by Sarah Price
“Richard’s planning a vacation in California next April so we can visit our son . . .”
“My grandchildren called the other day . . .”
“Bill can’t stand the cold and he’s insisting we buy a winter home in Florida . . .”
She tried to shut her eyes, tuning out the words that brought joy to the speakers but anguish to Edna. She couldn’t imagine her sons living so far away that she couldn’t see them every few days or visit with her future grandchildren regularly. And, while she knew several elderly couples who wintered down in Pinecraft, Florida, Edna would never want to leave her family or community for such a long period of time—and she couldn’t stand cold weather, either!
Mary stood at the sink, already washing the dishes. Edna set some more dirty plates on the counter.
“Danke, Mary,” she whispered in Pennsylvania Dutch. “I’d never have been able to handle this group without you.”
She glanced over her shoulder, taking in the women seated around the two long tables. Some of them were talking while others listened. It was hard to follow their conversations, as several of them spoke over one another.
“You’re welcome, Edna,” Mary said as she returned her attention to her friend. “I’ m glad that you asked me. You’ve taken on so much. I can’t imagine how you would’ve done this alone.”
Edna gave a little chuckle. “I reckon we manage. But I’m sure glad I didn’t have to manage this one alone.”
The door opened and Edna glanced over her shoulder. To her surprise, her middle son, Jonas, walked into the kitchen and, for the briefest of moments, appeared taken aback by the women seated around the two long tables. But then, true to his normal jovial nature, he gave the Englischers a charming grin.
“What ho!” He pushed back the brim of his hat, a few brown curls poking out and covering his forehead as he wiped his feet on the rug inside the door. “Where was my invitation?”
Several of the women tittered, delighted with the appearance of Jonas. Edna took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, leaning against the counter. He was always cordial and friendly to strangers, especially Englischers—apparently thriving on the attention. And the women clearly did not mind.
“You must be Edna’s son?” one of the women said.
“That I am.” He puffed out his chest. “Jonas. And I’d ask your all names but—why!—I don’t think I could remember half of them! So many of you.” He gave a small laugh as his eyes scanned the empty table. “Now I sure hope my maem fed you enough. Hope she didn’t skimp on the apple pie.” He leaned forward as if to share a secret. “Her apple pie is some of the best around, you know.”
Edna clucked her tongue. “Such nonsense. My apple pie is no more special than anyone else’s, Jonas!”
But several of the women disagreed and said just that, the compliments causing Edna to blush. If John was Edna’s support, Jonas was her biggest cheerleader.
Jonas gave an exaggerated sigh. “What’s a fellow to do?” he said in an overly dramatic way. “And here I was hoping my sweet talk might land me a piece of that pie!”
“Oh, there was some left,” one of the women said. “Mayhaps your maem took it back to the kitchen already.”
Jonas grinned and scurried toward the counter to retrieve it.
Edna made a stern face at him. Leave it to Jonas. Now Edna wouldn’t have enough for all of the boys later. Ideally, she’d make another dessert to appease everyone’s sweet tooth, but she was tired. She’d been baking all morning, having made the pies for today’s group of women as well as tomorrow’s. Besides, she knew that she didn’t have enough supplies to make more; John was supposed to stop at the store tomorrow on his way home from the auction house.
I’ll fix Jonas’s little red wagon, Edna thought as she watched him shoveling a forkful of apple pie into his mouth. After the evening meal, when Elmer, John, and Jeremiah had pie, Jonas would have none. Maybe then he’d think twice about stealing the leftovers she’d earmarked for the entire family.
Chapter Five
On Thursday, when Mary arrived home after helping Edna, the kitchen smelled like fresh bread and she found Bethany standing at the sink, washing dishes.
“What a long day!” She sidled up to the sink and peered over Bethany’s shoulder. Bread pans. “You made more bread loaves for Edna?”
“Ja. I figured she’d need them.” Bethany gestured toward the bread on the cooling rack. “And I’ve rolls baking now for Friday.”
