amish Country Courtships Book 3)

by Carrie Lighte

“I’ll work at this desk,” he replied. “If you turn the lights on in the storefront, someone might think the bakery is open.”

  Although she hardly spoke to Hunter except to answer questions he had about her calculations, Faith enjoyed his presence nearby as she baked. There was something cozy about being in the same room with him while working on separate tasks that felt different from when she baked with Pearl. About an hour before the bakery was scheduled to open, she heard a persistent knocking on the front door.

  “Early bird customers,” she explained to Hunter. “Usually, we’d make them wait, but as you can probably tell from my books, I need all the business I can get. I’ll be right back.”

  Through the glass pane she saw three young Englisch men wearing jackets with a nearby college’s insignia on them, huddled on the front step. Two of them appeared to be holding up the third, and Faith raced to the door, concerned he was injured.

  She was so flustered that she spoke in Deitsch instead of Englisch. “Is he hurt?”

  The young man who was being propped up raised his head and jeered in a slurred voice, “I must be worse off than I thought because I didn’t understand a word she just said.”

  He and the boy on his right both howled, but the man on his left apologized, “I’m very sorry, miss, but could we purchase a cup of coffee and some bagels? He really needs to get some food into his system.”

  Faith hesitated. The young man reeked of alcohol. Had he been drinking all night or had he just begun? She was aware of how dangerous the effects of alcohol consumption could be.

  “Jah,” she said, allowing them entrance to the bakery, “but I don’t sell bagels, so you’ll have to make another selection. How do you take your kaffi?”

  “Kaffi,” snorted the drunk man. “Did you hear the way she said coffee?” He staggered as his friends eased him into a chair, before adding, “I take it piping hot and extra sweet, just like you.”

  Although her hands were trembling, Faith spooned sugar into the cup and secured the lid. In the most authoritative voice she could muster, she stated to the other two men, “You may have this complimentary cup of kaffi, along with a few honey bars to counter the effects of the alcohol, but I don’t want you to stay in the bakery. Please take your friend and leave.”

  “You can’t kick us out!” the drunk man bellowed. “I’ll complain to your manager. What’s his name?”

  “My name is Faith and I’m the manager. This is my bakery and I want you to leave,” Faith repeated, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at him. “Now, please.”

  The drunken man slapped his thigh. “Look—her face is turning as red as her hair!”

  Faith’s throat burned. She was torn between wanting the floor to swallow her up and wanting to give the man a verbal chewing out he wouldn’t soon forget.

  * * *

  Hunter stepped into the storefront and said in a deep, commanding voice, “Faith asked you to leave, so you need to get going. This instant.”

  “Who’s going to make me, farm boy?” the young man ridiculed. He wobbled upon rising from the chair.

  Hunter had wrangled calves that were more robust than this college kid and he advanced forward, but his Amish beliefs prohibited him from physically assisting the boy out the door.

  “Shut up, Bill,” the smaller of the two other men ordered, grabbing his friend’s arm and steering him toward the door, nervously eyeing Hunter over his shoulder. “We’re going.”

  The third student stepped forward to take the cardboard tray of coffee and goodies Faith had prepared. “I’m very sorry, miss, sir,” he said and scampered toward the exit.

  Crossing the room to relock the door behind the unwelcome patrons, Hunter noticed the last one to leave placed a crumpled wad of bills on the far tabletop. He picked it up.

  “I assume this is supposed to make up for their coarse behavior,” he said incredulously.

  But when he turned around, he realized Faith had retreated into the kitchen. He spotted her at the sink, washing her hands.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked. Her head was angled so he couldn’t read her expression, but her tone was one of resentment.

  Hunter was dumbfounded. “Do what?”

  “You’re here to reconcile my accounting, not to interfere with my interactions with my customers.”

  “Are you joking?” Hunter brayed. “Faith, that man was drunk. He was harassing you. You don’t know what might have happened if I hadn’t told them to leave.”

