And what would Bishop Knepp do if he learned Miriam had been to Morning Star, as well? And how would Rachel and Rhoda react if they found out their mother had fibbed to cover her secret visit, to learn more about her daughter ... a child she’d lost in a raging storm and who’d now kicked up another kind of storm altogether, merely by showing up again?
We did what we did for our own reasons, God. Help us all to do Your will now, rather than makin’ a bigger mess of things.
Even in prayer, Miriam’s pulse and thoughts raced so frantically, she wanted nothing more to do with the conversation outside. She pointed toward the dining room, a signal for Rachel to return to her tables. Then she dished up the double servings of smothered hash browns two English fellows from down the road always ordered when they came to the café.
“They’re still talkin’ out there?” Rhoda asked quietly as she took the two loaded plates from her mother. Rachel must have told her sister what she’d overheard.
“Jah, and considerin’ your other sister is the main gist of the conversation, could well be Hiram questions me next,” Miriam replied in a breathy voice. Once again she wondered if she should tell the girls of her visit with Bob ... but right now it would only irritate Rachel more. And they’d all pay for that! “Bishop Knepp came to Willow Ridge some years after the flood, so I’m sure he’s got questions about the whole thing. Questions Micah has no way of answerin’.”
“Let’s hope Hiram won’t talk with us until after we close. Can’t he see we’re shorthanded, with Naomi gone?” Rhoda’s sigh and expression reflected Miriam’s own exasperation, but it wasn’t a matter of anyone’s convenience when such blatant behavior as Micah’s came to the attention of their religious leaders. And if Hiram had somehow heard of her excursion ...
On the assumption her work would be interrupted later, Miriam cut up two of the large watermelons and the cantaloupes Nate Kanagy had brought in before his breakfast. Best to get ahead of the lunch preparations so the girls could handle things if she had to speak to the brethren this morning. Her heart went out to poor Rachel, who looked for all the world like a baby bird who’d lost its mamma. “You all right, honey-bug?” she murmured. “No cause for jumpin’ to conclusions or—”
“But Micah didn’t deny what the bishop was sayin’,” Rachel replied in a faraway voice. “Which means that instead of takin’ me to the singin’ last night, he was ridin’ in that bright red car with—with Tiffany! He knows better than to—If he keeps this up, he’ll get himself shunned for sure and for certain!”
The pain in her daughter’s voice pierced Miriam’s heart. Rachel had waited a long time—had set her young heart on Micah Brenneman years ago—and from all appearances, he’d been cavorting with the Devil’s own girlfriend. But appearances could be deceiving.
“Best you talk with Micah himself, when it’s just you and him. He’s not the type to go back on any promises he’s made—to you, or to the church,” Miriam assured her stricken girl. “You should be aware of his true intentions, instead of believin’ your own conclusions, Rachel. We all see things from our own—”
“I didn’t just fall off the wagon yesterday!” Rachel whispered vehemently. “I know the difference between seein’ and believin’!”
As her daughter stalked back to the dining room, where the preachers and Micah were seating themselves again, Miriam smiled ruefully. For Micah’s sake—and her own—she hoped Rachel could also love without having to see, just like her sister had read to them from the Good Book the other night. And she certainly hoped her peevish daughter kept control of her temper while those elders were here eating their breakfast. Men had ways of showing their irritation when their meals got interrupted—especially by women who challenged or defied them.
So much trouble brewing, like a summer storm, and it wasn’t yet eight in the morning.
Chapter 10
Rachel started the dishwasher for the last load of the day’s plates and then quickly removed her white café apron. “Guess ya know who I’m gonna go talk to,” she murmured to Rhoda. “And he better give me the right answers, too!”
Off she strode, down the lane behind the Sweet Seasons and then across Kanagy’s pasture. If it was Micah’s duty to set Tiffany straight, well—shouldn’t her mission be to watch after him? Sheep and a few floppy-eared goats watched her, munching their grass, but today she had much more pressing business than pondering four-legged creatures too dense to understand the way her heart pounded.
Not that Micah will understand, either. The way he was starin’ at Tiffany the other day ... whatever possessed him to seek her out? In a pool hall, of all places! And there’ll be no lettin’go of this, now that the bishop will be watchin’ him like a hawk.
