Authors: Lynette Sowell
“Thank you, thank you both.” Betsy glanced from Thad to the other woman, then turned her focus to the ambulance.
The EMT worker slid the gurney into the back of the ambulance, and two EMTs climbed inside to join Sarah. The driver trotted around toward the front of the vehicle, and it pulled away from the edge of the street, lights flashing. The siren’s wail began as they reached the edge of the block and bustling Bahia Vista.
The crowd dispersed, some of the people offering Betsy words of comfort and promises of prayer. She nodded, then entered the bakery, with Thad and the photographer behind her. Betsy continued into the kitchen where she faced them both.
“Thaddeus, have you met Imogene Brubaker yet? She’s a fixture here in Pinecraft.”
“No, I haven’t.” Thaddeus set the bag of vegetables on the stainless steel work table in the center of the kitchen. Its surface was crowded with pie pans filled with crusts, the crusts’ edges neatly crimped.
“Imogene Brubaker, part of the woodwork,” the woman said, offering her hand, which Thaddeus shook. She shook his hand like working a water pump. “Nice to meet you, Thaddeus . . .”
“Zook. Thaddeus Zook.”
“Ah, of the Zooks. Where are you from?”
“My family’s not too far from Millersburg.”
“Here for the winter, then?”
“Here for now, anyway.”
They stopped the small talk and pleasantries so Betsy could prepare to leave for the hospital.
“Well, Thaddeus, you know the menu,” Betsy said. “I do have a few pies, ready to bake in case you need one. I have some doughnut mix prepared too. Those are in the freezer. If you need to cook a few more doughnuts, or fried pies, the cooking oil is in the cast-iron Dutch oven on the stove.” Her words had the tempo of a woodpecker’s peck.
“Betsy,
Aenti
Sarah is going to be all right.” Rochelle held the Dutch door open to the kitchen. “Thaddeus and Imogene will keep things in hand here for you as well. Come, let’s see to
Aenti
.”
Betsy stopped in front of Thaddeus before leaving the kitchen. “Thank you. I know you’ll take good care of things here.”
“You know I will.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Let us know how she is.”
At his touch, she colored, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you. I will.”
He released her hand, and then she and Rochelle left. As they passed through the front of the bakery, a few customers who had entered gave their messages of encouragement to both of them.
Thad glanced at Imogene. “Time to get busy.”
“Hold on just a second. We ought to talk for a minute.” She stepped into the front of the bakery, and her voice rang out clear enough for Thad to hear through the Dutch door. “Hi, everyone. Thaddeus Zook and I’ll be keeping an eye on the shop for Elizabeth. If anyone wants coffee, get some coffee and we’ll be right out in a moment if you want pie or anything.”
Imogene came back into the kitchen. “So, like I said, we should talk.” She took the camera from around her neck and set it on top of the microwave oven.
Thad squared his shoulders. “Okay.”
“What’s with you and Betsy? I know you’re a Zook, and you’re obviously not part of your
Ordnung
. She is.” Imogene crossed her arms over her chest.
“Are you part of your
Ordnung
?”
“No. But I’m not taking someone by the hand and looking at them with a certain look in my eye.” The lady didn’t seem angry. More protective, if anything. “I’ve seen young women led away from their Order with visions of romance with a handsome
Englisch
stranger dancing in their heads, and the idea all the things forbidden to them are now within reach.”
“I’m not
Englisch
.”
“But you are handsome. And you’ve had years of unbridled freedom, I’m sure.”
Thad almost chuckled.
Unbridled freedom?
“Miss Brubaker, I care about Betsy. I’m not going to hurt her. It would be the last thing I’d want to do. I’m fully confident she’ll soon meet a suitable man from her district who’s devout, plain as pepper flakes, and they’ll marry and she’ll go on to have a wonderful family.”
“Well,” she said, her demeanor softening, shoulders lowering. “Okay. You keep it in mind.”
“Oh, I do. Probably more than most people know.”