Mary gave her a grateful smile. “That was thoughtful of you. She’ll be quite appreciative, I’m sure.”
Bethany gave a modest shrug. “I didn’t mind. I’d already finished the laundry and cleaned the haus. Besides, I enjoy baking. No sense sitting around.”
For a moment, Mary observed her daughter, a feeling of pride filling her chest. Without doubt, Bethany was a beautiful young woman, inside and out. She was hardworking and quiet, and there was something about her that set her apart from other Amish women. Her dark hair and even darker eyes offset her high cheekbones and porcelain skin, giving her an angelic aura. And when she smiled, her face lit up and her almond-shaped eyes sparkled. The only problem was that she didn’t smile often enough.
“I reckon it doesn’t hurt to sit around a little bit,” Mary said lightly. “In fact, I’ve been on my feet all day, so I might just do that right now!” She walked to the back of the kitchen and sank down into her reclining chair. When they had first moved into the house, there had been a wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. But Abram had removed it so that the two rooms became one, making a sitting area within the kitchen such as most older Amish homes had. That way the family could always be together and not separated.
“Those Englische women!” Mary said. “Why, I’ve never seen so many pies disappear so quickly.”
“You said that yesterday, too,” Bethany observed.
“They like their sweets, that’s for certain.” Kicking off her black shoes, Mary reached down and rubbed her feet. She’d been standing all day and they ached. “I’d so like to make some of your apple pies for Edna. She works so hard, the poor dear. And I could surprise her with them in the morning so she doesn’t have to make more.”
Bethany wiped her hands on the kitchen towel. Her eyes glanced up at the clock on the wall. “It’s early enough. I reckon we could still make them.”
Mary hadn’t thought that she’d hear anything different from Bethany. The only problem was that Mary had been helping Edna for the past two days and hadn’t gone to the grocery store. From the looks of the freshly made bread sitting on the counter, she doubted there was enough flour to bake so many pies.
“Do we have enough flour for crusts and apples for the filling?”
She watched as her daughter turned toward the pantry. She opened the door and peered inside. Sure enough, when Bethany turned around, her face didn’t appear optimistic.
Mary didn’t need to hear the answer.
“Oh bother!” She leaned back in the chair and shut her eyes. “I so wanted to help Edna. She’s so busy in the mornings, baking chicken and making side dishes. And then she bakes the pies, too. All before lunch.”
The idea of having to bicycle into town made Mary cringe. She was exhausted, especially after having just biked all the way home from Edna’s house. It was a long ride, almost three miles, and, after working all day, she just wanted to take a few moments and put her feet up.
Now she’d have to go to the store if she wanted Bethany’s help making apple pies and wouldn’t be able to make them until after supper.
Unless . . .
Mary opened her eyes and looked at her daughter. “Do you think . . . ?”
She didn’t even have to finish the sentence. Immediately, she saw her daughter flinch. Clearly, Bethany knew what Mary was going to ask and the idea of it did not make her happy.
“Maem, please,” Bethany pleaded, her eyes suddenly wide and the color disappearing from her cheeks.
Exaspe
rated, Mary sighed. “It’s just to town, Bethany.”
“But you know how I dislike going there. And bicycling on the roads! All those cars—”
Mary held up her hand and interrupted her daughter. “Bethany, it’s still early. Traffic will be light.” She was used to her daughter’s arguments about why she shouldn’t have to go into town or run errands. If only Abram hadn’t instilled such fear into the girl when she was younger, Mary thought. While she knew that her husband had just been trying to protect their only child, the long-term ramifications had certainly done all of them a disservice.
Bethany made a face.
“Now, now.” Mary attempted to placate her. “You can get there and back before the roads get congested by rush hour traffic.” She paused before adding a carefully calculated final comment. “And it would be a big help to me, Bethany, and to Edna.”
She watched as her daughter swallowed. If there was one thing that could make Bethany crumble, it was the idea of being helpful to anyone. Just saying the word was enough to get her to do anything, even something as dreadful as bicycling into town on a Thursday afternoon.
