Chapter 25
It was nearly ten fifteen when Miriam noticed him at the back table: Derek Shotwell closed his eyes over a mouthful of honey-drizzled biscuit, as though he’d passed through the pearly gates to sit at heaven’s own breakfast table. He chatted with Rachel as she topped off his coffee, then protested amiably as Rhoda stabbed him a steaming oatmeal pancake from the batch she was adding to the buffet table.
Could he tell how her girls enjoyed their guests? They didn’t know he was the banker who held their future in his hands ... who pulled the purse strings, as far as how the sale of the building went. Though she could support herself for years on the money—even after she made a sizeable donation to the common fund, as Hiram would expect—Miriam prayed this young executive understood the difference between her love for this café and the income it generated.
Should she go out and talk with him? Miriam smoothed her apron, looking around for what needed to be done next. She decided to slice the pork loins so Naomi could stir up their gravy, and let Mr. Shotwell do whatever he’d intended when he came here. He’d surely found her ledger by now—and maybe she’d made a silly mistake leaving it behind, trying to influence this transaction. But it was too late for second-guessing.
“How’s that pork lookin’?” Naomi inquired. She bustled to the stove with thickly sliced onions to add to a potful of boiling carrots and potatoes.
Miriam looked up from her woolgathering. “Real
gut
. Not a speck of waste and hardly any fat.”
“Might be better if ya sliced against the grain,
jah?”
She let out an exasperated gasp and changed directions with her sharp knife. “Glad ya caught me when ya did. Don’t know what I was thinkin’ ... well,
jah
, I do,” she admitted sheepishly. “That youngish-lookin’ man in the necktie? He’s the loan officer from the New Haven bank.”
Naomi’s brown eyes widened as she gazed through the serving window. “
Gut
thing he’s likin’ the food, ain’t so? Why’s he here, so soon after you and Hiram—”
“Don’t know. But I’m suspectin’ we’ll soon find out.”
Together they lifted the remaining loins from the pan so Naomi could make the gravy from the broth. Miriam fought the urge to stare at Derek as she sliced the pork ... heard the
ding!
of the old cash register by the door ... turned down the fire under that pot of vegetables. Anything to keep busy rather than fret about what might happen to her beloved bakery.
“Miriam, that meal was
almost
as delightful as your daughters.”
She looked up. Derek stood at the serving window, grinning, with her black ledger on the counter in front of him. By some stroke of grace or luck he’d come well after the hour when the bishop ate: she had
not
looked forward to stammering out an explanation to Hiram for leaving her restaurant records at the bank yesterday. “Let me wash my hands. I’ll be right out.”
“No hurry. Looks like you’re transitioning into lunch.”
“
Jah
—and this is Naomi Brenneman. She’s my cook—and her boy Micah was the carpenter I told ya about,” Miriam went on, hoping she didn’t sound desperate. “Can ya imagine it? Still best of friends, even after all the spills and ruined food and broken dishes between us.”
“I doubt you’ve had many of those things go wrong. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Naomi—a real treat to eat here and observe the way your business works, too.” Derek nodded, turning to gaze around the nearly empty dining room.
Something inside her prodded Miriam to be bold. She’d left her ledger so this loan officer would come back with it, after all. “If ya want to see somethin’
really
special, have Rachel take ya next door to where Micah’s been buildin’ some rooms,” she remarked. “But it’s a secret he’s keepin’ from me and Rhoda until he’s all finished, so ya gotta promise not to tell me what-all he’s been doin’ up there!”
Rachel brightened and set the bin of dirty dishes on the back counter. “
Jah
, come on up, Mr. Shotwell. I’ve never seen the likes of this anywhere, and I think you’ll like it, too.”
As they quickly crossed the lot to the smithy, Naomi smiled. “
Gut
to see our Rachel beamin’ again. She and my boy seem to’ve patched up their squabbles over Tiffany.”
“
Jah
, I believe they have.”
“But I know you, Miriam Lantz. And that kitty-cat grin means ya been up to somethin’.” Naomi set down the big bowl of cooked macaroni she was about to make cheese sauce for. “If that banker’s here to tell us the place is already sold out from under us—”
“Not worryin’ about that anymore. Said a lotta prayers and told God I was leavin’ it all up to Him—” Miriam playfully raised an eyebrow. Hope bubbled within her like yeast in warm water, even though it seemed too early to hear an answer. “But ya know
gut
and well I didn’t
forget
my ledger yesterday.”
“Ah. And Hiram didn’t notice.” A sweet smile stole over Naomi’s face. “Shoulda known to have faith in you, Miriam—and shoulda let God have his way with this situation, like you did. Goodness knows my frettin’ hasn’t improved it one little bit.”
They worked alongside each other, Miriam peeling big, orange sweet potatoes as Naomi made the cheese sauce in her Dutch oven. Voices drifted from the smithy’s open windows ... Rachel showing the banker all around. The words weren’t clear, but the tone seemed as light and happy as a summer’s breeze. A good sign. And when Derek Shotwell stepped back into the kitchen, his expression defied description.
“That was the most creative—the
coolest
—conversion of space—” The banker stopped midsentence as though he couldn’t think of enough wonderful things to say. When he grinned, he looked like the littlest boy in his office photographs. “Mrs. Lantz—Mrs. Brenneman—”
“Oh, but we’re Miriam and Naomi to you, sir!”
“—you have an awesome surprise in store when Micah unveils his project!” Derek confirmed. “And after I’ve talked with you, Miriam, I’m going to catch up with Micah, too. The bank’s renovating a pair of fourplexes built in the seventies—senior housing—and what he’s doing next door is, well, it’s
perfect!
It’s so—so innovative it’ll knock the committee’s socks off!”
