The Way to a Man's Heart (The Miller Family 3) (2 page)

May released a sigh commensurate with bearing the weight of the world. “I have helped you every single day but the Lord’s day. My house is a mess, the laundry sits in piles, I still don’t have all my garden seeds planted, and Paul is tired of his dinner being late.”

“Paul’s tired?” April wailed. “I haven’t slept more than four hours a night since the remodeling began. My vegetable patch is still buried beneath a groundcover of weeds and last year’s leaves. And my husband barely speaks to me.” Her voice rose as shrill as a hawk’s cry.

Leah knew better than to eavesdrop on their argument, but if she climbed down now she might be discovered. The women had moved closer to the open window as they faced off like circling barnyard roosters. She tried not to breathe deeply as dust settled in the parking lot.

“This was your bright idea, not mine!” May snapped. “I said I would lend a hand and I have, but I made no lifetime commitment to your pipe dream. I doubt very much that Amish and Mennonite people will be flocking here in droves. Most folk pack a cooler when they come to town on business to save money. And if you price your menu too cheaply, you’ll lose every cent of the money Dad loaned for start-up capital.”

The shorter woman crossed her arms over her wrinkled dress. “Then I would think you’d be more willing to protect his investment.”

“I have painted and caulked, scraped and sanded. I’ve sewn curtains and donated hours of my time. I helped you lift and carry in those heavy booths till my back nearly broke. And I’ve encouraged you, April, despite my opinion you were biting off more than you could chew.” A hint of sympathy crept into her voice.

Time seemed to suspend as Leah felt a wave of heat radiating from the diner’s interior.

“I know you have and I am truly grateful. If I live to be a hundred years old, I’ll still be in your debt, but can’t you stay a few more weeks till I’m up and running? Maybe until the word spreads that I’m open for business?” April placed a tentative hand on her sister’s arm.

Even Leah, knowing nothing about these women beyond this conversation, knew asking for a few more “weeks” was a bad idea.

Any compassion in May’s face drained away. As though plucking a piece of lint from her skirt, she removed April’s hand. “You will never change, not as long as people keep enabling you. I will stay a couple more days to help you open, but that’s it. After that, you’ll not get another minute of my time. You must sink or swim on your own. And if you go belly-up, maybe Dad will stop bankrolling your hair-brained schemes and throwing away his money.” She looked as though she might say more, but at that moment Leah’s luck ran out.

Without warning the slat-board packing crate gave way with a splintering crash. Leah tried to grab the windowsill but she toppled backward, landing on her backside in the weeds without an ounce of dignity.

“Oh, great.” May’s voice carried through the open window. “Sounds like a family of rats has moved in before your first customer arrives. I’m going home!” The sound of her words faded until the front door slammed with finality.

As Leah clumsily rose to her feet and brushed off her clothes, she heard a squeaky screen being raised above her head. “Are you okay? What are you doing out there?” A woman’s head appeared in the opening.

Two honest, direct questions, yet Leah was stymied. “Ah, well,” she stammered and then opted for the truth. “I spotted this rundown train years ago and noticed something going on today. I was curious so I decided to peek inside, not knowing anybody was still here.” She shook the remaining dead leaves from her skirt. “I thought everyone had gone home. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spy on you.” Shame brought a rush of color into her face.

The woman’s perplexed expression changed into a grin. “No harm done. My sister and I argue all the time. Business as usual. Come inside and have a look. See if you like what I’ve done.” She glanced down at the broken crate. “Only don’t trip over anything. I’m not insured yet.” She lowered the screen and closed the window.

Leah had no choice but to walk around the train, feeling sheepish.

In a moment the front door was flung open. “Come in. Don’t be shy. I’m April Lambright and this is my diner. Well, it’s mine along with the bank and my landlord, but the business is all mine.” Her dazzling smile turned her rather plain features pretty.

