The Way to a Man's Heart (The Miller Family 3)

by Mary Ellis

  Leah hid in the kitchen dicing celery and onions until their customer finished eating, paid the check, and left a dollar tip. There was no way could she watch him eat, even though she’d been cooking for her family since she was twelve years old.

  “He bought two slices!” April exclaimed as soon as he left. “He told me he’d never tasted any better!”

  “Maybe he’s never eaten strawberry pie before,” Leah said, feeling a swell of pride.

  “And maybe you’re the best cook in the county and the best thing that ever happened to me!” April grabbed both of Leah’s hands and started jumping up and down like a child. Leah had never seen a Plain, God-fearing woman behave like that, but before long she was bobbing and swaying too…just to be polite. Their foolishness was short lived, however. Soon the bell over the front door jangled and two women with their grandchildren came in hungry for hamburgers. Leah set down menus and glasses of water. After a quick scan, one woman asked, “Don’t you have French fries?” Her tone sounded as though they lacked a roof overhead.

  Leah felt herself start to perspire. “Let me get the owner, ma’am,” she murmured and fled like a scared rabbit.

  April appeared carrying a complimentary bowl of bread-and-butter pickles and radish rosettes. She had overheard the exchange. “Trust me, ladies, once you taste my homemade potato salad and my grilled, not fried, burgers served with sliced beefsteak tomatoes, you’ll forget all about fast-food standbys.” She smiled gloriously. “My caboose kitchen is too small to do any deep frying. Everything in the place would smell like grease within a few days. Besides, cold salads are healthier and more refreshing now that the warm weather is here.”

  Both ladies nodded with approval and accepted April’s suggestions for their order. Afterward, they not only bought a dozen muffins to take home, they promised to tell their friends about the new restaurant and left a five-dollar tip. Leah was astounded how smoothly April had handled the situation.

  “When you’re working with a limited menu, you make them want what you have,” said April, helping to clear the table. “It’s all in the power of suggestion. Most people leaf through those ten-page menus some restaurants have and feel nothing but confusion.”

  Later two teenagers on bicycles came in for Cokes and chips off the metal rack. Opening day might not have been the grand gala one hoped for in Cleveland or Columbus, but April was pleased when she switched off the neon sign and flipped the door sign to “Closed.”

  “We’re off to a good start,” she declared. “I’m exhausted. How about you?”

  Leah slipped her apron over her head and tucked it into her tote-bag. “Actually I feel fine,” she answered. “Which is a good thing, because I had better get home to start cooking dinner. My mamm made me promise I wouldn’t let home responsibilities slip if I started working here.”

  “Off you go, then. I’ll just lock up and be on my way too.” April shoved her toward the door.

  “Wait, what about the tips I collected?” Leah did a quick tally of the bills and coins. “It looks like seven dollars. Should we split it down the middle?”

  “Absolutely not. You keep that in return for the baking ingredients you used.”

  “Danki, April. See you tomorrow.” Truth was, all those fresh strawberries had cost more than twenty dollars, not counting the staples from the pantry. But Leah didn’t want to make a fuss on such an auspicious occasion. She would replenish her family’s household ingredients out of her first paycheck and consider the price of the fruit an investment in her career.

  Over the next two weeks, word quickly spread through the county about the new home-style diner. April and Leah tweaked the menu several times and settled on the basics for breakfast—ham, eggs, bacon, sausage, oatmeal, and one daily special—French toast, waffles, or pancakes topped with whatever fruit was in season. One day they would fix the special sweet, with either chocolate, caramel, or praline sauce, whipped cream, and chopped walnuts. They also offered a fruit-and-cottage cheese plate and yogurt for the English gals, who always seemed to be on a diet.

  Lunch was simple but hearty: deli sandwiches with side dishes such as macaroni salad, sliced beets and pickled eggs, or chow chow. Tossed salads and chips were always available for those with city tastes. In the cool months, they planned to add kettle baked beans, soups, stews, and chili. All youthful customers received an ice cream bar, cookie, or cup of mandarin oranges as a treat.

