“So I’ve heard.” The men were kind and well-intentioned, but right now Thad’s body cried out for a shower, a couple pain relievers, and some quiet. Not a theology discussion. And how did they know he used to be Amish, anyway? He could be just some Joe off the street.
“I once had many questions, and I found answers,” said the shortest man. “I traveled the world far and wide, and I could find no peace for my soul, until I found rest in the Lord, in hard work much like you’re doing, and the refuge of community.”
“I’m … I’m happy for you, then.” Thad glanced over his shoulder again. “Well, uh, thank you for stopping by today.”
“Of course,” Long-beard said. “We’ll be praying for you, young man.”
“Thanks.” Sort of.
Thad waved as the men continued along the street, and then he met Henry at the van. “Anything else?”
Henry shook his head. “This will do it for today. I see Peter, James, and John talked to you.”
“Peter, James, and John?”
“They’re three brothers from Indiana who spend the winter here. This year, they’re here early.” Henry shut the door to the bakery, and locked it. He shot Thad a look. “So, they try to convert you?”
“Uh, sort of.” Thad didn’t flinch under Henry’s scrutiny. He had nothing to hide.
“They backed off pretty quickly.”
“Maybe they realized I was being polite, but not interested.”
Henry opened the driver’s door to the van, and climbed behind the wheel. Thad took his place in the passenger seat. “Not interested, huh?”
“No, not really. If I was interested, I would’ve ‘come back,’ as they put it, a long time ago.”
They pulled away from the front of the shop and headed toward Mammi’s haus. Henry slowed as he drove around an Old Order couple on a pair of three-wheeled bicycles.
“You’re not in any trouble or anything, are you?”
“Like with the law? Of course not.” Thad inhaled the fresh air as they drove along. The days had grown shorter since he’d come to Florida, night falling faster. He exhaled sharply.
“I’m sure your mammi asked you, too.”
“She did. But no, not in trouble with the law. The restaurant I worked at in Columbus closed, temporarily. I’m not quite sure when it’s reopening, so …” He gestured feebly.
“So, why not stay in Ohio and see what else you can do? I watch Food TV. I know chefs can work in different restaurants. Columbus is called the ‘new foodie mecca.’ So why here?”
Thad tried not to squirm in his seat. “Look, I just needed a change. For now. I don’t plan on making this a permanent stay.”
“Okay, okay, fair enough. I won’t pry anymore.” Henry shook his head. “Forget I asked. I just don’t want anyone to show up and make trouble. Some people think they can hide out among the Plain people, and get an easy ride of it.”
“I’m not doing that. I could have gone anywhere else—”
“Yes, you could have. But why here?” Henry stopped at a stop sign. “Okay, I won’t say anything more. You ever want to talk, I’m all ears. If I can help, I will.”
“Thank you.” Thad felt his hackles lowering. He took another deep breath. “So, you really watch Food TV?”
“Yup. I like to watch the recipes.”
“But do you cook?”
“Naw, I only like to imagine how it all tastes.”
At that, Thad had to laugh.
10
Betsy didn’t know what made her more giddy, the sight of her new floor or the fact she’d seen Thaddeus Zook every day while he installed the new floor with Henry. The younger man had no clue about what he was doing, following Henry’s instructions and sometimes having to redo a tile.
Thaddeus intrigued her, the way he quietly attacked the job in front of him, despite his lack of experience. While she and Winston lurked in the background and she studied paint swatches in a variety of lighting, every so often he’d glance her way.
Yesterday, Thaddeus had spread the tile adhesive on the prepared sub-floor with the flourish of a pastry chef icing a cake, then set the tile in place. He eyed the gap between its neighboring tile and put the spacer between them. Henry showed him how to use the wet saw, and thankfully, Thaddeus had a good eye for measuring, like any good baker.
“Oh, Henry … Thaddeus … it’s beautiful.” She stood in the kitchen doorway, surveying the floor while the grout cured. Not long now, and the appliances would arrive. Today, supposedly, so she found herself, not unwillingly, waiting at the bakery for the delivery truck.
