So where is that diner! Yah, right over there, a block ahead. One thing was for sure, that tumble had cleared her head. It felt as clean as a cloudless sky in the middle of a summer hayfield.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Susan approached the diner, trying to see through the front glass window. What a sight she must make, one foot shoeless. She still walked down the middle of the sidewalk. Already the concrete bit into the sole of her foot, pressing odd objects against her skin, no matter how carefully she stepped. She could feel something running slowly down from her skinned knees—probably blood, but at least it was hidden by her dress.
Susan pushed open the diner door, standing aside to hold the door for a customer coming out. Where is Mr. Moran? Yah, there he is. Had he seen her approach? No, he couldn’t have. He was just turning around.
“Susan!” He greeted her with a smile, standing as she approached the table. “It’s so good to see you. And my thanks to Laura for letting you off over your lunch hour.”
“The shop was busy,” Susan said, taking a seat. Had he noticed her shoeless foot? Apparently not.
He was ready to sit down but he stopped and asked, “Did I just see what I think I saw?”
“What did you see?” she asked. Now that was a stupid thing to ask, but perhaps he was asking about something other than her shoeless foot.
“You walked in with only one shoe on. What happened?”
“The shoe—yah. It fell off when I stumbled crossing the street. Now it’s flat as a pancake and still in the middle of the street.”
“Susan!”
“It’s nothing, really,” she interrupted. “Other than wearing my sock out, but that’s not a big loss.” Duane still looked at her, which was fast becoming embarrassing. Surely he wasn’t going to make a big fuss over this.
“You said you fell.”
“Yes, but I’m okay.”
“You fell in the middle of the street?”
“Yah. I was crossing at the light. There were other people with me, and I stumbled for some reason. The shoe stayed there, and the light changed, and bam…”
“You could have gotten hurt. Are you hurt?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Am I? Come to think of it, my knees do burn a bit. And I can still feel moisture on my left leg.
“A person just doesn’t fall on the pavement without some scrapes happening. Are you sure you’re okay?”
What was she supposed to do? Pull up her dress and look? Right in the middle of the diner? With him watching? Not a chance in the world. Not even on the farm. Thomas had never seen her legs, and she sure wasn’t going to show them to an Englisha man.
“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Duane repeated, his voice unbelieving. He was still standing over her.
What should she say? She now felt the blood on her left leg dripping close to her dress hem. It would soon be visible.
“I do feel some blood trickling down my leg,” she said, not able to look him in the face.
“Susan, you have to have it looked after.”
He sounded concerned, but maybe that was his tax person voice. It sounded strong, manly, like he could make things happen just by speaking.
“How?” she asked. “I’m in a restaurant.”
“Are you ready to order?” a woman’s voice said behind them. They both turned around. The waitress stood there, pad and pen ready.
“Just a moment,” he said. “We have a problem, I think. Do you happen to have a first aid kit?”
“Sure, in the back. Did someone get hurt?” the young woman asked, concern in her voice.
“Susan skinned her knees outside. I think she needs them looked after.”
“Oh, sure,” the waitress said, sticking her pad and pen in her apron pocket. “Let’s have a look and then I can see what I need to bring back.”
Susan clutched the edge of her dress. What was she supposed to do? Thomas would have understood and left the room, but Duane was still standing there. She pulled the dress up, inches at a time, until the hemline was past her knees. She could see blood trickling down her left leg in long, red streams.
“Oh, that’s bad,” the girl said. “You’d better come back to the restroom and wash up first.”
Susan felt the hot flush of red creeping up her neck. Had Duane looked? She stood up, daring a quick glance sideways at him. He had been looking, but his face only revealed worry. But then, he saw women’s legs every day, didn’t he? Englisha girls showed their legs all the time. And hers were nothing out of the ordinary.
“I’ll take you to the doctor, if you need to go,” he offered.
“I’ll be okay.” She moved away from the table, trying to smile. “This is nothing that hasn’t happened before. I skinned my knees often growing up.” Now that sounded stupid, like she fell down on the farm every day.
“Sorry it had to happen today,” he said. “I’ll wait for you here.”
“Oh,” Susan paused, remembering the time. “You’re on your lunch break. Why don’t you order and start eating? You don’t have to wait on me.”
“I’m sure my boss will understand,” he said, finally sitting down.
The waitress headed to the restroom, calling to one of the other waitresses to watch her tables for a minute. When Susan arrived at the ladies room, the waitress held the door for her. “You did take a nasty spill,” the woman said, wrinkling up her face in a grimace. She pulled down a bench from an overhead shelf. “Now sit here. We use this for little children, but it’s clean.”
Susan lowered herself, holding her dress away from her legs, hoping the blood hadn’t stained it already.
“We’ll have this cleaned up in no time,” the waitress said, running warm water over a paper towel in the sink. “Here,” she said, handing the wet towel to Susan. “I’ll get the first aid kit while you’re cleaning up. I’ll be right back.”
Susan pulled her dress up higher and wiped the blood off. The wound was ugly. Obviously, concrete was much harder than the dirt of Amish schoolyard playgrounds.