  Faith vigorously scrubbed her fingernails with a brush beneath a torrent of water that was so hot steam was rising from her skin.

  “I know how big your muscles are, Hunter, and how much you pride yourself on your physical strength, but Gott would have protected me. Besides, I’m a strong woman. I can look after myself.”

  Pride in his physical strength? Faith had no idea just how weak Hunter felt! That very morning it had taken him five minutes to put on his trousers because his hips and legs were so tight he could hardly lift his feet from the floor.

  But since he wasn’t about to confide that in her, he spat out the words, “You’re not as strong as you think you are, Faith. You’re just f—”

  He was about to tell her she was just foolish, but remembering what Gott’s Word said about calling anyone a fool, he held his tongue.

  “I’m just what, Hunter?” Faith challenged. Now she was scrubbing the skin in between her fingers. “I’m not strong, I’m just fat, right? Go ahead—you’re not the first to think it and you won’t be the last!”

  “What? Neh,” Hunter protested. He didn’t know why on earth Faith would imagine that was what he was thinking. “I was going to say you’re just foolhardy. You may believe you’re strong enough to overcome someone who wishes to do you harm, but you don’t know what some men can be like. When they’re around a becoming woman like you, they exhibit barnyard behavior—”

  Faith’s sobs interrupted what he was going to say. Her torso shook with the intensity of them, but she didn’t stop cleansing her hands and she kept her face averted. As Hunter watched her quaking profile, he realized she wasn’t really mad at him. She was upset by what had just transpired and she was trying to wash the incident away.

  He gingerly walked to her side and turned off the water. Picking up a dish towel, he reached for her hand. She allowed him to lift her arm, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye. Very carefully, he patted her palms and fingers dry and gently placed her hand by her side. Then he reached for her other hand and dried that one, too. Finally, she lifted her chin upward and sighed. He handed her the cloth so she could wipe the tears from her cheeks and dab the skin beneath her eyes.

  She blinked her long, reddish lashes twice before directly meeting his gaze. “Denki, Hunter. For everything.”

  He knew she was thanking him for guarding her as well as comforting her, and the appreciation and admiration in her eyes reminded him of how he used to feel when Justine complimented his abilities, only better, because he never thought he’d feel that capable again. He humbly replied, “I’m glad I can help.”

  “I’ll get started making breakfast now,” she stated practically.

  “I’d like that. We can discuss my findings while we’re eating, and then I’ll be on my way to Piney Hill.”

  After Faith served them each a plate heaped with breakfast scrapple, orange slices and toast made from freshly baked bread, Hunter said grace.

  “Gott, we thank You for Your provision in this meal as well as for Your protection in our lives. Please help us to forgive those who trespass against us, just as Christ has forgiven us our trespasses.”

  “Amen!” Faith confirmed loudly. Then, a few bites into their meal, she asked the question he’d been dreading. “So, will I have enough money to make the down payment by the first of the year?”

  * * *

  Faith could te
ll Hunter was stalling by the deliberate way he was chewing his food. She knew the answer wasn’t good, and she braced herself for his response. She had already cried in front of him once this morning. She appreciated how tender and respectful he’d been in response to her outburst, but she wouldn’t allow herself to break down again.

  “Well, based on your records and your projections for the rest of the season,” he hesitated, “it looks as if you may fall a bit short of your goal.”

  “How short?”

  “Twelve to eighteen hundred dollars.”

  “Twelve to eighteen hundred dollars!” Faith yipped. “The landlord won’t renew the lease if I’m even two hundred dollars short! My future depends on the bakery—I can’t lose it, I just can’t!”

  Hunter narrowed his eyes. “I know it’s not the answer you wanted to hear, Faith, but I had to be honest with you about my calculations. There still may be ways to meet your goal, but if not, I’m certain Gott has a plan for your future, whether or not you keep the bakery.”