She took the next gravel road and approached the carpentry shop more slowly. It wouldn’t do to corner Micah while his brothers looked on, for Seth and Aaron would side with him and then poke fun at both of them. And Micah’s wild ride with that misfit Tiffany was anything but funny!
Rachel eased the shop door open, grimacing when the bell jangled gleefully overhead. From various areas of the shop, the Brenneman brothers turned to look at her. The shrill whine of Seth’s large saw ceased, and Aaron stopped his spray painting to flip the switch on his compressor. The silence hung around her like the summer heat.
“Afternoon to ya, Miss Rachel!” the youngest blond called across the large room. “I don’t s’pose ya brung us any of that fine lemon cake from lunch?”
“Don’t s’pose I did,” she replied, fixing her eyes on Micah. Was it her imagination, or did he hide a wagonload—a carload—of secrets behind the smile he flashed at her? He approached her as though nothing had happened, but when he grabbed his hat from its peg by the door, he seemed hesitant about stepping outside with her.
“Can’t spare ya much time. We gotta deliver these new shelves for the Schrocks’ quiltin’ shop before four, or there’ll be some ladies complainin’—”
“The Schrock women got nothin’ on me when it comes to lettin’ folks know I’m peeved!” Rachel spat out. She crossed her arms, driven by a desperate need to know exactly where she stood with—what she meant to—the handsome man standing beside her. “So what’s this about you settin’ Tiffany straight yesterday? Ridin’ in her car and goin’ to the pool hall, no less?”
Micah’s grin withered. “How’d you know about—”
“The kitchen’s got ears, Micah.”
He let out a bemused laugh. “Jah, and it seems the Mennonite preacher in Morning Star felt compelled to report to Hiram, too. What he saw and what I did are two different things altogether.”
Rachel turned her head slightly, waiting him out.
“I wanted to see where your sister lived ... what sorta life she had all those years she was away from her Plain family, Rachel.”
Was he holding out on her? He seemed to know things he didn’t want to share. “And what did ya learn while ya coulda been at the singin’ with me?”
He blinked. “I was home long before then, honey-girl, because if you’ll remember, I hadn’t figured on goin’ to the singin’. You’d already said the hen party might take all day on Sunday.”
Rachel pressed her lips into a line. “A girl likes to hope her beau will surprise her sometimes.”
A smile softened his handsome face. “Oh, I got a surprise I’m gonna show ya real soon, Rache. But last night I was thinkin’ about what to do next ... hopin’ I hadn’t stepped outta line, tellin’ Tiffany not to come back here unless she could mind her smart mouth around her mother—and you girls.” He lifted her chin with his finger until she focused on his eyes. “A lotta lives and beliefs got upset like applecarts when she showed up outta nowhere. And it’s not like Tiffany’s the only one hearin’ stories that seem ... farfetched. Ain’t so?”
He appeared to be telling God’s own truth: Micah’s deep green eyes shone as steady as tall pines in the forest as he rested his large hands on her shoulders. Rachel sighed. “I—I was just di
sappointed, not seein’ ya at the singin’, after a day with so many girls younger’n me, havin’ second and third babies ...”
“All in gut time, love,” he murmured. “And jah, I rode in Tiffany’s red car, on account of it was the only way she’d talk to me. Found her in the pool hall amongst a buncha bad apples, and I walked out, figurin’ it for a lost cause. But when she drove up alongside me ... I thought it might be my only chance to get through to her.”
“And?”
He exhaled, considering his words. “She’s not so impressed with our Plain ways. I answered her questions about the People as best I could, but she wasn’t really hearin’ what I said, Rache. Could be she’s good and mad at her English mamma for dyin’ too soon.” He paused, looking pensive. “Could be she’s as confused as you and Rhoda, about bein’ your sister. Must be tough, learnin’ that everybody she trusted most didn’t tell her this one huge, important detail about who she really is.”