“All right, then, Mr. Zook. You’re the pastry chef. Show me what to do. I’ve been meaning to stop by here for some pictures, but I wasn’t planning on running the place. But I don’t mind at all.”
“How about you take orders and run the register, and I’ll be your gofer.” He liked this lady and her feistiness.
“As long as you’re not a weasel, it’s fine by me.” Imogene grinned. “Get it? Gofer? Weasel?”
“I got it.” He laughed.
The morning clicked by with a steady stream of customers, some of them wanting to know what had happened to Sarah, and when Betsy would return. Most had a cup of coffee or tea, and some selected a slice of pie or doughnut.
Thad kept to the kitchen as much as possible, not wanting to create more curiosity than already existed about who was running Pinecraft Pies and Pastry while Betsy and Sarah were absent. His hands knew exactly what to do in the kitchen, popping pies into the oven, frying fresh doughnuts. Betsy and her
aenti
had done the hard work. Even with what little he did, being back in a kitchen again felt great. He fulfilled his real purpose, not fumbling with tiles and carpentry work.
A lull in traffic left the bakery empty, with Imogene humming behind the counter. Thad joined her at the counter but didn’t hum. Instead, he wiped his hands on a black canvas apron he’d found hanging on a peg by the back door.
“Well, I say we did a good job.” Imogene, her camera back in her hands, surveyed the supply of pies and pastries in the case. Then she glanced at the wall clock. “No wonder the place is empty now. The Pioneer Trails bus is arriving soon. I bet it’s pretty full.”
“Why?”
She half-squatted, then zoomed in on a trio of pies in the case. “There. I need to write about Betsy’s pies on my blog . . . Thanksgiving’s coming.”
Ah, right. Next week. He hadn’t thought much about the date. Back in Columbus, he’d only thought if it in terms of pastries and desserts at Dish and Spoon, and if he would have the next day off to sleep.
“I wonder if we’ll get any more customers once the bus arrives.” Which included his family, although
Mammi
said they wouldn’t arrive until the first part of December.
“We’ll wait and see. We can always close shop and then reopen after dinner. Last time I talked to Betsy, she said afternoons were the slowest. And you have some vegetables in the bag on the counter.”
He touched his forehead. “Ah,
Mammi’s
probably wondering what happened.” As if she’d heard his thoughts, Thad looked through the front window of the bakery to see his
mammi
bicycling up the sidewalk.
Thad went out the front door. “
Mammi
, I’m sorry. I saw Betsy’s
aenti
being taken to the hospital, and then I offered to help at the bakery.”
She nodded as she parked her three-wheeler, then latched it to the bicycle rack with her padlock. “I know. I figured as much. I was out weeding a moment ago when someone stopped by and told me. I decided not to go to quilting anyway. But I thought I would come pick up the vegetables so I can get them marinated for tonight.”
He reentered the bakery. “I’ll get the bag and bring it right out.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you need me to carry it home for you?”
Mammi
shook her head. “No, it’s only two blocks and the bag is light enough.”
“All right.” He headed for the kitchen, snagged
Mammi’s
bag of vegetables, then joined her at the counter.
“Don’t forget, the singing is tonight,” she said as he handed her the bag.
“I haven’t forgotten,” which didn’t at all mean he’d attend.
After
Mammi
left the bakery, Imogene said, “Your
mammi
is kindness personified. I always feel so warm after a conversation with her. She’s one of the reasons Pinecraft is such a good place all year-round.”
“She’d be embarrassed to hear you say so.”
“Probably.” She studied his arm, the one with the vines reaching from his wrist and disappearing under his T-shirt sleeve. Then she held up her camera.
“Ah, I don’t think anyone’s taken a photo of it before, not counting the artist.” He extended his arm forward, then twisted it. The design had become a part of him and he hardly took notice anymore. It had become part of him, like his hair color or eye color.
“May I?” Imogene reached out her hand.
“Sure.”
It felt strange, to have someone touch his arm.
“Did it hurt much?”
“It hurt, but the artist didn’t do it all at once. They did it in stages, with the outline, then color, and finally details.” The process took a while, but at the time, he thought it was worth it.