  Faith kept her eyes from overflowing by focusing on separating a triangle of orange from its rind. Hunter had no idea why it was so important for her to keep her business, and she would never tell him. But, as upset as she was, she recognized the ultimate truth in what he was saying: her future depended on God, not on the bakery itself.

  “You’re right,” she agreed solemnly. “I believe Gott has a plan for my future, even though I may not know what that is yet. I only know for now, He has provided me this bakery, which I treasure. I still have several weeks to meet my financial goal, so, with Gott’s help, I’d like to do everything I can to make the down payment.”

  Hunter rubbed his chin. “Alright, let’s discuss ways you might do that.”

  As they ate their breakfast and Faith bagged up the goodies for the festival, they volleyed ideas about how she could increase her revenue. Having worked for an Englisch company, Hunter was more familiar with practices that appealed to Englischers, and he brought a fresh approach to their brainstorming session.

  “Have you considered keeping the bakery open later?”

  “Ordinarily, I might,” Faith said. “But my concern is Henrietta doesn’t think I spend enough time with my family as it is. Who knows what she’d say if I came home later than I already do?”

  As soon as she spoke, Faith felt a stitch of guilt. She hadn’t meant to air her sister-in-law’s grievance, but it was so easy to be open with Hunter that the words just slipped out. She quickly added, “To be fair, she has a point. On occasion I wish I could spend more time at home, too. Regardless, I don’t think my in-store bakery sales would be significant enough to justify extended hours. I earn the most money on large orders my regular Englisch customers place for holidays and other special celebrations. I wish I could increase those sales.”

  Hunter scratched his chin. “Well, Grischtdaag and New Year’s Eve are coming up, and Englischers are known to throw big parties, both at home and at work, with lots of food,” he said. “What do you do to advertise to the Englisch community?”

  “I’ve requested if Englisch customers enjoy my goods and services they’d spread the word to their friends in neighboring towns, but I’m afraid...” Realizing it would be immodest to complete her thought, Faith allowed her sentence to trail off.

  Hunter pushed her to finish it. “You’re afraid what?” he asked. Faith noticed that about him: he was genuinely interested in her opinions, especially those she was most hesitant to express.

  “It’s puffed up of me to say, but I’m afraid some of them, like Marianne Palmer, might not want to ‘share’ me—those are her words, not mine. I don’t know if I could actually count on them to tell others about the bakery.”

  “Well, I think you should keep asking customers to tell others about your shop,” Hunter advised. “But meanwhile, look at that box you’re holding.”

  Faith glanced at the plain white cardboard box. What was wrong with it? She shrugged in confusion.

  “You don’t have your business name, hours and phone number on it,” Hunter explained. “The Ordnung for Willow Creek doesn’t prohibit including that information on your packaging, does it?”

  “Neh, provided it’s simple, not ornamental, and it doesn’t contain any graven images,” Faith confirmed. “I considered having boxes and bags printed for the bakery, but I discovered it was more costly than I anticipated. I’m not sure it would be worth the investment, especially when every penny counts.”

  “Hmm... Labels are cheap. Could you affix labels to your boxes and bags? There’s a printing shop on the other side—”

  “Of Willow Creek! I know the place,” Faith exclaimed. “That’s a fantastic plan, Hunter.”

  His eyes were alight as he replied, “I’ll go right past the printer when I make the delivery to Piney Hill. If you jot down your information, I can take it to the printer this morning.”

  “Really? You’d do that for me?” Faith meant to express her gratitude, but she realized her choice of words might make Hunter think she was playing coy, so she quickly elaborated, “I mean, I’d really appreciate it.”

  Hunter grinned. “We’re business partners, aren’t we? Your success is my success and mine is yours. Speaking of which, I’d better get on the road to the festival.”

  Faith was so absorbed in their conversation she hadn’t realized how late it was getting. “Of course. I’ll finish packaging these while you bring your buggy around to the back.”