Rachel felt a little embarrassed about nailing him this way, but a girl saw what she saw and she had her feelings about it, too. Better to find out before she hitched up with Micah Brenneman, if he was the sort to chase after women. Especially brazen, black-haired girls of a world far beyond the Plain folks of Willow Ridge. “Don’t go forgettin’ about the social next Saturday night,” she reminded him with a sweeter smile. “You know I’ve got my heart set on goin’, and I’ve cut out a new dress—gonna make a couple platters of the best cookies, Micah. You say I’m your girl, and I want to believe it.”
“Jah, I meant that with all my heart, Rache.”
“Gut. So don’t go givin’ the bishop any more reason to talk like you’ll be under the ban for spendin’ time with Tiffany. She might be my sister—as close as Rhoda, by blood—but she’ll never be one of us,” she added with a sad shake of her head. “I know Mamma wants Rebecca back in the fold, or at least on speakin’ terms. But I don’t see that happenin’. And I don’t wanna lose you over it, neither. ’Nuff said.”
“Jah. ’Nuff said.”
Rachel smiled up at him, suddenly aching for his kiss—but the wood shop, like the kitchen at the Sweet Seasons, probably had ears. “Better get crackin’ on that shelvin’ for Mary Schrock, then. Can’t have her and Priss and Eva squawkin’ at ya, now, can we?”
She started for home, turning to wave at the handsome, broad-shouldered carpenter as he watched her go. Mamma was right: she felt better after hearing the story from Micah’s side ... believing what she saw in his face and heard when he spoke of his feelings for her. Tiffany was no real temptation to him, after all. And wasn’t it wonderful-gut that he saw beneath the surface of this confusing situation, which had changed things for everyone involved? Most men had little tolerance for women’s emotions—much less for women who spoke their minds, as she just had.
And meanwhile, she felt ever so much happier knowing she had a new plum-colored dress to wear to the ice-cream social ... and it was no secret that Micah couldn’t resist her butterscotch brownies or dark chocolate cookies studded with chocolate chips.
Maybe Mamma was right: she’d catch a lot more flies—or kisses—with honey than with vinegar. And chocolate made pretty good bait, too.
Early that evening, as Miriam baked pies to supply Zook’s grocery store and Leah’s stand at the farmers’ market the next day, she was pleased to find Rachel peering in at her. Smiling again. “Well, now! There’s a face I love to see!”
“If ya got room in the ovens, I thought I might bake up cookies for Leah’s market stand—and to freeze for the social,” her daughter began. “But if the other ladies’re comin’ to—”
“It’ll be just us two. Seems Lizzie Glick’s baby came—”
“Jah, she was mighty antsy at the party yesterday.”
“—so her mamm and aunts won’t be makin’ bread today. Glad for your company, Rachel!” Relief swelled within her, seeing her daughter more at peace after she’d talked with Micah. Miriam quickly shaped five more crusts in disposable pie pans, glancing across the kitchen now and again to enjoy the easy way this daughter worked with food when she put her mind to it. “Micah answered your questions, I take it?”
“Jah. Sounded to me like the bishop overstated his case—or else the Mennonite preacher in Morning Star stretched the story out of shape.” Rachel dropped spoonfuls of dark chocolate dough onto her cookie sheets and then slid them into the oven. She looked up at Miriam, her blue eyes wide. “Guess I’ve done some stretchin’ of that story myself—about Tiffany and how terrible she surely must be. I—I’m sorry about that, Mamma. Didn’t mean to cause ya more grief—”
“Oh, honey-bug, anybody’d be upset to learn she had a surprise sister—and that her own mamm had kept it from her, too.” Miriam crossed the kitchen to wrap her arms around her daughter, suddenly aware of how long it had been since they’d hugged this way. “I don’t tell ya this near enough, Rachel, but I owe the success of this whole business to you. ’Twas your idea for me to start a café after your dat passed.”
“Well, who better to do that?” Rachel replied as she tightened her embrace. “Nobody bakes like you, Mamma!”
Miriam blinked back a tear, savoring the sturdy feel of her daughter’s body. “Jah, there’s that,” she said with a chuckle. “But if I didn’t have you and Rhoda, I don’t know how I’d get from one day to the next. It was ever so gut of you girls to give up your chance for teachin’ at the school or workin’ for pay someplace else.”
Rachel eased away to swipe at a tear. She shrugged, unable to speak.