  Each day their business grew until every table was usually full from when they opened the red front door until closing time at three. They often had to turn off the lights at three-thirty or customers would stay and nurse their coffee all afternoon. Leah had chores waiting at home—cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Blessedly, Henry had taken over the henhouse duties, for which Leah was especially grateful. Scrubbing out a henhouse had to be the most onerous task on earth. Even gathering eggs sometimes proved difficult when an irritable hen was fussy and uncooperative.

  Leah often noticed April watching her while she flipped pancakes on the griddle or delivered plates to a table. But the woman was always smiling, so Leah relaxed into waiting on customers and making small talk with those at the counter. Slowly, some of her shyness—nonexistent among family and friends—began to ebb.

  That is, until their first Amish customers strode in one Wednesday afternoon. They were two young men, both handsome. They entered the diner, tipped their hat brims, and asked if they could sit anywhere. Leah just stared mutely, as though they were speaking Japanese.

  Fortunately, April pointed them to a booth and brought water and menus, allowing her employee to retreat to the caboose. While the men perused the daily specials, April took them beverages and then banged through the swinging kitchen door. “What’s wrong with you, Leah?” she asked, her grin showing off her gold back tooth. “Surely you’ve seen Amish people before?”

  Leah backed up against the chest freezer. In a kitchen this small there was no place to hide.

  “Jah, I’ve seen them, but I don’t know those two. They’re not from my district. Why don’t you wait on them while I mix up another batch of tuna salad? It’s really selling well today.” She tried to step around her boss.

  April held up her palm like a crossing guard. “No way. You didn’t know any of the English folk during the past two weeks and you still managed to be cordial. Don’t pay any attention to the fact that they are Amish.”

  Leah couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “The problem isn’t that they’re Amish.” She parried to the left, but April blocked her escape with her hands on her hips, elbows out. Leah sighed. “The problem is that they are…men, young men. I’m nervous, that’s all.”

  “That’s all?” April asked. “Aren’t you eighteen?”

  Leah nodded.

  “And you haven’t started courting yet?”

  This time Leah shook her head. She was beginning to feel like her bruder’s trained pony.

  “I was married by your age!”

  “Not everyone is in an all fired-up hurry. My life is quite pleasant just the way it is.” Leah lifted her chin higher.

  “Oh, Leah.” April studied her carefully. “Pleasant, you say? Old grannies rocking on porch swings should have pleasant lives, not somebody eighteen years old. You go out there and take their order.” She nudged her toward the door, pushing an order pad into Leah’s hand. “Go talk about the likelihood of rain later in the week. I know that’s your favorite topic with elderly customers. Let’s see if young ones appreciate your weather forecasts just as much. I’ll take care of the tuna salad.”

  Ready or not, April shoved Leah through the swinging door. The motion drew the attention of all the patrons present, including the Amish fellows. Leah had no choice but to walk to their table. As she did so, she saw one elbow the other and say something behind his upraised menu. She cleared her throat and asked, “What’ll you have to drink?”

  The dark-haired man laughed while the other pointed his index finger at their Cokes. He had light brown
hair, cut shorter than usual, and hazel eyes. The fact that he looked even handsomer up close did nothing to calm her nerves.

  “Oh, I see you’ve got drinks. Have you spotted something you like?” She poised the tip of her pen on the pad.

  The dark-haired one’s gaze trailed from the hem of her apron to the top of her kapp. “Jah, you could say that.” He burst out laughing as though the joke were funny.

  “Mir leid about him,” said the other apologetically. “It’s his first time off the farm in weeks.” He took off his hat and set it on the seat. “My name is Daniel and that dummkopp is Steven.” He offered both a nice smile and his hand.

  Leah shook his hand like a quick priming of an old-fashioned pump. “Leah Miller, nice to meet you. What do you want for lunch?” She glanced at the other tables to give them the impression that she was busy.

