A Path Made Plain

by Lynette Sowell

  *

  Thad glanced at his phone, at not quite six in the morning. He’d been at the bakery since four, doing prep and making pie crusts. Today, instead of leaving when Betsy arrived with her grim shadow, Vera Byler, in a few moments, Thad would stay.

  The tiramisu pie waited for Betsy’s arrival in the stainless refrigerator. Thad had sampled each of the pie’s components and smiled with each tasting. The dessert would make people’s taste buds sing and he couldn’t wait to see Betsy’s face when she tried it.

  Today, Friday, he hoped she wouldn’t try to pay him again. He never asked for a paycheck and hadn’t expected one. Betsy’s venture had found a tentative footing at last. A rumor had drifted his way via Mammi—a television station would be coming to film at the bakery. Only, it wasn’t a rumor.

  He considered it a marketing gift and thanked Gotte for the provision and good timing for Betsy. Prayer. The idea made him give a sad smile. He knew there were plenty of churches all over Sarasota and plenty of them claimed to have the right path to follow. Their method of worship was the preferred method and the most correct. Even the Englisch couldn’t get it sorted out, it seemed to him.

  He liked Henry’s peace and the easy way he spoke about Gotte. Or, God, rather. So much of what he’d known growing up in his Order was about appearances, looking right, acting right, and praying to God for mercy. He did believe in God, but had given up on the idea of religion in general several years after leaving his family. What good did it do anyone?

  Enough of those thoughts. Today was Friday, and Thad had decided to investigate the job opportunities here in Sarasota. He’d sat around long enough and the time for lying low was over. Nobody had been after him, after all. Other than the people showing up, asking for him at Stacie’s place, and Pete Stucenski looking for him to give him his old job back, they were all.

  Thad didn’t think working at Dish and Spoon again was a wise move. The place would never be the same after Mitchell’s death. Even after the news died down, people would still say, “Oh, this is the restaurant where the owner was murdered.” People wouldn’t come primarily for the food, but for where a murder took place. Or the opposite could happen. Sales would slack off and the place would have to close for good. Either way, he didn’t want to be professionally attached to it.

  The back door opened and Betsy walked in. “Good morning.” It seemed the sun’s glow increased behind her as it streamed through the doorway.

  She stopped just inside the doorway, the sunlight framing her from behind as she pulled a clean apron from the nearby hook. “I have some great news for the bakery—have you heard?” She smiled at him, her face fresh and clean, her eyes sparkling. He could barely make out the freckles by her nose. The first face besides Mammi’s he saw every morning, before having a few moments of conversation.

  So beautiful. So pure.

  And he loved her.

  The realization slammed into Thad and made him grasp the stainless work table with both hands. Funny how the most mundane, ordinary moment could freeze.

  But he couldn’t love her. It was the worst time, and he wasn’t the best man for her.

  Betsy kept talking as she tied the apron, glancing over her shoulder. “… and Mrs. Byler should be here any minute now. I’m planning to call the station first thing at eight.”

  Thad nodded. “Going on the Sarasota morning show. Awesome.” His brain still spun inside his head as his heart hit overdrive.

  “Now,” she continued, placing her hands on her hips, “If you could get the coffee started—”

  “I did.” He gestured with his head toward the sales floor. “Already had a cup.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, did you bring the tiramisu pie? I can’t wait to taste it.” Betsy scanned the room.

  “It’s right over here, in the refrigerator.” Thad placed a cloth over the bowl of doughnut mix he’d been preparing. What was he thinking? Anything between them would be impossible, as things stood right now. He didn’t see it changing.

  “I’ll get some plates and forks. Because you need to eat a slice, too.”

  Insistent, wasn’t she? He smiled at her confidence. Maybe the confidence came from her height, which didn’t bother him as they stood almost eye to eye. She grinned and set the plates and forks down between them, then pulled a pie server from the utensil caddy.