“So why’d you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Get a tattoo at all.”
“Well, I like art and interesting designs. I liked this one a lot. I figured if I got one, it had better be something good because it’s permanent.”
“Huh. Okay. But couldn’t you put a picture of it on a wall somewhere and enjoy it just the same?”
Boy, this lady didn’t quit. But he liked her, even when she zoomed in with her camera on the detail in the green vines. The camera’s shutter clicked.
“I always have it with me. It’s hard to explain.” No, he didn’t get it because “all the other guys were.” He just plain liked it.
“All righty, then.” She released her camera, letting it dangle by its strap. “Thaddeus Zook, even without the tattoo, you would still stand out in a crowd.”
“I didn’t get it to stand out.”
The bell over the door clanged, providing a welcome pause to the subject. An older couple entered, dragging rolling suitcases behind them.
The man was Old Order, from the top of his straw hat to the sensible black shoes he wore, his wife with a navy blue dress and apron a shade lighter. They stopped in the center of the bakery.
“Where is Elizabeth Yoder?” the older man demanded as he eyeballed Thad’s tattoo and took in the sight of Thad’s apron. “And who are
you
, working in her bakery?”
* * *
Rochelle sighed as she leaned back on the cushioned chair in the emergency room. Poor Sarah and Betsy. Sarah, typically the picture of health and fiercely independent, could run circles around people decades younger than her eighty-five years. Except not now, not for a long while. Betsy, so full of energy yet needing Sarah’s persistent guidance to help her in her venture.
Rochelle would help her young great-niece more, if not for her own business. And now, who knew what had happened to
Aenti
Sarah? She prayed it wasn’t serious, a simple slip and fall on the kitchen floor.
“Cup of coffee?” a gentleman asked, holding a steaming cup. Daniel Troyer. She had run into him first thing that morning, while chatting with friends at the market. The Amish man, perhaps five or so years older than her, wore a beard, which signaled “married” to her. However, his eyes held a warmth and kindness in them that she found appealing.
Almost like Silas Fry.
But Silas Fry in her life might as well have been a million years ago.
“Oh, thank you.” She took the toasty warm cup from him.
“I’m staying catty-corner across the street from Mrs. Yoder. Such a kind woman.” He took a seat, keeping one empty chair between them. “I came when I heard.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I wanted to see if I could help at all.”
“What about your wife?” Rochelle had to ask.
“I have no wife.” He looked down at his hands. Smooth hands, for an Amish man. “I’m here for the winter. It’s been many years since I ventured south to Pinecraft.”
“Ah, I see.” She sipped the coffee. Cream and sugar. She preferred cream only, but the sweetness helped soothe her nerves while she waited. Betsy had come out not five minutes ago to let them know the doctors were sending
Aenti
Sarah for a CAT scan.
“So, what line of business are you in, back in Indiana, Mr. Troyer?”
“I managed the billing for a cabinet shop until I fell ill and had to stop work for a while earlier this year.” Daniel stroked his beard. “Last winter, the weather was too much for me in Indiana, so I decided to come to Pinecraft and see how this winter goes for me.”
“And, how’s it going so far?”
“The best winter yet, if I count the last thirty minutes or so.”
She felt his warm smile from two seats away, and her own face flamed. Then she inwardly chided herself. Entertaining such conversation, in a hospital waiting room, when she should be thinking of and praying for
Aenti
Sarah.
Rochelle kept silent and drank her sweet coffee. She hadn’t truly noticed a man, not like this, since Silas. It was both silly and childish. She’d only just met Daniel Troyer. And he didn’t know her, either.
Chapter 14
14
B
etsy pulled her phone partway out of her tote bag and glanced at the time. Not quite two o’clock.
Aenti
Sarah had at last been whisked back for blood tests, X-rays, and another scan more than an hour before. The
Englisch
hospital had almost immediately set to work in assessing
Aenti
’s physical condition.
Aenti
had been wheeled to the radiology department, cheerful yet in pain.
