by Kelly Irvin
“Are you worried about how he’ll take to Burke?”
That would be an understatement. She’d like to avoid the moment for as long as possible. She craned her head, looking for Ezekiel. She needed to get this over with and get out. The object of her search, with a pie in each hand, backed through the kitchen’s swinging double doors. He didn’t look up.
Burke arrived at the table. He looked marginally better with a clean face, but his dirty T-shirt and bedraggled jeans didn’t bode well for a job interview. It couldn’t be helped. “Let’s go.” She pushed off the table with both hands and nodded at Dottie. “We’ll talk to you later.”
“You bet your bottom dollar.” Dottie offered her hand to Burke, who took it with solemnity worthy of a subject bowing to his queen. “I’ll look forward to talking to you too, Burke. I want to know all about you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Lovely manners too.”
Mary Katherine scowled at her friend, who finally let Burke’s hand drop and picked up her fork. “Come back for dessert.”
“We’ll see.” Mary Katherine focused on her mission to convince Ezekiel to hire Burke while making no promises of her own.
Ezekiel slid the pies on the counter and turned to a battery-operated calculator. An old-fashioned cash register took up a chunk of space next to it, along with a pile of oversized laminated menus. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his clothes looked as if they’d been made for a larger man. A rotund lady in green sweatpants and matching sweatshirt asked him a question.
His deep voice carried over the steady hum of conversation. “I am glad you liked the sugar cream pie.” He pointed his thumb down toward the glass display case that ran the length of the wooden counter. “They come with the recipe.”
“So you won’t give me the recipe unless I buy the pie?” The lady ran her chubby fingers through flyaway hair the color of cinnamon-drop candy. “What would it cost to get you to come to my house in St. Louis to bake one for me?”
Despite exhaustion apparent in the way his shoulders slumped, Ezekiel chuckled. He had a nice smile. For the briefest of moments, Mary Katherine’s mind veered off track, remembering how solid his muscles had been when they fell together in the grass. He smelled like soap and peppermint. He smelled good.
Heat rushed through her. You’ve cracked your gourd, old woman.
“Or you’re alive.” Moses’ laugh tickled her ear.
You hush.
Ezekiel’s gaze meandered over the woman’s shoulder and collided with Mary Katherine’s. He smiled again, this time with more feeling. “I have my hands full running the restaurant. I reckon your best bet is to buy a pie.”
Mary Katherine pointed toward the wide-open double doors behind Ezekiel that led to the kitchen. His hands busy boxing up the pie his customer had settled upon, Ezekiel nodded without missing a beat.
“They’re really busy here.” Burke followed her into the kitchen, then backstepped and threw himself up against the wall to allow two more waitresses—Miriam and Anna—room to pass with trays loaded down with plates of steaming food. He straightened, a smile stretching across his face. His upper teeth were even, but the bottom row could only be described as snaggled. “No wonder they need a dishwasher.”
They had a busboy and two commercial-size dishwashers. She wasn’t sure they did.
“Mary Kay! I’m so happy to see you.” Daphne, sister-in-law to Thomas’s wife, untied an apron spattered with grease and flour. “Ezekiel said you’d be taking over the cooking. Not a minute too soon. My plantar fascia is killing me. Doc says I need to stay off my feet for a while.” She tossed the apron into an overflowing basket in the corner and pushed through the swinging doors before Mary Katherine could respond.
“You didn’t mention you work here.” Burke crossed his arms over his chest. A tattoo of a ruby–throated hummingbird fluttered on his forearm. “What’s the owner like?”
“I don’t work here. Ezekiel is just overly optimistic or he overestimates his powers of persuasion. For someone who is stalking me, you seem to be short on information.”
“I wasn’t stalking you. I’m observant.”
“Where was Daphne headed?” Ezekiel stuck his head through the swinging doors. “I’ve got a line at the register and half a dozen orders up on the wire.”
Mary Katherine wrestled with the angel on her shoulder who whispered in her ear, He needs help. Get a clean apron and get to work. “She said her feet hurt. She thought I was here to spell her.”
