Authors: Lynette Sowell
At one farm, however, he did discover a Zook family—several generations—in one row of farms. At a simple roadside stand, selling the last few jars of preserves, he asked about Thaddeus.
“I’m looking for a family named Zook.” He posed the question to a salt-and-pepper-haired matriarch who glanced at her husband.
“We are the Zooks,” the husband said, his voice having an almost singsong tone. “Why do you ask?”
“I have a friend in Columbus named Thad Zook, and he told me he had family in this area.” Pete mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. The humidity today was uncommon for late fall.
“Ah, I see.” The man fell silent, but he continued placing carved wooden paper towel holders on a table.
“I have a son named Thaddeus Zook.” So, the matriarch had found her voice. “But he doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Oh, all right. If it’s the same Thaddeus, I’ve actually lost touch with him,” Pete explained. “I heard he might be looking for a job and I wanted to see if he’d come work for me.”
The woman frowned. “We haven’t heard from him in months. I’m sorry we can’t help you more.”
“Thank you, thank you, anyway.” He paid for the preserves and turned to leave. “Say, do you have family anywhere else, besides here?” It was a long shot, but he glanced from the wife to her husband.
The man spoke first. “My mother lives down south year-round.”
His wife glanced at him with worried eyes. “He would never go there.”
“Where?” Pete ventured to ask.
“Florida.” The woman’s frown deepened. “Thank you for stopping by today.”
Pete nodded. “Thanks again. God bless.”
The couple watched him and Ginger head for the car, Ginger jubilant over her latest purchase.
“Honey, I think I’ve got all my Christmas shopping done and it’s only November.”
“Good for you, Babe.” Pete unlocked the car. Time to head for home and see what he could learn about the Zooks in Florida.
As they headed along a back road toward the interstate, his phone rang. He saw the number. Just a little insistent. He promised them answers, but a man had plenty of business to conduct. After all, their issue wasn’t his difficulty. He was only doing them a favor.
“Yes?” He answered with his Bluetooth.
“Did you find anything out? Because tomorrow’s Election Day.”
“Of course, it is. I haven’t forgotten. I need to check something out before I let you know. If it’s nothing, I don’t want it to waste anyone’s time.”
“You’ve already wasted enough time.”
“Not fair. Hey, I’m letting the future United States Senator from Ohio use Dish and Spoon as his election night headquarters. Isn’t it enough?”
“For now. But get us what we need. And while you’re at it, get rid of this phone and get another number.”
Pete rolled his eyes. Ginger mouthed:
What’s wrong?
He shook his head.
“Sure, no problem.” Never mind, he’d have to change his old contacts. No wonder Mitch had two phone lines.
Chapter 11
11
B
etsy snuck a look out the front window of Pinecraft Pies and Pastry on Monday morning. A small cluster of villagers of varying ages gathered near the sign. Nerves jangled inside her, not borne out of pride, but of not disappointing her family. They’d invested in her, and she knew they had given her an opportunity not many young women her age could experience.
Both she and
Aenti
Sarah had arrived at the shop no later than five in the morning, turned on the ovens, and began prepping and filling pies.
Aenti
Sarah made batches of her flaky crust, while Betsy stirred up pie fillings.
Word had spread through the village, thanks to the signs posted on telephone poles. The signs gave the hours and days of operation, along with a short list of pies and pastries. By eight a.m., the curious, and hungry, Betsy hoped, waited for her to unlock the door.
She had the
aentis
and Henry to thank for their help. And Thad, who’d apologized for the incident with the delivery driver. The appliance store had sent a replacement stove right away—and with a different driver, although Betsy had said nothing against the man.
“You should unlock the door. I’ll pour the water into the coffeemaker,”
Aenti
Sarah announced. She loved the instant pour-through feature of the large commercial coffeemaker, where customers could help themselves to a cup of the hot brew. Betsy had also set up a hot water dispenser for tea beside it with a variety of herbal tea bags.
She glanced around the room before she unlocked the door. Black-and-white checked tile floor, with six square tables with red laminate tops, with four chairs for each table. The display case held an assortment of pies, still warm from the oven, along with trays of fried pies, and even some sugar-glazed and cake doughnuts.
The supply made a good start for her first day in business.
Betsy unlocked the door and flung it open. “Good morning, everyone. Please, come in.” She stepped aside to let her first customers through the door.
Aenti
Sarah set the coffee to brewing and the aroma filled the room, along with customers.
“The coffee is free this morning . . .” Betsy announced, then paused. “Along with doughnuts.”
Aenti
Sarah darted a look in her direction. “Elizabeth . . .”
Sometimes it was best to give. She smiled as she pointed out the menu on the wall. The first flurry of customers soon came and went, and after the first hour both she and
Aenti
Sarah perched on stools behind the display case.
“Ach, quite a busy start to the morning.”
Aenti
Sarah fanned herself with a dish towel.