“Gotte’s wille
be done,” she said.
A lump made Betsy’s throat ache. Not good, to have
Aenti
, one of her biggest allies in the village, laid up with an injury. Not now, or any time.
Aenti
Chelle had gone to the cafeteria to see about bringing back some sort of a snack. Their new friend, Daniel Troyer, accompanied her. Everyone’s stomachs grumbled. The energy from a slice of buttered toast Betsy had eaten in the early morning hours had long since worn off.
Betsy thanked
Gotte
many times
Aenti
Chelle had taken her to the hospital. Her
aenti
moved freely, confidently in the
Englisch
world. Betsy didn’t know if she could, even after nearly one year in Florida.
A man and a woman in Plain clothing entered the waiting room area. Betsy sprang to her feet.
“
Mamm—Daed.
” She went to them and surprised herself, and probably them, too, by giving them a hug. “You’re here early.”
“We arrived just in time,”
Mamm
said. “We left our bags at the house, and found a driver to take us straight here.”
Daed
nodded. “The bishop will be here soon to pray with all of us.”
“Good. I wasn’t sure if
Aenti
Chelle was able to notify anyone yet.”
“Word travels fast in the village.”
Mammi
took a seat on the nearest cushioned chair.
“We stopped at the bakery first.”
Daed
gave her a pointed look. So they’d seen it. She couldn’t quite read her
daed
’s expression.
“I—I was hoping to show it to you myself.
Aenti
Sarah fell in the kitchen, and I was so scared. I called an ambulance right away.”
“You did the right thing. But, you left the bakery in someone’s hands we don’t know.” Her father frowned. “An
Englisch
man, with a tattoo. Imogene Brubaker is one thing. She’ll do right by you. But the man?”
“Thaddeus Zook isn’t
Englisch
.”
“Well, he doesn’t look Amish.”
No, Thaddeus wasn’t. She remembered the strength in his hand as he squeezed hers, the warmth and kindness there. Maybe something more, too. She pushed the thought out of her head. Times were, when she was younger, she believed her parents knew what she was thinking. This made her fearful then, and not a little nervous now.
“You’re right. But he’s a good pastry chef, from what I understand. He worked in a fine restaurant in Ohio.”
Her
daed
shook his head. “We will talk about this later. We should gather to pray for
Aenti
Sarah.”
“Of course, yes,
Daed
.”
Here came
Aenti
Chelle and Daniel Troyer, along with the bishop from Pinecraft and his wife. Betsy immediately sat up a little straighter and smoothed an unseen wrinkle. Was her head covering straight? As though
Mamm
knew, she reached over and patted down a wayward hair on Betsy’s head.
But the smile the bishop had for all of them was warm and comforting. His wife greeted
Mamm
softly, then did the same with Betsy.
“We were so sorry to hear the news. Sarah is one of our faithful, and we will pray for
Gotte’s
will to be done.” She touched
Mamm’s
arm.
“I’m thankful we arrived today.”
Mamm
nodded.
“And Betsy, I’ve heard of your bakery, and your
aenti
has been helping you.”
“Yes, she has been a big help to me.” Betsy looked down at her lap. She tried not to think of the cell phone in her tote bag. She didn’t know if anyone else in the group had one, besides
Aenti
Chelle. Well, maybe Mr. Troyer.
They sat in a corner of the waiting room and bowed their heads as the bishop prayed. He prayed in their language, with a strong, yet subdued voice. Betsy found the language and his words comforting.
“
Grant Thy mercy and grace to our sister, Sarah Yoder . . . We thank Thee for the many years Thou has bestowed upon her . . . We ask for Thy guidance and strength for those who minister to her . . .”
A sudden ringing noise interrupted the bishop’s words, and the noise came from the tote bag at Betsy’s feet.
The phone!
* * *
Peter Stucenski had his head bowed in prayer and desperately prayed to Anyone who might be listening for no one to call on him to pray. He didn’t know any German, Dutch, or whatever language the preacher now spoke.
