by Ruth Reid
Faith groaned under her breath. Several more tables needed to be cleaned off. Too bad it was her cousin Catherine’s day off. Admittedly, Catherine was a better cook than all of them, except for Mamm. But then, her older cousin had worked over fifteen years at the restaurant, and over time Mamm had taught her everything. Olivia often voiced to Faith how it wasn’t fair that Mamm gave their cousin the prime shifts, but Olivia was annoyed about everything lately—everything Amish, that is.
Faith positioned the dirty mugs and silverware on top of the plates. “I’ll see you next week, Mrs. Meyer.” She picked up the stack. “I want to hear about your roses when there’s more time to talk.”
“Don’t work too hard in the kitchen,” the woman said.
Faith wished that was an option, but people came from all over to eat an authentic Amish meal. As she headed to the kitchen, the tiny bell over the door jingled, announcing yet another customer. She liked staying busy, but at this rate, her feet would be too swollen to get her shoes off for wading through the creek. “Take a seat wherever you like,” she called out, keeping her eye on the teetering mug atop her pile.
A man cleared his throat behind her. “I’m here to deliver the cherries your mamm ordered, nett eat.”
Faith glanced up and smiled. “Hiya, Gideon.” He’d been so busy lately that today was the first she’d seen of him since Sunday service.
He lifted the gallon-sized ice-cream pails now heaped with bright-red cherries. “I knocked on the kitchen door, but no one answered. Is your mamm here?”
“She’s running errands.” Faith moved cautiously toward the kitchen, focusing again on the wobbling mugs, then paused long enough at the double door to bob her head for Gideon to follow. Faith bumped the door with her hip and proceeded to the sink area where mounds of dirty dishes littered the counter. Their restaurant didn’t have a fancy electric dishwasher. Her hands had remained chapped since she finished school after eighth grade and started working full-time almost four years ago with her mother, older sister, and cousin.
“Looks like you’ve been busy today,” Gideon said, his gaze taking in the disarray.
Faith’s face heated. When her mother or Catherine ran the kitchen, it never looked this unorganized. “It’s just been Olivia and me all morning, so we haven’t had time to catch up.”
Olivia stood at the drink dispenser, filling glasses with ice. “Did you hear me say you have an order?”
“Jah.” Faith maintained a cheerful tone. First she had to find a bare surface for these dishes. Her arms grew weaker under the weight and a mug toppled over, spilling cold coffee down her arm.
Gideon swiped a pillar of unwashed plates off the counter, clearing an empty space.
Olivia balanced a large tray of water glasses and steaming mugs on her shoulder. “I told them you’d put a rush on the order. They’re in a hurry.” She came around the corner and smiled when her gaze landed on Gideon. “I didn’t see you kumm in, Gideon. How are you?”
“Fine.”
Olivia backed into the door, butting it open with her hip. “Gut to hear.” She sprang out the door, leaving it to flap in her wake.
A baffled expression overtook Gideon’s face.
Faith imagined he was taken aback by Olivia’s aloofness but was too polite to mention it. She strode to the counter and unclipped the order slip suspended on the wire above her. Six omelets. All different. And a half dozen sides of potato pancakes. How was she supposed to rush this? She had used the last of the diced vegetables on the last order and was running low on grated potatoes.
“Does everyone have to be in a hurry today?” Faith grumbled.
“I guess I’m nett—in a hurry.” Gideon lifted the dirty dishes he’d picked up to make room a little higher.
“Ach, Gideon. Why didn’t you say something?” She tossed the slip on the counter and dashed over to the dishwashing area. After carefully piling one stack on top of another, she cleared a spot. “You can leave them here.”
He set down the plates, then immediately rolled up his sleeves.
Faith watched in disbelief. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I’m nett much of a cook.” He worked on rolling up the other sleeve. “But I do know how to wash dishes.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He plugged the stainless-steel basin with a stopper, turned the hot-water tap on, then squirted in some dish soap.
“I don’t want to keep you from your cherry deliveries.”
“You’re nett.” He smiled.
