by Kate Lloyd
Wayne opened the squad car’s passenger door. “You’ll be safe with me. I promised Stephen to take extra good care of you.”
“Maybe I should sit in the backseat.”
“No, the seat’s covered with hard plastic and not clean enough.”
Again, I searched the sea of faces for someone I knew, but I found no one. And a buggy ride all the way to the nursery would be a great inconvenience. As I slid into the seat, heads turned. Apparently, I still cared too much what others thought of me. I tried to appear dignified, but the moment I sat in the squad car’s seat, I slid down, hoping to be out of sight.
“Stephen said your name is Eva Lapp.”
“Yes.” My tongue seemed to be a limp appendage. “Thank you for the ride.”
“Like I said, not a problem. I know where the nursery is. I’ve taken my wife there plenty of times. She loves gardening.”
A buggy passed us heading the other direction. I recognized the deacon from my parents’ district. No doubt about it, he stared right at me. I hoped he only caught a glimpse of my kapp, which must be flattened by the rain.
Ten minutes later, Wayne and I rolled onto the nursery’s gravel parking lot. The electricity was on, and lights illuminated the greenhouses. The shop seemed to be closed for the night, but I assumed anyone in the area could make out the squad car easily with the rain reflecting off its surface.
“Thank you, Officer. You can let me out here.” I reached for the door handle.
“Hold on. I promised Stephen to take you to your doorstep. And call me Wayne.” He continued driving around the side of the big house. I figured Beatrice had heard the car and was ogling at us out a window. Yes, as I exited the squad car, she opened the back door and stepped out onto the covered porch. She must have been worried about Stephen, I told myself. But I couldn’t face her right now, not clutching the bag containing my new, worldly shoes.
“Thanks for the ride, Wayne.” I jumped out and shut the car’s door behind me. Minnie barked and scrambled to greet me. The two Labs followed. One let out a woof. The last thing I wanted was to have more attention drawn to me, but there was no getting around it. I had arrived in a police car. And I’d been alone with Stephen.
I hurried into my cabin and closed the door before the dogs could follow me inside. A minute later, knuckles rapped on my door. I opened it to find Beatrice carrying a black umbrella.
“Where’s Stephen?” Her eyes surveyed my wet clothes and kapp. “I saw you two leaving together hours ago.”
“He’s helping an Amish man with his buggy wheel.”
Her gazed moved to my Nike bag. “You two went shopping at the mall?”
“He needed something from the hardware store and offered to take me. I told him my feet hurt so much…”
Her white lips pressed together. “Dry off, for goodness’ sake, before you get pneumonia.”
I stepped out of my soggy shoes and hung my dripping jacket on a peg. I must have looked an unruly sight with the hem of my dress wet and mud-spattered. I’d wait until she left to remove my kapp and check my disheveled hair in the mirror.
As if anchored to the floor, she folded her arms across her matronly bulk. “I suppose you’ll be needing my help with the soup again tomorrow.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I have it all planned, and we have the ingredients already. Beef barley.”
She lifted her pointy jaw. “Including beef stock?”
“Uh…” I reached for my copy of Family Life, the one periodical I’d brought from home. “I saw the recipe in a magazine recently. A reader from around here sent it in.” I opened the black-and-white monthly magazine and located the recipe.
Beatrice snatched the publication out of my hand. “Are you blind? Right at the top of the list of ingredients is beef stock. Got some in the café’s kitchen?”
“I don’t recall seeing any, now that you mention it.” I felt the way I had in second grade after I’d flubbed a spelling test because I hadn’t studied. “Maybe chicken stock will do.”
“Not if you want your soup to taste its best.”
I let out a lengthy sigh.
“No need to fret,” she said. “I have canned beef stock in the house you can use.”
Disappointment blanketed me, but I knew it would be prideful and plain old silly to not accept her generosity. “Thank you for your kind offer.”