  “I’ll have you know, I didn’t use a single electric appliance to make this, not including Mammi’s oven where I baked the pie crust ahead of time.” He sliced through the pie and served up two slices. It was a tad early in the day for sweets, but he couldn’t turn her down, not with the shine in her eyes.

  “So the Plain and simple ways you haven’t forgotten?”

  He glanced at her as she spoke. Yes, she was teasing. He slid a plate in her direction. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

  She slipped the fork through the whipped cream topping, through the filling, then into the crust and pulled off a piece large enough for a generous bite. Then she picked up the fork and closed her lips around the bite of pie.

  He watched her chew as he sampled his bite. Her eyes drifted shut. “Um, delicious,” she said after she swallowed. “Sweet, but not too sweet, and the coffee flavor is something different. People will love this. Matter o’ fact, I’m going to put this pie out for free samples this morning.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I’ll make another one tonight, if customers like it.”

  “Better yet, give me the recipe, if you don’t mind sharing, and I’ll try making it, too.” Betsy took another bite, looking thoughtful. “Thaddeus, may I ask you a question?”

  “You just did.” He couldn’t resist. He also loved the way his full name sounded when she said it.

  “Why did you leave the Order? I know it was to continue your studies and go to culinary school, because your daed didn’t want you to be a chef. But why?”

  Sure. Smile at him and use those sparkling eyes to hit a guy in his weak spot. “Have you ever seen things from an outsider’s perspective? Probably not. I know you probably couldn’t imagine it. But I’d realized that being Plain means everyone being the same. And I’m not. The last thing in the world I want is to be like everyone else.”

  He tried to keep his voice even, but she’d asked him for a real answer, and she would get one. If anything, it would help him hold her at arm’s length and if she felt any spark between them, his words would extinguish it.

  “I got to the point, I couldn’t breathe anymore, every action, every look, being weighed and measured. I can’t fit into their box. Because of it, and what I wanted to do, I left. I don’t like the idea of being like everyone else. All the sameness, everywhere I look.”

  “Thaddeus Zook, you would never be the same as anyone else, never. You stand out in a crowd no matter where you are, and it’s not because of your clothing.” Betsy’s face flushed. “You should give your family a chance.”

  “My family, except for Mammi, has hardly had anything to do with me since. I still don’t know how we got through Thanksgiving.” The admission tasted bitter to him.

  “But people watch over each other only because they love each other. I know your family must love you and want to know your soul is safe.”

  “My soul can be safe in the Englisch world, too. There are people—people out there—who love God and worship Him, too. And they’re not Plain. Sometimes it seems the Plain people think they’re better than other people because they’re Plain. Being proud of being humble. Doesn’t it mean it’s for nothing in the long run, the false humility?” He shook his head and stared at his slice of pie, missing a bite. The bitterness of the coffee took the edge from the sweet. He tasted the bitterness the most right now.

  “I see. All the Amish, all the Plain people aren’t like that. It’s not all, or none.” Betsy shook her head. “So, your life in the Englisch world. Were you able to love God and worship Him out there, too, like the others?”

  He didn’t say anything more. No, he hadn’t worshiped in
the Englisch world. He didn’t buy the idea that the Plain people had the market on faith. He’d met plenty of people who weren’t Plain and yet were good people, Christian even. Instead, his stance was more in the middle. Keeping untangled from both sides had allowed him to hold on to a bit of peace. And no one was yammering at him about rules. Yet loneliness had been a bitter price to pay.

  “Henry Hostetler and I were talking last night, and he said something that made me think. He told me, ‘You need to decide for yourself what you believe.’ That’s just it, Betsy. I don’t know.”

  “Well.” She took another taste of pie, then set down her plate and fork. “I think you need to take some time, while you’re here in Pinecraft, and decide. It would be a shame to—to not be all God intends for you to be.”

  Right now, though, the idea of deep soul-searching stung his soul. “Since I’ve met you, Elizabeth Yoder, you’ve made me want to do so. But it’s not easy.”

  “I have? How?” Her eyes widened.

  If he tried to explain why, he’d fumble the words. “You make me almost want to be Plain again.”

