To Hunter’s relief, Faith diverted their attention. “Kumme, Willa and Henrietta, let’s continue making plans in the bakery over a mug of hot chocolate and a treat.”
“None for me. I’ve lost weight, but I still have to control my appetite.” Willa ran her hands down her hips. “I only have to look at a slice of pie and I gain three pounds.”
“Then you’d better close your eyes while I eat mine,” Hunter heard Faith retort as she ambled toward the door.
He didn’t notice she’d left empty-handed. It wasn’t until hours later when he was locking the cash box in the back room that he saw the white envelope sitting on the counter. Faith must have used his pen to inscribe a message across it:
Hunter, you earned this fair and square, so I hope you’ll accept it. However, I’d rather take the money back than let go of a friendship I’ve had since childhood.—Faith.
He exhaled loudly. He had accused Faith of being too prideful to accept his help, but wasn’t he being just as arrogant to decline the delivery fee? He peeked at the contents of the envelope. The money would definitely come in handy and he was grateful for it, but it didn’t put a grin on his face the way Faith’s repartee had done all the way to the Palmers’ house. She was right: their friendship—yes, friendship—was more important than a quibble over money. Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to accept the payment, so he left it lying on the counter.
He locked the door and trod to the lot where he hitched his horse that afternoon. It took a moment for his eyes to make sense of the odd shape in the back of the buggy. When he comprehended it was the Palmers’ chair, he wryly clucked his tongue. If it weren’t for Faith’s business, he wouldn’t have any job at all, much less two. Hunter realized the furniture wasn’t the only thing he needed to restore: his relationship with Faith could use repair, as well.
He clumped back toward the bakery to thank Faith and apologize for his cloddish behavior in rejecting the money. But when he reached the bakery door, there wasn’t a single light on, not even in the back room.
She probably had to get home to help host Henrietta’s sappy sister, he concluded. I’ll have to talk to Faith tomorrow. Then he hurried home, eager to tell his aunt and mother they’d all been invited to the Yoders’ house for Thanksgiving dinner.
Chapter Five
After setting up a narrow cot for Willa in Faith’s half of the room, the young women whispered so as not to wake their small nephews on the other side of the divider.
“I know it’s forward of me to ask,” Willa said as she sprawled lengthwise on her bed, “but are you and Hunter walking out?”
“Of course not,” Faith replied. “What would cause you to ask such a question?”
“There was a hint of tension between the two of you at the cannery this afternoon,” Willa commented. “To be honest, you both wore the kind of wounded expressions people who are secretly courting wear when they’ve quarreled.”
Although inwardly impressed by how astute Willa was to have observed the friction between Hunter and her, Faith felt no need to elaborate on the nature of their discussion.
“I assure you, we’re definitely not courting,” she said as she reclined and tugged the quilt to her chin. “Hunter and I are... We’re business associates.”
Earlier in the day, she would have referred to Hunter as a friend, but when he didn’t respond to her note that afternoon, she began to question whether he held her in the same regard. She cringed to recall how expectantly she’d waited for him to visit her at the bakery, where she envisioned their making amends over a piece of dessert, or how her insides joggled each time a customer approached her doorstep.
When Hunter didn’t arrive during business hours, Faith convinced herself it was because he couldn’t come until the cannery was closed. She dared to hope that after locking up the shop, he might offer her a ride home, and they’d talk then. As the clock struck five, she busied herself with fastidiously wiping down tables and restocking the napkin dispensers in the storefront, so as not to appear as if she was purposely loitering until he arrived. When she finally peeked up from her chores, she noticed the cannery was dark. Hunter must have slipped out of his store without her noticing. Crestfallen, she couldn’t get out the door and onto her bicycle fast enough.
“I know at least three couples in Indiana who worked together before they started courting,” Willa prattled in a hushed tone. “Working with each other can be a gut way to gauge compatibility.”
Although she agreed with Willa’s general theory, Faith dismissed it in regard to Hunter and herself. “Be that as it may, I won’t spend much time working with Hunter. He’s only in town temporarily.”
