* * *
Faith figured by closing her shop half an hour early on Wednesday and returning home to make the pies and rolls for her family’s Thanksgiving dinner, she’d demonstrate she really did value the time she spent with Henrietta and Willa. But after everyone finished eating supper and the women were left alone to clear and clean the dishes, Faith could hardly get a word out of the two sisters.
Finally, she commented, “It’s so quiet I can hear the clock ticking in the parlor. Are you upset with me because I’m not going to be home for Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Neh, not at all,” Henrietta claimed. “We’ll miss having you here, but I think it’s wunderbaar you’re showing hospitality to Ruth and Pearl, and Ivy and her groossdaadi.”
“You forgot to mention Hunter and his mamm.” Willa sulked, circling the bottom of a bowl with a dish towel.
“Jah, I’ll be celebrating the holiday with Hunter’s mamm, but not with Hunter—he’ll be eating with you,” Faith corrected her.
Henrietta winked at Faith. “It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend you’re not courting. Ivy told Willa today Hunter wants to have dinner with you instead of coming here. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with us.”
Faith suspended a dirty pot above the dishwater, too stunned to move. She didn’t know for certain what Ivy told Willa, but she didn’t have to know: based on her knowledge of Ivy’s communication skills, Faith could guess the gist of what transpired.
“I’m afraid Ivy was speaking out of turn,” she explained. “She didn’t know what she was talking about.”
“Neh, Ivy was very clear about what she was saying.” Willa pouted. “I only wish you’d been more honest about your interest in Hunter before I got my hopes up.”
“Willa!” Henrietta intervened with a sternness that surprised Faith. “You know how discreet most Amish couples are about their courtships. Faith has done nothing wrong by keeping her relationship private. Besides, you can have your pick of suitors at home—Hunter may be Faith’s only option here in Willow Creek. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to put the boys to bed, fold the laundry and then finish the cleaning I didn’t get to do this afternoon.”
Abashed, Faith plunged the pot into the soapy water. The nerve of her sister-in-law to insist Faith and Hunter were courting, when Faith specifically denied it! And didn’t Henrietta understand how hurtful it was to hear her announce Faith’s courtship options were limited, whereas Willa’s were limitless? Ironically, Faith knew if she pointed out her sister-in-law’s insensitivity, Henrietta’s own feelings would be hurt, since she truly believed she was standing up for Faith. Instead of responding aloud, Faith nearly scoured a hole right through the copper-bottomed pot.
Eventually, to Faith’s chagrin, Willa acquiesced. “I suppose Henrietta has a point. I’m sorry, Faith—I was being selfish. Now, would you like my help making the pies?”
“Definitely not!” Faith barked. Then, recognizing how cross she sounded, she forced a joke. “You said you gain weight just looking at pies, so I wouldn’t want to tempt you. I think that’s what happens to me—one minute I’m measuring ingredients, the next minute, I’ve eaten a third of a pie!”
“You’re blessed to have found a suitor who doesn’t mind that you’re carrying a few extra pounds.”
Faith held her tongue as she retrieved a bowl of eggs from the icebox. Please, Gott, help me turn the other cheek, she silently prayed.
“I haven’t found a suitor,” she iterated. “But you’ve done very well to lose so much weight, Willa. Are you following a special meal plan?”
“Neh.” The normally talkative Willa went silent as she tugged a cupboard door open, shielding her face. After stacking the dry plates inside, she closed the door and confided, “I just lost my appetite for a while about a year ago.”
Faith could tell by the way Willa wouldn’t meet her eyes that she was embarrassed by whatever triggered her weight loss. “I didn’t mean to pry,” she said. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s alright,” Willa responded, draping the damp dishcloth over the rack to dry. Lowering her voice, she confided, “You see, I started losing weight because my suitor said I was getting too fat.”
“Really?” Faith was appalled. “He actually told you that?”
“Not in so many words, neh, but one time he was embracing me and he whispered, ‘my plump, darling heifer,’ into my ear and then he sort of laughed.”
“Willa! He didn’t!” Faith yelped, and then quickly cupped her hand over her mouth. In a quieter tone, she admitted, “I would have been livid!”
Willa shrugged. “I was more hurt than angry, especially since I hadn’t ever allowed him to hug me before then because I was self-conscious about my size. He said he meant it as a term of endearment and that I was being overly sensitive. It was true, I was overweight, so I tried not to let it bother me when he kept calling me that, but I felt so...I don’t know, unwomanly somehow. I completely lost my appetite. If you can believe it, I became so depressed, I had to force myself to eat!” Her face was beet red as she half laughed, half choked at the memory.
Faith understood how devastating it was to be vulnerable with a suitor, only to have him respond in a crushing manner. “I’m so sorry his comment affected you like that, Willa.”
“Does Hunter make critical remarks about your weight?”
Faith blew air through her lips. Was there any sense trying to convince Willa that Hunter wasn’t courting her? Faith decided just to answer Willa’s question.
