Summer of Secrets

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Rachel brightened and set the bin of dirty dishes on the back counter. “Jah, come on up, Mr. Shotwell. I’ve never seen the likes of this anywhere, and I think you’ll like it, too.”

  As they quickly crossed the lot to the smithy, Naomi smiled. “Gut to see our Rachel beamin’ again. She and my boy seem to’ve patched up their squabbles over Tiffany.”

  “Jah, I believe they have.”

  “But I know you, Miriam Lantz. And that kitty-cat grin means ya been up to somethin’.” Naomi set down the big bowl of cooked macaroni she was about to make cheese sauce for. “If that banker’s here to tell us the place is already sold out from under us—”

  “Not worryin’ about that anymore. Said a lotta prayers and told God I was leavin’ it all up to Him—” Miriam playfully raised an eyebrow. Hope bubbled within her like yeast in warm water, even though it seemed too early to hear an answer. “But ya know gut and well I didn’t forget my ledger yesterday.”

  “Ah. And Hiram didn’t notice.” A sweet smile stole over Naomi’s face. “Shoulda known to have faith in you, Miriam—and shoulda let God have his way with this situation, like you did. Goodness knows my frettin’ hasn’t improved it one little bit.”

  They worked alongside each other, Miriam peeling big, orange sweet potatoes as Naomi made the cheese sauce in her Dutch oven. Voices drifted from the smithy’s open windows ... Rachel showing the banker all around. The words weren’t clear, but the tone seemed as light and happy as a summer’s breeze. A good sign. And when Derek Shotwell stepped back into the kitchen, his expression defied description.

  “That was the most creative—the coolest—conversion of space—” The banker stopped midsentence as though he couldn’t think of enough wonderful things to say. When he grinned, he looked like the littlest boy in his office photographs. “Mrs. Lantz—Mrs. Brenneman—”

  “Oh, but we’re Miriam and Naomi to you, sir!”

  “—you have an awesome surprise in store when Micah unveils his project!” Derek confirmed. “And after I’ve talked with you, Miriam, I’m going to catch up with Micah, too. The bank’s renovating a pair of fourplexes built in the seventies—senior housing—and what he’s doing next door is, well, it’s perfect! It’s so—so innovative it’ll knock the committee’s socks off!”

  Naomi shrugged, her face aglow. “Jah, my middle boy’s always been the smarts behind the Brenneman cabinet business. The shop’s just up the way, first right off the highway and down about a quarter mile.”

  Miriam glanced out into the dining room. “I’ll put the fire under these sweet potatoes and we’ll talk for a bit, Mr. Shotwell.”

  “That’s Derek, please.”

  “Can I get ya anythin’? Just made fresh tea, and there’s peach or cherry pie—”

  “Can’t hold another bite.” He rubbed his stomach, smiling. “But I know those pies are like none my wife brings home from the store.”

  Now there was a gap to be filled. “I’ll send one with ya, then. Cherry or peach?”

  Derek’s jaw dropped as though he’d never heard such an offer. “Any chance I could have ... half of each kind?”

  “For sure and for certain!” Miriam giggled as she grabbed her knife and a clean aluminum pie pan. “This way, you’ve got somethin’ for everybody—”

  “You think I’m going to share that?”

  “—and those who take the pieces where the two fruits meet get a taste of both!” Quickly she arranged three wedges of each flavor in the pan and then put it in a carryout box with a clear lid. “Now—I’ve done my best, givin’ you a fine surprise today, Derek. Your turn to do me the same favor whilst we talk about our business, ain’t so?”

  It was a cheeky sort of challenge, yet Miriam felt too good about this young man to restrain herself. If he liked Micah’s work so much and was going to hire him for those fourplex renovations, hadn’t a lot of good already come from this day? She firmly believed that one favor begat another—and it worked best if she gave first.

  “I’ll see what I can do about that,” Derek replied in a more reserved voice. He accepted the heavy pie pan with a wistful look in his eyes. “You know, of course, that the sale of this property isn’t as neatly sliced—or nearly as sweet—as the pies you make. Wish it was, though.”

  Into the dining room they walked, while Miriam’s pulse thrummed faster. Whatever he tells me, God, help me listen and follow Your way for me.

