Hiram poked his head into the kitchen. He smiled slyly as he took in her Plain attire. “It’s good to see you’ve not let the incident at the café defeat you, Nora,” he declared. “I figured you’d handle it—that you’d lick your wounds and try again. You’ve always been a survivor.”
Where does this guy get the nerve to just walk in ? Nora nearly told him to leave, but she sensed it was a bad idea to unleash her frustration. She’d heard that Knepp was adept at using incriminating evidence when it would most affect the person he was trying to control. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Hiram walked toward the sink, as though the wildflowers were a magnet. “You should be careful of the company you keep, however,” he continued in a sinuous voice. “You don’t realize it yet, but the Hooleys have taken over this town. Ben’s gotten himself selected as a preacher, while his aunts, Nazareth and Jerusalem, have insinuated themselves into two bishops’ lives—Tom’s, as well the fellow from Cedar Creek.”
Nora frowned, thinking back. “Tom’s wife died? Her name was Lettie, wasn’t it?”
“She ran off with an English fellow, and then got killed in a car crash,” Hiram replied. “Nazareth Hooley was waiting in the wings to latch on to Tom, just as Ben wasted no time in claiming Miriam. But more to the point, the younger brothers who live next door to you came here from Lancaster County under . . . suspicious circumstances,” he went on with the rise of one eyebrow. “They left a couple of young ladies in the lurch. And if Ben had to finance the building of the mill—for men of Luke’s and Ira’s age—their ability to run a business seems doubtful, as well.”
Hiram paused to let all these details sink in. “I phoned some of my family in that area of Pennsylvania, as part of my responsibility to the souls I was shepherding here in Willow Ridge at the time,” he explained matter-of-factly. “What my kin said about the Hooleys wasn’t very complimentary.”
Nora’s thoughts whirled faster. She found it ironic that Hiram was coming down on the Hooleys, yet he’d been relieved of his position as bishop—which had never happened in any other Amish settlement that she knew of, because bishops were ordained for life. Hiram’s insinuations didn’t have a lot of bearing on her, but what if Millie was unaware of Ira’s past?
“And your point would be?” she asked archly. For all she knew, Hiram was making this stuff up. She was getting more annoyed with every tick of the kitchen clock.
Hiram smirked. “I’d hate for Luke to pull the wool over your eyes while you’re in such a vulnerable state, Nora. I was aghast when he began dating my Annie Mae—she was only seventeen while he was pushing thirty. As a parent, I’m sure you’re just as concerned about Ira being alone with your naive young daughter. You’re well aware of how that can play out,” he added quickly.
Nora’s cheeks flared. Hiram was insinuating that someone she’d been dating had caused her fall from grace—but no one knew all of those details, because she hadn’t revealed them. The man who’d taken advantage of her had promised she’d go straight to hell if she told his name, and she’d been terrified enough to believe him. In the years that had followed, she’d learned that hell wasn’t necessarily a place where lost souls suffered torment after they died. They could experience hell every waking moment, every day of their lives.
At the sound of machinery revving up, Nora glanced out the window. “Your sign guys are here,” she said, pointing toward the front door.
Hiram plucked a stem of Queen Anne’s lace from the water glass and tickled her nose with its airy white bloom. “Takes more than that to get rid of me,” he teased. “I’ve made it my mission to be sure you succeed here, Nora. When I learned it was you buying this house, I cut the price considerably.”
As Hiram walked out the front door with the flower he was whistling, which irritated Nora even more. Where did he get off, thinking she’d feel beholden to him for supposedly lowering the price of this house? Or thinking she’d appreciate the information he’d shared?
Snake in the grass. Like another man you knew.
But which of the details Hiram had given about the Hooleys were fact and which were fiction? Nora went back to her unpacking. It wasn’t even noon yet, but such mindless tasks were all she had the energy for.
She was arranging the last of the folded towels in the drawer beside the sink when a movement caught her eye. Nora leaned closer to the window. A girl dressed in a kapp and a pale peach dress was walking awfully close to the river’s edge—and then, thank goodness, a fellow came out of the mill to capture her attention.