  He looked down at their hands, two of them clasped together. She squeezed his hands, a gentle strength against his palm. He gave a soft tug and then she was in his arms.

  “Betsy …”

  She closed her eyes and he lowered his head so his lips met hers. They were as sweet as he’d imagined, probably with the help of the pie and whipped cream. She showed no resistance as her arms crept around him. He’d kissed a good number of women over the years, but this kiss held the longing of innocence.

  If only he could let himself return to what he knew. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t. He didn’t think so. He wasn’t sure. And it was a wishy-washy answer at best.

  They stepped back at the same moment, Betsy’s cheeks flushed. She glanced his way.

  “I … I almost wish we could do that again,” she said.

  “We shouldn’t.” He frowned. “And I wish we hadn’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Thaddeus—”

  “I need to go. I’ll be back early tomorrow, and I’ll have the recipe written out for you. And don’t worry, I’m still checking on Daniel Troyer.”

  “All right.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Good morning.” Vera Byler’s voice trumpeted through the open back door, and she entered the kitchen. “What have we here?” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked from Thad to Betsy, then to the pie.

  “A tiramisu pie sampling. Help yourself to a slice, please, and let Betsy know what you think of it,” Thad said as he turned away from Betsy. “Have a good day, ladies.”

  He had checked online last evening and saw a job opening at a Sarasota restaurant in Siesta Key, advertising for a part-time pastry chef and prep cook. He lost no time in e-mailing them his credentials and contact information. If it wasn’t Providence, he didn’t know what was.

  20

  Thaddeus had left her, gaping after him, while Mrs. Byler descended on the tiramisu pie and finished off a generous slice.

  After she’d eaten it all, short of licking the plate clean, she proclaimed, “Well, I’ve had better.”

  Betsy said nothing in response other than to state Thaddeus had prepared it and it was a no-bake pie. Then she straightened her spine.

  “Today I’m going to give samples to customers and see how they like it.” Betsy went to the sink and washed her hands. Time to get busy, not keep remembering the kiss over and over and over. It counted as her first kiss and the idea of it made her breath catch. Thaddeus’s words following snapped her to reality along with the job at hand.

  Yes, a mistake. Yes, a bad idea. They both were to blame for the kiss. But, she realized as she dried her hands on a clean towel and went back to the pie plate, she could see how it appealed to other young women, the idea of a forbidden man sweeping her away to a life of adventure.

  No adventure, no matter how appealing, would be worth giving up her bakery, leaving her family. Uprooting herself alone and planting in Sarasota had been adventure enough. Straightaway at eight o’clock, during a lull in customers, she left Mrs. Byler on the sales floor. She stepped out the back door and dialed the phone number to the news station to accept their offer. Television. Her bakery would be on television.

  Mrs. Byler hadn’t mentioned it so far this morning, although she’d been unusually quiet after coming in and seeing Betsy with Thaddeus, then sampling the pie. A wave of horror rolled over Betsy. Had Mrs. Byler walked in on their kiss? She didn’t think so at the time. The two of them had been talking when Mrs. Byler stepped through the back door.

  If Mrs. Byler had begun talking about the television people visiting the bakery, what would she say about Betsy and Thaddeus?

  “WSAS, Susan Cantrell.”

  “This is Elizabeth Yoder, with Pinecraft Pies and Pastry.” Just then, Winston decided to pitch a fit from the security of his pen.

  “Miss Yoder, thank you for calling. So, have you decided?”

  A lump lodged itself in Betsy’s throat. “Yes, you’re welcome to come film your show at the bakery. There are certain things, and people, you cannot film. I hope you understand. Winston, be quiet. I’m sorry, my dog is noisy.”

  “No problem. So you have a dog, too? Interesting.”

  “Yes, he’s a dachshund. So, you’re going to come on Wednesday?”

  “Right. And I understand about being respectful when recording. I’ve been reading up on the Amish.”

  Betsy wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “All right. You said you would come Wednesday morning and spend the day, or part of it?”