Then the young Amish woman’s phone started going berserk in her bag. Pete squinted in her direction. She turned a shade of chili pepper red as she snatched the bag from her feet. She jammed her hand inside, fumbled around, then scrounged for the phone. Successful, she discreetly held it inside the bag and pushed some buttons.
“I am
so
sorry,” was all she said. The kid looked ready to melt into the cushions.
Pete knew the squeamish look. He’d been there before, his phone interrupting an important meeting with clients.
Thankfully, the minister said a few more words before the “amen,” and no one had asked Peter to pray.
His head perspired and his faced itched, the more he sat there in the waiting room. All because Rochelle Keim had caught his eye. Something about her sweet smile and secrets in her hazel eyes drew him to her. He hadn’t counted on this. Now here he was, in a prayer circle of some kind.
The idea had been simple at first. Get to Florida, make sure Thad Zook wouldn’t recognize him if they saw each other in the “Amish land” of Sarasota, then find what Thad had brought with him to the Sunshine State. It shouldn’t be too difficult to lie low; Thad had only seen him once or twice, face-to-face at the restaurant.
His wove a generic story ahead of time, of being attached to the Troyer family, seemingly a common enough name in the Amish world. Concocted with the help of the Internet, he finalized the story and after a few phone calls secured paid accommodations for four weeks in the village at a much better price than a hotel. Now, with a few discreet questions and showing up around the village, he’d homed in on Thaddeus Zook.
Others back in Ohio probably wanted him to go in, with proverbial guns blazing, and demand Thad turn over what he had to ensure his overall health and well-being. But Pete wanted to find his way more subtly, get in, get out, and then let Thad go on his merry way, none the wiser, if possible.
Someone like Thad, if he knew what he had, would undoubtedly go to the authorities. Pete wouldn’t find it so easy to disavow his own knowledge of what Thad possessed, what all of them knew. With Pete’s softer approach, he could make the little problem go away, and no one got hurt.
Then he had to run into Rochelle Keim. The chance encounter in a little market in the village seemed innocent enough. However, after the uproar at the bakery and at seeing Rochelle’s distress, Pete had stepped up to help her. Or, Daniel Troyer had.
She glanced at him now that the prayer was done. “Mr. Troyer?”
“Yes, Miss Keim?”
“Do you have plans for Thanksgiving dinner? I know the church has its meal on Sunday. But next Thursday, what about you?”
“Ah, no, I have no plans.”
“Well, then, if you would like to join my family for supper, you will be most welcome.”
“Thanks. I’d like to very much.”
A man approached them, a stethoscope around his neck. “Yoder family? I’m Dr. Plank. I’m an orthopedic specialist. Mrs. Yoder is stabilized, but we must perform surgery tomorrow morning to put a pin in her hip.”
Rochelle turned her attention then to the physician, but Pete swallowed hard. Sometimes, a man just couldn’t help himself.
* * *
Thad stretched and yawned after he returned home. He and Imogene had closed the shop for the afternoon, not long after three.
“People will understand. They’ll be expecting Betsy to be with her family,” Imogene had said.
True, but Thad thought of her bottom line. Every hour not open for business would cost Betsy money.
“If you meet me back here in the morning so I can get into the shop, I’ll bake a few items fresh before we open.” Betsy hadn’t asked him to do it, but a setback like a medical emergency this early in her venture wouldn’t help her business, not if she didn’t have someone capable to run it.
“Here. Keep the key.” Imogene had pressed it into his hand. “I won’t be up stirring before eight a.m. Too early for my blood.”
He twirled the key between his fingers.
Mammi
puttered around the house, sweeping and mopping. Her humming drifted back to his room. No matter that the family’s arrival was weeks away, the news of their visit was incentive enough to send
Mammi
into a cleaning frenzy of the already-spotless home.
He wanted to laugh at the idea of
Mammi
cleaning in fast-forward, but thoughts of his family kept the laughter in check. They might ignore his presence at
Mammi
’s, or worse, ask him to leave the house. But it was
Mammi
’s home and she would have the final say. Or would she? If
Daadi
were still alive, he wondered if they’d have welcomed him into their home at all.