Nora nipped her lip. Millie and Ira were clasping hands like a couple who’d known each other for a long while. Better choose your battles carefully, her thoughts warned. She felt uncomfortable about their age difference—about Ira’s intentions—but this was no time to further alienate her daughter by expressing her disapproval of the relationship.
Some things you can’t control—as you’ve found out the hard way. Get used to it.
Through the window of the gristmill’s main workroom, Ira had spotted a solitary figure walking along the bank of the Missouri River. He’d immediately engaged the brake on the big mill wheel and left the dried corn he was grinding into meal. With her head bent low and her shoulders sagging, Millie had been the picture of dejection, walking so near the rushing current on the sandy riverbank. He’d had a sudden vision of her being sucked underwater by the pull of the mill wheel—maybe knocked unconscious when one of the paddles struck her head. He could not let that happen.
He’d rushed down the stairs and out the back door, then slowed down so he wouldn’t startle Millie into falling in the river when jumping in hadn’t been her intent. “Millie!” he called out. “It’s gut to see you, sweetie. Can I walk with ya?”
Millie raised her head. “I’ve just been walkin’ and walkin’ with no idea where I’m headed. Maybe sittin’ a spell would be the better idea.”
Millie seemed more sad and confused than distraught, so perhaps he’d overdramatized her mood. Or maybe he cared about her more than he’d admitted to himself. “Let’s sit on the rock under this tree, in the shade,” Ira suggested. “It’s gotten awfully hot.”
“Jah, you can say that again.”
Ira helped Millie clamber onto the flat river rock, telling himself not to say anything he’d someday regret. But how could he not commiserate with this young woman after the ordeal she’d endured today? “I—I hope ya don’t mind that I stuck around in the orchard for a bit,” he murmured. “To be sure ya did all right while Nora was talkin’ to ya.”
Millie’s golden-brown eyes widened. “So ya know who she is, then? Or have ya known for a long time—like everybody else—and ya didn’t tell me?”
The pain in her voice pierced Ira’s heart. “I’d never heard of her before yesterday,” he insisted. “I thought she could’ve been your sister or your cousin or—the thought of her bein’ somebody’s mother never occurred to me.”
Millie rolled her eyes. “Too busy lookin’ at her wheels, were ya?”
“Okay, I deserve that.” He lifted Millie’s hand to his lips. “I’m sorry I act like a jerk sometimes, Millie. It’s a guy thing.”
She smiled glumly. “Your brother’s got the same silly grin on his face when he looks at her—”
“Which means if Nora’s turnin’ our heads, and ya look just like her,” Ira pointed out, “you are just as pretty and just as—”
“Stop right there!” she bleated. “Ya don’t understand, Ira. That woman’s my mother, yet she dumped me off when I was a wee little baby, and everybody’s covered for her! They’ve all kept her secret—and kept me from knowin’ who I really am.”
They had drifted into dangerous emotional waters—the sort of intensely personal conversation Ira had avoided with girls because he’d wanted no part of getting serious. But this felt different. Millie’s beliefs about who she was and who had raised her had been totally overturned. He’d never witnessed anything like this.
“From the way Gabe shoved Nora aside this mo
rning, I’m guessin’ she didn’t have a lot of options back then,” he murmured. “What would you do if ya had a baby ya couldn’t support, and your dat had sent ya away—”
Millie’s cheeks reddened. “Whose side are ya on?” she snapped.
“Yours! ” Ira replied just as vehemently. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves. “I’m not sayin’ Nora’s done everything right. And what she admitted to ya this morning has turned your life upside down,” he said more gently. “But she told ya the truth, Millie. A gal who can afford Hiram’s place could be livin’ anywhere, but she came here. Plunked down her money to be with you and her parents, so she could set the record straight.”
Ira wasn’t sure where his thoughts were coming from, but he’d seen and heard enough in the past several hours that his perception of Nora—his thoughts about a lot of things—had changed. These revelations were stirring him on a very deep level, much like the mill wheel churned up sand and debris from the river bottom.