  Daniel replied without an ounce of urgency, “What’s good today, Leah Miller? What do you recommend?” He appeared to be studying the very short menu as though he had all the time in the world.

  She was uncomfortable with their easygoing banter and yearned to answer I recommend that you two hightail it out to your buggy and git! But she knew April wouldn’t appreciate that, so instead she said, “You can’t go wrong with the ham-and-cheese with a side of coleslaw.”

  Steven met her eye, looking contrite. “Sounds great. I’ll have that, Miss Miller.”

  Daniel handed over his menu. “Double that order. I have a feeling we’ll be back often enough to try just about everything.”

  She picked up the menus and practically ran to the kitchen. Her cheeks felt flushed, her palms were damp, and her forehead had started to perspire. Those two Plain boys had made her very nervous. She couldn’t relax until they had finished their sandwiches, paid the bill, and left.

  Each had left her a twenty-five percent tip.

  And the one named Steven mumbled an apology on his way out. Daniel tipped his hat for the third time and said, “Hope to see you again real soon, Miss Leah Miller.”

  April had found the whole scene rather amusing. She warned Leah at quitting time that she had better get used to receiving attention from Amish folk.

  Leah wasn’t sure what that had meant at the time, but oddly enough the woman’s prediction proved correct. As the novelty of a new restaurant wore off among the Englischers and many returned to the sumptuous buffet up the road, word had spread within the local Amish and Mennonite communities.

  Soon all the booths and spots at the counter were again filled.

  April began talking about ordering outdoor picnic tables for overflow customers.

  Emma Miller Davis paced from one end of the flower garden at Hollyhock Farm to the other and then back again. She checked the contents of her picnic hamper and her purse several times. The ice in her cooler was already starting to melt. Yet her husband of almost two years still hadn’t brought their buggy around. She dug in her purse for her phone to check the time. “Goodness gracious!” she exclaimed and marched toward the barn. They were going to be late for preaching service…again.

  The love of her life, James Davis III, couldn’t seem to get used to how long it took to get places in a horse and buggy. He’d turned New Order three years ago as part of his commitment to living Amish before they married. He had finished his schooling at Ohio State Agricultural College in Wooster that summer, sold his shiny truck to his brother Kevin, and taken up Plain ways soon after. His best friend, Sam Yoder, had helped him make the transition as certain details weren’t covered in books on the Amish lifestyle. Sam had been raised New Order. His wife, Sarah Hostetler, had been raised Old Order same as Emma. But the transition for the two brides, longtime childhood friends, had been a walk in a new mown meadow by comparison.

  James had been English. He was still discovering little things he could no longer do the familiar way since turning Amish. But he said it had all been worth it to marry Emma Miller of Winesburg.

  Now Mrs. Emma Davis of Charm felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as she pushed open the barn door, searching for her ehemann. She found him in the main walkway, trying to untangle a knotted double harness. His black felt hat was tipped back on his head, while his bluntly cut hair framed his face like a golden mane. However, his expression was utter bewilderment…until he spotted her.

  “Ah, my sweet Emma. Some fool got this thing all tangled and then hung it on the peg like that.” One corner of his mouth pulled into a half smile.

  She set down her cooler and hamper on a bench and went to help. “That fool would be you, dear one. Remember when we came home from Sam and Sarah’s? You took it off wrong and were too tired to straighten it out.”

  His cheeks turned a deep scarlet. “Jah, I remember now. I spent the day at his farm digging new postholes with a rusty auger. I was beat by bedtime.”

  Emma took the harness and with nimble fingers began to straighten out the knotted leather. She clucked her tongue with disapproval. “You keep forgetting that it takes ninety minutes to go ten miles. We will be admonished by the brethren if we keep showing up late.”

  He leaned over to brush a kiss across her kapp. “Ah, Emma, they know we’re newlyweds. They’ll give us some leeway.”

