Thad couldn’t explain it to his father then, or now, but he knew in his heart he wasn’t meant to build cabinets, or fix machinery, or plow the ground. Instead, from the time he’d been able to stand on a chair to see his mother cook, he’d been fascinated with the treats her hands created out of things like sugar, butter, flour, salt, fruit, yeast, eggs. He loved the chemistry of it all.
He squeezed the handlebars of the motorcycle and recalled the first time he’d rolled out his own pie dough, a little uneven and lumpy. But it was his creation, and the feeling he got inside while watching his family taste his first apple pie told him he’d found his calling.
Thad almost slowed the Harley down and turned around right there on the country road to head back to the farm. Perhaps his father had been right. The world had swayed him for a long time with its promise of fun—without consequences. Almost ten years since he’d left. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime.
It was warm enough today he’d likely take off his jacket once he arrived at the farm, then all could see the tattoo covering one forearm, all the way up to his shoulder. The design was a creeping vine swirling ’round his arm as if it had sprung from his skin, with both prickles and a few flowers. If he rotated his arm, you could see a pair of eyes inside the vines under his elbow.
He slowed the bike as he passed a square black box of a buggy. Now, that was something he didn’t miss. Thad inhaled a fresh breath of air. Once you’d ridden a bike like this, you didn’t want to cover the ground in anything else. The sensation of pure, open freedom was sinful.
Sin, sin, sin. It was all a sin—pride in his pie and pastries, enjoying his wonderful Harley machine, going against the family and his district’s ruling concerning his chosen profession, not to mention the education he’d gained.
If he forsook it all, came home, and was baptized, all would be right again.
According to them, maybe.
But he couldn’t sleep at night, forced into a cookie cutter lifestyle making him like everyone else. The same hair, the same clothes, the same—Plainness.
If it was anything Thad couldn’t abide, it was being like everyone else.
“You weren’t made to blend in, Thad Zook,” an old girlfriend had told him. “You were made to stand out.”
He grinned at the memory, not of the old girlfriend, but at her words, and hit the accelerator. He needed some sun, sand, and a place to start again. Or at least some breathing space to figure out what to do next.
2
Betsy sat beside her youngest sister Emma at the long kitchen table, built by their grandfather decades ago. The gas lamp flickered on the center of the wooden surface. The supper dishes had been cleared away. They’d consumed a light meal to follow the heavier one at the wedding earlier in the day.
After the day’s unseasonable heat departed, the outside air held the bite of an early fall chill. Inside the snug home where she’d grown up, Betsy shivered. Darkness fell earlier here than in Florida and she found herself longing to see the sunset over the Gulf of Mexico.
She waited, not patiently, for her father’s answer. A positive outcome held the possibility of changing Betsy’s life forever. A no meant yet another disappointment. Either way, Betsy was set to depart on the next bus headed for Sarasota. Emma had tagged along tonight to the table, promising Betsy her support, although Betsy wanted to hear her father’s news privately.
As usual, Betsy suspected an ulterior motive on Emma’s part. As usual, Betsy was right.
Emma’s skin glowed as she spoke first. “Eli asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”
Betsy gripped her mug, then relaxed her hold slightly. Her fingers might leave imprints on the ceramic handle if she held on much harder.
She knew Emma and Eli Troyer had been courting. This news shouldn’t surprise her. Another wedding, and another one not hers.
Daed nodded from his place at the head of the table. “I knew this was coming. He and I have been talking about house plans. Eli is set to buy some acreage with the help of his family.”
“We must set a date and begin making plans.” Mamm’s face bore a similar shade to Emma’s. “This is happy, happy news.”
Betsy tried not to let her expression show the dismay bubbling up inside her. The effort was more challenging than keeping the lid on a pot of boiling water.
Truly, she had no inclination to think about marriage. Not after all the hoping and praying she’d done about Jacob. Her heart stung and she wondered when the sting would disappear. And now, her youngest sister, ready to wed.
