A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel (13 page)

“Maybe,” he agreed, taking a calming breath.

In his single-minded focus to keep the farm functioning and the family together, he often forgot the toll they all paid from their parents’ untimely deaths. The feeling of loss was complicated by the
terrible murders, which the bishop forbade them from delving into. Out of obedience to the bishop, Adam had made it a house rule that no one would speak of their parents’ murders. That seemed the safest way to play it. But was it the best way to heal the wounds? Maybe it was wrong to silence their sorrow.

“Do you think I’m too hard on everyone?” he asked his sister.

“You?” Mary snorted, her face softening with a smile. “If you ask Sadie, she’ll give you an earful. But I don’t think you’re any tougher on us than Dat and Mamm were. It’s just hard, sometimes, paying obedience to a brother.”

“That makes sense. Well, you won’t be following my ways much longer, will you? Aren’t you and Five going to be wed soon as the season begins?”

Her smile faded. “Who told you that?”

“Simon mentioned something about it, but I’ve been expecting it all along. It’s about time. You two have been courting for an eternity.”

“And we’ll still be courting come this time next year,” Mary said stoically. “I do so want to marry Five, but the two of you have no sense of the practicality of it. Who will manage this household if I go off and start a life with Five? Katie and Sam need someone to take care of them, full time, and you can’t expect Sadie to be doing that in her rumspringa.”

“Susie and Leah will be around,” Adam pointed out. “This is their last year in school.”

“Which is breaking Leah’s heart, little bookworm that she is. And remember that Dr. Trueherz warned us we need to keep on top of Susie’s health issues, and really, can you trust those two to cook a decent meal? They’re just learning how to bake, and they’ve never even looked at Mamm’s recipe cards for stews or roasts. They don’t know the first thing about putting up fruits and vegetables for the winter, and …” She broke off in a sigh. “Those girls have much to learn.”

“So you’ll teach them,” Adam said. “We both will.”

One corner of Mary’s mouth lifted in a scowl. “You? In the kitchen.”

“I managed to feed myself when I lived on my own. And we can teach the other girls. That’s the point of growing up, isn’t it? They need to learn how to take care of themselves and others.”

“Of course they do. But no amount of learning is going to prepare them to manage this household in a matter of months, Adam.” Mary tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, and for the first time Adam noticed the puffiness of exhaustion around her eyes. “You need a woman to help you lead this family, and if it’s not going to be me, Annie Stoltzfus is more prepared than anyone I know to run a household.”

At the mention of Annie’s name, Adam sank back in his chair. Mary’s friend was a fine baker and a good person. Some men would consider her to be the ideal bride. But Adam knew she was not right for him.

“I know you never thought of Annie that way, but feelings can change.”

“Mary, I wish that were true—”

“I’m done speaking for Annie.” She held up one hand. “It’s up to you to take a wife. No way around that, Adam. And until that happens, I’ll be here to make sure the household keeps running smoothly. That’s what Mamm and Dat would have wanted. The reality is, you can’t manage without me now. So it’s up to you to find my replacement.”

He let out a groan. “You make it sound as if I’ll find a wife on sale at the bulk dry-goods store.”

Mary laughed. “Now that would be a sight. The thing is, you know where to look. Open your eyes, Adam. Just open your eyes.”

retending interest in the map of Halfway that she’d gotten from the counter here at Ye Olde Tea Shop, Remy was all ears as the proprietor paused behind her.

“Did you ever hear how the town of Halfway got started?” asked the woman pouring tea at the next table.

“No,” said the customer, a middle-aged man wearing a navy fleece with Penn State’s lion emblem. “We never heard of it before today.”

She’d stopped in for a few clues and a caffeine boost after a night of insomnia, but so far she’d gotten so much more from the shop owner, Lovina Stoltzfus, who was chock-f of information. While she wielded heavy trays of tea as if they were Frisbees, the solid Amish woman entertained and worked the crowd. She drew information out of the locals, some Amish and some “English,” who stopped in for what appeared to be their regular cup. And she graciously shared stories with travelers, many of whom seemed to be in Halfway for the first time.

So far Remy had learned that, though deer hunting season was ending, Kraybill’s shop was doing well booking groups for pheasant shooting. The Amish man sitting at the counter, a gentleman with a dark beard and a bald head fringed in dark hair, had just had a grandchild. And this week’s quilting, hosted by Mary King, had yielded a child’s quilt for the family of Eli Troyer, whose house had burned to the ground outside Paradise.

One of the waitresses passed by with a plate of cinnamon buns that made Remy question her decision to stick with tea. She was about to ask for a menu when she caught the mention of Mary King. Could it be the King family she was looking for? One of the books she’d read had explained that with such a closed community, it was not unusual to find many people with the same name.

Still … she had made it to Halfway on just a few hours’ sleep. And she had a strong sense that Lovina Stoltzfus would know where to find Adam and his family. Whether or not she’d be willing to share it with an outsider like Remy was another story.

“There are many theories on how Halfway got its name,” Lovina said as she set a porcelain teapot and cream pitcher down on the couple’s table. “I don’t know about the others, but this story is a legend in my husband’s family. One of his great-great-grandfathers, Jeremiah Stoltzfus, had a small family farm in the Christiana settlement. Now this man Jeremiah had many brothers in Strasburg, and he often traveled by buggy to visit them. But it was such a long trip. So one day, this Jeremiah purchased land smack in the middle and built a farm there. He called the place Halfway, and as a town grew up around it, the name stuck. That’s Joseph Zook’s old barn here in Halfway.”

Most of the patrons seemed to be watching Lovina as she finished her story with a satisfied nod. Remy met her gaze with a smile, then jotted a few notes in her journal so that she’d remember the details later.