Leah stepped inside to cluttered disarray. Booths had been installed, but only half the tables had been set on their pedestals. Boxes, crates, and shopping bags were everywhere, while the light fixtures hung at odd angles on their electrical cords. An eight-burner commercial stove blocked the doorway to the caboose. Piles of construction debris made walking anywhere hazardous. But Leah Miller fell in love with the place. A new terra-cotta tile floor had been installed, the walls were painted sunny yellow, and an old-fashioned counter lined one side of the train car with bright red upholstered stools. When the restoration was complete, it would look modern and yet nostalgic at the same time.

“Oh, my goodness,” she whispered in awe.

“Is that a good ‘oh, my goodness’ or a bad?” April asked, studying her curiously. “And do you have a name, young lady?”

Leah snapped back from her perusal. “Definitely a good, ma’am. And I’m Leah Miller from Winesburg. Pleased to meet you.”

“Since I spotted your buggy parked outside, I didn’t suppose you were from Cincinnati.” She laughed with good humor. “Are you Old Order?”

Leah felt her cheeks flush.
“Jah,
I’m Old Order. My
daed
is a deacon in our district.” She bent down to stack some spilled canned goods. “I always thought this place would make a great restaurant. When I was fourteen, I wanted to buy it myself.” She met April’s gaze, waiting to be laughed at. That was the reaction she’d usually received.

However, the woman merely nodded. “Do you like to cook? And bake? Most Amish gals do. I’m Mennonite if you haven’t figured that out. And that woman who stormed out of here is my sister May.”

“I love cooking! I bake most of the pies and pastries for the cafeteria in Mount Hope. They order at least a dozen every week.” Leah hoped that didn’t sound too prideful, but it was the truth.

April’s eyes grew round as saucers.
“You
bake those pies? Even the Chocolate Mousse Cream and the Dutch Apple-Walnut?” She stared at Leah as though waiting for a denial.

“Yes, ma’am. I made up both of those recipes. Have you tried them?”

“Many times, and my skirts fit tighter because of you, but stop calling me ma’am. I’m April. Ma’am makes me feel ancient, and I’m only twenty-eight. How old are you, Leah Miller?”

“Eighteen,” she answered as a dozen ideas darted through her head like minnows in a shallow stream. Even though the interior of the diner was growing oppressively hot and her scalp itched beneath her
kapp,
Leah stared at the restaurant owner with fascination.

April seemed to be pondering a conundrum because her forehead scrunched into creases and folds. “As you probably overheard, May has been my reluctant assistant, and she’s putting in her resignation after opening day.” She shook her head sorrowfully. “Can’t say I blame her. If I had known how much work and how expensive it would be to turn this dump into a diner, I never would have signed the lease and borrowed so much money. She’s right—I bit off more than I can chew.” She lowered herself to a step stool and cradled her chin with her hands. “I can’t get this place shipshape by myself, and I already paid for a newspaper ad advertising my grand opening.”

Leah spoke without hesitation. “I would be happy to help you set things up until you can find a replacement. I’ll check with my mother, but I’m sure she can spare me for a few days.”

April jumped to her feet. “That is wonderful! But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Why don’t I hire you to replace my sister? I know lots of Amish girls work before they get married. Believe me, May’s pies can’t hold a candle to yours.” She blushed and then said, “But please don’t ever repeat that.”

“Hire me to do what? Clean up the place at closing time?” Leah thought she might faint on the spot.

Maybe because of the train’s stuffy interior or all the dusty boxes, but Leah suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded. The room began to tilt to the left. “April, could we step outside? It’s hard to breathe with the windows closed.”

“Of course. You look white as snow.” April grabbed Leah’s arm and led her down the steps.

Outside, Leah inhaled and exhaled several deep breaths. “Oh, that’s better.”

“I’d like to hire you as my assistant,” April continued. “To do whatever needs doing—cooking, manning the lunch counter, and cleaning up when we’re done. We would split duties down the middle.” Her smile was so wide it revealed a gold-capped back molar.