  Derek pulled out a chair for her and then sat across the cleared table. He ran an appreciative finger over its glossy surface. “The workmanship—the love in this place—makes me so glad I stopped by instead of relying on the appraiser’s notes,” he began earnestly. He folded his hands on top of her ledger, studying her with a kind smile. “We’ve received an offer on your building, Miriam.”

  The news slammed into her. She willed herself to breathe.

  “And while this potential buyer insisted I not give out his name, he called around one o’clock yesterday to say he wanted it—and then he asked me to sit on his offer for a while.”

  “Ah.” She cleared her throat. “Another secret. Been a lot of those this summer. But at one o’clock, only three of us knew the place was for sale, ain’t so?”

  Derek’s grin twitched. “That’s correct. His offer was, shall I say ... less than what we’re asking.”

  “We Amish are a thrifty lot.”

  The banker’s laugh rang out in the dining room. “Miriam, you’re a gem! And after I saw these impressive figures,” he added, tapping her ledger, “I didn’t feel right about calling it a done deal, anyway. And lo and behold, around four o’clock I got another offer!”

  “Jah?” She leaned forward, holding his gaze. “But you’re not namin’ any names.”

  Derek adjusted his glasses, still chuckling. “Please—I don’t want to undermine your bishop’s leadership or seem to make light of your beliefs, because I greatly respect the Amish. I documented both offers, however. And I liked it that this second person didn’t ask how much the previous offer was. He went twenty thousand higher because he believes you belong here, serving God by serving such good food.”

  Tom Hostetler, maybe? He stood by me that day Hiram looked at the ledger ... looked in on me after Jesse passed. How much milk would he have to sell—how many cows could he buy for his dairy—with that much money?

  Miriam’s hand fluttered to her racing heart. “Thanks ever so much for tellin’ me this, Derek,” she murmured. “I believed God would bring me a gut answer to this predicament, and—”

  From out of nowhere, a perky trumpet tune began to play. “Excuse me, I forgot to turn this off,” the loan officer said as he glanced at the screen of his cell phone. “Then again, I’d better take this call. Back in a few.”

  Miriam sat absolutely still in her chair, leaning on the table as this new information sank in: Hiram had made a low offer and intended to make her wait, not knowing if she was in or out of business. It would do no good to feel insulted ... and there was no need, since someone else had offered more. Who’d’ve thought this would turn into an auction rather than a cut-and-dried sale?

  And while the bishop would not like it that one of the other brethren had stepped forward to keep the Sweet Seasons up and running, her heart fluttered at this unexpected development. The grapevine proclaimed that she and Hiram would be getting hitched soon, so ... was this Tom’s way of sidetracking that? Showing his support the only way he could?

  As Derek came inside again, she looked up from her musings. The banker seemed as pleased as when he’d gone outside—maybe a little more. “Would you believe someone else has just called the bank, wanting to buy your building?”

  Who else would it be? Zeb Schrock, keeping the peace with Mary, Eva, and Priscilla by—

  “This one’s from out in left field, though, because this buyer’s not Amish. He asked the price and then said he’d pay it, boom, without missing a beat!” Derek sat across from her again, focused intently on her. “You must have some aw
esome connections, Miriam, because if this isn’t God answering your prayers, I don’t know what else to call it!”

  Not Amish? Hiram wouldn’t like that one little bit ... and what if this buyer wanted to use the building for something other than her bakery café? The People hated to see parts and parcels of their property getting into the hands of Englishers. Miriam reminded herself to have some faith ... to trust in that happiness she still saw on Derek Shotwell’s face.

  “Again, my intention is not to undercut your bishop’s wisdom, but now we’re doing business,” he insisted. He leaned his elbows on the table and placed his chin in his hands, watching her as he considered what he’d say next. “I didn’t feel right about not advertising such prime property, nor did I like the ... interaction I saw in my office, while Hiram did all the talking about your livelihood. But I understood your silence, Miriam. No mistaking it for ignorance, either, after looking at your ledger.”