Emma and Eli courted last summer, with their district abuzz at times about the young couple. No wonder Vera Byler had remarked earlier about Betsy being on her way to old maidhood.
Silly. She knew plenty of unmarried women, her Aenti Chelle her most favorite of all of them. Aenti Chelle had just turned thirty-nine and still had never married. There was some sad story behind it all, but Betsy had been too young to remember and she never dared ask her mother, let alone Aenti Chelle, whose parents had left the Amish and joined the Mennonite church when she was a young girl.
“You’re quiet, and solemn, Elizabetts.” Her daed used his own pronunciation of Elizabeth, never calling her Betsy.
“I’m just thinking.” She smiled at her sister. “Emma, I’m happy for you. However I can help you, I will, even though I’ll be in Florida.” She glanced at Daed.
He nodded. “I know you want to find out the family’s decision about helping you in your, ah, venture.”
“Did everyone see the paperwork from the real estate agent? I have some savings of my own, like I told you.” She’d asked her family to help her, to risk much, on her idea. Not just her father, but her oncles and daadi, they’d all need to help finance her dream. She needed to know soon, because the real estate agent was awaiting her word upon her return to Florida.
“Yes, everyone has had the chance to look at the terms of the lease.” Daed fell silent.
Had the announcement of Emma’s engagement taken him aback? Not judging by his calm reaction moments ago. His silence, though, troubled her.
What was so hard about leasing a building and opening a bakery? She tried not to nibble on her lip, and failed. She knew better than to pester her daed with questions. He’d retreat like a turtle into his shell. It had taken her years to understand his reaction, but the understanding didn’t make the job of keeping her mouth closed any easier.
Tonight, however, she succeeded. Instead of opening her mouth to ask questions, she instead raised her coffee mug to her mouth and took a sip. She didn’t make a face at the tepid brew.
“It’s—it’s in an ideal location, nestled on a side street just off Bahia Vista.” She sounded like a child.
“Your oncle reminded me of Yoder’s restaurant nearby, and Der Dutchman down the street.”
Betsy nodded. “I know. Der Dutchman is large and serves all kinds of food, and Yoder’s specialty for dessert is their pie. I make pie, but I also plan to serve other desserts, pastries, and doughnuts, too. And fried pies.”
“Well, I don’t know why you just don’t open a shop here,” said Emma. Mamm would probably say the same thing. They wanted her here, all of them. Part of her almost wanted to stay, too.
“I—I like Pinecraft. I can always come to Ohio for a visit, on the Pioneer Trails bus, or you can come visit me, and Aenti Chelle too. She said I can live with her as long as I want to.” Betsy glanced at her father, who still said nothing.
He rose, then stepped over to the corner of the counter and picked up a folder. It was the same folder where she’d put the lease agreement, along with all her written ideas and recipes for the shop, plus a few sketches of ideas for the inside of the store. She wasn’t much of an artist, but wanted the family elders to see what she had in mind.
“Here,” Daed said as he sat down, pushing the folder in her direction. “You made a good business plan.”
“You think it’s good?”
“Yes, I do.” Daed glanced
at Mamm, who said nothing, but looked down at her folded hands. “Compared to our area in Ohio, we think you will be able to have a successful business among the Englisch.”
Her heart leapt. “Do you mean—”
“My brothers and I, and your daadi, are willing to contribute the money to help you begin your shop.”
“Oh, Daed.” Her grin stretched her cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt such joy.
He held up one finger. “There’s just one, small thing.”
“Small thing?”
“We think you need age and experience to be behind you.”
Age? Experience?
“What do you mean?” They didn’t think she could do it, that’s what.
“Your Aenti Sarah has sent word she’s willing to help you.”
“Help?” She took another sip of the lukewarm coffee on reflex, then set the cup down.
“We’re willing to help fund this venture. However, we think it wise you have someone to help protect the family’s interests.”
“Protect the family’s interests?” She sounded like one of those parrots she’d seen one winter, when visiting a zoo in Florida. They repeated and squawked out words without comprehending. Oh, but she comprehended all right.
