Authors: Lynette Sowell
Chapter 21
21
Y
es, there was Thaddeus, standing at the edge of the group of men after the service. The men gathered in their typical spot, in the side yard of the house where they met. If someone had told Betsy Thaddeus had shown up to the service today, she wouldn’t have believed them. She didn’t recognize him, either—not at first.
All the young women who’d attended the service this morning noticed him straightaway. His eyes, his posture, the way he scanned the crowd.
“I can’t believe it’s Thaddeus Zook,” Emma said beside Betsy. “Here. At service. And he’s not dressed
Englisch
.”
No, he wasn’t. And in the Plain clothing, he appeared more handsome, even with his
Englisch
haircut, cropped close and worn longer on the top. Lately, he’d taken to shaving more, as an unmarried man should. Betsy noticed the change.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands stuffed in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
“Ouch, my nose hurts.” Emma touched her red nose and cheeks.
“So you went fishing again on Steven’s boat?”
“Yes, I did. If you’d listened to me the other night, I told you we were going yesterday.”
“We?”
“Oh, a few of us, and Steven, and some others from the local Mennonite church.”
Betsy nodded. She felt a pang of envy. But she’d chosen this responsibility of operating a business on her own. She knew the hours would be long. She knew the price would be not running around with other young people.
Emma hadn’t mentioned missing Eli. Not lately. That much she did remember. Nor did she mention her offer to help Betsy in the bakery.
“So,” Betsy asked, watching Thaddeus conversing with a few of the young married men in the group, “how’s Eli doing? Is he still coming for Christmas?”
“He’s doing well. And yes, he’s still coming.” Emma fell silent, then frowned.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course, I’m fine.”
Betsy dropped the questioning. Emma joined a group of friends. Emma would tell her, in time, or she hoped her sister would. What concerned her was, thus far, no one had brought up the upcoming visit of the television station to her bakery.
Wednesday was still three days away, three more nights of trying to get some sleep. Part of her wondered if she’d made a foolish choice in agreeing to allow the station to come to the bakery. Part of her knew it was good business sense and no true compromise on her part. She didn’t watch television. She did want to see the segment and how it looked.
Aenti
Chelle could help her find it on the Internet.
Mrs. Byler stood with some of the older women, chattering away.
The pie contest happened to fall next Friday, only two days after the news people would visit the bakery. Likely the film crew would be there for the contest, too.
Mrs. Byler made it clear she considered her pies to be the best, both in her open admission of the fact as well as her undisguised disdain for others’ baking. Betsy had stopped herself several times from approaching her
daed
and insisting they find someone else to help in the bakery until
Aenti
Sarah was finished with her physical therapy.
What would Thaddeus do, if this were his bakery? She glanced his way again. He made eye contact with her, and half a grin appeared on his face as their glances locked.
She knew what he’d do. He’d tell Mrs. Byler to leave and her help was no longer needed at the bakery.
If they were anywhere else, she would cross the expanse of grass between them and ask his advice about Mrs. Byler, and find out what more he knew about Daniel Troyer. Surely he’d found out more by now.
“Betsy,” her mother was calling not a dozen paces away, “have you decided what you’re going to bake for the pie contest? Others are curious.”
She joined her mother by a group of bicycles, where some of the ladies chatted. “No, I haven’t. I’m sure I’ll think of something. But I’ve been busy.”
“Right, the television people are coming to the bakery this week,” one of Mrs. Byler’s talkative friends interjected.
“Yes, they are.”
“Have you chosen what you’re going to bake for them?” the lady asked.
“No, I’m planning to do my everyday baking.”
The woman made a noise that almost resembled a grunt.
“Enough about that,” said another older woman—Thaddeus’s
mammi
, Mrs. Zook. “What I would like to know is what else we can do for the Haiti auction. January will be here before we realize it. Maybe some of us can gather to put in a quilt or two? I have several pieced tops only needing to be put together.”
Betsy nearly sighed with relief. She hadn’t liked the sudden turn of conversation, and thankfully, Mrs. Zook had changed the subject. However, Betsy would rather find something else to do for the Haiti auction besides quilt. Her fingers felt more at home pinching pie crusts than feeling the prick of a needle.
Melba Stoltzfus approached them and stood beside Mrs. Zook. “Hiram is asking the men, but I’m also asking you ladies.” She stared at Betsy.