In the fresh air and sunshine, Leah’s head cleared as her excitement grew with leaps and bounds.
“Jah,
I’d love to work here very much! It would be my dream come true, but I can’t accept the offer until I talk to my parents.”

The owner shrugged. “No problem. If you decide to join me, let me know either tomorrow or the day after. Then we can set up a schedule for you.”

“I won’t work on the Sabbath,” Leah said.

“Of course not. We’re closed on Sundays.”

“And no Mondays, because my
mamm
can’t manage the laundry without me because of her arthritis.”

“We’ll be closed that day too, since not many people come to town on Mondays. Anyway, I have my own chores at home with a husband and kids to look after.” April rocked back on her heels, deep in thought. “How about you work Wednesdays through Saturdays here at the diner? Then you’ll be off on Sunday and Monday. I can manage Tuesdays here by myself—all the action is in Farmerstown at the livestock sale. On Tuesdays, I’ll pay you to stay home baking the bread, pies, cakes, and cookies we’ll need for the week. We will open at seven for breakfast and close after lunch—no supper. Our people usually start for home by three o’clock, and the
Englischers
can eat at the big tourist spot up the road.”

Leah felt as though she might levitate off the floor. Impetuously, she threw her arms around April and squeezed, not considering proper boss/employee behavior.
“Danki,
that sounds perfect! I’ll be back as soon as my parents give their permission.” She released the hug.

April patted Leah’s shoulder, laughing. “My, goodness. You’re certainly more enthusiastic than my sister has been.”

“April and May? What happened to June?” Leah asked.

“She lives in Baltic with her husband and five children. We have a brother named August too. We assume Mom spent too much time staring at the wall calendar while carrying us.”

Leah wrapped her arms around herself. She knew she was going to like this woman. “We don’t have a phone, so if it’s all right with you, I’ll just show up if they say I can.” She took a step backward, eager to be on her way home.

April offered her hand to shake. “Just showing up sounds fine with me, Leah. I still remember that slice of Dutch Apple-Walnut pie I tasted, and that must have been more than a year ago. I’m glad you were nosy enough to peek in my window. Today is my lucky day.”

Blushing, Leah shook the outstretched hand and murmured a quick goodbye. She ran to her buggy and almost broke the reins trying to get them off the post. She couldn’t wait to put the task of asking her parents behind her.

It was a good thing Jack knew all possible routes home because Leah’s mind was already swimming with favorite recipes, lists of ingredients, and how to approach her father with the opportunity of a lifetime.

Matthew Miller thought there was nothing quite like the first warm day in April, with sunshine so bright it hurt your eyes, a cool breeze tickling the back of your neck, and birds singing from the treetops to bring music to your ears. Clover in the pasture was coming up thick and green for his favorite friends. Black flies would soon hatch to annoy man and beast alike, but today there wasn’t a single thing to swat at. Matthew could certainly get used to days like these after the overcast skies of March. His teacher had once read a poem to the class about spring, but never being much of a bookworm he’d forgotten all but the pleasant memory. At nineteen, Matthew was living exactly the life he had planned.

His sixteen-year-old
bruder,
Henry, had finished school and possessed few aspirations other than farming. Henry loved to plow and disk even the hardest soil. He would plant seeds during downpours, round up cattle in a blizzard, and could pick sweet corn until his fingers seemed worn down to the knuckles. After chores he would curl up in the hammock with a glass of cider and a book about pirates or Civil War generals whenever Pa wasn’t looking. That boy loved to read.

Matthew’s vocation and great joy in life was four-legged and bushy-tailed, with long dark eyelashes and grass-stained teeth. From miniature ponies to Belgian draft horses, he loved anything equine. He’d once seen Clydesdales in a TV beer commercial at the home of their English neighbors. He had been so mesmerized that Mr. Lee copied the commercial into a black machine, and Matthew had watched it over and over that summer as he helped Mr. Lee paint his house.