“Well? Are you?”
She wanted to start her workday smelling fresh ink and paper, not bacon frying and toast browning. “I brought you someone to wash dishes.” He would get over the disappointment. “This is Burke McMillan.”
“Tony Perez takes care of that on Saturdays.” Ezekiel took a breath. She could almost see him counting to ten. “What I need is a cook. Daphne has health problems and she can’t be on her feet all the time.”
“I can cook.” Burke plopped his duffel bag in the corner and held up both hands. “Where do I wash up?”
Ezekiel moved inside, letting the doors swing shut. “Who are you?”
“I was a short-order cook at a truck stop for a stretch. Before that I managed a Mexican fast-food joint.” His expression earnest, he introduced himself again and stuck out his hand. Ezekiel shook it. Burke smiled. “You need a cook. I need a job.”
A strange résumé that didn’t seem to fit the man who stood in front of them. Where had Burke McMillan come from, and what was he doing in Jamesport?
His face puzzled, Ezekiel’s gaze meandered from Burke to Mary Katherine. He looked worn and frazzled. She studied the corn on the cob steaming on the stove. Something smelled a little burnt. The potatoes. The silence stretched. “You’ll not take me up on my offer, then?”
“Nee. I can’t.” The entreaty in his voice made her want to change her response. If she started working here, she would never have her dream. She was getting too old to keep postponing it. “I’m sorry. I’ve got my hands full. Really I do.”
“I understand.” Ezekiel’s tone held disappointment and resignation. “I think.”
Nicole peeked through the big window next to the doors. She pinned two more tickets on the wire that stretched across it. “Meatloaf plate and a fried chicken plate.” She stuck her pen behind her ear. “They’re getting restless out there.” Her head disappeared.
Scrubbing at his face with his sleeve, Ezekiel returned his gaze to Burke. A second passed. Then another. “Let’s call it a practice run. Put on a clean shirt. There’s a stack by the sink in the back. While you’re there, wash up good. Take a bath in the hand sanitizer if necessary.”
Burke nodded, his expression somber. “Thank you, boss. I appreciate the opportunity.”
“Call me Ezekiel.”
Burke whirled and disappeared into the back.
Ezekiel pushed through the swinging doors. He held them open for a second and looked back. “Thomas is making his way over here. Any idea what he wants?”
“Maybe he just wants to say hello before he pays his bill.”
“He looks grim. Like someone died.” Ezekiel shook his head. “I reckon you did something that got on your suh’s last nerve.”
“I haven’t done a thing.”
“You brought me a stray man.”
“You needed a cook. He needed a job. Two problems, one stone.”
“If he’s a bad cook, you’ll have to take his place.”
“It’s a deal.”
“Mudder, I know you’re back there. Phoebe told me.” Thomas’s deep voice, so like Moses’, carried. “So did Willa. I need to talk to you.”
Ezekiel stepped aside. “After you.”
Feeling like a prisoner walking the plank, she lifted her chin, dusted off her dignity, and slipped past him.
She was almost certain she heard a soft chuckle behind her back.
SEVEN
The silent treatment. Mary Katherine followed her
normally talkative son through the restaurant doors. He said nothing, but the set of his shoulders shouted irritation. He stomped ahead toward his buggy at the far end of a string of them parked in front of the Purple Martin.
She picked up her pace. No need to have him accuse her of dawdling. The sole of her sneaker stuck to the sidewalk. Pink bubble gum. She yanked her foot up. The shoe stayed on the sidewalk. She hopped on one foot.
An Englisch boy dressed in a Tri-County High School Mustangs T-shirt and sweats danced around her, his gaze on the phone in his hand. He was followed by a girl in virtually the same outfit—except her T-shirt fit much tighter and the phone was wrapped in a glittery pink case. Members of Coach Wilson’s team.
“Sorry!” He squeezed past her, the hand with the phone held up high as if he might get her germs if he passed too closely. “You’re holding up traffic.”
“Yeah, you’re holding up traffic.” The girl tossed her long ponytail over her shoulder with a flick of her head. She snapped her bubble gum and smiled. “We’re sneaking out, so we’re in a hurry. We’ve got stuff to do.”