“What is it?” she heard herself ask.
“When was the last time you saw Gideon?”
“Friday afternoon.” Betsy wanted to add, “making his daily visit to the bakery,” but didn’t. Gideon hadn’t visited her yesterday, which she found odd; however, the day had been so busy, preparing pies for people to take home to serve as dessert today.
“He left our house last night after the singing. We walked by this morning on the way to service, to see if he was going to walk with us, but he didn’t answer his door.”
“I didn’t see him at all yesterday, and he usually stops for a cup of coffee. But we were busy at the bakery.”
“Well, maybe the landlord can let you into his apartment, can’t they?”
Mamm
asked Mrs. Stoltzfus. “I pray nothing is wrong.”
“Me, too.” Mrs. Stoltzfus frowned. “Thank you, thank you all. We are going to go straight to the Kaufmans’ house on our way home, to see if they can lend us a key. Maybe he’s sick.”
Maybe. No, Betsy didn’t have any romantic attachment to Gideon, but she didn’t think ill of him in the least. She hoped nothing bad had happened to him.
* * *
Thad turned on his cell phone after he arrived home at
Mammi’s
. She was pulling dishes from the refrigerator, making plenty of clanks and clunks he could hear all the way into his bedroom.
He had a voice mail message. The manager of Palm Trees, the restaurant in Siesta Key Village looking for a part-time employee, invited him to come first thing tomorrow morning for an interview.
“Please bring your knives because we need to see your knife work, too,” the manager said.
Thad phoned the office and left a message confirming he’d be there at nine to meet with the executive chef and head pastry chef.
Unfortunately—or fortunately—if he landed this position, he’d have to give Betsy notice and leave her bakery. The place had been a quiet sanctuary for him, where he could work in the wee small hours of the morning and think.
Ever since tasting the tiramisu pie, and sharing their kiss, Thad had run figuratively, and almost literally, in the other direction. Still, he couldn’t help a smile at her this morning after the church meeting. Getting some distance between the two of them would be better, especially for her.
He yawned. He’d agreed to meet Henry at the park in the afternoon, before the concert at two.
“You should come,” Henry had said the other night. “A few boys from Ohio are in town, and they’re going to play guitars and sing. I think you might know one or two of them. Aw, I shouldn’t call them boys, they’re all around your age, give or take a few years.”
So Thad agreed. He shifted himself from his bed, then joined
Mammi
in the kitchen.
“You’re still welcome to come with me to Abe’s.”
Mammi
was headed to his cousin’s house, where the family would be. No, Abe hadn’t invited him, had told him years ago he would never be welcomed in his Ohio home if he left the Order. Thad figured the same would be true here in Pinecraft.
Mammi
probably didn’t know.
“No, I’ll eat here. But thank you, anyway.”
“There’s a concert in the park this afternoon.”
Mammi
looked hopeful, her hands clasped in front of her.
“I’m going. I promised Henry I would go.” He wanted to hug her for her unconditional love, the way she always tried to include him. But he’d never hugged his
mammi
and wouldn’t start now.
“Good. I’ll look for you.” She smiled at him before she left on her three-wheeled cycle.
Thad scrounged through the contents of the refrigerator and found some leftover cheesy vegetable casserole and a few slices of meat from a roast
Mammi
had prepared. It should be plenty. He polished it all off with a glass of milk. Not quite one-fifteen now. Arriving forty-five minutes early wouldn’t hurt.
It took him less than ten minutes of strolling through the sleepy streets to arrive at the park, where a few families had already arrived. A brood of children, different ages, climbed and ran and played in the children’s area. A Plain woman sat on a bench, watching them.
The closer Thad got to the pavilion and the children’s area, the more the woman came into focus.
Mamm
? The little ones on the swings and slide were his nieces and nephews, known to him only as the faces of innocence.
Mamm
turned to look at him as he approached. Even from the short distance, he saw the longing in her eyes.
“Thaddeus.”
“
Maam
.”
“I brought the children early. The others will come before the music starts.”
“I see. I’m early for the concert.” He focused on the slowly drifting waters of Phillippi Creek a stone’s throw from them, and took in the sight of the lone fisherman sitting on its bank.
“You’re here for the concert, then? Does this mean you might be coming back to us?”