  “Right. What I’ll do is stop by Monday and leave some release forms with you to sign. Also, anyone we film, whether they’re a customer or whoever, we’ll need a release form or a waiver. What we’ll do is fade out some of the faces if there are those who don’t want to be on film.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll watch for you on Monday, then.”

  “Terrific.”

  They spoke for a few more moments about pies, and how long Betsy had lived in Sarasota full-time. Betsy ended the call. Susan Cantrell had a kind warmth about her, although enthusiasm like hers could wear one out in short order.

  She stepped back into the kitchen and heard voices in the front of the bakery. A woman’s voice filtered under the crack beneath the swinging door and the tile floor.

  “I’m here, doing a favor for the family,” Mrs. Byler was saying. “Truthfully,” and here her voice lowered, “since it’s just you and me in the room, her pie is nothing to write home about, as they say. But she’s the one with family who can afford to fund this idea. I wish I had people like that. Young people just don’t know how to work like some of us older ones. You know I’m not one to complain or be envious, but it doesn’t seem fair my pies aren’t more in the forefront.”

  Another female voice, one Betsy couldn’t quite place, responded. “It’s all right, Vera. God will reward your generosity. Speaking of pie, are you entering the Pinecraft Pie Contest?”

  “Yes, of course, I am. If I have a chance for my pie to beat Elizabeth’s pie, all the better in a public setting.”

  Now Betsy’s face flamed for a different reason than Thaddeus’s kiss two hours ago. Should she push through the door and end the woman’s spiel of words? However, there was plenty for her to do back here, inventorying supplies so she could place an order for more flour and such.

  Mrs. Byler, a friend of her family since childhood. In her mother’s circle of friends? Why, she’d made Betsy sound like a privileged and spoiled young girl.

  “Oh, I meant to ask: what do you know about this young man, Thaddeus Zook? He works here early in the morning, but I’m not keen on the way he looks at young Elizabeth. He’s trouble, I tell you. From one of those fancy Englisch restaurants back home. I imagine he must want this place for himself.”

  “I don’t know much about him. His family doesn’t say much, him being shunned and all.”

  Shunn
ed? Betsy had assumed so, judging by the way he’d left his family and how they treated him. Shunning, she knew, was in the eye of the beholder—or in the case of the Plain people, in the eye of the Ordnung or the family.

  Her heart sank. Unless something changed drastically, it would be better for her and Thaddeus not to see each other at all. Truth be told, the more she saw him, the more she wanted to be with him, to hear stories of working as a chef, to cook and bake together. She found him absolutely fascinating. And it scared her. She could never pay the price he paid by leaving everyone and everything he’d known behind him.

  *

  Rochelle glanced at her phone as she opened her client’s stainless dishwasher. Nothing. Daniel had never shown up the other night to walk with her to Big Olaf’s for ice cream sundaes. She didn’t call him to see why. It wasn’t the way she did things. If he was interested enough in her, he would call. Anyway, she didn’t know him well.

  But a man ought to call, ought to keep his promise, even if it was simple as taking a walk for ice cream. However, she knew from past painful experience certain men were no good at keeping promises. Rochelle pulled out the silverware basket and set it on the counter.

  She worried, too, about Betsy and the questioning she’d had to face the other night about going on television. Rightfully so. Rochelle understood the village’s need to stay true to its beliefs. What was compromise, and what was merely doing business?

  This morning Imogene had called Rochelle before she left for work, concerned.

  “Someone is saying Betsy contacted the television station and asked to be put on TV,” Imogene had said.

  Betsy had blossomed during her time in Sarasota and become more confident, but Rochelle knew the young woman would never do something like arranging a television interview without consulting her family, especially since they’d put up the money so she could open her store. What a blessing to have family supporting her.

  When Rochelle had opened her cleaning business, all she had was the proverbial shoestring. But now, the Lord had shown over time how He’d taken care of her through the ups and downs of running a business. The same was happening for Betsy now, yet Rochelle knew some in the village were likely jealous of the attention.