They didn’t trust her. Yes, it was thousands of dollars she needed. But she was careful with money. Hadn’t she shown them how, during her time in Florida, working at Aenti Chelle’s cleaning business? She’d saved a lot of money on her own during the past ten months or so.
“You’re going to have a wonderful bakery, Betsy,” Emma said. “I can’t wait to see it when it’s finished.”
Betsy nodded. “Thank you. Daed, please thank my oncles, and daadi too.” They were investing a tremendous amount of money in her business venture.
But Aenti Sarah? Yes, her pies and desserts had made many a mouth water for decades. She was daadi’s only sibling left and owned a home in Pinecraft smelling like liniment and antiseptic cleaner inside. Betsy had only been there a few times in her life, but had left with a raging headache each visit. The woman was prone to giving advice for no less than fifteen minutes at a time without taking a breath—even when said advice wasn’t asked for.
Lord, this is an answer to my prayers, but I’m going to need strength with Aenti Sarah around.
*
Thad yawned and rotated his head from side to side, feeling like a bobblehead under his helmet. With the change in landscape, thunderclouds had rolled in as he passed through the Blue Ridge Mountains, the highway carrying him ever closer to Florida. He’d been delayed two days in Kentucky, getting a replacement part for his bike, and he gladly let the Harley Sportster eat up the miles to make up for lost time.
At dusk, with flashes of lightning and claps of thunder, the heavens opened. The rain and spray of passing vehicles doused Thad until his clothes clung to him. Thad decelerated, spotting a sign for a covered rest stop off the highway.
He found a parking spot close to a covered picnic pavilion and took shelter underneath its roof, all the while watching the rain pour down and vehicles pass on the highway nearby. A dark sedan had also exited the highway behind him. It now sat parked in the last space, closest to the highway.
Nah, he wasn’t being followed. This was a highway and people took shelter at rest stops all the time. Often, if he ever took to the road on a rare day off to himself, he’d encounter the same folks mile after mile. Still, he shivered inside his wet leathers. He sank onto the stone picnic table bench. He tugged his helmet off and set it on the table.
But just in case, he’d wait until the downpour let up, then keep moving on. He needed to find a place to get a cup of coffee and a room for the night. Part of him knew it had been foolish to start out and expect to make it all the way to Florida nonstop. The weather caught up with him after all.
His cell phone buzzed. A miracle, with the way his bag was soaked. But inside, sandwiched between a few changes of clothing, maybe not. He pulled it out of the bag and looked at the number.
Stacie. He’d ended things almost a month ago, for reasons not quite clear to even him. He almost pushed the button to stop the buzzing, then thought better of it.
“Thad here.”
“Thank goodness you answered. Finally.”
Hello to you, too. But her tone made him pause. This wasn’t the I’m-about-to-tell-you-what’s-good-for-you tone. This tone had a different quality.
“Finally? Look, now’s not a good time for me to talk.”
“I can’t talk long. In fact, I’m probably getting a new number.”
“Well, good.” A truck’s horn blared, the sound trailing off as the vehicle disappeared into the night.
“I think you should, too.”
“Why?”
“Someone came by my office today, asking about you.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I was home sick.”
His pulse roared in his ears. He’d already given his statement to the police, and none of them had said anything about him not leaving town. But it didn’t mean things would be safer for him if he stayed in Ohio. He couldn’t call the shots. This way was better. He’d been raised to respect the authorities, yet still feared them. Power wielded by the wrong people, even for the right reasons, well, he knew what it could do to even the most well-intentioned.
“Did they leave a name or a number, or something?” If it was a cop, they’d leave a card. Or so it went on TV. Now, the men his former boss was associated with, it was rumored they left calling cards of a different, more physical kind. Even Mitch couldn’t explain away the black eye he had one morning.
“No. Meg said there were two of them, in nice suits. But look, I figured I’d give you a heads-up. What’s going on? Where are you?”
“I’m not in Columbus anymore.” He almost told her about quitting his job, but decided against it.