  He slipped the black book across the table to her. “As a loan officer, I consider it only right to go along with an offer that fulfills a seller’s demands. And as a guy who gets a little cagey sometimes, I see this as a way to prevent those two Amish bidders from falling into the same worldly trap they were saving you from, Miriam.”

  A smile tickled her lips.

  “Just maybe,” Derek went on, teasing a little, “this will serve as that lesson in humility Hiram was aiming for, except it’s pointed at him this time. And I will take sole responsibility for handling this highly unusual sale, Miriam. Again, I mean absolutely no disrespect here.”

  Miriam chuckled softly. “I like the way you think, Derek! So ... are ya tellin’ me this person’s name, since he’s not Plain?”

  “Nope. We’ll let Hiram have that point for a bargaining chip.” He rose from the table and extended his hand. “Trust me a little longer. It’ll all work out just like we’ve talked about.”

  As she shook his hand, she nodded. Just knowing she wouldn’t be beholden to Hiram was reason to celebrate.

  “Derek?” she called after him.

  He turned, holding his pie in both hands, his secretive grin still in place. “Yes, Miriam? How may I help you further?”

  “In a couple weeks—August fifteenth—we’re celebratin’ the girls’ birthdays. Cake, homemade ice cream, and we’d like ya to join us!” Miriam hugged her ledger to her chest, feeling that impish impulse that often urged her to overstep or speak out of turn. “Micah’s gonna show off the apartment in the smithy then, as part of the occasion, and well—if we could find out by then who’s buyin’ the buildin’—?”

  Bless him, Derek’s smile warmed her. “Absolutely. Perfect day for such an announcement, and it gives me time to see that all’s in order and arrange for the closing.”

  The little bell jangled as he left. Miriam stood for a moment in the stillness of the dining room, surrounded by the Brenneman boys’ sturdy tables and chairs ... the Schrocks’ quilted hangings on the walls ... the peaceful sense of well-being she always felt in this room where she fed her friends. Who could’ve imagined this sequence of events, the way Derek’s visit had ended? She didn’t know who would own the building, yet her spirits soared.

  She felt their gazes from the kitchen: Naomi, Rhoda, and Rachel had cleaned up and were waiting in a tight row behind the center island. Their expectant faces were the sweetest things she’d ever seen.

  “Let’s go home, girls,” Miriam suggested. “It’s been a gut day! I’ll be along after I talk to Mary a bit. She’s been hoverin’ in the hall, ya know—and she’ll want to know about our news.”

  Miriam waved them on, a bright idea shining in her mind. Their party would be a perfect day for an announcement! When the kitchen door had closed behind her girls and her cook, she quickly passed through the sunlit hall to the other side of the building. Mary Schrock and Zeb’s aunts, Eva and Priscilla, were redding up the shop as though they’d been waiting for her—even if they would deny eavesdropping while Derek was here.

  “Well, just that quick,” Miriam said with an emphatic clap! of her hands, “somebody snapped up the buildin’! Haven’t heard it from the horse’s mouth, but I’m for sure and for certain we’ll be stayin’ put, here in our shops!”

  Eva brightened immediately. “I was so afraid somebody’d be turnin’ us out—”

  “Zeb tried so hard to talk Hiram out of this,” Mary chimed in. “But the bishop said this was for the sake of your very soul, Miriam. We couldn’t afford to buy the place ourselves, so—”

  “My soul’s costin’ him more than he bargained for.” Miriam felt bubblier by the moment as she considered the outcome of her talk with Derek.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Priscilla, always as starchy as the doilies she crocheted, straightened a stack of quilted place mats with stiff, precise movements. “The way I hear it, Hiram intends to teach us all a lesson—especially those of us without husbands,” she added with a pointed look at Eva and Miriam. “It’s no secret he’s been huntin’ up a new mother for his children. Which explains why he eats so many meals in the Sweet Seasons.”

  Refusing to have her bubble burst, Miriam blew a new one. “Hiram’s been outbid. But if any of ya breathes a word of that and it gets back to him, I’ll know exactly who blabbed.”

  The three quilters exchanged exclamations, their thin eyebrows raised. Miriam wondered what it must be like for these women to spend every waking—and sleeping—moment together, because Zeb’s two aunts lived with him and Mary. Eva, a maidel who’d long ago given up finding a man—if she’d ever looked very hard—glanced over the top of her rimless glasses. “Don’t suppose you’ll tell us who our new landlord’s to be, then?”