NINE
Several hours later, the rain increased and the wind gained velocity. It looked as though I would spend another lonely evening. I missed my parents, but I knew they had their hands full. I’d assured them I was a grown woman and would be fine by myself. But I wasn’t. I was so lonely that I wished Beatrice had invited me to the big house for dinner.
Another electrical storm lumbered up the valley.
I filled the kettle with water to make a soothing cup of tea, set it on the stovetop, and ignited the flame. The kettle seemed to take forever to shrill. I rushed over to turn off the stove and brought down a cup and a tea bag. As I poured water over the bag, a clap of thunder sounding as loud as a stick of dynamite exploding hit a tree or building nearby. The floor shook. My hand jerked, spilling most of the hot liquid onto the counter. I wondered if the main house had been zapped and if the owner had a lightning rod, unlike Dat, who maintained God was in control.
I went to the window and saw the electric lights still beaming in the nursery. Beatrice came flying out the back door and beckoned me to come to her. She was waving her arms and yelling in what I thought was Italian. The last thing I wanted to do was brave the downpour as the droplets of rain bounced off the ground. I knew I must respect my elders, but this woman was making it hard for me to be polite.
Well, I was glad I’d bought the new shoes for tomorrow.
I put on my rain jacket, rubber boots, and a scarf, and then I sprinted over to the back porch and mounted the steps.
Beatrice’s words came out staggered. “The maple tree—out front—got struck. What if it falls and hits the house?”
I was at a loss for words. I’d always lived at home where my dat took care of everything.
She wrung her hands. “If the tree dies, Glenn will be crushed. He told me it was one of the reasons he bought this place.”
I saw headlights entering the parking lot and recognized Stephen’s pickup. He pulled up alongside the house and jumped out. He wore a plastic rain jacket and boots. “I thought I’d better come over and check things out.” He glanced my way. “I live just down the road.”
Beatrice told him about the tree, and Stephen brought out a flashlight. “I’ll go have a look-see. Beatrice, would you turn on the front porch light?”
I followed them into the house and to the front door, through a plush, modern kitchen with a gas stove and the latest electrical cooking devices. Beatrice flipped a switch, illuminating the porch.
Stephen swung open the door, trotted down the steps, and stood out in the clipped grass yard, shining his flashlight beam on the tree’s mighty trunk. “The maple was hit. It’s not smashed or missing limbs, but I can see a gash down the side.” He shone the beam up and down the tree’s lengthy torso. “Nothing to be done about it tonight, and it sounds as though the storm is moving on.”
“It’s an ill omen.” Beatrice turned to glare at me. “Un cattivo presagio.”
Stephen flicked his flashlight on and off. “Now, now, Beatrice, we have electrical storms every so often. The weatherman predicted this one.”
“Well, we’ve had two since Eva arrived. And now Glenn’s beautiful maple tree…”
I felt compelled to defend myself. “My dat has lost many trees during storms.” But I’d never seen damage like this.
“It looks as though a giant hand ripped off a strip of bark and tossed it across the yard,” Beatrice said.
“I’m glad I wasn’t standing near it.” Stephen stroked his jawline “It’s been a long day, and I’d better get home.” He turned to leave.
“Wait.” I moved further out onto the
porch. “What happened with the Amish couple and the buggy?”
“I drove the driver and the damaged wheel to a repair shop. The owner gave him a loaner until he fixes the wheel. Then I returned the man and the extra wheel and dropped him off. He assured me he was fine and didn’t need additional help. Several of his Amish neighbors had waited and would assist him. One brought him a fresh horse. I have to give it to the Amish. They take care of each other.”
“That they do,” Beatrice said. “They obey the Bible as we all should. ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’ ”
“Indeed.” Stephen sent her a smile, but his eyes remained sapped of energy. “See you in the morning.” He trotted down the steps and into his pickup. Moments later, his vehicle exited the parking lot.
“I hope this has taught you a lesson.” Beatrice ushered me into the house and secured the front door. “Stephen is a fine man, but he’s not one of you. What would your parents think? You should never have accepted a ride from him. And then you return in a patrol car?”