Oh, Mary didn’t like to play that card with her daughter; it felt too much like manipulation. But sometimes she had to succumb to exploiting that one weakness. Otherwise, she’d never get Bethany out of the house.
Unfortunately, this was one of those occasions.
“All right, Maem,” Bethany mumbled at last. The hesitation in her voice was mirrored in the expression on her face, which told the true story of how she felt about going into town. Mary could read Bethany as if she were a book. Yes, her daughter would help her, but she did so only with the greatest of reluctance.
“That’s a gut girl, Bethany.” Mary gave her a soft, appreciative smile, hoping that her daughter wasn’t too upset. She shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the recliner again. Now, with Bethany leaving for town, she’d finally get those thirty minutes of peace and quiet, interruption-free, to take a quick nap.
Chapter Six
Standing in the dry goods section of Yoders’ Store, Bethany scanned the shelves looking for brewer’s yeast. She always used some of that in her baking, not just because it added extra nutrition to her bread and pie crusts, but because it also made everything taste extra delicious.
The clear plastic bags of pre-weighed baking supplies made for a pretty display. All of the flours, sugars, salt, and yeasts were lined up, the colors blending together in soft whites, beiges, and even pink.
She reached out and plucked a bag of Himalayan salt from the shelf. Sometimes she splurged and bought a small bag, always using it sparingly because it was more dear than regular salt.
Perhaps she’d buy some today, she thought, and placed it in her basket.
Slowly she made her way down the empty aisle, grateful it was still early enough that the store wasn’t crowded. She simply hated shopping, especially when the store was overflowing with tourists.
If only they didn’t live so close to town, Bethany thought. But her father wasn’t a farmer, and when he’d married her mother, they’d bought the small ranch house outside of Shipshewana. He worked with an Amish man who owned a woodcraft store that catered to tourists and locals alike. While it wasn’t his own business, the store had served the Ropp family well over the years.
The only problem was that they lived in a converted Englische house and were surrounded by Amish and non-Amish alike.
Oh, how Bethany longed to live far away from the hustle and bustle of Shipshewana. She wished that she could live on a farm where the house was surrounded by large pastures and fields that grew crops in the spring and summer. She’d have loved a large garden to grow her own vegetables that she could sell throughout the summer and enjoy canning fruits and beets and tomatoes in late August and September.
But she didn’t live on a farm and she wasn’t far from town. In fact, she was standing in Yoders’ Store right in the middle of town, surrounded by strangers.
She glanced around. Despite the feeling that a vise had tightened around her chest, she could still breathe. On the weekends, Yoders’ Store was patronized mostly by tourists, but on a Thursday afternoon, there were mainly other Amish people and not so many Englischers.
Walking down the aisle, she spotted something on a shelf across the way.
Cookies.
Smiling to herself, Bethany walked over and looked. She recognized the label on the cookies, for she had written it herself: “AMISH COOKIE CLUB.” It felt strange to see her mother’s cookies for sale at the store. Surely Verna or Wilma had dropped them off earlier that day or, perhaps, the previous day. Bethany knew that they usually met on Wednesdays to bake them but, now that Edna was so busy and Mary helping her, it would be up to the other two women to not only bake them but wrap them in the clear baggies, affix the label to the packages, and drop them off at Yoders’ Store.
Suddenly, Bethany’s thoughts were interrupted by the feeling that someone was staring at her. She stiffened and felt that familiar sense of dread wash over her.
She didn’t want to look around, to see who was watching her. Surely a tourist must have entered the store. It was always the tourists who stared, their eyes wide and their mouths pursed in curiosity. It was as if seeing an Amish person in a store was a rarity, like seeing a deer along the road.
Just the thought made Bethany’s chest tighten even more, and she had to force herself to take deep breaths.
For a moment, she considered dropping her basket and making a polite dash for the door. But she had promised her mother that she’d bake those pies for Edna. If she deserted her groceries now, she’d have to break that promise, and that was one thing her mother had taught her never to do.