The sight of Betsy’s father looking like a stern thundercloud reminded him of his own father. The man had shown up at the bakery, of course expecting to see his daughter, not Thad and Imogene, a mismatched odd couple of sorts, trying to run the shop and Betsy gone.
Thad had stood his ground as he explained, listing his resumé, but not going so far as to state his reasons for being in Pinecraft. Nobody needed to know. At this point, he still wasn’t sure what had brought him here other than self-preservation and something else, something he couldn’t put a name to just yet.
A soft knock sounded at the door. “Thaddeus?”
“Come in,
Mammi
.”
She pushed open the door as he sat up on the bed. “Were you sleeping?”
He shook his head, then set the bakery key on his dresser. “Just stretching. It was a long day and I’ve been out of practice in the kitchen.”
“It’s almost time for the potluck and singing. Would you . . . would you please come with me tonight? The Bontragers will welcome you, I know. They welcome everyone.” She sounded infinitely weary, despite her high energy at cleaning mere moments ago.
He thought of Betsy’s
Aenti
Sarah, of the fragility of the elderly. What if something happened to
Mammi
, and he’d refused to accompany her? “All right, I’ll go with you.”
“
Danke
, Thaddeus.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled at him, then closed the door.
Thad rummaged in the dresser and found one of his thermal shirts, dark gray. Now,
this
was something he wouldn’t have much use for in Florida. He eyed the sleeves. Too warm, and the material clung to his skin.
He took the shirt with him into the hallway, then headed for the kitchen. “
Mammi
, do you have a pair of scissors handy?”
“In the drawer beside the stove.” She opened the refrigerator and took out a large plastic bowl. “What are you going to do?”
“A little something to this shirt.” He found the green-handled scissors, then cut one of the sleeves off with a flourish. “There.” He set the shirt and scissors on the counter, then slid the lone sleeve up over his tattooed arm.
“Well, you’re resourceful.”
Mammi
stared at his arm, covered from the edge of his T-shirt sleeve to the wrist.
“I thought so.” He couldn’t help it if people didn’t know his insides and misunderstood him. But his outsides? Those, he could control. The reflex to be on the defensive about his tattoo remained close to the surface, but he didn’t want to reflect badly on Betsy. She’d trusted him with her bakery, and he didn’t want to disappoint her.
He and
Mammi
left shortly after five, walking along Kaufman and heading toward Bahia Vista, with Thad carrying the container of marinated vegetables and
Mammi
tugging her sweater around her.
“I’m so glad you said you’d come with me.”
“I don’t mind.” The Thaddeus Zook he used to know loved going to singings, hearing the harmonies, the tones blending together. Tonight, he didn’t know what he’d hear. He didn’t recall much about Pinecraft singings. Sitting up late, falling asleep on his
Mamm’s
lap, listening to the sound of a guitar, banjo, or both. The soft wail of someone’s harmonica.
They had to step around a cluster of bicycles parked along the Bontragers’ driveway, and not a few parked on the front sidewalk. An older man, slightly balding and wearing a Cardinals baseball cap, was setting up metal folding chairs in the side yard. A trio of men stood in front of a storage shed as they tuned a pair of guitars and a banjo.
Phillip Bontrager, the man in the Cardinals cap, greeted him like a relative, telling him
Mammi
had only good things to say about her grandson. Thad didn’t quip back a response saying not all his family would have such glowing words about him.
“I hear you’re a pastry chef,” Phil said as they shook hands while standing on the carport. His wife Myra smiled and waved as she bustled in and out the side door of their home.
“Yes, I am. Or was.” Thad tugged on the makeshift sleeve he’d fashioned less than an hour before.
“So, you’re here on vacation, then.”
“Sort of. I’m, uh, going to look for work around here. I like the climate much better.” The admission startled him. The longer he’d been in Florida, the more he saw the benefit of not being faced with digging out after winter storms, dealing with ice and slush, and everything else about a Midwestern winter.