“He’s my boss until Glenn returns.”
She scowled. “Don’t you wish to find a good Amish husband?”
I lowered my chin and resisted answering. Then a thought occurred to me. “Since I’m here, may I take the soup stock with me?”
“I suppose, if you promise not to drop it.”
“I’ll guard it with my life.”
Her face bunched up as though she’d eaten a slice of lemon. It was unlikely she believed anything I said.
TEN
The next morning sunlight streamed into the cabin, sneaking past the crack between the window and the roller shades. A wren’s melodic trilling from outside my bedside window announced it was time to rise. Good. I hadn’t overslept. Plus, I possessed two jars of beef stock. Today my soup would be superb. I felt foolish for not reading the recipe with more care.
Oh, dear. Had I thanked Beatrice for her generosity? I owed her my gratitude.
I showered and dressed hurriedly, but then I spent extra time parting my hair in the middle, putting on a clean kapp, and checking for miscreant hairs.
I glanced at my new shoes sitting by the door on a mat. My black leather shoes were coated with mud and needed a thorough shining. No time. I would wear my Nikes. I looked forward to a day without foot pain in my spiffy new shoes. Perhaps a day without pain at all. I needed to be optimistic, anxious for nothing.
I envisioned my parents sitting in our kitchen, Dat bowing his head as he led silent prayer. But chances were my parents would choose to eat breakfast in the daadi haus, which contained a small kitchen. Waking up to find Marta orchestrating her home would be difficult for Mamm. My brother’s children would be chattering as they finished their chores and got ready for school. According to Reuben, Marta was a quintessential cook.
Once I was ready to leave, I slid my feet into my new cushy socks and then my new shoes. I tied them and stood. Ah, comfort. Many younger Amish women wore them. Maybe one reason few single men ever noticed me was they thought I was too old fashioned. Even if I were almost thirty, today I would make a gigantic effort to be outgoing and fun, like Olivia and Sadie, who wore athletic shoes when not in church. Most of our customers at the fabric store had found me personable. But then again, they were female, and we had a common bond: sewing and quilting.
I checked out the door and was glad not to see Beatrice already sweeping the back porch or tending the herb garden. I carried the jars of beef stock in my Nike bag so I couldn’t possibly drop them.
The sky stretched blue, like a vast ocean blushing with pink. I should check the weather report later in case another storm was predicted. I prayed silently for clear skies. Then a tumble of requests came to mind. One was to see Jake. A foolish request, but I needed my questions answered. Was he indeed married? If so, maybe that fact would set me free. I could move on and quit circling back to the past. Mamm had assured me it wasn’t too late to find a spouse. She’d hinted that marrying a widower might be a good solution. With Jake out of the picture, I might consider it. And then there was young Mark, who made me feel old. Although I didn’t experience a tingle of attraction, in the long run what would that initial magnetism matter? My parents had aged like a pair of comfy slippers.
Outside, I was tempted to inspect the maple tree’s damage, but I didn’t want Beatrice to catch sight of me. She’d be sure to accompany me to the café and take over my soup preparation.
As I neared the café, Missy and her enormous pup galumphed toward me and sniffed the bag.
“This isn’t for you.” I noticed my dread for them was diminishing by increments. Good. I would overcome my fears one at a time.
I found the door locked and used my key to open it. Once in the kitchen, I heated up the beef broth and eight cups of water, and then I added the barley, tomato juice, peas, and beans. I chopped onions and celery to add in an hour. I remembered the stewing beef in the refrigerator. Thankfully, it was partially thawed. I tossed it in and hoped it wasn’t too early, that all these ingredients wouldn’t turn to mush by the time customers wanted lunch.
“Have you put in salt and pepper?” Beatrice’s voice startled me.
My hand moved to the salt. “I was just about to.” What? I was starting the day off with a lie? “That’s not true. The recipe said add salt and pepper to taste, so I was waiting.” I looked into her sleep-creased face and added, “Maybe you could help me with that later if you have the time.”