Faith’s insides fluttered. She’d never shared kitchen duty with a man. “Danki, but you can leave them soaking. Once mei mamm returns from the market, she’ll relieve me from cooking, and I’ll have time to catch up on the dishes.”
Gideon motioned to the stove. “You should probably get started on that order.” He dipped his hands into the soapy water, glanced sideways at her, and winked. “Aren’t they in a hurry?”
“Ah, jah, that’s right.” Faith spun around and scurried over to the prep sink where she lathered her hands with soap. The oddity of a man with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows while not delivering a calf, but washing dishes, was a bit disturbing. In a good way.
She stole a glance over her shoulder at Gideon and sighed. Strong, kind, handsome, hardworking, he had all the traits of a good husband—for her sister, Olivia, if only she would show him a little interest. The man used every excuse possible to conjure up ways to be around her sister. Last month, when it came time for her family to host the Sunday meeting, Gideon volunteered to help her father muck the barn and set up the benches for the service. He even washed dishes today to see Olivia. Faith sighed. Her sister was blessed with creamy skin, blond silky hair, and enough smarts to teach school, yet she was dim-witted when it came to Gideon. Faith had known him her whole life, not that he ever paid much attention to her. She was Olivia’s kid sister—lanky, grease-clogged pores from working over the fryer, and dark, coarse hair that tended to frizz in the summer—nothing more.
Faith turned off the tap water and dried her hands. Too much daydreaming had slowed her pace. She slid the refrigerator door open and removed the onions, mushrooms, green peppers, spinach, and tomatoes for one omelet; sausage, goat cheese, and jalapeños for another. Some naturally took longer to make because she had to fry the bacon and brown the ham. Not to mention one person wanted egg whites only, and that took more time.
A few feet away, Gideon hummed “Das Loblied” as he worked, an added treat to Faith’s ears. Recognizing the tune as one of their Amish hymns, she hummed along while dicing vegetables. Once this order was filled, she would make him something special to eat for all his hard work. Since it was almost noon, maybe a cheeseburger. She stole another peek at him working, his head bobbing to the tune. She could get used to his help in the kitchen.
Stop it! Gideon was her sister’s bu—even if Olivia hadn’t shown interest in settling down and joining the church yet. Eventually her sister would come to see Gideon for the man he was. A good man. A patient man. A man . . . who would wait for Olivia to finish her rumspringa and join the church fold.
A flash of jealousy bubbled up within Faith.
Chapter 3
Gideon Rohrer managed to wash most of the towering plates and cups before Olivia zinged through the double doors with another tray heaped with dirty dishes in her arms. The job was unending. He lifted his hands out of the sink and flung the excess soap residue off with a hard shake, then reached for the tray. “I’ll take them.”
Olivia nodded and flashed what he’d come to discover the hard way as an insincere smile. Before he could speak, she strutted back into the dining room.
He’d spent the better part of a year chasing that smile—trying to get her back. All the while knowing Olivia was sitting on the fence, mustering the courage to jump.
Standing at the stove, Faith leaned back and pointed her spatula at him. “You don’t have to do those.”
“The way I se
e it, you’re nett in any position to turn down help.” The shelf of clean plates near her workstation was dwindling fast. Gideon scraped the uneaten food from the plates into the scrap bucket on the floor. Such a waste of good food. His parents raised him to finish everything on his plate. Lowering the dishes into the basin, he glanced at the wall clock. When he decided to stay and help, he didn’t plan on still being here at noon. Even though his fruit deliveries were finished, he had promised one of his Englisch customers he would apply another coat of redwood stain on her deck.
Within minutes, the scent of bacon drifted across the room, teasing his senses. Faith tapped the silver bell, a satisfied smile blooming on her face as she positioned the plates of food under the heat lamps.
Olivia strode into the kitchen with yet another tray of dirty dishes. Surely that was the last of the dirty tables. She set the items to the left of the sink, on the same counter that only minutes ago he had cleared off. Without acknowledging him, she exchanged the tray for a clean one from the shelf under the island and placed it on the counter. She picked up one of the plates from under the heat lamp. “Is this the one with mushrooms?”