“Lovina, that story sounds better and better each time you tell it,” Mr. Kraybill said without looking up from his newspaper.

“Practice makes perfect,” said one of the Amish girls working behind the counter. She looked young, barely a teenager, but she moved adeptly through the shop, carrying trays of tea things and dishing out pastries from the glass display case.

“I heard it got its name because it was halfway between Philadelphia and Harrisburg,” said the bald man, the new grandfather.

“Oh, I don’t know anything about that story,” Lovina said, waving him off with a grin, and the customers at the counter laughed.

Such a friendly, homey atmosphere. Remy wished she knew of a shop like this in Philadelphia where she could be one of the regulars. As Remy sipped the last of her tea, one of the waitresses placed the check on the small round table.

“Take as long as you like,” the young woman said.

Remy turned over the check, which the waitress had signed: “Thanks! Hannah.” A nice personal touch. Remy summoned her nerve.

“Actually, I have a question,” Remy said. Glancing up at the girl, who wore no makeup, her honey blond hair scraped back and tucked under a white bonnet, Remy had to force herself to look the girl in the eyes. It would be rude to stare at the unusual clothing—the crisp white bonnets, the dark dresses in rich hues of blue, green, and purple, pinned with black aprons. And yet, Remy wanted to soak up every detail of this new world. “About the farmers market.” Remy had read that although the Kings’ main source of income was their dairy farm, they also sold homemade quilts and cheese at various farmers markets. “I know it’s too cold for the outdoor market at the square.”

The young woman nodded. “Oh, yes. Far too cold. You won’t see the market at the square open up until March or April, usually around Easter.”

Remy’s heart sank with disappointment. “So Halfway doesn’t have a farmers market during the winter?”

“Oh, there’s markets here and there. Some go into Philadelphia to the Reading Terminal Market. But on weekends, you’ll find most of Halfway at the Saturday market in Joseph Zook’s barn. It’s just down the road a ways.”

Worth a shot
, Remy thought as she thanked the waitress and left a hefty tip, grateful for her help.

It didn’t take long to navigate through the town of Halfway, a combination of quaint shops with wooden porches and hand-painted signs mixed with the neon of newer stores and asphalt parking lots. Her progress was slowed for a time by an Amish carriage, its steel wheels rumbling on the paved road. The orange reflective triangle on the rear of the vehicle seemed to be a stark contrast to the old-fashioned carriage, but then she supposed safety was a priority.

As it turned out, the carriage turned into the parking lot of the old red barn Hannah had mentioned. Remy pulled past an impressive line of buggies, all without horses, parked in a tidy row, and found a spot for her car in the side parking lot. She decided to leave her recorder and journal in the car, not wanting to appear too aggressive. A blustery wind kicked up just as she got out of the car’s warmth, and she quickly tugged on her leather jacket, hitched her bag onto her shoulder, and hurried to the barn door, where plastic sheets blocked the cold.

Inside the market was a surprising array of wares. There were hand-painted signs for sorghum, apple butter, honey, cider, and popcorn. Remy passed tables of ceramics and stained glass, braided breads and jams. There was a long line in front of the Sweet ’N’ Simple Bakery table, and Remy stepped aside to let a graying man make his way through the crowd with a pie in each hand. One vendor sold lavender soaps and candles right next to a taxidermist,
who had a real deer head on display to demonstrate the quality of his work.

Remy’s stomach churned at the sight of the deer’s realistic, beseeching eyes. It was yet another reminder that Remy had entered a different world.

Wishing she’d had a pastry at Ye Olde Tea Shop, she turned her back on the deer and scanned the vendors on this end of the barn.

Immediately a display of quilts drew her attention; the deep emerald green provided the background for a vibrant royal purple diamond framed by lipstick red. Although Remy had just started researching quilts, she recognized the Diamond in the Square pattern that was unique to Lancaster County. While the pattern was simple, the bold, vivid colors hardly brought to mind the traditional lifestyle of the Amish. Another quilt pattern of a simple square outlined by alternating light and dark patches of orange and brown gave her the feeling of looking through an open window to a pumpkin patch.

Could those be quilts made by the King women? One article had mentioned that while the family lived from their dairy farming, quilting was the business focus of the women in the family. Remy focused on the people working at the quilt table, searching for Adam’s face. At the moment, there were no men there, no little children either, but the vendors seemed to be quite fluid, with some working the crowd in front of the tables or chatting with other sellers.
Hmm. Would families bring little kids to these things?
The lavender vendor had held an infant in her arms, but what about toddlers? She knew Amish families prided themselves on working together, but would it require all eleven of the Kings to sell goods at a market?

Moving with the crowd, she passed by an Amish popcorn vendor and two elderly women who sold rag dolls. At another table boasting GENUINE AMISH QUILTS she counted three girls, a
teenager, and an elderly woman. The older woman, with silver hair and glasses to match, was talking with a fashionable shopper in black suede boots, tights, and a fake fur jacket. They seemed to be discussing how to customize a quilt to match the décor in her house.

One of the girls, the only one to wear glasses, was lost in a book, but the other girls, who looked to be her sisters, seemed to be adept salespeople, chatting up passersby, pointing out stitching details on the quilts.

Could they be part of the King family?

Remy thought she could pick out two of the girls as twins. The others … yes, the older teen might be Sadie … too young for Mary. And the girl with the knowing manner, the attitude of an adult with the body of a child, that might be Ruth.

But if this was the King family, where was Adam? She needed to connect with him today. She was counting on him. She needed this interview.

With the women at the table all engaged in conversation, Remy paused before the dancing patterns of form and color in the sample quilts. From far away the hues drew her in with fiery reds, royal purples, spring lavender, bold blues, and the brown of creamy chocolate.