“Ya.” Betsy smiled at the nearly empty case, where not long ago the pies and pastries had waited for customers. She’d resisted the urge to start counting her cash just yet.
She hoped for a good turnout the first day and so far the foot traffic had not disappointed. What did disappoint her was the glaring absence of Thaddeus Zook. Maybe he was too tired, or had slept in, as he called it. Betsy ignored the disappointment and thought ahead to her supply of merchandise.
“So, how much should we bake for the afternoon?”
Aenti
Sarah, asking her a question, instead of giving an order or making a pointed suggestion.
Betsy glanced at the wall clock with a simple white face and black numbers. “I think we should wait and see who comes in the next hour.”
“I’ll go start some fresh dishwater.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No, no.”
Aenti
Sarah waved her off. “You need to wait for your customers to come. They want to see you and buy pie and pastry.”
“Okay.” She watched her great-aunt slip softly from the stool and step carefully into the kitchen. Then she studied the street outside the front window. An older couple, strolling past, eyed her shop, glanced up at the sign, and kept going.
Well, it was only the first day. Her
daadi
and his two brothers had started their woodworking shop inside a shed on her
daadi
’s farm. Now the operation filled a 10,000-square-foot warehouse, workshop, and showroom on one of the main highways near town. They’d had a small start, too.
Maybe one day, she could pay
Aenti
Sarah for her hard work instead of feeling as though her
Aenti
was the boss.
A figure approached the shop on foot. Whoever it was carried a plant inside a pot. Its green leaves partly blocked the person’s face. It was a man, judging by the shoulders, T-shirt, and tan shorts with lots of pockets ending at the knee.
The man stopped at the front door, and shifted the potted plant to the side. Thaddeus? But the familiar shadow of beard on his face was gone. His smooth face made him look younger.
He entered the shop, the flip-flops on his feet making a smack-smack on the tile floor. She tried not to giggle. His jeans and dark T-shirt had disappeared somewhere along with the
Englisch
-looking beard.
“Why are you laughing at me?” he asked, setting down the plant on the countertop.
“Your clothes. You look
Englisch
now, ready for the beach.” She glanced at the plant, a potted hibiscus with a few buds that would soon open into wide orange flowers. “Oh, it’s so beautiful.”
“It’s for you, to congratulate you on opening the bakery.” He studied the pies in the case and leftover pastries and doughnuts. “Wow, what to choose? I already know it’ll be delicious.”
“Thank you, and thank you for the plant.” She checked behind her.
Aenti
Sarah hadn’t seen him come in with the plant. She would not hide anything from her aunt, but if everyone had known how she felt about Jacob, what would they say when they saw how Thaddeus Zook made her feel?
“Free coffee today, huh?” Thaddeus stepped away from the counter and over to the refreshment area.
“That’s right. I might make the coffee free every day. I’m not sure yet.” She tried not to touch her hair or her covering or the apron.
He poured a cup, skipped adding cream or sugar, and rejoined her at the counter. “So, your menu . . . anything with ganache on there?” He lifted his gaze and scanned the hand-lettered menu board, which resembled a chalkboard from school, with the items listed in different colors of chalk.
“No.” He was teasing her again. She quirked half a grin at him. “I’m still perfecting my other desserts, like cannolis. Eventually I want to try making flan.”
“Have you had flan before?” He raised one eyebrow as he looked at her.
“Yes, I have. At a Spanish restaurant here in Sarasota. I’d never tasted anything quite like it before.”
Aenti
Chelle had taken Betsy there for her birthday this year, to her great delight.
“When it’s cooked properly, you won’t.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Good coffee.”
“
Aenti
Sarah always makes good coffee. Me? Not so much.” She wanted to ask him so many questions, but held back. Clearly, he’d forsaken his Anabaptist faith. Clearly, too, he had burdens, which she didn’t have the right to know or the responsibility to help carry.
“What is it?” He studied her face and she tried not to break away from her gaze, but didn’t succeed. Instead, she let her eyes take in the sight of the pies in the clear case below her fingertips.
Aenti
Sarah had carved a dotted “A” for apple and “C” for cherry in the various pie crusts, and so forth.
“I shouldn’t ask, but, I wonder why you’re here. In Pinecraft.” There. She’d said it. A clattering in the kitchen, of metal against tile, made both of them jump. Betsy swung around.
Aenti
Sarah had dropped a large metal sheet pan on the tile floor. Maybe she should have Henry install a swinging door, or a Dutch door, between the display area and the kitchen.
“Ah. Visiting my
mammi
.”
She shook her head. “But it’s not quite winter yet. Not much goes on around here until winter. It’s quiet.”
“I like the quiet.” He shifted from foot to foot. “But I could ask you the same thing. Why would someone your age live here year-round? Why open a pie and pastry shop here? Why not back in Ohio? Your family is there, and Pinecraft is for, well, mostly elderly people.”
