Ira helped Millie clamber onto the flat river rock, telling himself not to say anything he’d someday regret. But how could he not commiserate with this young woman after the ordeal she’d endured today? “I—I hope ya don’t mind that I stuck around in the orchard for a bit,” he murmured. “To be sure ya did all right while Nora was talkin’ to ya.”
Millie’s golden-brown eyes widened. “So ya know who she is, then? Or have ya known for a long time—like everybody else—and ya didn’t tell me?”
The pain in her voice pierced Ira’s heart. “I’d never heard of her before yesterday,” he insisted. “I thought she could’ve been your sister or your cousin or—the thought of her bein’ somebody’s
mother
never occurred to me.”
Millie rolled her eyes. “Too busy lookin’ at her
wheels
, were ya?”
“Okay, I deserve that.” He lifted Millie’s hand to his lips. “I’m sorry I act like a jerk sometimes, Millie. It’s a guy thing.”
She smiled glumly. “Your brother’s got the same silly grin on his face when he looks at her—”
“Which means if Nora’s turnin’ our heads, and ya look just like her,” Ira pointed out, “
you
are just as pretty and just as—”
“Stop right there!” she bleated. “Ya don’t understand, Ira. That woman’s my
mother
, yet she dumped me off when I was a wee little baby, and everybody’s covered for her! They’ve all kept her secret—and kept me from knowin’ who I really am.”
They had drifted into dangerous emotional waters—the sort of intensely personal conversation Ira had avoided with girls because he’d wanted no part of getting serious. But this felt different. Millie’s beliefs about who she was and who had raised her had been totally overturned. He’d never witnessed anything like this.
“From the way Gabe shoved Nora aside this morning, I’m guessin’ she didn’t have a lot of options back then,” he murmured. “What would
you
do if ya had a baby ya couldn’t support, and your
dat
had sent ya away—”
Millie’s cheeks reddened. “Whose side are ya on?” she snapped.
“
Yours!
” Ira replied just as vehemently. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves. “I’m not sayin’ Nora’s done everything right. And what she admitted to ya this morning has turned your life upside down,” he said more gently. “But she told ya the truth, Millie. A gal who can afford Hiram’s place could be livin’
anywhere
, but she came here. Plunked down her money to be with you and her parents, so she could set the record straight.”
Ira wasn’t sure where his thoughts were coming from, but he’d seen and heard enough in the past several hours that his perception of Nora—his thoughts about a
lot
of things—had changed. These revelations were stirring him on a very deep level, much like the mill wheel churned up sand and debris from the river bottom.
“She’s been livin’ English, but she’s bought a house without electric power, to live amongst folks who’ve cast her out—knowin’ her father might treat her the same way he did all those years ago.” Ira squeezed Millie’s hand between his. “And what your
dawdi
did in the Sweet Seasons got me to thinkin’ about other things, too.”
A hint of a grin played on Millie’s face. “I never knew ya to be such a
thinker
, Ira. The philosopher of Willow Ridge.”
He chuckled, relieved that her sense of humor was returning. Millie was still upset, but she was listening to him, which meant he had to express his churning thoughts carefully. “Gabe didn’t even give Nora a chance to say hello when she went to his table,” he recalled. “What if she’s sincerely tryin’ to make amends, and he won’t let her?”
Millie didn’t answer, and Ira didn’t really expect her to. He searched for another way to express ideas that were rising to the surface now, even though he hadn’t been aware of them before. “Do ya remember that sleigh ride we took last winter, when we caught Rhoda Lantz kissin’ Andy Leitner in his parked car?”
Millie’s brows flickered, as though she wondered where this conversation was leading. “How could I forget? All folks could talk about was Rhoda’s sin. Everyone said she shoulda known better than to ride in a car with an English fella, let alone kiss him, because she was a member of the church.”
“And did ya think that reaction was right?” he quizzed her. “I mean, look at them now. Rhoda’s already like a
mamm
to Andy’s two kids, and he’s given up everything in his English life to be with her. He’s changed
who he is
to join the Old Order Amish church because they’re so much in love. But I could never do that.”
Millie’s breath escaped in a rush. “Are ya jumpin’ the fence, then? Not gonna take your instruction to join the church?” she blurted. “That means you’re goin’ to hell, Ira.”
“Does it?” Ira clutched her hands. For most of the time he’d been dating Millie, the difference in their ages had been something they’d used to defy her
dat
—a game that bound them together rather than a number of years that might keep them apart. Now, however, Ira felt more aware of his responsibility. He was a man whose maturity should determine his relationship—his future—with a younger girl who was very vulnerable.
“What about folks who go to other churches, like Mennonites?” he murmured. “Or even English folks who belong to completely different denominations? Do ya think God’s damned them all because they’re not Amish?”
Millie looked dumbstruck. “I—I’ve never thought about it. I’ve always believed what the bishop and the preachers say, because God chose them to lead us.”