Did she see a red flush creep into Thaddeus’s neck? She tore her gaze from him and Henry, and studied the floor. By Monday, one week before grand opening, the sign company would deliver the brand-new sign Aenti Chelle had helped her draw.
Gotte, this is really going to happen.
Daed had sounded pleased with the progress the last time she’d spoken to him on the telephone. Despite the fact the business he ran had telephones, he still refused to let one into the house. He never asked about the phone she used to call him with, and she never volunteered it was a cell phone she kept tucked inside her tote bag.
“Very gut,” he’d said.
Yes, it was all very good. She wasn’t so presumptuous to know how God felt when He looked at His creation and deemed it all “good,” but looking at her bakery, maybe it felt a little similar. Her dream, now within reach, would come true in one more week.
A large truck came roaring from the direction of Bahia Vista, with the name of an appliance company covering the side of the trailer. Her stove and oven, refrigerator and large freezer.
The vehicle ground to a halt, belching smoke from its tailpipe. The smell made Betsy grimace, as the delivery driver opened the door and climbed down. He approached the building and carried a clipboard.
“Delivery for Yoder?” The man clomped past her in work boots, like she was invisible.
“I’m Betsy Yoder.” She followed him into the bakery.
“She’s right behind you,” Henry said from the kitchen entryway. Thaddeus was on his knees, applying grout to the tile in the corner. He paused, looking up at them as they stood in the entryway.
“Oh.” The man turned around. “See, Honey, this is your order form.” He spoke slowly to her, as if she were slow of mind. She had a second cousin who was born slow and was now almost fifty years old, but still had the mind of a child. This was exactly how the deliveryman spoke to her now.
“Thank you.” She received the clipboard from him. “There should be the stove, and separate freezer and refrigerator.”
“Right, right.” He extended a pen in her direction. “Sign please.”
“May I see them before I sign?” Her daed had warned her of making sure everything she ordered was accurate.
He snatched the clipboard from her. “Whatever.”
Thaddeus stood, hands on his hips. The skin of his neck now flamed red, probably the same shade as her face right now. Why was the delivery man treating her so rudely? She had treated him only with respect. A low rumble sounded in Winston’s throat.
“Hush, Winston, or I’ll put you in the bathroom until he’s gone.” Betsy followed the deliveryman into the sunlight.
He opened the rear of the truck, sliding a large single door up into the roof of the trailer. Then he tossed the clipboard onto the bed of the truck so he could tug a ramp down to the street level.
Within fifteen minutes, they’d unloaded the refrigerator, freezer, and the stove.
Immediately, Betsy knew the stove now sitting on the sales floor of the bakery wasn’t the correct model. She’d ordered the expanded stove, with a double oven and eight burners. This had a single oven with a warming compartment on the side, and only six burners.
“Um, sir, I don’t believe this is the correct stove. The one I ordered has eight burners, this one has six.”
He glanced at the clipboard in his hand, and the stove. “Just sign it. I’v
e made the delivery.”
“But this isn’t the right stove.” She remembered seeing both of them when she’d been to the restaurant supply store in Tampa, and she and the aentis had all agreed the double oven would work best.
“Look, I don’t have time for this.”
In a flash, Thaddeus sprang between her and the deliveryman. “No, you look. She ordered the stove she wanted, and it’s your job to deliver it to her. If it’s not the right one, it’s not the right one.” He poked the man in the chest with his index finger.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Don’t harass the lady and treat her like an imbecile.”
“Now, you two, let’s calm down,” Henry was saying.
“Shut up, old man.” The deliveryman took a step back just as Thad took a step forward. “What, you coming after me?”
“Stop it, Thaddeus,” Betsy heard herself saying. “Just stop. Please.”
“Aw, you people.” The deliveryman waved them off. “C’mon Stu, let’s get the stinkin’ stove back on the truck.”
