A Path Made Plain (12 page)

Now the idea of his family encroaching on his little island of peace? It almost made Thad want to hop on his motorcycle again and hit the open road. But he had no idea where he would go. For now, he’d make do with the bit of foundation he still had left here. He went to the fridge for a glass of orange juice.

* * *

“Did you ever find it?” the voice on the phone asked Pete.

“No, I didn’t. I’ve scoured the restaurant. The employees I trust most are looking for it too. I told them I’d make it worth their while if they found what I was looking for. You should have seen them start turning over pans and digging through cabinets.”

“What did you tell them it contained?”

“Vital records for the restaurant Mitch left somewhere and I need them bad.”

“Mr. Bright wants all loose ends tied up in a nice little bow, meaning this potential problem goes away.”

“Wasn’t he happy with the election night party here, especially since he won?”

“Ecstatic. The new senator from Ohio especially liked the
fois gras
on crostini.”

“Good.”

“But he doesn’t want anything Mitchell did to come back and haunt you, if
you
get my meaning. If you think you’ve accounted for everyone, think again.”

Pete wanted to tell him Thad Zook left the state, and he was the only one unaccounted for. Thad was a nice kid, caught in the middle like him.

“I even went back and talked to everyone, asking them about Mitch and if he’d given them anything to hold for him, or if he’d acted strangely. Just like the police did. And nothin’.”

“I don’t want to hear it. No loose ends. If you know of any, tie them up.”

“I’ll let you know what I find. I—I might have to leave town for a while.”

“Mitch told us the same thing. Do you know something you’re not telling us?”

“Not exactly. Well, uh, one of the pastry chefs isn’t around here anymore. I mean, I talked to him on the phone, but I found out he moved a few weeks ago.”

“You’re just now telling me this?”

“You told me to handle it, and I am.”

“Handle it faster.”

“Got it.” He hung up the phone to give him what little upper hand he had. A man couldn’t do it all. He had a business to run, a restaurant to officially reopen, not to mention publicity and a worried staff to soothe. A new manager to hire. He wasn’t responsible for whatever Mitch had done.

Florida, it is. Ohio’s getting a little chilly, anyway.

Chapter 13

13

B
etsy’s life was an exhausted blur until she saw an
Englisch
nurse practitioner and had blood drawn for some lab work. Thanks to
Aenti
Chelle, she secured an appointment via another patient’s cancellation. Within one week, the blood work was back.

Hypothyroidism. Betsy had never heard of the word, nor did she know much about the thyroid gland and its function. Hers definitely had been underactive, the nurse’s attending physician told her, with her thyroid hormone level too high as her thyroid tried to keep up and couldn’t. He put her on a pill she had to take once a day for the rest of her life, and she’d have to go back to have her blood drawn from time to time. An ultrasound of her thyroid revealed no other problems, for which she was thankful.

So while this was life-altering news, it wasn’t something completely tragic. One day her hair would grow back again. In the early morning light, she brushed her hair and was reminded of her vanity. Oh, she so loved her hair. Sometimes she wished she could be more like the
Englisch
girls, who did such fun things with their tresses, especially when at the beach.

However, she wanted a man to love her not just for her hair, but for more. Gideon had somehow managed to catch her eye during church meeting last Sunday. However, he kept his distance when she surrounded herself with several ladies after the meeting concluded.

Betsy twisted the length of her hair into a knot and fastened it with hairpins. She frowned. Had she done the same to poor Jacob? Continually made her presence known to him? Tried to catch his eye?

Oh yes, she had. She recalled last winter, especially after little Rebecca Miller was gravely injured after being struck by a car while crossing Bahia Vista. Jacob and his children remained in Pinecraft through early spring. Not long after Rebecca’s injury, Betsy had made her decision to stay in Florida and work for
Aenti
Chelle’s cleaning business. Good housekeepers in Sarasota earned a respectable wage, far more than Betsy could earn in Ohio.

Now here she was, on the receiving end of someone whose attention she didn’t want. No wonder Jacob had looked perplexed so many times last winter. No matter what she had done, short of stooping to something underhanded, nothing would change Jacob’s mind about her.

Aenti
Chelle, still in her robe, appeared in her doorway. “Do you want me to drop you off at the shop? I don’t mind.”

“No, I’m going to take my bicycle. It’s light enough outside and I’ll take Winston with me. He’ll enjoy the ride.” She reached for her head covering and used the few remaining hairpins to fasten it onto her hair. In response to his name, Winston wiggled himself at the foot of her bed.

“All right.” Her aunt yawned. “I’ll head back to bed, then.”

“Thank you, anyway.” She smiled as her aunt went back into the hall. If she didn’t get a move on,
Aenti
Sarah would let her hear about it once she arrived at the shop.