“She’s been livin’ English, but she’s bought a house without electric power, to live amongst folks who’ve cast her out—knowin’ her father might treat her the same way he did all those years ago.” Ira squeezed Millie’s hand between his. “And what your dawdi did in the Sweet Seasons got me to thinkin’ about other things, too.”
A hint of a grin played on Millie’s face. “I never knew ya to be such a thinker, Ira. The philosopher of Willow Ridge.”
He chuckled, relieved that her sense of humor was returning. Millie was still upset, but she was listening to him, which meant he had to express his churning thoughts carefully. “Gabe didn’t even give Nora a chance to say hello when she went to his table,” he recalled. “What if she’s sincerely tryin’ to make amends, and he won’t let her?”
Millie didn’t answer, and Ira didn’t really expect her to. He searched for another way to express ideas that were rising to the surface now, even though he hadn’t been aware of them before. “Do ya remember that sleigh ride we took last winter, when we caught Rhoda Lantz kissin’ Andy Leitner in his parked car?”
Millie’s brows flickered, as though she wondered where this conversation was leading. “How could I forget? All folks could talk about was Rhoda’s sin. Everyone said she shoulda known better than to ride in a car with an English fella, let alone kiss him, because she was a member of the church.”
“And did ya think that reaction was right?” he quizzed her. “I mean, look at them now. Rhoda’s already like a mamm to Andy’s two kids, and he’s given up everything in his English life to be with her. He’s changed who he is to join the Old Order Amish church because they’re so much in love. But I could never do that.”
Millie’s breath escaped in a rush. “Are ya jumpin’ the fence, then? Not gonna take your instruction to join the church?” she blurted. “That means you’re goin’ to hell, Ira.”
“Does it?” Ira clutched her hands. For most of the time he’d been dating Millie, the difference in their ages had been something they’d used to defy her dat—a game that bound them together rather than a number of years that might keep them apart. Now, however, Ira felt more aware of his responsibility. He was a man whose maturity should determine his relationship—his future—with a younger girl who was very vulnerable.
“What about folks who go to other churches, like Mennonites?” he murmured. “Or even English folks who belong to completely different denominations? Do ya think God’s damned them all because they’re not Amish?”
Millie looked dumbstruck. “I—I’ve never thought about it. I’ve always believed what the bishop and the preachers say, because God chose them to lead us.”
“And I understand your way of thinkin’, Millie. But today it was like I got hit upside the head with a brick,” Ira said carefully. “I believe there’s gotta be different ways to worship God and still live a gut life. And it doesn’t include shuttin’ out folks like Nora for makin’ one mistake. Not that you were a mistake, Millie.”
She gazed at him solemnly. “I’m too upset to think about all that,” she replied after several moments of silence. “But—but if ya don’t want to see me anymore—”
“That’s not what I meant,” he whispered, cupping her precious face between his hands. “And you’re right. This isn’t the time to be talkin’ religion.” Ira cleared his throat, again hoping the right words would come to him. “I’m with ya, Millie. No matter what happens—or what we decide to do about our relationship—I hope ya realize I’m your friend as much as I’m your boyfriend. Ya know that, right?”
Awe and disbelief softened Millie’s sweet, freckled features. Then her smile came out like the sunshine after a storm. “Jah,” she murmured. “We have our squabbles, but I’ve always figured that when push came to shove, you’d be shovin’ the same direction I was.”
Such a simple statement of faith in him made Ira’s heart pound. As Millie’s eyes closed, he kissed her. “Keep that in mind if this thing with Nora gets sticky,” he murmured. “Who knows what other secrets might jump out now that she’s come back?”
Chapter Nine
As Miriam pulled seven loaves of bread from the oven early Saturday morning, she savored the silence of the Sweet Seasons kitchen. This time before her partner, Naomi Brenneman, and her waitresses arrived was always her chance to think things through, and the past twenty-four hours had given her quite a lot to consider.
Lord, I hope You’ll hold Nora and Lizzie and Wilma and Millie in Your healin’ hands, she prayed as she measured flour for the day’s piecrusts. And I hope You’ll open Gabe and Atlee’s hearts, as well. But Your will be done.