“You never know what might develop to make him stay,” Willa insinuated. “Consider me, for example. I’ve just kumme for a visit, too, but if I found a purpose for lingering, such as the prospect of getting married and starting a family, I would.”
Faith allowed Willa’s reference to hang in the air without responding to it, although her mind was reeling. Willa might stay in Willow Creek? Was Henrietta designing to match Willa with Hunter as an incentive to extend her visit? Faith’s thoughts took on a momentum of their own, and she tossed and turned while Willa drifted into a sound slumber.
Faith desperately wanted to turn her flashlight back on and read until she was drowsy, but she feared she’d rouse her guest or one of the children. She comforted herself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be long until she could read all night whenever she desired, provided she earned enough for the down payment on the apartment and bakery lease.
She mentally tried to calculate her earnings for the week, minus expenses and Pearl’s salary, but she needed a pencil and paper to capture all the figures. Eventually, she gave up and her thoughts looped around to Willa’s observation about the discord between Faith and Hunter. Faith was beginning to wonder if she’d further offended him with her note. Did he think she was overbearing? Perhaps he needed a little time to move beyond their squabble? She hoped so; otherwise, Thanksgiving dinner would feel like a long, awkward occasion instead of the worshipful and celebratory feast it was meant to be.
Slowly exhaling, she rested her hands on her stomach. She wondered how Willa lost so much weight since she’d seen her last. A prick of envy stabbed Faith’s heart, and out of nowhere, she imagined Willa and Hunter walking out together. As absurd as the inkling was, she pictured their getting married, having six or eight children and building a house that wasn’t “a waste of resources.” Wasn’t that what all men wanted, a large brood of children and a skinny wife who walked around with a baby on each hip, saying, “the more the merrier”? The very thought caused tears to stream down Faith’s cheeks and into her ears. She rolled onto her side so Willa wouldn’t hear her sniffing.
After a few minutes, she blotted her eyes with the end of her pillowcase. She was being ridiculous, contriving these outlandish scenarios. Besides, whoever Hunter and Willa walked out with or married was none of Faith’s concern. Unlike Willa, Faith didn’t need a husband—especially not one as bullheaded as Hunter—to make her feel as if she had purpose in Willow Creek. Faith had customers to serve and a financial deadline to meet, and what she really needed was a good night’s rest so her emotions wouldn’t get the best of her again.
Indeed, the next morning as she careened into town on her bike, she felt entirely refreshed. Saturday was always a bustling day in the bakery, and the Saturday before Thanksgiving promised to be their busiest day yet. She was always energized by her customers’ appreciation and good cheer, particularly around the holidays, when she enjoyed meeting people whose travels took them through Willow Creek.
Between working the counter, answering the phone and baking new treats, Faith and Pearl barely had a moment to speak to each other until it was time for dinner.
“Since Ivy will be out sick again today, perhaps we should work through our dinner break this aft
ernoon?” Pearl suggested.
Faith replaced an empty tray of sticky buns with a full one. Although she was tempted to take Pearl up on the offer, Faith knew it would be counterproductive to skip their dinner break. Henrietta could imply what she would, but Faith wasn’t so driven to make a sale that she’d deny Pearl and herself a much-needed rest.
“Neh, we deserve to put our feet up for a bit. Besides, I want to hear how your husband’s appointment went yesterday.”
They changed the sign on the door to Closed, lowered the lights and retrieved their lunchboxes from the back room before bowing their heads to say grace. As they ate, Faith apprised Pearl of the outcome of the Palmer delivery, and Pearl reported the doctor said her husband’s blood pressure reading was out of the danger zone.
“Praise Gott!” Faith’s voice reverberated in the empty room.
“I only wish Ruth Graber’s health was improving, too,” Pearl remarked.
Faith wrinkled her forehead. “I thought her recovery was progressing nicely.”
“Well, we stopped at her place last evening and she said the doctor had paid her a house call. He was concerned about the results of blood tests he’d done when she went to the emergency room. So, although her bones are healing nicely, she’s been advised to get more rest. From what I gather, she isn’t supposed to go out and about in the buggy, either. Something about her lungs and the cold weather...”