“Neh, Hunter never says anything critical about my weight,” she replied, suddenly realizing he never directly said anything about her weight at all. Was it possible the awkward feelings she had about her size in Hunter’s presence actually originated in Faith’s own mind and she wrongly attributed them to him? Could it be she jumped to other conclusions about him that were inaccurate, too? Perhaps she’d been too quick to assume his lack of communication lately meant he didn’t care about their friendship—was it possible he’d just been too busy to respond to her note?
“I don’t think I’d continue to walk out with a suitor who put me down,” Faith continued, “even if his comments were supposedly truthful or affectionate or made in jest.”
“Neither would I,” Willa said, smugness curling her mouth. “But it took me a while to get to that point. Once my confidence returned, I told him I’d rather walk barefoot through a field of cow pies than walk out with him any longer because he had no idea how to treat a lady!”
The two young women clutched each other’s arms as they giggled. When they straightened, Faith wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron and suggested she’d be pleased if Willa would roll the pie crusts while Faith measured the fillings. Their four hands made light work of the process, and when Henrietta rejoined them hours later, they were sliding the final pies into the oven.
“Mmm,” Willa said, closing her eyes and breathing in. “The aroma is my favorite part of baking.”
“Leftovers are my favorite part of baking,” Henrietta remarked. “There’s enough here so I won’t have to bake again for days.”
“Eating is my favorite part of baking,” Faith admitted, accidentally dropping an empty pie tin, which clattered raucously against the floor.
When the men rushed into the kitchen to see what the commotion was about, they found the three women doubled over in laughter.
“Are you alright?” Mason asked.
“We’re fine,” Faith said. “Kumme, everyone grab a fork. It’s neither too late for pie nor too early to give thanks.”
The way Faith saw it, she was doubly blessed, and she wasn’t going to wait until Thanksgiving to express her gratitude to God. As she sliced into the warm golden crust, she silently prayed. Lord, denki for this time with my family tonight and for the fellowship I’ll have with my friends at Ruth’s house tomorrow.
* * *
That evening, when Hunter told his aunt and mother what Ivy communicated to Willa, Ruth raised an eyebrow at Iris.
“Our Ivy is more insightful than folks give her credit for,” Ruth said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hunter heard the defensiveness in his own voice.
“It means we’ll be glad to set a place for you at the table tomorrow,” his mother responded, giving her son’s arm a squeeze.
“This works out better anyway,” Ruth declared. “I was going to ask Wayne to pick up Faith and her pies from the bakery in time for our devotions before dinner, but this way, Hunter can get her.”
Hunter knew it was useless to resist Ruth’s overt matchmaking attempts, and besides, he welcomed the opportunity to clear the air with Faith in private. He’d already set off for town the next day when he realized he’d forgotten the batteries he purchased for her, but he didn’t want to draw attention to his gift by returning home, so he rode on. Since Main Street was virtually deserted, Hunter pulled up in front of the bakery and rapped on the glass pane of the door.
Faith quickly appeared, gliding into the square of sunshine to unlock the door. She was wearing a verdant green dress that accentuated the green flecks in her hazel eyes, and her hair glinted in the light.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Hunter,” she greeted him, grinning mischievously. “I assume you’re here to court me?”
Hunter faltered backward and nearly tumbled down the stairs.
“Ach! Be careful.” Faith giggled as he regained his balance. “I was kidding! I heard what Ivy told Willa, and if your ant and mamm are anything like my sister-in-law, we’ve both been hearing the same farfetched insinuations about our relationship. I thought by making light of it, I’d put your mind at ease. Don’t worry, I know we consider ourselves to be business associates.”
“Business associates, that we are,” Hunter confirmed. He cleared his throat and added, “But we’re friends, too, right?”
Faith’s eyes twinkled as she gave him a single, decisive nod. “Since childhood.”
Hunter’s shoulders relaxed. “Actually, I was trying to think of a way I could put your mind at ease,” he confessed. “Not just about Ivy’s mix-up, but about my behavior the other day. I tried several times to apologize, but I kept missing you. I’m sorry for not accepting the delivery fee. Sometimes I can be as stubborn as a mule.”
Faith tittered. “That makes two of us. Now, speaking of deliveries, could you please give me a hand with the trays in the back room?”
They secured the dinner rolls and pies in the back of the buggy and took their seats in front. Because their tradition was to fast on Thanksgiving morning, the smell made Hunter’s mouth water. “I’m tempted to dig into those pies this very instant,” he said. “What kind are you holding on your lap?”
“I hate to disappoint you, but it’s not a pie. It’s a pumpkin roll,” Faith teased.
“With pecans on top?”
“Of course.”
“Mmm,” he moaned, licking his lips. “That’s how Justine always made them.”
“Who’s Justine?”
Hunter was so hungry he hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. “Er, she was someone I courted, but it was a while ago,” he answered vaguely before redirecting the conversation. “How many pumpkin rolls did you sell before the holiday?”
“I’m not sure I remember off the top of my head,” Faith said with a sigh. “In fact, I’m not sure I’ve even logged the amount. Paperwork is not my specialty, I’m afraid.”
“As long as you’re turning a profit, I suppose that’s what matters.”
“Jah, I suppose,” Faith replied.
“But?” Hunter pushed, sensing she had more to say.