“No. I’m not going back to Ohio.” As far as his faith was concerned, he was still trying to figure that out. Maybe today would help, seeing the mixture of Plain people and others.
“I wish you would.”
“I . . . I can’t.” The idea of having to compromise part of himself, well, he couldn’t do it. Not for anyone else.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here anyway. I wanted to tell you something, only, there has been no chance for me to do so, with others around who might wonder why.”
Her tone made him face her. “May I sit down?”
“Of course, Thaddeus.”
He settled onto the bench beside her and waited for her to continue.
“Someone came by the farm last month, looking for you.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. It was a man.
Englisch
. I was afraid something had happened to you. But I knew if something did happen, it would be the police who came.”
“You’re right. When did he come?”
“Very early in the month. He said he wanted to find you because he heard you were looking for work. Were you looking for work?”
“Sort of. The restaurant I was at in Columbus had been closed after the owner was murdered.” The cold, hard fact reminded him of the news, photographers with their cameras, reporters asking about Mitch and any so-called enemies, if it was just a robbery gone bad, and if so, why had the robber left a bank deposit bag with eight thousand dollars on the floor?
“Oh, how terrible. So you were out of work, then.”
He shook his head. “I had something temporary going, but one of my bosses had asked if I’d like to go back to work there when it opened again.”
“But you came here instead.”
“Right.”
They both fell silent and he mulled around his
mamm’s
words. Someone looking for him. About a job. Just like Pete, Mitch’s partner, had. He liked to think his culinary skills would be in demand, but for someone to track him down, all the way to his family’s farm?
The feeling of being watched came roaring back onto his shoulders. He glanced around the park. A few more had arrived, some walking and some chaining their bicycles to the split-rail fence.
“What did you tell them?”
“I hadn’t heard from you in months.” Her words sounded accusatory. But how could he go where he wasn’t wanted?
“Okay.”
“But it’s not all. He asked if we had any other family around. I told him we had family in Florida.”
Chapter 22
22
T
had tried to inhale at his
mamm’s
words. “You told them about Florida, about Pinecraft?” But it was nothing. Didn’t she say the man had stopped at the farm earlier in the month? And December began next week. Surely, someone would have already found him by now, if they wanted to and had the right resources. Zook wasn’t a common name, not in most places outside the typical Amish communities.
“I didn’t say where in Florida. But I couldn’t lie to him and tell him we had no family anywhere else. And, I didn’t know you were here.”
No, he didn’t fault her for being honest. He wouldn’t have wanted her to lie for his safety. “No,
Mamm
, of course. You did the right thing.”
“You had probably go soon, find somewhere else to sit. I don’t . . . I don’t want the others to see me talking to you. They’ll have questions. The children won’t wonder so much, they’re too busy climbing and playing tag.”
“Oh. Okay.” Thad sighed. This was why it was better to avoid everyone, why he’d dreaded his family traveling to Florida this winter. The pain of exclusion he thought he’d overcome. The frustration at not being what they wanted, someone he couldn’t be. He rose. “Thank you for telling me.”
She nodded and stared across at the playground.
Mamm
didn’t say anything more, so Thad trudged away from the bench and back over to the pavilion.
He found a vacant picnic table in the back, far from the long, low benches making up the seating area in front of a low stage. A trio of men stood at by the stage, talking and laughing with each other. One pulled out an acoustic guitar, another a banjo. The third rummaged through a cardboard box and pulled up some small flat squares. CDs?
The man going through the CDs looked familiar. No, it couldn’t be. His old friend, Benjamin Esh? Taller and more muscular, of course. But yes, Benjamin Esh. Thad figured Ben would be married and working on child number two or three by now. Thad had left before he knew what had become of his old friend. Judging from Ben’s
Englisch
denim jeans and blue plaid button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he’d left the Plain life behind him.
Thad headed toward the men. “Ben Esh?”
The man’s focus snapped up from the CDs to Thad. “Wait . . . I know who you are.” He squinted. “Thad? Thaddeus Zook? I can hardly believe it.” Ben stepped around the side of the table and extended his hand.
Thad shook hands with his old friend. “You . . . you’re not . . . Plain.”
He shook his head. “Not anymore. I go to a Brethren in Christ Church. One of the more, ah, ‘liberal’ ones.” As he spoke, he leaned closer and made quotation marks in the air. “I left the
Ordnung
not long before I was due to be baptized. Went to live with some second cousins.”