“What a shame. If I know Ruth, she must feel cooped in. Just yesterday Henrietta invited her to our house for Thanksgiving. I guess that means she won’t be able to kumme.”
“Ach! Where’s my head? They mentioned that to me last night. I was supposed to convey the message Hunter will be the only one attending. Iris doesn’t want to leave Ruth alone, but she insisted Hunter should go by himself.”
Faith was nonplussed. Did Hunter truly wish to spend Thanksgiving with the Yoder family, or had he been put on the spot and felt obligated to accept the invitation?
“Ruth and Iris are going to spend Thanksgiving alone?” Having dined with Ruth nearly every day for the past two years, Faith was aware of how much pleasure the older woman derived from eating together. She supposed Ruth had to eat alone so often at home that she prized the chance to gather around the table with others. It was a shame she’d miss celebrating Thanksgiving at the Yoder farm.
“It doesn’t seem fair, does it? Since my kinner aren’t coming to visit until Grischtdaag, and Wayne and I will be alone, too, I considered offering to go to Ruth’s, but I couldn’t invite myself, could I?”
“Neh... But what if you and I were to cook dinner here at the bakery and bring it to Ruth and Iris? That wouldn’t be the same as inviting ourselves to be their guests. Perhaps we could ask Ivy and her groossdaadi to join us, too?”
“Ruth would love that!” Pearl joyfully waved her spoon. “But only if it’s okay with Henrietta that you won’t be home to help with your family’s dinner preparations.”
“Willa will be there to take my place—she can give Henrietta and Lovina a hand with whatever needs to be done,” Faith reasoned earnestly. “Besides, both Ruth and Iris’s husbands are deceased, and Gott’s Word instructs us to honor widows. Henrietta can’t argue with that.”
And this way, Faith rationalized to herself, Willa can have Hunter all to herself, which is whom I assume she really meant when she said, “the more the merrier.” As for Hunter, Faith reckoned he’d barely notice her absence anyway.
* * *
Hunter racked his brain for a way to show Faith he was sorry for his lack of humility the day before, but even apologizing for being prideful sounded, well, prideful. He finally decided he’d pay her a visit at the bakery and let her know he was looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with her and her family. Perhaps he’d order a few of the apple fry pies he’d heard so much about and bring them home to his aunt and mother. But every time he attempted to lock the cannery, another customer entered. He didn’t want to turn away business, so he resigned himself to waiting until after closing time.
When the hour came, he noted the crowd of customers still milling about in Faith’s storefront, so he meandered to the mercantile, where he was inspired to purchase a packet of batteries for her bicycle headlamp. Exultant at having found the perfect token to give Faith when he expressed his regret, Hunter charged out the door, nearly barreling into Joseph Schrock, his wife, Amity, and Amity’s visiting parents. Hunter refrained from tapping his foot as introductions were made and details about holiday plans were exchanged. Finally, the group bid him a joyous Thanksgiving, but it was too late: Faith’s bakery was empty and its lights were off. Hunter slid the batteries beneath the breast of his jacket and trudged home.
After serving customers by himself all day, he had a new appreciation for Ivy’s assiduousness. His muscles burned, and he was relieved the next day was an “off Sunday,” meaning the leit didn’t congregate for church. Rather, they held private worship services in their own homes. After Sunday dinner, he was so exhausted he excused himself for a brief nap but ended up sleeping right through another visit from Pearl and Wayne.
“Isn’t that kind?” his aunt was remarking to his mother in the parlor when he got up.
“Indeed,” his mother replied. To Hunter, she explained, “Pearl and Faith offered to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for your ant and me. They planned to make it at the bakery and deliver it to us, but we thought it would be better to cook it here, where I can help. Faith will make the pies in her bakery in the morning, so as to be out of Henrietta’s way. Ivy and Mervin Sutter are also invited.”
“Faith won’t be eating at her own home?” Hunter asked.