The boy looked back. “Shut up, Kerri.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up, Jason.”
He scowled. She scurried after him.
Mary Katherine hopped backward. “Sorry. Gum on my shoe.”
“Hate it when that happens.” The girl’s voice floated over the rumble of a diesel pickup truck.
“Me too.” Mary Katherine said it more to herself than anyone else. She hated it when a lot of things happened. She plopped onto the bench in front of the restaurant and extricated the blob from her shoe with the tips of her fingernails.
The kids ducked into a pickup truck the color of rust parked a half foot from the curb. It sputtered to life and sped away with tires squealing, leaving Mary Katherine in a cloud of stinky oil and gas fumes.
“Mudder!” Thomas stood next to his horse, his scowl evident for miles. “Mudder, come on.”
She attempted to toss the bubble gum in the brown trash can that sat near the door. It stuck to her hand. She pulled. The blob stretched in long strings that dangled from her fingernails. She blew out air so hard it made the tiny wisps of hair on her forehead tickle her skin. “What is everyone’s rush tonight?”
Thomas waited for her to climb into the buggy, then stomped around to the other side. “Why didn’t Dottie mention you were here?” He pulled out onto the road. Even the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves had an accusatory ring. “You can’t tell me she didn’t know. She made it a point to say hello to Joanna and then avoided me.”
“She was probably in a hurry to get home to finish her John Sandford book. She told me she’s three-quarters of the way through his last Prey book and it’s so suspenseful it keeps her up at night.”
“Mudder!”
“Why are you dragging me out of the restaurant? Why did you leave your fraa and kinner to take me home? I have my own buggy.”
“I didn’t leave them. Joanna is taking your buggy to our house. We’ll switch back later.”
Mary Katherine sideswiped Thomas with a glance. His face could only be described as gloomy. Dusk took over for the sun. The air began to cool. Still, it remained decidedly warm in the buggy. “Why? What is the problem, Suh?”
“What is the problem?” His pitch and volume climbed simultaneously. “Cyrus sent Joseph to find me. He and Freeman and Solomon are at your house. They wanted to know where you are.”
The deacon, the bishop, and the minister. A fierce threesome. “They’re at my house?” Now her voice squeaked. “What do they want?”
Thomas glowered at her. “What do you think?” The grapevine was more of a raging grass fire in this Gmay. “Where is this man who spent the night in your barn?”
“That was him at the restaurant.”
“You spent the day with him?”
“Nee, I met him at the house—on the porch, earlier.”
“At the house? What were you thinking?”
“That I’d help him get a job.”
Thomas groaned. “A nice thought, but not one you should take upon yourself. You should’ve talked to me or Dylan. Any of your suhs. This isn’t one of your make-believe stories where you get to give the hero a happily-ever-after ending.”
Her characters didn’t always get happily ever afters. Her stories reflected life as it was, but Mary Katherine didn’t argue. She would only dig the hole deeper, so she settled back in her seat and glued her gaze to the passing landscape in the deepening dusk.
The remainder of the drive passed in strained silence. They drove up to the house and parked in full view of Cyrus, Freeman, and Solomon seated on her porch. She took a breath and lifted her chin as she followed Thomas up the steps. The three men sat in lawn chairs side by side, looking like triplets with their long white beards, thick black-rimmed bifocals, black hats, and blank expressions.
One of them had added two more lawn chairs from the side of the house, making a long, narrow semicircle on her pristine, freshly painted porch framed by shrubs and tall sunflowers that drooped. Freeman waved in the direction of the first chair and Thomas plopped into it without a word. He was probably tuckered out from chewing her out up one side and down the other.
Endeavoring to arrange her face in some semblance of obedient humility, she eased into her chair with all the grace she could muster after a long day. The chair’s woven nylon seat groaned under her weight. Heat warmed her cheeks.