“And I understand your way of thinkin’, Millie. But today it was like I got hit upside the head with a brick,” Ira said carefully. “I believe there’s gotta be different ways to worship God and still live a
gut
life. And it doesn’t include shuttin’ out folks like Nora for makin’ one mistake.
Not
that you were a mistake, Millie.”
She gazed at him solemnly. “I’m too upset to think about all that,” she replied after several moments of silence. “But—but if ya don’t want to see me anymore—”
“That’s not what I meant,” he whispered, cupping her precious face between his hands. “And you’re right. This isn’t the time to be talkin’ religion.” Ira cleared his throat, again hoping the right words would come to him. “I’m
with
ya, Millie. No matter what happens—or what we decide to do about our relationship—I hope ya realize I’m your
friend
as much as I’m your boyfriend. Ya know that, right?”
Awe and disbelief softened Millie’s sweet, freckled features. Then her smile came out like the sunshine after a storm. “
Jah
,” she murmured. “We have our squabbles, but I’ve always figured that when push came to shove, you’d be shovin’ the same direction I was.”
Such a simple statement of faith in him made Ira’s heart pound. As Millie’s eyes closed, he kissed her. “Keep that in mind if this thing with Nora gets sticky,” he murmured. “Who knows what other secrets might jump out now that she’s come back?”
Chapter Nine
As Miriam pulled seven loaves of bread from the oven early Saturday morning, she savored the silence of the Sweet Seasons kitchen. This time before her partner, Naomi Brenneman, and her waitresses arrived was always her chance to think things through, and the past twenty-four hours had given her quite a lot to consider.
Lord, I hope You’ll hold Nora and Lizzie and Wilma and Millie in Your healin’ hands
, she prayed as she measured flour for the day’s piecrusts.
And I hope You’ll open Gabe and Atlee’s hearts, as well. But Your will be done.
Miriam chuckled, at herself mostly. It seemed that
telling
God what to do rather than asking Him was an easy habit to fall into. Her visit with Nora yesterday, followed by the unfortunate scene with Gabe in the dining room, had made her think a lot about whether some of the Old Order ways came more from men’s insistence on control than from consulting God about the right way to handle their children’s mistakes. In some districts, expressing such an idea out loud might be considered reason for requiring a member to repent. But that didn’t stop a lot of Plain women from wondering if things couldn’t be different. Kinder. More loving.
“Miriam, when I die and go to heaven, please God, I believe it’ll smell a whole lot like your kitchen,” came a voice through her open window.
Miriam laughed. “Tom Hostetler, I believe you’re beggin’ for a sample,” she called out. “My stars, I can’t think you’ve already milked your cows.”
“I get up earlier when I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“
Jah
, I know all about that.” As the bishop walked in, Miriam gestured toward a tall stool near her work area. “And between you, me, and this countertop, my heart’s achin’ for the Glick women. Every one of them had their lives turned upside down sixteen years ago when Gabe sent Nora away, and now they’re goin’ through it again.”
Tom smiled ruefully. “I knew you’d see it that way, just as I could’ve predicted Gabe’s reaction when Nora asked for his forgiveness,” he murmured. “That’s where the fish bone gets caught in my throat. She
did
ask. And her father flat-out refused to even give her the time of day.”
“And then there was Hiram, appearin’ from outta nowhere to get right in the thick of it,” Miriam said with a grimace. She passed Tom a serrated bread knife and went to the refrigerator for a stick of butter. “Somebody’s gotta see if this bread’s fit to eat. Might as well be us.”
Tom chuckled and selected the round, golden-brown loaf nearest him. “How much do ya recall from all those years ago?” he asked as he positioned the knife on the bread. “Hiram was the bishop then, and Gabe and I were preachers, with your Jesse servin’ as our deacon.”
“It was all so hush-hush. Nora’d already been gone a week or so before I realized it,” Miriam replied in a faraway voice. “Wilma looked like she’d been hit by a truck, and wouldn’t—couldn’t—let on about the details Gabe forbade her to discuss. So we were left to assume that Nora was pregnant. Then, when Atlee and Lizzie suddenly had a redheaded baby—as newlyweds, without her bein’ pregnant—that pretty much told the tale.”
“Gabe insisted that the less folks knew, the less they could gossip—and other girls wouldn’t follow Nora’s sinful path.” He slathered butter on a generous slice of dense, grainy bread and handed it to Miriam. “And while Hiram and Jesse and I went along with that age-old strategy, I wondered what would become of Nora . . . how she would ever join the church or reunite with her family.”
He paused to close his eyes over a big bite of bread. “But I hadn’t been a preacher very long, so I didn’t make waves,” he went on. “Eventually the whole episode faded away, and Millie grew up as Atlee and Lizzie’s child.”
“Well, our days of sweepin’ it under the rug are over. Mmmm,” Miriam murmured as she took a big bite of the warm bread. “Your fresh butter almost turns this bread into dessert, Tom.”