  “Can’t tell ya what I don’t know.” Miriam headed toward the racks of fabric in the back of the shop. “But with the girls turnin’ twenty-one in a couple weeks, I’m thinkin’ new dresses would be a nice touch for the party we’re throwin’. Hope ya can come.”

  “Twenty-one? How on earth did that happen?” Mary mused aloud. Her gaze followed Miriam’s progress past bolt after bolt of calico, gingham, and other specialty prints for quilts. “On beyond that rack you’ll see the new shipment of twill and chambray that’s right nice for dresses. Don’t s’pose you’ll be sewin’ three alike?”

  Again Miriam’s lips twitched. How was it these Schrocks never ran out of gossip and speculation? “Invited our Rebecca to the party already, jah. And I’m thinkin’ she’ll come, too! Don’t even care if she’s wearin’ those black jeans with her tattoos showin’.” She grinned at the three quilters watching her. “Her last visit was a real joy, on account of how she’s tryin’ to know us and our ways without any finger-pointin’ or makin’ fun of us.”

  Miriam ran a hand over the twill, glanced at the price, and then ignored her usual impulse to go for something cheaper. She skipped over the black and the navy, too, grasping a bolt of deep orchid and one of dusty blue that would complement the girls’ eyes. “Twelve yards of each,” she said when she’d carried them to the counter. “Gonna have my own little sewin’ frolic—but not a word about this to the girls! It’s a surprise for their big day.”

  Chapter 26

  The days flew by, filled with tour buses at lunchtime and extra orders for pies, rolls, and cakes for family reunions and weddings. Miriam found herself humming most of the time, just knowing the little secret about the building’s new owner and her own fate, which looked bright indeed.

  Lord, help me learn that lesson in humility—Hiram was right to point out that I can be outspoken and mighty proud of the work I love to do, she prayed. When the bishop came into the Sweet Seasons most mornings for his breakfast, she added: And Lord, I thank You for Derek and his forthright way of doin’ business, and for givin’ me the what-all to keep my life runnin’ along. Keep me on the path You’d have me follow.

  “You’re lookin’ mighty perky this mornin’, Mrs. Lantz,” Naomi remarked as they added raisins and dried apricots to day-old bread cubes for bread pudding.
“Hiram’s out there smilin’ like the cat that got the canary, too. Any connections there I ought to know about?”

  Miriam chuckled. “Not connections like you’re thinkin’,” she said in a low voice. “Two sides to a secret, ya know—them that knows, and them that don’t—and I can’t tell ya how gut it feels to be on the knowin’ side of this one. Can’t promise a hundred percent that we’ll be here come fall, but we’ll be all right, Naomi. You and me’ll still be cookin’ and bakin’.”

  “Des gut, jah,” her cook murmured gratefully. Then her brown eyes sparkled. “About time to be bakin’ the birthday cakes for your girls? If they want the strawberry cream cake—”

  “Jah, that’s still their favorite.”

  “—it’s even better comin’ from the freezer. And we can stick them away, outta sight.”

  “Gut idea! Rachel and Rhoda’re goin’ to a birthday party for two of Leah’s girls tomorrow night, so I’ve already told them I’m gonna stay late to bake pies.”

  Naomi thought about this as they poured scalded milk over the bread cubes and raisins. “Need to be home for dinner tonight, but I’ll put the cakes in the oven for ya before I leave. How many ya think we’ll need?”

  “It’s a big birthday and we’ve got lots to celebrate. And there’s no such thing as too much strawberry cream cake, come the next day’s lunch menu.” Miriam calculated quickly and then felt a surge of happy gratitude. “I’m thinkin’ we oughtta invite everybody! And have it here! Folks’ll want to see the apartment Micah’s designed—”

  “And it saves ya all that reddin’ up at home.”

  “—and we’ve got tables and lots of chairs here,” Miriam finished. “And ya know what? I feel like life’s ready to jump forward like a big ole frog! And that’s somethin’ to be thankful for no matter what we hear about the café sellin’, ain’t so?”