“That breeze sure feels good. It was a long, hot summer.” Somehow speaking first made her feel as if she’d taken the reins in the conversation. Which was, of course, the exact opposite of what she should do. So much for humility. She tucked her hands together in her lap and locked gazes with Freeman. “Thomas said you wanted to see me.”
“I’m sure you can figure out why.” Freeman tugged his glasses from his face and wiped the lenses on his cotton shirt. He looked no less fierce with his piercing pale-blue eyes, shaded by jutting white eyebrows, unmasked. “You’ve had an eventful week.”
“The wedding went well. It’s a blessing to have all my children married. I’m thankful for all the help from everyone.”
Freeman and Cyrus exchanged glances. They let her words hang in the air as she had often done with her children when they failed to admit to a wrongdoing in hopes of avoiding punishment.
“Mudder—”
“Let me.” Freeman interrupted Thomas with one hand lifted, palm out. “Tell us about the burglar who spent the night in your house.”
“He wasn’t a burglar. He didn’t steal anything. And it was the barn, not the house.”
“Mary Katherine.”
The use of her full name in that tone that reminded her of her parents so many years ago told Mary Katherine she’d gone far enough. She inhaled the scent of fresh-cut grass and men who worked hard. No point in dillydallying any longer. She told the story without faltering, without leaving out a detail. Thomas squirmed in his chair, his face getting redder with each new revelation. Freeman’s only reaction was an occasional sniff. Cyrus stroked his silver beard. Solomon’s skinny white eyebrows roamed higher and higher over wide blue eyes.
After she finished, Freeman wiped his nose with a huge bandanna for a full five seconds before nodding. “This Burke McMillan, where is he from?”
“I don’t know.”
“What is he doing in Jamesport?”
“Now he’s working at the Purple Martin Café.”
“You’re a grown mother with ten kinner. I’m certain you know it doesn’t pay to be lippy about this situation.”
“It’s not my intent to be lippy.” She did know. Humility and obedience. Gott, does that mean I cannot be treated as a grown woman who raised ten kinner? Is this some sort of lesson in breaking my pride? Of course it was. As well it should be. She took a deep breath and let it out. “I only wanted to help a stranger in need.”
“Your intentions were gut, I’ll give you that.” Freeman leaned back in his chair and steepled h
is fingers over his paunch—which seemed to have grown over the last several months. “We should all help those in need.”
If only he would stop there, but Mary Katherine knew he wouldn’t.
“You’re alone in this house now. I shouldn’t have to spell this out for you, but I will. A woman alone with a man—not your suh or your mann—and an Englischer at that. An Englisch stranger. You should’ve gone to the phone shack and called me or Cyrus. Immediately.”
She couldn’t argue with any of those statements—though she really wanted to. Gott, help me be more obedient. Please. She ducked her head, breathed, and nodded. She’d handled the situation badly, but how could they know what it was like? They hadn’t been there, in her shoes, at that moment when a decision had to be made.
“Freeman and I have discussed this with Thomas.” Cyrus spoke for the first time. For a big man, he had a small, quiet voice, so unlike Freeman’s sonorous bass. “We’re concerned for you.”
“Thomas tells me he intends for you to move in with him and his fraa,” Solomon added. “He also says you have argued with him. I—we—find that odd. Most groossmammis want to spend all the time they can with their grands. Your suh Dylan already has his in-laws with him—both of them. It’s a happy arrangement for them all.”
He left the thought hanging, as if waiting for an explanation. How could she explain that she’d lived in her house her entire adult life? She’d lived there with Moses. It was the last place she’d seen her husband alive.
She could visit, but it wouldn’t be the same.
“You have nothing to say for yourself?” Freeman’s tone held exasperation mixed with a touch of tenderness. The tone a father used with a child. “Surely you have an explanation for your reluctance.”
“Dottie would like for me to open a bookstore with her.” Mary Katherine draped sweetness and conciliation over her words. “She has a spot picked out on Grant Street. It would keep me well occupied and provide a source of income. I would hardly be home alone at all.”
Except at night.
“You wouldn’t need an income if you moved in with Thomas. Dylan will have more room for his growing family. Joanna will have help. No worries about break-ins.”