“Uh-oh, do I detect a note of disappointment?” Ruth teased. “We thought you’d enjoy dining with your young male friends for a change, but if it’s Faith’s company you’re interested in keeping, tell Henrietta you’ve changed your mind and you’ll be staying here with us.”
“Neh, it’s...it’s not that—” Hunter stammered. “I’m surprised she wouldn’t want to be with her family, that’s all.”
Yet he couldn’t deny a sense of disappointment that Faith wouldn’t be present at her family’s celebration. He also couldn’t help but wonder if she was deliberately avoiding him. Not that he would have blamed her—she probably wondered why he still hadn’t acknowledged her note.
He decided he’d visit her at the first opportunity, but Monday and Tuesday were so busy at the cannery, he didn’t have a moment to pull himself away from the shop. Before he knew it, it was four fifty-five on Wednesday afternoon.
“On Thursday I’m eating Thanksgiving dinner at Ruth Graber’s house,” Ivy announced, just as she’d announced on Monday and Tuesday afternoons.
“That’s right, Ivy.” Hunter smiled.
“Faith Yoder is making dessert,” Ivy informed him.
“Her pies are bound to be appenditlich. I hope I have treats that taste as gut as at Henrietta’s house.”
“Neh, you’re eating at Ruth Graber’s house with Faith Yoder.”
Hunter cocked his head to the side. He didn’t want to upset Ivy by contradicting her, but she was so particular about details that he wondered why she thought he was eating at Ruth’s.
“You mean after dinner, I’ll come back to Ruth’s house for leftover dessert, right?” he asked.
“Neh, you’re eating Thanksgiving dinner at Ruth Graber’s house. One thirty on Thursday.”
Hunter pressed her for clarification. “Ivy, who told you that?”
“Willa Gingerich from Indiana.”
The conversation was confusing, even for him, but he shouldn’t have been surprised Ivy kept everyone’s names straight. She seldom erred with memorizing names or numbers.
“Well, that’s almost right, but not quite,” Hunter explained. “Willa Gingerich from Indiana invited me to eat at Henrietta Yoder’s house.”
“Jah. Will
a Gingerich from Indiana invited Hunter Schwartz to eat dinner at Henrietta Yoder’s house,” Ivy repeated, and Hunter breathed a sigh of relief. She had the story straight.
Then she added, “I told Willa Gingerich neh. Hunter Schwartz is eating dinner at Ruth Graber’s house with Faith Yoder. One thirty on Thursday. Thanksgiving Day, a special occasion.”
Recalling how Faith told Ivy that he might eat with them on a special occasion, Hunter’s mouth fell open. “When, Ivy? When did you tell this to Willa?”
“Three thirty. Willa Gingerich purchased one jar of sweet mustard. Four dollars. Exact change.”
Three thirty today? Hunter must have stepped out to use the washroom at the very moment Willa stopped in for the mustard. Henrietta’s sister was probably nattering on to Ivy about Thanksgiving dinner and that’s when the misunderstanding arose. Hunter was so flabbergasted he couldn’t speak.
“Mervin Sutter waits for me at the hitching post behind the mercantile at five o’clock,” Ivy stated as the clock tolled, leaving Hunter alone to shake his head in silence.
Now what was he going to do? If he sprinted to the bakery to explain the situation to Faith and tell her he was still planning to go to the farm, it would look as if he was going out of his way not to keep company with her on Thanksgiving. But if he let the misunderstanding rest, the Yoder family might assume he changed his plans just to be with Faith.
Hunter had met meed like Willa who would conclude he was interested in Faith romantically. Not that courting Faith wouldn’t have appealed to him under different circumstances, but Hunter knew he was in no condition, physically or financially, to be anyone’s suitor. No, he had to explain; he just hoped with the recent friction between Faith and him, she’d see the humorous side of the situation.
But the laugh appeared to be on Hunter, because by the time he locked his shop and started across the street, the bakery was already deserted. Adjusting his hat to protect his ears from the cold, Hunter supposed there were far worse things than spending Thanksgiving at Ruth’s house with Faith. He only hoped Faith felt the same way about spending the holiday with him.
An Amish Holiday Wedding Page 7