She couldn’t answer, at first. She almost added the typical, “And newlyweds,” phrase some used when describing Pinecraft. Oh, what it must be like to be a newlywed, basking in the perpetual sun and occasional thunderstorm, with miles of sand minutes away.
“Because . . . because . . .” True, she could have opened a store near her family’s home. She could be in her own bed every night, getting up in the morning to her
mamm’s
cooking before she started out the day.
“Never mind.” Thaddeus shook his head. She rather liked his jawline, now that it was smooth.
The bell jangled over the front door, and in came a familiar face, one she hadn’t expected to see in Pinecraft at all.
Gideon Stoltzfus.
He closed the door behind him, stood in the center of the shop, and stared at them both.
* * *
The man who’d just entered the bakery had shoulders nearly as wide as the door, and he’d had to duck his head a tad when he crossed the threshold.
The guy looked vaguely familiar, probably an acquaintance from years past. Now he remembered. Gideon Stoltzfus. Rumor had it he could lift a buggy with one hand and had even lifted one off the victim in a buggy crash, saving his life and pulling him out of the way of traffic. Gideon had accomplished that feat at the age of sixteen.
The same man stared at Betsy now like a prize he’d been seeking, treasure at the end of a pirate’s map.
“Elizabeth.”
“Gideon.” Thad had never seen Betsy stiffen like this before. “You’re in Pinecraft?”
“I have taken leave from my job. I used my vacation savings to come early, before it is too busy. I go back after Christmas.” He turned as he spoke, taking in the sight of the shop. “This is your shop.”
Thad wanted to interject, “No, it belongs to a family down the street,” but thought better of the smart-aleck remark. Nothing set his teeth on edge like people stating the obvious.
“Gideon Stoltzfus.” Thad stood his ground at the counter. “I’ve heard of you before. Thaddeus Zook.”
Gideon stared at him as though he’d just sprouted a set of horns from his forehead. “But I don’t know you.”
Of course, Thad leaving the district had a lot to do with it. He might have known Betsy, too, had he stayed. The thought prickled his mind.
“No. I’ve been . . . away from the district for a long time.”
“I see.” Gideon now stared at Thad’s flip-flops. Yes, his toenails needed trimming. He hadn’t gotten so far yet, but he had other things to do on his first day off, besides Sunday, since working on the bakery project for Henry.
“Well, I’ll let you two catch up, then.” Thad glanced Betsy’s way. Her face bore a tint of light pink, as if she’d been pulling weeds outside for an hour.
“Do you want some pie? Or a doughnut? Or a fried pie?” She gestured to the case. “And, you should sit and finish your coffee.”
She wanted him to stay.
“I would love a fried pie, Miss Betsy.” He leaned over the glass. “Cherry, if you have it.”
“Yes, I do.” She touched the strings of her head covering. “Would you like it warmed up?”
He wanted to give her a cheesy line like, “Just give my pie the warmth of your smile,” just to see what Gideon would say, but decided against it. This time.
“Okay, one cherry fried pie.” She reached for a paper plate, then put on a sheer plastic glove and pulled a pie from the display, popped it on the plate, then put it in the microwave for a few seconds. “There. I decided to warm it up another way.” She took the plate out and placed it in front of Thad, then smiled.
“How much?” He glanced at the menu and reached for his wallet.
“Nothing.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Yes, you can. You and Henry helped make this place a reality for me, and I’m thankful.” She did the downward glance thing she did the first day, with those feathery eyelashes of hers. She probably had no clue how it affected him, or Gideon, for that matter.
He cleared his throat and reached for the plate. Their fingers touched. He cleared his throat again. “I think I’ll go over in the corner and eat this while I finish my coffee.”
Gideon held him in his gaze as Thad took the half a dozen steps to a table closest to the coffee pot. Hey, he had as much right to be here as anyone else.
The brick wall of a man turned his back on Thad, which was fine with him. The man wanted him to leave? Well, he’d stay for a while, just because of it. And, he had the distinct impression Betsy didn’t want the man in her shop.
Thad took a bite of pie. Yes, the young lady could cook. The cherries tasted sweet, yet not too sweet with a hint of tartness, the crust crisp and flaky. He washed the bite down with a sip of coffee. Life was good, very good right now. Thank
Gotte
. And yes, at moments like this, he did thank
Gotte
, if He were listening.
He knew eavesdropping was considered impolite, but he strained his ears anyway. His ears, unaccustomed to the
Dietsch
, took a few seconds to translate.
When was she going back to Ohio?
No, she wasn’t going back to Ohio.
How did she get the money to do this?
Her family had helped invest in the bakery.
Did she remember the promise they’d made to each other?
She didn’t know what he was talking about.
All those nights, walking home from the singing together?
We weren’t together. We were in groups and you walked beside me, but I didn’t walk beside you.
I believe Gotte wants us to be together.
He hasn’t told me.
The girl had a backbone about her, despite the soft and sweet exterior. A strand of her long hair, golden with light amber tones, had come free from its constraints.