Faith consulted the slip. “Jah.” She handed the next plate to Olivia. “This one is the sausage, goat cheese, and jalapeños.” The sisters worked together arranging the plates counterclockwise according to how Olivia had written down the orders.
Gideon had to remind himself to get back to work. The dishes wouldn’t wash themselves. He quickly scraped the food leftovers into the bucket and lowered the dishes into the soapy water. The pads of his fingers were wrinkled from having them submerged so long.
“Hey, Gideon. What do you like on your cheeseburger? American or Swiss?” Faith dropped a raw beef patty on the grill.
He shouldn’t tie up her time cooking for him. Then again, the meat was already on the grill. Sizzling. Sending tantalizing aromas over to his side of the kitchen. The peanut butter–banana sandwich he’d packed for lunch was still in the buggy. Warm. Mushy. He licked his lips. “Swiss, please.”
Hoping Olivia wouldn’t clean off another table and bring him more dishes to wash, he scrubbed faster. He’d just finished rinsing and stacking the last plate on the drying rack when Faith pulled the basket of fries out of the hot grease. Gideon pulled the plug on the drain, then dried his hands. “I probably have the cleanest hands of all the men in the district,” he said, inspecting his nails.
“Does that bother you?” She set the plate of food on the counter and motioned to a stool.
“Nay, but I’m sure mei bruders will tease me for having dishpan hands, but that’s nothing new. They’ve always given me a hard time over something.” Mercilessly. It didn’t help being the youngest of six boys or that his mother often came to his defense. She wouldn’t have her baby boy picked on—even though her “help” usually meant more heckling from his brothers in the end.
Faith set the ketchup and mustard containers in front of him.
His mouth watered looking at the big juicy burger with melted cheese oozing down the sides. He bowed his head, prayed briefly in silence, then opened his eyes. He squirted condiments on the meat, then reassembled the toasted onion bun over the patty and picked it up. Opening his mouth wide to take a bite, he pulled back. Faith was staring, giving him the same perturbed look his mother gave him whenever he rushed through saying grace. “What? I prayed.”
“Bless this food, amen?” A smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“And all who are at the table,” he added, readying the burger to take a bite.
“Well”—her brows quirked—“I was actually looking at your hands. They do look soft.”
The spunky laugh that followed provoked him to put the burger down. He stood, leaned over the counter, and snatched the dish towel.
Faith planted her hands on her hips. “You’re nett going to waste the food I made, are you?”
“Oh, it won’t go to waste.” He twirled the towel at both ends and took a step toward her.
“Oh, don’t you dare.”
He snapped it in her direction, intentionally missing her by an inch. “You still want to talk about mei soft hands?”
“You don’t seem to be as gut of an aim as you are at washing dishes,” she teased.
He wound the towel again.
“Okay—okay, I give up. You have very manly hands.” Giggles laced her words.
Ignoring her plea of surrender, Gideon stepped closer. His menacing chuckle made her deep blue eyes grow large. “Nervous, are you?” The clean fragrance of her lavender soap floated to him, overtaking the smell of fried food.
“Nay.” But her gaze darted from the towel, to his eyes, back to the towel while stepping backward. She backed into the ice chest and worked the latch.
“Order up,” Olivia announced as she whizzed into the kitchen. She stopped abruptly when an ice chip, flying over Gideon’s shoulder, landed at her feet. “It must be nice to have time for games.” She slapped the order ticket on the counter, then, frowning, eyed her sister. “Faith, you better clean this up before someone falls.” She marched back into the dining room.
Gideon stared at the swinging door, momentarily taken aback by Olivia’s sharpness. “She’s got a chigger under her skin,” he muttered under his breath.
“Olivia is always upset with me.” Faith bent down and picked up the pieces of scattered ice chips. “It doesn’t matter what I do.”
He squatted and collected the cubes at his feet. “That’s how mei older bruders are with me.”
“She despises me most days. I don’t even know what I do to get her upset.”
“Other than throwing ice chips?”