“Ah, I see.” Thad tried to recall the last time the two had spoken face-to-face, and the memory had been lost, like much of what happened right before he left the Order.
No, it wasn’t quite a coincidence, him seeing someone from “before” in Pinecraft, considering he was in the winter haven for most Orders of the Amish and Mennonites.
“So you’ve been gone longer than me. What brings you to Florida? Vacation?”
“Not exactly. I’ve been staying with my
Mammi
. She’s hear year-round now.”
“Well, Jim and Ray and I are traveling, visiting different churches and singing, playing our songs.”
“Good, good for you.” He had a vague memory of Ben having a decent singing voice. “A friend of mine invited me today, so I thought I’d hang out here for a while.”
“Excellent. Have a CD.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“I insist.”
“Okay, since you insist.” He accepted the plastic case from Ben.
Songs of Faith
read the title, and the graphic was a photo of the three friends standing by a fence in front of a field. “Nice.”
“Maybe you could come over one night. We’ll be here until Wednesday night, until we head for Orlando. We’re staying in the RV park, lot twenty-three.”
“Sure, why not.”
“I mean it, man. Come on by. I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to.”
Thad nodded. “So, you keep in touch with your family?”
“As regularly as I can. They still hope I’m going to come back, but they understand I still have faith in God, and I walk the same walk they do, only a little . . . different. If that makes sense.”
“They . . . they didn’t shun you?”
“No.” Ben stepped over to a guitar case. “I’ve never been baptized into the church, so they didn’t shun me. I guess they think I’m running around, so to speak. But I’m not. A few of the older ones don’t see it so kindly.”
Not shunned? Benjamin Esh had never been shunned?
“Ah, I see.” Thad watched as Ben took out an acoustic guitar. “I’ll, ah, try to come by on Wednesday sometime.”
“Awesome. Remember, lot twenty-three. Hey, it’s good to see you.” His smile glowed. The man radiated contentment, peace, joy. He hadn’t been shunned. The thought ricocheted through Thad’s mind.
* * *
Betsy smoothed the apron over her favorite blue cape dress, then ran her fingers over her head covering. Not a hair out of place. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to be on camera, not her face, anyway. As much as she appeared to be Plain, she didn’t feel Plain sometimes.
She studied Susan Cantrell’s large leather tote, trimmed with a brightly colored fabric. It was a beautiful bag, and definitely large enough for carrying plenty of things.
“It’s a Dooney & Burke,” Susan Cantrell said.
“A what?”
“My bag. It’s a Dooney & Burke. I love it. It’s beautiful and it carries everything I have to haul around with me every day.” Susan scribbled something on her notepad. “The photographer is almost here. He’s recording some shots of the neighborhood.”
“The neighborhood?” Betsy’s spine stiffened. “You need to be careful with how they’re filming. There are people here in the village who aren’t happy about recording. Pinecraft has had a lot more news attention in the past few years, and not all of it positive.” The television producer had arrived around eight-thirty, without a cameraman.
“Our editing department can take care of that, especially if we don’t have signed releases from our subjects. We typically blur out faces, including those who don’t wish to be on the air. Speaking of which, I have a release for you to sign, and any of your workers. And any customers we film.”
Betsy nodded. “Where do you want to start?”
“We’ll begin by filming your display case, then have you slice some pie and serve it to a customer. We’ll also record someone, likely you, rolling out pie crust in the kitchen. Also, we’d like to get some shots of the outside of the building and your sign.”
“All right. If you could, keep my face out of the filming. Please. Otherwise, I can’t do it. I appreciate you choosing my bakery to feature on the show, but I’m trying not to offend anyone here. I live here. This is my home.”
“Of course, I understand.” Susan nodded. But it didn’t mean she understood.
Part of Betsy wanted to cancel the whole thing. Part of her knew this opportunity would help her business immensely. Part of her imagined what some might be saying about her, and the bakery. Vera Byler hadn’t shown up this morning. Instead, she sent a note carried by one of her fresh-faced little granddaughters.
I’m sorry. I can’t come today. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.
Sincerely,
Vera Byler
Betsy would manage, somehow. She should have asked Emma to help her, if Emma wasn’t running off to the beach yet again or out fishing with friends on
Aenti
Chelle’s nephew’s boat.