  She pulled the last straps loose and pushed the harness up against his chest. “We’ve been married almost two years, Jamie. We’re not newlyweds anymore. You must get used to the idea that you can’t wait until the last minute to leave.” She heard the sternness in her voice and immediately felt ashamed. He was trying so hard. Perhaps she should learn to be more patient, especially as he was head of the household. A wife shouldn’t chastise a husband…at least, not very often.

  Emma stretched up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’m going to refill the ice in the cooler while you bring the buggy around. When we get there, we’ll be there. The Lord knows we love Him in our hearts…our tardy hearts.”

  As she walked back to James’ childhood home, Emma stewed about more than sneaking into preaching services during the first sermon. Her mother-in-law still treated her like a guest—a favored summer visitor who was vacationing from another country—and not like the wife of her son.

  His mom still invited James to social events at her English church. And she often still looked surprised when he came downstairs for breakfast wearing his solid plain clothes—as though he were playacting for a historical exhibition that soon would end.

  It had been almost three years since James had been baptized and committed his life both to Christ and to a simpler lifestyle. Did Barbara Davis resent Emma? It didn’t seem so, but how hard it must be for her to accept the fact that her son had left the world she and her husband had raised him in.

  Emma crept quietly into the kitchen, but she found Mrs. Davis sitting at the table sipping coffee. Her Sunday school materials were spread out for last-minute review.

  “Hello,” she said. “You two are still here?”

  “Jah, we are.” Emma’s answer was succinct and unnecessary. An uncomfortable silence spun out in the tidy room while Emma filled the cooler from the automatic ice dispenser. She hoped she didn’t sound curt, but she didn’t want to criticize her husband by mentioning their tardiness.

  Her husband. A warm sensation filled her every time she remembered his tender proposal, his conversion to Amish life, and their joyous wedding. James had worn his old Levis for weeks with solid dark shirts, suspenders, and either a black felt or straw hat along with his work boots. After Emma had laid several new pairs of pants she’d sewn herself around their bedroom, he’d finally taken the hint. James had held one up, complemented her sewing, and then said, “But I’ll look exactly the same as everybody else.”

  Emma had snaked her arm around his waist. “That’s the point…not to set yourself apart or above anyone else. You will be known to God by what’s in here.” She’d placed her hand on the spot above his heart.

  “You’ll still be able to find me in a crowd, right? Like when you wander off on auction day?” He sounded only
half joking.

  “Without a doubt, I will always find you.”

  “All right, then.” He threw the pants over his shoulder and headed off to change. That day, ten pairs of good Levis had gone into the charity bag, and he never went back to English clothes again.

  When Emma walked back outside into the yard, James pulled up with their new standardbred horse properly hitched. “Your carriage awaits,” he said, offering his hand for assistance.

  “A one-seat buggy is too small to be considered a carriage,” she said, settling herself beside him. “Carriages are even bigger than two-seat surries.”

  “I know, but I just like saying it.”

  Fortunately, a three-hour service meant that plenty of church still remained when Emma and James slipped in and found seats in the back. Only a few pairs of eyes turned in their direction, and only the retired local schoolteacher looked peeved. James smiled and tipped his hat to her.

  He still listened to learn-to-speak-German lessons on a small CD player with earphones while he farmed, so it would be a while before James understood everything said during the service. The Amish read a High German Bible but spoke a colloquial Deutsch. Their language must be heard to be learned and could not be studied from any book. The New Order singing was faster and more upbeat than Old Order. Although the service was in German, the ministers occasionally threw in some English.

  The only real difference Emma had noticed was that a members’ meeting followed the service before lunch was eaten. They would discuss upcoming community and outreach projects to hospitals and prisons. Their church was even sending a group to Haiti to rebuild schools destroyed by an earthquake. Because Old Order Amish didn’t do missionary work, Emma hoped she wouldn’t be asked to travel to a foreign land. Cleveland and Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, were far enough away for her tastes.

  Soon the congregation spilled outdoors into the bright May sunshine. Tables had been set up under the elms for a potluck lunch while the hosts dragged out large coolers of soft drinks. Pitchers of lemonade and iced tea were already waiting in the shade.