Faith smiled. “I’d say you have a point if Olivia were the one responsible for mopping the floors, but she breezes in, slaps an order slip on the counter, and breezes out like a princess while I’m the one stuck in the kitchen cleaning, cooking, or washing dishes. Nett that I mind, it’s just . . .” She sighed. “Never mind.”
“It’s just that you’d like to be appreciated,” he said.
She bowed her head. “I shouldn’t have complained.”
Gideon playfully took her hand as she reached for another ice chip. “Maybe we should compare our dishpan hands.” He turned her hand over, pretending to inspect it. Brushing his thumb against her soft skin, an irregular pit-pat of his heart increased his awareness of their closeness, and he dropped her hand. “You have nothing to whine about. Your hands are way softer than mine.”
“Hmm. I’m nett sure if I should be flattered you think mei skin is soft or insulted that you called me a whiner.” She swiped the order ticket off the counter and looked it over.
If she’d felt uncomfortable about their close proximity, she wasn’t showing it now. He, on the other hand, was still battling a stuttering pulse. He plopped onto the stool, picked up the cooled burger, and took a bite. He should have thought to slide his plate under the heat lamp before he started chasing Faith with the towel.
Faith tossed a couple of hamburger patties on the grill, moved over to the fountain machine, filled a glass with ice, then pressed the cola button on the soda dispenser. She set the fizzing drink next to his plate. “Do you want me to warm up your food?”
“Nay, danki. I have to leave in a few minutes. I promised Beverly Dembrowski I would put a second coat of stain on her porch today.” He took another bite and washed it down with a gulp of cola. The carbonated bubbles tickled his throat and made it hard to swallow. “I wanted to talk to you about Olivia. She’s planning—” The whoosh of the swinging door behind him caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see Olivia. “Back again,” he choked out.
Olivia’s mouth crooked, her expression unreadable. Had she overheard her name?
“The lunch crowd is growing.” Olivia waved yellow slips at Faith, then slapped them down on the counter.
Faith fussed with the hamburger already cooking. She waited for her sister to leave, then faced Gideon. “I know I’ve helped yo
u before, but I’d rather stay out of your and mei schweschaler’s . . . affairs. I already told you, she hates me.”
“Hate is a strong word,” he said, wishing he could take back the lecturing tone when Faith turned her back to him. She was a close friend, the person he trusted most. This had nothing to do with his—affairs. Olivia was in trouble. “Faith,” he said, pleadingly enough that she glanced over her shoulder at him, “I wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t important.”
The back door swung open, and Faith and Olivia’s mother, Irma, entered carrying a brown paper sack and moving slowly, as if drained of energy. “Sorry I’m late.”
Noticing how winded Irma sounded, Gideon jumped off his stool and reached for the bag, which, surprisingly, wasn’t heavy.
“Danki.” She brushed her hand against her forehead.
“Where would you like me to put this?”
She patted the counter opposite of where he’d been sitting. “Over here will be fine.” Her dark-brown eyes looked dull and her ivory complexion resembled more a wintery white than the suntanned tones of summer. He was about to pull the stool around for her to sit when Faith rounded the corner, her face etched with worry.
Faith’s five-ten height towered over her mother’s five feet two inches. “Mamm, is everything okay?”
“I’m fine, dear.” She pursed her lips in a long exhale, then smiled at her daughter, who was eying every inch of her. “Really, I am.” As if ending the discussion, Irma looked at Gideon. “I see you brought the cherries I ordered.”
“Eight pounds. I picked them this morning.”
“Gut.” Irma reached into the paper bag and removed the vegetables.
Faith gathered the cucumbers, celery stalks, and broccoli and took them to the wall-sized refrigerator.
Irma inspected a head of lettuce, peeling off a few outer leaves. “Do you think you’ll have more cherries?”
“Oh, jah. The trees are full this year.” His orchard tended to be plentiful one year and scarce the next. This season he had enough fruit to supply his regular customers and stock the roadside fruit stand. Even his mother was able to put up extra jars of cherry preserves and pie fillings for the winter. He hoped the blueberries would be as plentiful, but he wasn’t holding his breath. They hadn’t had much rain lately. Some years the berries shriveled before completely ripening.