“But I’m not sure I am turning a profit. To be honest, my books are riddled with errors. I keep trying to balance the figures, but I must be doing something wrong. I wouldn’t be so worried if I didn’t have to put a down payment on the lease by the first of the year, for both the bakery and the apartment upstairs. I’m not sure I’m going to make it, but I hardly have a moment to stop and assess the numbers.”
As Faith spoke, her voice began to tremble, and Hunter briefly felt an impulse to wrap his arm around her shoulder.
“Trust me,” he said in a quiet voice, “I understand what a burden it can be to carry a financial pressure alone.”
Faith turned toward him, sheepishly rolling her eyes. “Listen to me, complaining about finances on a holiday! I’m sorry, Hunter. My sister-in-law is right—my priorities aren’t where they should be. She says I am too focused on my business.”
“You needn’t apologize,” Hunter argued. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll look over your books for you. But there is one condition.”
Faith’s face brightened. “Of course, what is it?”
Hunter delivered his condition carefully but firmly, “You mustn’t offer me payment. This is something I want to do for you as...as your friend.”
“But if it interrupts your working day—”
“It won’t. Tomorrow morning is my first round of deliveries. I’ll arrive early to review your accounting. How does five thirty sound?”
“That would be wunderbaar, Hunter,” Faith acknowledged. “But the very least I can do is make you breakfast.”
“Agreed.” Hunter nodded. “Would you like me to bring my own oier, or can you transport some yourself?”
“I’ll transport them myself,” she said with a nudge to his arm. “But if I should wobble into a ditch, we’ll have to eat them scrambled.”
Even as he was laughing, it occurred to Hunter that Ruth was right: Ivy was more insightful than people gave her credit for. That day, he was so thankful to be among his family and friends, he hardly noticed the pain in his lower back, hip and legs. And when he bit into the pumpkin roll Faith served, every memory of Justine and the past vanished. All he could taste was the goodness of the here and now on his lips.
Chapter Six
As Faith unlocked the back door to the bakery at four thirty on Friday morning, she felt her stomach rumble. After Thanksgiving dinner and dessert at Ruth’s, followed by a round of leftovers when Hunter brought her back to her own house and stayed for supper, and then more dessert while they played games with her family, Faith didn’t think she’d be hungry again for days.
She decided it must be the morning air stirring her appetite. Shivering, she turned up the heat in the bakery. As unseasonably cold as the temperature was, she was grateful it hadn’t snowed yet, which would mean she’d have to walk instead of ride her bike to the bakery. She hoped the inclement weather would hold off until after Christmas, when she’d be settled into her apartment and wouldn’t have to worry about trekking into town in frigid conditions.
Once the room warmed, she began preparing the bread dough to rise before turning her attention to the display shelf. In her haste to get home early on Wednesday evening, she neglected to wrap several trays of goodies. They’d gone dry and most of them would have to be moved to the day-old shelf. She also marked down the price of two pies that hadn’t sold. How was she going to make a profit if she was so careless with her products? She sighed and focused on mixing the ingredients for molasses gingerbread cookies, which she’d come in especially early to make to send with Hunter to the Piney Hill festival.
She was concentrating so hard on what she was doing, an hour later she didn’t notice Hunter standing inside the back entrance until he cleared his throat.
“Guder mariye, Faith,” he spoke softly, sweeping his hat from his head. Her eyes traveled from his thick, curly hair, down the masculine lines of his cheekbones, and lingered on the distinctive cleft in his chin.
“Guder mariye,” she replied, embarrassed she’d been staring. “You startled me.”
“The door was unlocked, so when you didn’t hear me knocking, I c
ame in,” he explained, his brows crimped together. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you really should bolt the door when you’re here alone.”
“As you’ll soon discover from my ledger, there’s not much to steal,” Faith joshed, “unless someone wants day-old bread, in which case, they’re welcome to it.”
“It’s not your money I’m worried about,” Hunter responded, the frown lines in his forehead deepening. “A woman working alone in the early morning hours—”
Faith flattened a lump of cookie dough with the rolling pin. While she was touched by Hunter’s concern, his advice was unnecessary. She was strong. She knew how to take care of herself. She’d better; after all, she was going to be doing it for the rest of her life.
“Denki for your concern, but I doubt anyone in their right mind would trouble a sturdy Amish woman wielding one of these!” she said as she waved the rolling pin. She was half kidding. The Amish practiced nonviolence and she couldn’t imagine ever physically striking another person, but that was her point: she doubted she’d ever need to. “Besides, I usually do lock the door, but I must have forgotten. Please, take off your coat. Would you like breakfast now or after you’ve finished reviewing my finances?”
“After I’ve finished. I’m not hungry yet. I confess, when I returned from your house last evening, I devoured another slice of pumpkin roll.”
“Really? That must have been your third piece!”
“My fourth,” he confessed. “What can I say? I know a gut thing when I have it.”
Faith felt her cheeks go rosy. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now, I’ll put on a pot of kaffi. Would you like to work at that little desk over in the corner, or would you prefer to work at a table in the storefront?”
“I’ll work at this desk,” he replied. “If you turn the lights on in the storefront, someone might think the bakery is open.”
An Amish Holiday Wedding Page 8