“I’ve gotta go. Someone’s at the door.” The phone went silent.
He stared at it for a second, then turned it off and put it back into the mostly dry center of the duffel bag’s contents. Get a new number, huh? Maybe his family had it right, shunning phones. If someone needed to see you, well, they could just stop by the house. Although, come to think of it, he’d heard a rumor about some of the family having cell phones now, discreetly hidden until the time of need.
The rain continued outside the shelter. Thad imagined palm trees, sunny skies, digging his feet in the sand. If he had to burn any bridges, he might as well enjoy the scenery and the anonymity of Pinecraft. The mainstream world had a hard time wrapping their minds around the idea of Amish and Mennonites at the beach. Some of his kind didn’t talk much about what they said or did in Pinecraft, other than who they saw. If someone used a telephone, watched a bit of television, used electricity, it wasn’t bragged about or discussed.
He remembered the sadness he felt as a child, leaving his daadi and mammi’s house at the end of a winter vacation. Back to the cold, the constricting rules.
Thad leaned on his backpack, its softness lending some contrasting comfort to the cold stone bench and wooden tabletop under the shelter. His eyelids drooped.
He roused himself before he drifted off altogether, then stood. Time to hit the road, get coffee, and see if a warm spot for the night would present itself. As he swung his leg across the motorcycle seat, he glanced back at the sedan. A lone driver was silhouetted in the headlights of another vehicle exiting the highway.
The vehicle’s lights clicked on, its engine revved to life, and the driver put the car in gear and headed past Thad in the direction of the highway ramp.
Good. Thad accelerated—carefully—and trailed the car onto the highway. The car sped off into the rain.
3
They crossed the Florida state line Thursday morning in the Pioneer Trails bus. Somewhere in its underbelly was a pair of suitcases crammed with the remainder of Betsy’s belongings and a few items her mother gave her especially for her bakery kitchen. They’d
both shed tears when she boarded the bus, and she watched out the window as her parents grew smaller and the distance between them increased.
Leaving Ohio by bus with Aenti Chelle had cut an invisible cord between her and life in Ohio. More than once she’d prayed, Gotte, what have I done? A cashier’s check was tucked safely in an envelope pinned inside the waist of her dress. The amount made her heart pound and her stomach curl. They’d notified Aenti Sarah that Betsy was returning with the family’s blessing. And, their money.
She shifted on her pillow and pulled the small quilt closer to her lap. Aenti Chelle sat across the aisle, her head bobbing gently in time with the sway of the bus.
Betsy didn’t know how Aenti Chelle did it, sleeping peacefully as they careened along the highway, faster than any horse and buggy could take them. The first time she’d ridden the bus as an adult, she’d fought to conceal her fear as the landscape zipped by faster and faster while the vehicle picked up speed. Why she’d ever enjoyed the trip as a child, she never understood.
The murmurs and chatter grew louder as every mile they covered brought them closer to Sarasota, palm trees, sun, and sand. The peaceful side streets would be filled with bicycles and vacationers in a little more than a month. Betsy allowed herself a smile at the idea.
“… gave her thousands of dollars, I heard,” she heard a female voice say.
“You don’t say?” another voice echoed.
“And her not married. It’s not right. But it’s their money, not ours.”
“Whatever is it for?”
“A pie shop.” The woman clicked her tongue.
“But we can make our own pies. I know the Englisch buy our pies, but a shop would be out of place in our village. And there are the other restaurants on Bahia Vista.”
“Like I said, it’s not our family’s money being shelled out to a young girl.”
“Indulgence, bad business.” More tongue clicking.
“Well, I might just try one. When I’m on vacation, I sometimes want a break from baking,” a third voice interjected.
Betsy sat up straighter on the cushioned seat, and grasped the armrest. She half-stood. Maybe she could catch a glimpse of the speakers. Or perhaps it wasn’t the best idea. She shouldn’t have expected everyone to approve of her idea of a shop, or the idea of someone her age running one. It sounded as though she did have one potential customer.
A Path Made Plain Page 2