Naomi shrugged, her face aglow. “
Jah
, my middle boy’s always been the smarts behind the Brenneman cabinet business. The shop’s just up the way, first right off the highway and down about a quarter mile.”
Miriam glanced out into the dining room. “I’ll put the fire under these sweet potatoes and we’ll talk for a bit, Mr. Shotwell.”
“That’s Derek, please.”
“Can I get ya anythin’? Just made fresh tea, and there’s peach or cherry pie—”
“Can’t hold another bite.” He rubbed his stomach, smiling. “But I know those pies are like none my wife brings home from the store.”
Now
there
was a gap to be filled. “I’ll send one with ya, then. Cherry or peach?”
Derek’s jaw dropped as though he’d never heard such an offer. “Any chance I could have ... half of each kind?”
“For sure and for certain!” Miriam giggled as she grabbed her knife and a clean aluminum pie pan. “This way, you’ve got somethin’ for everybody—”
“You think I’m going to
share
that?”
“—and those who take the pieces where the two fruits meet get a taste of both!” Quickly she arranged three wedges of each flavor in the pan and then put it in a carryout box with a clear lid. “Now—I’ve done my best, givin’ you a fine surprise today, Derek. Your turn to do me the same favor whilst we talk about our business, ain’t so?”
It was a cheeky sort of challenge, yet Miriam felt too good about this young man to restrain herself. If he liked Micah’s work so much and was going to hire him for those fourplex renovations, hadn’t a lot of good already come from this day? She firmly believed that one favor begat another—and it worked best if she gave first.
“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Derek replied in a more reserved voice. He accepted the heavy pie pan with a wistful look in his eyes. “You know, of course, that the sale of this property isn’t as neatly sliced—or nearly as sweet—as the pies you make. Wish it was, though.”
Into the dining room they walked, while Miriam’s pulse thrummed faster.
Whatever he tells me, God, help me listen and follow Your way for me.
Derek pulled out a chair for her and then sat across the cleared table. He ran an appreciative finger over its glossy surface. “The workmanship—the
love
in this place—makes me so glad I stopped by instead of relying on the appraiser’s notes,” he began earnestly. He folded his hands on top of her ledger, studying her with a kind smile. “We’ve received an offer on your building, Miriam.”
The news slammed into her. She willed herself to breathe.
“And while this potential buyer insisted I not give out his name, he called around one o’clock yesterday to say he wanted it—and then he asked me to sit on his offer for a while.”
“Ah.” She cleared her throat. “Another secret. Been a lot of those this summer. But at one o’clock, only three of us knew the place was for sale, ain’t so?”
Derek’s grin twitched. “That’s correct. His offer was, shall I say ...
less
than what we’re asking.”
“We Amish are a thrifty lot.”
The banker’s laugh rang out in the dining room. “Miriam, you’re a gem! And after I saw these impressive figures,” he added, tapping her ledger, “I didn’t feel right about calling it a done deal, anyway. And lo and behold, around four o’clock I got another offer!”
“Jah?”
She leaned forward, holding his gaze. “But you’re not namin’ any names.”
Derek adjusted his glasses, still chuckling. “Please—I don’t want to undermine your bishop’s leadership or seem to make light of your beliefs, because I greatly respect the Amish. I documented both offers, however. And I liked it that this second person didn’t ask how much the previous offer was. He went twenty thousand higher because he believes you belong here, serving God by serving such good food.”
Tom Hostetler, maybe? He stood by me that day Hiram looked at the ledger ... looked in on me after Jesse passed. How much milk would he have to sell—how many cows could he buy for his dairy—with that much money?
Miriam’s hand fluttered to her racing heart. “Thanks ever so much for tellin’ me this, Derek,” she murmured. “I believed God would bring me a
gut
answer to this predicament, and—”
From out of nowhere, a perky trumpet tune began to play. “Excuse me, I forgot to turn this off,” the loan officer said as he glanced at the screen of his cell phone. “Then again, I’d better take this call. Back in a few.”
Miriam sat absolutely still in her chair, leaning on the table as this new information sank in: Hiram had made a low offer and intended to make her
wait
, not knowing if she was in or out of business. It would do no good to feel insulted ... and there was no need, since someone else had offered more. Who’d’ve thought this would turn into an auction rather than a cut-and-dried sale?
And while the bishop would not like it that one of the other brethren had stepped forward to keep the Sweet Seasons up and running, her heart fluttered at this unexpected development. The grapevine proclaimed that she and Hiram would be getting hitched soon, so ... was this Tom’s way of sidetracking that? Showing his support the only way he could?
As Derek came inside again, she looked up from her musings. The banker seemed as pleased as when he’d gone outside—maybe a little more. “Would you believe someone else has just called the bank, wanting to buy your building?”
Who else would it be? Zeb Schrock, keeping the peace with Mary, Eva, and Priscilla by—
“This one’s from out in left field, though, because this buyer’s not Amish. He asked the price and then said he’d pay it,
boom
, without missing a beat!” Derek sat across from her again, focused intently on her. “You must have some awesome connections, Miriam, because if this isn’t God answering your prayers, I don’t know what else to call it!”
Not Amish? Hiram wouldn’t like that one little bit ... and what if this buyer wanted to use the building for something other than her bakery café? The People hated to see parts and parcels of their property getting into the hands of Englishers. Miriam reminded herself to have some faith ... to trust in that happiness she still saw on Derek Shotwell’s face.
“Again, my intention is not to undercut your bishop’s wisdom, but
now
we’re doing business,” he insisted. He leaned his elbows on the table and placed his chin in his hands, watching her as he considered what he’d say next. “I didn’t feel right about not advertising such prime property, nor did I like the ... interaction I saw in my office, while Hiram did all the talking about
your
livelihood. But I understood your silence, Miriam. No mistaking it for ignorance, either, after looking at your ledger.”