  After helping Hunter carefully load the backseat of the buggy, Faith watched him pull down the lane. Business partners. The words carried a different meaning from business associates, and Faith liked the idea of partnering with Hunter to meet her goal. She might never have the support of a husband, but at least for the moment she had a kind man to encourage her and give her a hand when she needed his help. And, she had to admit, she secretly felt complimented that this kind man happened to have referred to her as a “becoming woman,” too.

  * * *

  As his horse galloped toward Piney Hill, Hunter’s mood was buoyant, knowing he was helping Faith try to meet her financial obligations while simultaneously meeting his own. He recalled how her countenance shone while they discussed ways to increase revenue, and it was a boost to his confidence that she clearly valued his input. Grateful he could apply the accounting skills he was learning at the cannery to Faith’s books, Hunter hoped the experience might allow him to earn a living in Indiana doing something other than the manual labor he’d been accustomed to performing.

  Of course, he wasn’t yet financially independent by any means: his aunt supplied all of his and his mother’s meals and sundries. Ruth insisted, claiming she was beholden to them for looking after her. That’s why when Hunter first informed his aunt and mother he was going to run Faith’s morning deliveries, he didn’t care if they exchanged knowing glances. He preferred for them to imagine he was taking on the extra responsibility because he fancied Faith than to realize it was because he’d come perilously close to losing the house in Indiana.

  But that danger was behind him for the time being. According to his calculations, with the money he’d earn from the deliveries, plus the fee James Palmer would pay when he picked up the finished chair on Monday, Hunter not only would be able to pay the outstanding house and medical bills, he might have enough left over to purchase a small Christmas gift for his aunt and mother. His breath formed steam in the frosty morning air as he called out to God, “Denki, Lord, for Your plentiful blessings!”

  He made good time getting to the festival, and the printing shop had just opened when he pulled into the parking lot on his return trip. The manager offered to print the labels within half an hour, but Hunter didn’t want to risk returning late to the cannery, so he agreed to pick them up the following morning.

  After returning from Piney Hill, Hunter brought the horse and buggy home and then walked back into town.
If his hips and legs felt clunky, the sensation was negligible compared with the feelings of competence and optimism carrying him down Main Street and into the cannery.

  Maybe it’s not so unreasonable to believe I’ll be able to support a wife and family one day soon, he allowed himself to think as he gazed out the window while waiting for Ivy to arrive. Spotting Faith’s quick, energetic movements in the storefront of her bakery, he again pondered why she wasn’t being courted. Faith was so clever, persevering and vivacious. She was someone who seemed to really love to laugh...most of the time. What was the secret burden she hid beneath her quick smile? Hunter had no idea, but whatever it was, he doubted it was the reason she wasn’t being courted. More likely, she had no interest in marriage because she was consumed with her business. Didn’t she say the bakery was her future?

  Ivy passed by the cannery window and lifted her hand toward the bakery storefront, startling Hunter from his thoughts. Flipping the door sign, he greeted her when she came in.

  “Hunter Schwartz had Thanksgiving dinner with Faith Yoder on Thursday at Ruth Graber’s house. One thirty,” Ivy stated as she turned a jar of preserves so its label was aligned with the others.

  “Jah, that’s right. You were there, too, with your groossdaadi,” Hunter acknowledged. “I enjoyed myself very much, did you?”

  “Jah, I enjoyed myself very much,” she repeated. “A special occasion.”

  Hunter barely had time to grin back at the winsome young girl before the first of a long stream of customers entered the shop. Sales didn’t slow down until right before Hunter closed the store at five o’clock. As he meandered home, he noticed snowflakes that were so light they appeared to be floating upward instead of falling down. He’d felt his legs and hips growing tighter throughout the day, but the store was bustling and he hadn’t wanted to retreat to the back room to stretch. Now, the cold air worked its way into his joints, and with each footfall he imagined his legs cracking like ice. Once home, he declined supper, opting for a hot bath. He was asleep within minutes of lying down, and it seemed within minutes of sleeping, it was time for him to rise again.