Miriam smoothed her girl’s kapp, straightening its strings. Her heart felt filled to the brim with gratitude. She should mention her trip to Morning Star now, while Rachel was busy and happy. “Better check your cookies, don’t ya think? They’re smellin’ mighty gut.”
“Jah, that Dutch cocoa and the dark chips’ll have Micah eatin’ out of my hand for sure and for certain!” When she glanced out the window, her grin was a sight to behold. “And would ya look at who’s comin’ down the lane, even as we speak? Now, why’s he stoppin’ here?”
Seeing Micah’s familiar build and stride silhouetted against the sunset, Miriam had a pretty good idea—but it wasn’t her place to reveal the young man’s secret. When the broad-shouldered carpenter knocked before entering through the back door, she kept her chuckle to herself. “Come on in, Micah! Could it be the smell of Rachel’s cookies that lured ya here?”
For a moment he looked like a fellow caught between going and staying: he held his tool bucket in one hand and a can of paint in the other. The sight of Rachel bending over to check her cookies apparently made him reconsider. “Seems timin’ is everythin’, ain’t so?” he teased. “Could be, Miss Rachel, that when ya finish your bakin’, ya might want to join me next door. I could use your ... expert opinions.”
Rachel raised her eyebrows. Flushed with the heat from the oven, carrying two trays of hot cookies, she was the picture of anticipation and the homely arts; a fitting helpmate indeed for the man whose eyes shone with mischief as he plucked a cooled cookie from the rack on the counter. “And what might ya be doin’ over there in Dat’s smithy?” she asked coyly.
Micah shrugged, and as he lifted the key ring from the peg near the door, he winked at Miriam.
Miriam poured cherry filling into her pies, smiling as though she had no idea what they might do in Jesse’s vacant blacksmith shop. Not surprised that her daughter finished baking the cookies lickety-split and then carried a double handful of them out the door. The sound of their laughter drifting on the breeze, as Micah revealed his secret project, was a balm to her soul. Maybe Tiffany would never resume her Plain place as Rebecca, but having Rachel and Rhoda happy, healthy, and here with her felt like such a blessing.
Miriam deftly arranged strips of dough into latticework top crusts, then placed the pies in the oven with a satisfied sigh. Running the Sweet Seasons while also baking for other places kept her mighty busy ... but it felt providential that she was supporting herse
lf at last, in the absence of a husband. Interesting, too, that so many fellows—Tom Hostetler and Matthias Wagler, the harness maker, and the bishop himself—had lost their women this past year, yet she had no desire for any of them to become more than the friends they’d always been.
“My word, Miriam. I can’t recall the last time my house smelled this wonderful. Do you never leave this kitchen?”
She turned with a start, to find Hiram Knepp leaning against the doorframe. She nearly asked him who fixed his dinner these days—and who was minding his many children right now: his eldest, Annie Mae, escaped those chores every chance she got. But something made Miriam hold her tongue.
“Cookin’ is what I do,” she said with a shrug. “Seems my purpose on this earth is to feed people, so denki yet again for agreein’ we should have these wonderful-gut gas appliances. Not to mention lettin’ us partner with Jesse’s cousins, to run the exhaust fans and dishwasher with their electricity.”
As the bishop’s gaze lingered on the large freezers and ovens, Miriam waited him out. The dark hair beneath his black hat contrasted sharply with a pale face somewhat older than hers, yet his beard had gone more salt than pepper. Hiram’s sonorous voice and his elevated way with words were surely his gifts, underscoring his position as their moral and religious leader—chosen by God’s holy will to carry out the Old Ways and the Ordnung. No doubt in her mind he was here to do that rather than to compliment her cooking.
Miriam scraped the fragments of piecrust together. A huge bowl of sweet yeast dough awaited her, and even though she felt the weight of Hiram’s penetrating gaze, she scooped half of the soft, fragrant mass onto the floured countertop. Beneath her rolling pin, the dough became a large rectangle.
“Seems your surprise visitor last week has stirred up a lot of trouble. I hadn’t arrived in Willow Ridge when she was swept away by the river,” he said in a low, even voice, “so perhaps you should explain to me what happened that day. And why you felt compelled to seek out the man who raised her.”
Summer of Secrets Page 9