The front door opened, the bell clanged, and in stepped Emma, her face flushed, her nose peeling. “I’m here, I’m here. I meant to tell you to wake me this morning, but I knew I’d never get up in time.” She skidded to a stop when she saw Susan.
“Miss Cantrell, this is my youngest sister, Emma.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emma.”
“Nice to meet you, too. How can I help?” She glanced from Betsy to Susan, then back again. “I can take cash if you need me to mind the register.” Emma usually worked a day or two every week in a gift shop back in Ohio.
Betsy nodded. “Yes, if you could help customers, I can concentrate on the kitchen and talking to Miss Cantrell.”
Emma stepped behind the counter. “So if you run low on pies, I can just get another one from the kitchen?”
“Yes, let me know ahead of time, though, especially if it’s pie, since it takes a little longer to restock. Unless it’s a refrigerated pie.” Betsy didn’t have time to explain how she kept her inventory as fresh as possible, because she was still figuring out a system that worked. She hadn’t quite noticed a pattern yet with customers, other than the coffee crowd who would come for their free cup in the morning.
They’d already gone on their way.
“Oh, good.” Susan looked out the front window. A gray-haired
Englisch
man, camera on his shoulder, headed for the door. “Here’s Barry now. We can get started on the indoor work.”
She met the cameraman at the door, and Betsy joined Emma behind the display case.
“I’m so glad you came.” Betsy almost sighed with relief. “Mrs. Byler sent word she couldn’t help today.”
“She’s probably staying away because of the television people.” Emma shook her head. “You know some people aren’t happy about this, so Mrs. Byler probably doesn’t want her name attached to the bakery while they’re here.”
“I know.” Betsy studied Emma’s face. Yes, she appeared to have been hurrying to get here, but something about her eyes, a hint of pink. “Emma, have you been crying?”
Her sister shrugged. “I . . . I . . . Eli and I aren’t getting married anymore.”
“What? When did you decide this? And why?”
Emma switched to
Dietsch
, her voice low. “This morning. We talked on the telephone. He’s . . . he’s not coming to Florida for Christmas after all.”
“So you called it off because he’s not coming for Christmas?” Betsy glanced at the television people. They were still talking, the cameraman nodding as Susan Cantrell read something aloud from her notepad.
“No, I’ve realized, since I’ve been here in Florida, I don’t want to marry Eli. It’s not fair to him. I don’t want to always wonder . . .” Emma paused, her eyes filling with tears.
“Wonder what?”
“If there’s more than him for me. I always wanted to get married, keep house, have a family, but now, I wonder.”
Betsy had no words for Emma at the moment. She’d always thought Eli a quiet and kind young man, a bit bowled over by Emma at times, but he clearly adored her. They seemed happy enough and both sets of parents had given the couple their blessing in October. Of course, she’d missed a lot in the last year being gone from Ohio and had only heard updates from Emma or secondhand from their mother.
“Have you prayed?”
“Ya, I have. I have no answer.”
Betsy still didn’t know what to say, but here came Susan and the cameraman back to the counter. “Let’s talk later,” she whispered. “It’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”
“Thank you, Betsy. You’re so strong. I feel better just being here with you.”
Sometimes Betsy didn’t feel strong. “Well, I’m glad it helps.”
“Oh, I meant to tell you. You’ll never guess who showed up back home. Gideon Stoltzfus. He got a ticket and took the bus straight back to Ohio.”
“What?” Relief washed over her, and thankfulness. “How did you know this?”
“Eli. It’s another reason I called the wedding off. He kept saying it was your fault, that there was something wrong with you for not accepting Gideon’s offer. I told him what he could do with his idea.”
“
Emma.
”
“Well, I did.” She gave a sharp nod.
“All right,” said Susan Cantrell, returning to the counter area. “Our guy here will take some shots of the interior. And then we’ll wait for a customer to come in. I can talk to Betsy in the kitchen and record audio while Emma, you watch the front of the store. And relax. We want to film you as natural as possible, so try to forget the camera is here. Pretend it’s your grandmother watching the bakery while you work.”
This made Betsy want to laugh, so she did. “All right, Susan. Let’s go to the kitchen while Barry and
Mammi
watch the store while Emma works.”
Betsy smiled at her sister before leading Susan into the kitchen.
Dear Gotte, please let Emma do well on film.