Her features softened, a grin widening her thin lips. “Yes, I’d be glad to help. Happy to. Con piacere.”
Her expression transformed when she noticed my feet. “Have you checked to see if those running shoes comply with your Ordnung?”
“I should’ve thought to do that before I purchased them.” I wanted to ask her why she cared, but I didn’t want to hear her opinions.
“Bishop Harvey comes in once a week. Perhaps today. He can assess your footwear. Surely by now he knows you came back yesterday in a police car and will wish to speak to you. Or he might send Deacon Benjamin and a minister to gather facts.”
An Englisch woman was meddling in my personal affairs. To change the subject, and also because I needed to voice my thanks, I said, “Beatrice, I’m very grateful for the beef stock. Please forgive me if I didn’t thank you properly last night.”
Her plump face veritably beamed, her cheeks turning rosy. “No problem. The lightning had us all on edge.” She stirred my warming vat. “Let me know anytime I can help you. There’s not enough to keep an old woman busy all the time in the big house by herself. Maybe you’d like to join me for supper tonight.”
I hesitated as I envisioned an awkward encounter, but I couldn’t refuse her hospitality. “Thank you very much. I’d love a home-cooked meal.” I couldn’t imagine what we’d converse about.
“Unless you were planning to meet someone?” she said.
“You mean a man? No.”
“We need to find you a husband—unless you’re holding out for Jake Miller, a foolish endeavor. Presenza di acqua sotto il ponte. I mean, water under the bridge.”
“Do you know anything about him? I mean, recent news?” My voice rose in pitch like a plaintive plea.
Instead of answering me, she perused the recipe. “Did you remember to add the oregano?”
“Not yet. Are you sure that’s in the recipe?”
“Maybe you need reading glasses. Have you considered them?”
I scanned her homely metal-rim spectacles. “Not yet.”
“They’re inevitable.” She polished her glasses on her skirt. “But let’s find you a husband first.”
“You make it sound easy.”
She placed the glasses on the bridge of her nose. “We have several single Amish men working here. Mark seems to have noticed you. His father owns a spacious and prosperous farm Mark is sure to inherit, as he has only sisters.”
“Why isn’t he working on his father’s farm instead of coming here?”
“I’m sure
he gets up early and does his chores before he leaves the farm. He probably works here to earn extra spending money. Glenn and Stephen are glad to have him. Mark is one of their best employees. And good looking, too, don’t you think?”
“Yah, and young.”
“And you hold that against him? You want to end up marrying an elderly codger?”
I chewed at the side of my thumbnail as her queries bombarded me. These were questions I’d asked myself a hundred times.
“I hope you’ve not become infatuated with Stephen. As I said last night, he’s a fine man, but he’s not one of you. He regularly attends his Mennonite church. And I hear tell he used to have a drinking problem.”
What right did she have to discuss him behind his back? I felt like asking her what business it was of hers. Talk about nosy. I could feel heat traveling up my neck, but I remained silent.
“I can’t imagine he’d ever turn Amish and give up driving his pickup just to be with you, Eva.” Her eyes fastened onto mine. “You’ll have no future with him if you’re an Amish church member.”
“I haven’t joined yet, but I plan to.” I’d told my parents I’d take the mandatory classes when I turned thirty. Yet given the right circumstances, I might change my mind. No wonder they fretted over me. If I were honest with myself, I’d have to wonder if I could develop a crush on Stephen.
More than anything, I longed to be married to a man I adored and hold our baby in my arms. My biological clock was ticking. But Jake still owned my heart, paralyzing me, keeping me from moving forward.
“Good morning, ladies.” Stephen strode into the café, folded newspapers under his elbow. “I need to speak to Eva—alone,” he told Beatrice.
Her eyebrows shot up with a look of surprise and confusion. “I’ll come back at opening time. That is, if you still want me to.”
“Absolutely. You were a blessing yesterday. What would we have done without you?” His words initiated a grin on her face.
She untied her apron and draped it across a chair.