Without looking up, Bethany quickly made her way to the next aisle and started walking toward the cash register at the front of the store. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor; she was too afraid to look up.
She began to count: One, two, three. It was the one way she knew to calm her palpitating heart. When I get to twenty, she thought to herself, I’ll be at the register. I’ll pay and leave by the time I count to fifty, and then I’ll be on my bicycle and heading home.
But she never made it to ten.
Her eyes saw the dark brown work boots poking out from the bottom of plain black pants before she hit eight. She’d just started thinking nine when she bumped into the person belonging to those boots.
“Oof.” The wind escaped from her gut and she felt a hand on her arm, holding her as if to keep her from falling. She didn’t fall. Instead, the basket fell from her other arm and the contents spilled onto the floor.
“Are you all right?”
Bethany didn’t look up, too afraid to see whom she had walked into. Quickly, she knelt down to begin gathering the items, but the man had already started doing the same. Her knees knocked into him and she fell backward, onto her rump.
“Oh!”
Once again, she felt his hand on her arm. This time, he gently guided her to her feet.
“What a time you’re having,” he said.
His voice. So soft and caring, not harsh or critical. Bethany couldn’t help but glance upward, and when she saw the bright blue eyes staring at her, she felt a momentary shock course through her veins.
Immediately she averted her gaze, but not before noticing how undeniably handsome he was. The straw hat, tipped back on his head just a bit, revealed his thick, brown curls and cast a hint of a shadow over his face, which, like those of most Amish men, was tan and a bit weather-beaten. He was older than she—Bethany could tell that from his broad shoulders and towering height. But he wore no beard along his jawline or chin.
“I . . . I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
He paused. “Ja, I noticed that. Was wondering if you were going to notice me,” he said, a teasing tone to his voice, “or merely try to walk through me.”
She blinked and managed to sneak another peek at him. If he�
��d noticed that she wasn’t looking where she was going, why hadn’t he gotten out of her way? But while she might think that question, she would never have spoken it aloud.
“Must’ve been awful deep in thought,” he continued. “Mayhaps thinking about something—or someone?—special?”
Startled by his question, she felt her mouth fall open. “That’s a very familiar question,” she managed to say as she averted her eyes. There was something about his face that seemed so familiar. Did she know him? His eyes never left her face.
He laughed. “Ja, I reckon it is. My apologies if it offended you.” He tilted his head when she stole one last look at him. “Wasn’t my intention, that’s for sure.”
No, Bethany didn’t think she knew him. He wasn’t from her church district, and while certainly unmarried, he probably didn’t attend many youth gatherings—not that Bethany often attended them anyway. He was probably courting someone, or mayhaps even getting ready to marry. November and December were wedding season.
Bethany shifted her gaze back to the floor. “I . . . I’m sorry for bumping into you . . .”
“No need to apologize. I should’ve gotten out of your way.” Another long pause. “I suppose I just thought you’d notice me—” He stopped talking midsentence, interrupting himself with abrupt silence.
She took a step backward and shifted the basket on her arm so that it created a barrier between them.
“Well, anyway.” He must’ve taken the hint that she did not want to converse with him. She saw him shuffle his feet, taking his own step away from her. “You have a good rest of the day, then.” Another step increased the distance between them.
She nodded and moved to the side as if to pass him, but he, too, had made a similar move.
She heard him chuckle, a soft and pleasant sound.
“Permit me,” he said and gestured with his hand as he moved to the right, giving her enough room to walk past him.
“Danke.” It came out soft, almost a whisper, and she wondered if he’d heard her. She hoped so, for she would hate for him to think her rude. Of course, it didn’t really matter, she told herself as she hurried away from him and toward the cash register. She’d never see the stranger again. And yet, long after she paid for her goods and left the store, she couldn’t help but wonder about the man with the bright blue eyes. Who was he, she thought, and why did she have the distinct feeling that she had, indeed, met him before?