Betsy’s knees shook beneath her skirt. She’d never seen anything like this, not firsthand. She wrapped her arms around her waist. Why some people were rude, she never understood. But this man—he’d been outright hateful, treating her, yes, like an “imbecile,” as Thaddeus had said.
“Sign for the two items I did deliver.” The deliveryman shoved the clipboard in her direction while Thaddeus stood close by, looking like a thundercloud ready to burst.
“All right.” Her hand shook as she grasped the pen. “I’ll call the store and let them know they put the wrong item on the truck.”
“Whatever.” He stomped off, climbed back in the truck, and disappeared in a cloud of fumes.
Betsy sank against the refrigerator. “What was wrong with him?”
“He’s a pig, is what he is.” Thaddeus glared out the door, then he turned to her. “Are you okay?”
He reached for her arms, his touch so gentle, when moments before he’d looked like a dog defending its brood.
She nodded, biting back the hot tears stinging her eyes. “I’d heard about people like him. They think because I’m female and I’m Amish, I’m stupid. Not even any of my Englisch housecleaning clients have ever treated me in such a way.”
“Well, you’re not stupid.”
A tear escaped and before she could swipe it away, Thaddeus reached up and used his thumb to brush it away. The simple gesture touched something inside her, something Jacob never had. The idea of someone like Thaddeus paying such close attention to her, to her feelings, supporting her dream—even though he was a paid worker—well, she’d never imagined it.
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard and brushed the remainder of the tears away. “But please, don’t ever do it again.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t fight the man, or anyone like him. It’s not right.”
Thaddeus took a half step back. “I can’t promise you. No, I don’t like to fight. I’d rather not. But I’m not going to stand by while you, or any woman, is insulted.”
Henry cleared his throat. “I understand the feeling, Thaddeus. But like Betsy says, you’re better off not fighting. I won’t tolerate it with my workers. I have a name to uphold around here, and I won’t do it, even if the other fellow might deserve any knocks he gets.”
“Ah, okay then.” Thaddeus headed toward the door. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a break. I’ll be back. Give me about thirty minutes and I’ll help you set these up.”
He left them, Betsy not knowing what to say. Instead, she sighed. “I should call the supply store.”
“Be careful, Betsy.”
She nodded, not quite knowing what Henry meant, but thinking she knew what he meant. Especially by the way her heart raced when Thaddeus touched her.
“Hellooo,” Aenti Sarah’s voice rang out, “Is anyone ready for a snack? And why is Thaddeus Zook storming down the street?”
*
It took a lot for Thaddeus to blow a gasket, but when scumbags like the delivery driver acted like they did, he couldn’t help himself. Any pacifist Anabaptist notions were forgotten. It was one of the other things he wished people in the Ordnung understood. Sometimes, there came a time to fight for something. Not often, but he wanted to keep the option on the table.
No, he wasn’t a big or overly muscular man, but he had enough wiry strength in his limbs, especially when he’d been working out at the gym. He’d long ago resolved to never become a squishy pastry chef.
He followed the street around until he hit Fry, then hooked a right and took the street until he arrived at Pinecraft Park. The smack of shuffleboard paddles striking pucks rang out through the neighborhood.
A few diehard players must be brushing up on their skills before the winter crowds descended and the park became a round-the-clock circus of activities.
Thad’s anger burned off the closer he got to the edge of Phillippi Creek. Now this was a Pinecraft memory of happier days of childhood, throwing rocks in the water, watching the fish jump, and asking dozens of questions to fishermen trying to reel in a catch. Best of all, they might catch a glimpse of an alligator, which by the time they got home to Ohio, the telling of its size might have grown to dinosaur proportions.
A heron stood on its long legs on the opposite bank of the creek. It spread its wide wings and lifted off the ground, soaring away over the city.
Not many more days and the park would fill up, the older men playing bocce, men and women honing their shuffleboard skills, the youth playing volleyball, young parents chasing toddlers through the playground equipment.