The waitress quickly appeared again with the first aid kit. She opened it, selected a tube of salve, and handed it to Susan. Susan squeezed some of the paste on her leg.
“Now this,” the girl said, ripping the paper off two large bandages. She pulled the covering off the bandages, placed the gauze pad over the injuries, and pressed down, leaving the bandages tightly fastened.
“Thanks,” Susan said. “That’s better already.”
“I’m glad to be of help. Now, back to work!”
“Thanks so much for your help with this,” Susan repeated.
As Susan and the waitress approached the table again, Duane jumped up and glanced down at Susan’s knees.
Anticipating his question, Susan said, “I’m fine now.”
“May I take your order?” the waitress asked. “I’ll try to hurry the food—put it in as a rush.”
Susan picked up the menu and glanced through it. “How about a hamburger and fries? And a small Coke.”
The waitress turned toward Duane. “And you?”
“I’ll have the steak sandwich—and coffee.”
“Coming right up,” the young woman said. She disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry about making you late,” Susan said. “Really, you didn’t have to wait.”
“Don’t worry. It gives me an excuse to be away from the office. I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt worse than you did. You know you shouldn’t be falling down in the middle of the street. Asbury Park isn’t like the farm. Here the cattle will run over you.”
“They do that at home too,” Susan said with a laugh.
He laughed too and then turned serious. “Speaking of danger, I sure hope you’re being careful at night. You shouldn’t be walking around outside alone in the evenings.”
“Are the two women still missing?”
“No.” He shook his head and stared out the window. “I’ll spare you the details, but they were killed.
It’s a crazy city sometimes. Not at all like what you’re used to.”
Susan shivered. He wasn’t telling her everything, which was fine. She really didn’t want to know more.
Within a few minutes the waitress returned, balancing plates with their sandwiches on one hand. “Now wasn’t that fast?” she asked.
“Yes, very fast!” Duane said. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy the meal,” the waitress said. She sped on to the next table.
Duane paused and Susan wondered if he might offer to pray before they ate. And what should she do if he didn’t? Meals needed to be prayed over, especially in Asbury Park.
“Do you pray?” he asked, sensing her hesitation.
“Yah,” Susan said, closing her eyes and bowing her head. Would he pray out loud? It would sound gut to hear a man pray over food again. It seemed like years since she’d heard her daett’s voice rumble prayers in the old farmhouse.
Quiet moments followed. She glanced up. He still had his head bowed and his eyes closed. He must be praying silently. Well, she couldn’t expect too much. This was, after all, Asbury Park.
“Done?” he asked as he lifted his head. He smiled.
She nodded, meeting his eyes. They looked kind, as they had since she’d arrived at the diner. He must be a gut man indeed, just like Laura said.
They ate in silence. It was pleasant enough, with no tension between them, which was also gut. Time with Thomas used to be that way. But why was she thinking of Thomas?
“Do you have any plans for your next few evenings?” he asked.
“Not really. I usually stay in the apartment,” she said. Is that what he wanted to know? He looks pensive.
“There’s a really nice restaurant uptown. I could take you there sometime. When you’re feeling up to it.”
“I think I’ll feel fine really soon,” she responded.
“So,” he said, smiling, “you want to go sooner rather than later?”
“Oh, no!” She gasped. “That’s not what I meant. I mean…”
He smiled again. “Then it’s a yes?”
“A yes? For what?”
“For a meal at a restaurant uptown.”
Susan listened to the sound of her own breathing, not able to look at him. Did she want to go out with him to a restaurant? For dinner? What did such an invitation mean to the Englisha? She’d struggled with this lunch date. Making up her mind, the words slid out. “Sure, I can go. Sometime, that is.”
“Good!” he said, finishing his last bite. “Then it’s a date.” He stood up. “And now, I really do need to get back to the office. Will you be okay getting back to the bakery?”
“I’ll be fine,” Susan said. “And thank you for lunch. I enjoyed it.”
“I enjoyed it too” he said. “See you later, then. And remember, your meal is paid for.” He picked up the check and headed for the cash register.
Susan quickly finished her meal, wondering how Laura was doing with the bakery crowd. As she stepped out onto the street, she wondered What just happened in there? Did I really accept an invitation to a fancy uptown restaurant with an Englisha man? Yes, I did! Surely there is nothing wrong with that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Menno Hostetler lifted his face toward the Indiana sky, the dark barn behind him as he watched the first rays of the sun breaking the horizon. “Dear Hah im Himmel,” he prayed. “Protect Susan, wherever she is. We’ve never had a child who’s strayed so far from home.” Where is Susan? It was so hard to imagine her anywhere but upstairs in her bedroom or even beside him right now, walking out to help with the chores. How had she become so interested in the Englisha world? So sudden it had seemed. But such things didn’t happen that fast. A person didn’t plant a seed and harvest it the next day. He had not always lived a perfect life himself, so he knew the temptations of the world. Had a seed dropped into Susan’s heart years ago and then sprouted in due time? When had this happened? Had he been asleep and not noticed? Had he been too busy with the work on the farm? Only Da Hah knew the answer to those questions. And He often kept His secrets hidden from the hearts of men.