“Nah, it’s your way of puttin’ the ingredients together that makes it special,” the bishop insisted. He closed his eyes over a second bite and chewed it slowly. “What’s in this, anyway?”
“A nice five-grain cereal Luke and Ira are gonna sell in their mill store—rolled oats, barley, rye, and wheat flour—along with a handful of golden raisins and dried cranberries. I made some the other day, but now I’ve actually gotten a taste of it.” Miriam studied the color and texture of her bread, pleased with the way this new recipe had turned out.
“You’ll not have to worry about it goin’ stale before folks snatch it up,” Tom predicted. He polished off his slice and looked at her, his brows arching over his expressive eyes. “I’m goin’ to visit Wilma, Lizzie, and Nora today. What would ya think if I took them each a loaf—”
“Oh, please do! What a fine idea.”
“But I don’t want to run ya short for your menu.”
Miriam squeezed his wrist and then cut them both another generous slice of the bread. “If anybody could use some lovin’ from the oven, it’s those gals. I’m glad you’re talkin’ them through this tough time.”
“Mainly I want to ask if they’ll all meet together at my place—with Millie and the men—so everybody can find a way to . . . mend fences,” he said with a sigh. “Except the fences need to come down. Separation from each other—especially within our own families—is akin to separation from God, the way I see it.”
“I agree a hundred percent,” Miriam whispered. “But do ya figure on Atlee and Gabe goin’ along with it? If they get wind of Wilma, Lizzie, and Nora gettin’ together, they might well nix the whole thing.”
“As the bishop of Willow Ridge, I see it as my mission—my duty to God—to bring folks closer together instead of allowin’ old attitudes and habits to keep us apart,” he replied in a low voice. “If
I
call a meeting, Gabe and Atlee will need to be there, ain’t so? And with tomorrow bein’ a non-church Sunday, the afternoon will be a
gut
time to get this process started.”
“Oh, Tom, I’m so pleased to hear ya sayin’ that,” Miriam insisted. “I was thinkin’ on that very subject when ya came to the door. Let me know what I can do.”
“I’ll be countin’ on you and Ben—askin’ him, as a preacher, to help persuade Atlee and Gabe to at least hear Nora out,” Tom said as he slathered butter on his bread. “If she’s willin’ to talk about what happened all those years ago, maybe we’ll see her situation in a different light. And I for one want to know what sort of life she’s been livin’ since she left.”
Miriam began cutting shortening into the flour in her big wooden mixing bowl, for her piecrusts. “As I’ve been thinkin’ back to when Nora left town, I had a real hard time believin’ she was pregnant,” she mused aloud. “Nora grew up right across the road. She was back and forth with my girls even though they were a few years younger, so I thought I
knew
her. She didn’t go chasin’ after the boys. She wasn’t the sort to hide English clothes or jewelry and wear them when she was out of her parents’ sight. Truth be told, she’d barely gotten into her
rumspringa
and then she was gone.”
“That’s how I recall it, too.” Tom tucked the last chunk of bread into his mouth before he spoke again. “I’m thinkin’ Ben will be a
gut
candidate for keepin’ Atlee and Gabe at least civil, on account of how he’s a newcomer. Doesn’t have any preconceived notions or family biases.”
“And Ben wants the best for Millie, too. She’s the one most likely to feel betrayed and hurt.”
“Millie needs our prayers,” the bishop agreed as he slid off the stool. “I’ll leave ya to your work now, Miriam—and I’ll take those loaves of bread after I’ve had my breakfast. I’m hopin’ Gabe’ll eat here this morning so I can sweeten him up,” he added with a smile. “But he might stay away, thinkin’ that’s what I intend to do. He’s a crusty old character.”
“
Gut
luck and Godspeed with your visits.” As the door closed behind him, Miriam placed a ball of dough on the countertop and began to roll it flat. Sweet Seasons customers always bought more whole pies—more of everything she baked—for the weekend, so she wanted to be ready. The July heat and humidity had already made the kitchen feel sticky, so she switched on the exhaust fan. The midsummer weather seemed a good reason to serve chilled salads and lighter fare on the day’s menu, but with so many of the local men eating breakfast or their noon meal here, the steam table would have to offer solid meat-and-potatoes fare, as well.
As Miriam considered stirring up a batch of whole grain pancake mix from the Hooley mill, the shifting in her abdomen made her grin and place a floury hand there. “
Gut
mornin’ to ya, wee one,” she murmured.
Once again she considered what a major change this baby was going to make in her life, now that she was forty-one with a busy preacher and farrier for a husband, grown triplet daughters, and a restaurant to run. This child was a miracle she welcomed, however, even as she realized young Nora Glick had experienced these same fluttery sensations as a terrified teenager who’d been cast out of Willow Ridge.
What a difference a baby makes
, Miriam mused as she resumed her baking. With all her heart she hoped the Glick family would be reunited, and she prayed that Millie would come to feel she’d made a
positive
difference in the lives she’d touched since she’d been born.