For now, though, the park was how he liked it best, empty except for the two shuffleboard players, an old Englisch woman wearing a large floppy hat fishing at the creek, and a man, sitting alone at one of the picnic tables under the long pavilion in part of the park.
And Thad.
The ashes of his anger blew away on the light breeze. Thad closed his eyes and let the sun soak in.
Don’t fight the man, or anyone like him. It’s not right, Betsy had said.
Even Henry had tried to calm them both down.
They’d been right. If he’d landed a punch and the police were called, the deliveryman could have pressed charges. He would cause fresh shame to his family in Ohio, should they learn of the news, and shame his family and friends here. His rash actions would have served no purpose, aside from feeling a sense of justice at hurting a man.
Clearly, though, Betsy had been humiliated and belittled. Like most of her Amish contemporaries, she’d finished her formal academic studies at eighth grade and had gone no further in the classroom. However, it didn’t mean she lacked in life experience or common sense.
He’d checked into her family back home—the same Yoders who owned and operated Yoder Woodworking & Custom Cabinets—and they had a mini-empire. No relation to the Yoders who owned the Sarasota restaurant, market, and gift shop, though.
Even if he were Amish again, there was little chance her father would have found him suitable for one of his daughters. A pastry chef for a son-in-law.
Someone like Betsy, though, reminded him of all he’d left behind. All the good parts, anyway.
He found a piece of shell and flung it into the rippling creek. As the waters closed over the shell, Thad determined never again to do something to bring such a look of hurt and distress to Betsy’s face.
Thad turned his back on the creek and decided to cut through the pavilion on the way back to the shop. He’d left Henry in the lurch and they had to check the grout on the floor before moving the appliances into the kitchen.
“How’s it going?” The man sitting at the picnic table nodded at him. A five o’ clock shadow darkened his face. A canvas duffel bag, overflowing with clothing, sat on the concrete slab floor of the pavilion. Another bag, this one of clear plastic and stuffed with aluminum cans, rested beside the other bag.
“I can’t complain,” Thad replied.
<
br /> “You got any smokes on ya?”
Thad tapped his pocket. “No, sir. I’m afraid I don’t. I quit a while back.”
“Good for you.” The man glanced toward the creek, then back at Thad. “The stuff’s bad for ya. I’ve tried to cut back, but it’s not easy. Cans are slim pickings today. You got a buck or two to spare?”
Thad did have a few dollars, so he gave them to the man. He didn’t do things like this in Columbus, but here, even in a much smaller city like Sarasota, he realized that people still found themselves in hard times.
“Thanks. God bless you, young man.”
“You’re welcome.” He nodded at the man and headed back to the bakery. He’d been gone less than twenty minutes, and had promised to be back within thirty. Funny thing, he never remembered there being homeless people drifting through the park years ago. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed.
Children lived in blissful ignorance of many things until they grew up. He’d realized that all too well once he’d left home and, going against his father’s wishes, he’d earned his GED. To go to culinary school then was the ultimate slap against the traditional roles of the Amish men.
You were made to stand out. Stacie had been the one who told him this; now he remembered. He wondered about trying to call her, to see if her condition was any better. He prayed so.
*
Pete’s cooler was stocked with plenty of cheese, and the back seat of his car held shopping bags of preserves, pot holders, handmade soap, wooden birdhouses, and one special bag held a quilt.
Ginger, his girlfriend, agreed happily when he proposed taking a weekend trip through the Amish country in the Millersburg area. Of course, she wanted to stop at every farm with a sign posted with items for sale. He cut her off at stopping at a furniture store.
At one farm, however, he did discover a Zook family—several generations—in one row of farms. At a simple roadside stand, selling the last few jars of preserves, he asked about Thaddeus.
“I’m looking for a family named Zook.” He posed the question to a salt-and-pepper-haired matriarch who glanced at her husband.
“We are the Zooks,” the husband said, his voice having an almost singsong tone. “Why do you ask?”
A Path Made Plain Page 9