He pushed his straw hat back on his head. Already the air was brisk for this time of the year, moving lightly across the open fields. Winter was not far away, and it could well be a hard one. His bones ached—if that was any sign of what was coming. But they might be aching no matter the coming weather. Old people’s bones often ached, did they not?
Menno turned to walk to the barn, finding his way across the yard in the ebbing darkness with practiced ease. The lantern in the washroom could have been lit and brought along, but he wanted to see the sky this morning. He could light the lantern in the barn once he arrived there.
Pushing open the barn door with its creaky hinges, Menno stepped inside. This was his barn, his place where he performed his work on the farm. It was a place of comfort and peace. Since his marriage to Anna so many long years ago, he had lived here. And he would die here. Not likely anytime soon, but all men died in due course. Since Adam ate the apple offered to him by his helpmeet, Eve, it had been Da Hah’s just punishment on mankind.
One of the horses neighed from the stall, and soon another added its high-pitched whinny. Gut horses they all were, worthy of trust and capable of hard work. They likely expected to work in the fields today, finishing the fall plowing, but that wouldn’t happen. Tomorrow perhaps, with an early start.
Today would be a long and exhausting day of butchering at John and Betsy’s place. Four of his girls would be there, pooling their skills and energies. They would all return home tonight with meat to stock their freezers for winter. He really needed to hurry instead of thinking sad thoughts about Susan. Anna had already started breakfast when he’d left the house.
Menno found the lantern on the dark shelf, blew off the dust, and forced the air pressure higher. The matches should be on the same shelf, and he searched for them. He found one, striking it on the rough wood. It lit, flickering as he brought the flame up to the mantle. Menno twisted the gas knob with his fingers at the same time. With a satisfying pop, light flooded his face. He turned his eyes away, shaking the match once before tossing it aside.
Hanging the light on a nail, he glanced over at the double row of milking stalls. Only a few months ago the cows were still being milked. Now dust was gathering. He needed to clean again, but each cleaning wouldn’t last long. And it could wear a man out, this upkeep without purpose.
Would anyone ever milk cows in the barn again? He had everything here—the equipment, the stalls, the fields outside to keep the cows. The only thing lacking were the cows and the people who milked and cared for the stock.
Menno sighed. Thomas and Susan were to have been those people. But he mustn’t think of that now. The horses needed to be fed whether they worked today or not. And the driving horse needed to be harnessed for the trip to John and Betsy’s place. He approached the horse stalls, picking up the hay fork on the way. The hay was in the loft, and throwing it down was becoming harder, seemingly by the day—but perhaps he was only imagining it so. Chores always looked worse when a great sorrow was on a person’s heart.
One of the draft horses, his neck bulging with muscles, tossed his head and whinnied loudly.
“What’s up, old boy?” Menno stepped up to run his hand over the massive face.
The horse jerked his head away, his nostrils flared, rearing up in his stall, then landing and slamming his back hooves against the boards.
Menno laughed. “Are you that anxious to work? Well, I’d be glad to take you out and whip the last of the fall plowing. But I’ve got other things to take care of today. We’ve got to butcher and get ready for the winter.”
The horse reared again, his eyes wide, striking his front feet hard against the stall.
“You don’t understand now, do you? Calm down. We can work out all your wild oats tomorrow.”
The horse stood still, his head fixed in one direction. Menno could suddenly see the faint flicker of mo
ving light playing in the horse’s staring eyes.
“Oh, Gott in Himmel!” Menno whirled about, his hay fork flying across the barn floor. Small flames were rising from the loose hay just inside the door, reaching for the wooden boards and crackling with heat.
“Oh no!” Menno shouted. “What have I done!”
He tried to run toward the flames, but slipped, sliding down on both knees. Was it the match? But I shook it out! I must not have succeeded. He’d acted old and careless by tossing it onto the floor with only a quick shake of the hand. How could I have done something so foolish? The fire must be put out. He needed water and a bucket. The horse trough was outside, but it would take too long running back and forth. The old milking buckets were in the milk house, and there was water at the spigot. Menno ran, banging open stall doors as he went, not bothering to slow down as they whacked against the wall.
He found the buckets, grabbing one off the wall. He lifted the handle on the spigot, his heart pounding as the first bucket filled. He filled the second one. On the run back, he moved slower. Every drop of water was worth its weight in gold.
Menno stood back from the small flames and tossed his buckets of water. The water sizzled on contact, the flames sputtering in anger as they died. Menno stood, breathing in the heavy smoke. He had put out the fire. He was an old man perhaps, but an old man still capable of saving his barn.
Turning a bucket upside down, Menno sat down to catch his breath. Da Hah had been gut to him this morning. He had been helped. Taking off his hat, Menno ran his hand over his forehead. Little drops of sweat moistened his fingers. He smiled. It was gut to sweat again, even on a cold morning.
Menno saw a small turn of flame, followed by a crackle of fire again. Jumping to his feet, he ran over to the straw and beat it with his hat. The wind from the blows drove the sparks in deeper. Menno stamped with his feet, but it was too late. The straw was deeper here, and behind that lay more bales ready for bedding the horses this evening.
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