Miriam chuckled, at herself mostly. It seemed that telling God what to do rather than asking Him was an easy habit to fall into. Her visit with Nora yesterday, followed by the unfortunate scene with Gabe in the dining room, had made her think a lot about whether some of the Old Order ways came more from men’s insistence on control than from consulting God about the right way to handle their children’s mistakes. In some districts, expressing such an idea out loud might be considered reason for requiring a member to repent. But that didn’t stop a lot of Plain women from wondering if things couldn’t be different. Kinder. More loving.
“Miriam, when I die and go to heaven, please God, I believe it’ll smell a whole lot like your kitchen,” came a voice through her open window.
Miriam laughed. “Tom Hostetler, I believe you’re beggin’ for a sample,” she called out. “My stars, I can’t think you’ve already milked your cows.”
“I get up earlier when I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Jah, I know all about that.” As the bishop walked in, Miriam gestured toward a tall stool near her work area. “And between you, me, and this countertop, my heart’s achin’ for the Glick women. Every one of them had their lives turned upside down sixteen years ago when Gabe sent Nora away, and now they’re goin’ through it again.”
Tom smiled ruefully. “I knew you’d see it that way, just as I could’ve predicted Gabe’s reaction when Nora asked for his forgiveness,” he murmured. “That’s where the fish bone gets caught in my throat. She did ask. And her father flat-out refused to even give her the time of day.”
“And then there was Hiram, appearin’ from outta nowhere to get right in the thick of it,” Miriam said with a grimace. She passed Tom a serrated bread knife and went to the refrigerator for a stick of butter. “Somebody’s gotta see if this bread’s fit to eat. Might as well be us.”
Tom chuckled and selected the round, golden-brown loaf nearest him. “How much do ya recall from all those years ago?” he asked as he positioned the knife on the bread. “Hiram was the bishop then, and Gabe and I were preachers, with your Jesse servin’ as our deacon.”
“It was all so hush-hush. Nora’d already been gone a week or so before I realized it,” Miriam replied in a faraway voice. “Wilma looked like she’d been hit by a truck, and wouldn’t—couldn’t—let on about the details Gabe forbade her to discuss. So we were left to assume
that Nora was pregnant. Then, when Atlee and Lizzie suddenly had a redheaded baby—as newlyweds, without her bein’ pregnant—that pretty much told the tale.”
“Gabe insisted that the less folks knew, the less they could gossip—and other girls wouldn’t follow Nora’s sinful path.” He slathered butter on a generous slice of dense, grainy bread and handed it to Miriam. “And while Hiram and Jesse and I went along with that age-old strategy, I wondered what would become of Nora . . . how she would ever join the church or reunite with her family.”
He paused to close his eyes over a big bite of bread. “But I hadn’t been a preacher very long, so I didn’t make waves,” he went on. “Eventually the whole episode faded away, and Millie grew up as Atlee and Lizzie’s child.”
“Well, our days of sweepin’ it under the rug are over. Mmmm,” Miriam murmured as she took a big bite of the warm bread. “Your fresh butter almost turns this bread into dessert, Tom.”
“Nah, it’s your way of puttin’ the ingredients together that makes it special,” the bishop insisted. He closed his eyes over a second bite and chewed it slowly. “What’s in this, anyway?”
“A nice five-grain cereal Luke and Ira are gonna sell in their mill store—rolled oats, barley, rye, and wheat flour—along with a handful of golden raisins and dried cranberries. I made some the other day, but now I’ve actually gotten a taste of it.” Miriam studied the color and texture of her bread, pleased with the way this new recipe had turned out.
“You’ll not have to worry about it goin’ stale before folks snatch it up,” Tom predicted. He polished off his slice and looked at her, his brows arching over his expressive eyes. “I’m goin’ to visit Wilma, Lizzie, and Nora today. What would ya think if I took them each a loaf—”
“Oh, please do! What a fine idea.”
“But I don’t want to run ya short for your menu.”
Miriam squeezed his wrist and then cut them both another generous slice of the bread. “If anybody could use some lovin’ from the oven, it’s those gals. I’m glad you’re talkin’ them through this tough time.”
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