Soon she was out the door and zipping along the vacant streets of Pinecraft, Winston sitting in the basket, his ears drifting back on the light air. He sneezed.

Lights glowed in a few homes as Betsy passed through the neighborhood. She could walk these streets blindfolded, and would probably know the streets she passed by name. Fry, Kaufman, Graber, Miller, all names of her people. The sweet taste of freedom here, she’d never felt anywhere else. Yet with the freedom came security. In spite of the city and all the distractions it offered, these snug streets made her feel protected and sheltered.

She didn’t wonder what would have become of her if she’d stayed in Ohio, yet breathed a silent prayer of thanks. On days like today, she could see the hand of God working in spite of her questioning. Yes, she had chosen to stay here, mostly because of Jacob. But many months ago, as she’d become convinced of the harsh truth Jacob would never love her, not as she deserved, he’d said, she realized she had to choose. Stay here, or return to Ohio?

Betsy took the curve around the corner of Graber and saw the kitchen lights on inside Pinecraft Pies and Pastry.
Aenti
Sarah was already there, mixing up fresh pie crust and lighting the ovens. She cut across the pair of parking places beside the bakery and glided to a stop outside its back door. Winston put his paws on the edge of the basket.

“Be careful, I don’t want you tumbling out.” She took him from the basket and set him down inside a little pen Thaddeus had somehow constructed out of wooden scraps and painted white. It resembled a short picket fence, enough to keep Winston inside and out of trouble.

“No dogs in the kitchen,” she warned Winston, before turning her back on him and entering the back door. She left the storm door open so the morning breeze could help cool the kitchen. And so Winston wouldn’t feel quite so left out.

“I’ve lit the stove already.” No “good morning” from
Aenti
Sarah, who already had four pie crusts rolled out, and now cut shortening into the flour mixture for more crust.

Betsy smiled at the phrase “lit the stove.” No wood or propane stoves here to cook on, mostly electric. The allowance was made for vacationers who probably either rejoiced at the convenience or lamented the quality of cooking with electricity. An electric stove in some ways didn’t bake the same as an open flame-heated stove. She’d learned to manage, like they all did, and the elders let small conveniences slide. There were far, far worse compromises people could make than using an electric stove.

She entered the sales floor and stepped around the display case. On went the coffee pot so the water in the brewing tank could heat. They’d already moved the microwave into the kitchen after the first morning, after
Aenti
Sarah pointed out customers might not like seeing the appliance prominently displayed in an Amish-owned and operated business.

Betsy didn’t argue. Some visitors might be easily offended. Maybe it was her youth, but she didn’t see what the problem was in using a tool to help her in her job. Still, she complied and now the microwave sat just inside the door to the kitchen on a work table, in easy reach to help customers wishing a warmed-up slice of pie.

“We should make homemade ice cream, too,”
Aenti
Sarah announced as she formed a section of pie dough into a rounded shape before rolling it out. “People like ice cream on their pie.”

“Or, we could buy some from Big Olaf’s. Just vanilla. They’re already doing the hard work for us.” Big Olaf’s ice cream shop lay but a block or so away, and Betsy couldn’t recall the last time she’d passed through its doors to enjoy a sundae made with her favorite flavor, maple walnut, drizzled with chocolate sauce, and topped with whipped cream and a cherry.

“Hmm, I suppose we could.”

Betsy had quickly learned that one of her own ideas had surpassed her
aenti
’s, when she replied, “I suppose,” to whatever Betsy had said. She smiled at the response.

“Good. I’ll pay them a visit and see if it’s possible. But only vanilla.”

Betsy checked the apple slices she’d prepared the evening before, still basking in their juices and coated with cinnamon and sugar. Along with the apple mix, she stirred the other flavors she’d prepared, blueberry, cherry, and blackberry.

The next two hours passed with much rolling, cutting, and shaping of crusts. Then came the doughnut mix and dough for fried pies. Betsy turned the sign to “open” promptly at seven a.m. and flipped the switch for the lights.

Henry had suggested some pot lights, or recessed lights, in the ceiling, along with small electric lamps hanging over each table along the wall. The effect gave a peaceful atmosphere instead of the harshness of fluorescent light. The kitchen, however, glowed with the help of bright-white fluorescent bulbs, all the better to work by.

Within five minutes, the brothers Peter, James, and John arrived for their “morning cuppa” and fresh doughnuts.

“This are
gut
, very
gut
, Elizabeth,” James said around a mouthful of glazed doughnut.

“Thank you, thank you very much.” Betsy gestured to the coffee pot. “Help yourselves to coffee refills.” She’d decided to keep the same policy as opening day: free coffee for all. However, she put a glass jar beside the pot for donations. Any donations, she’d give to the Haiti relief fund. The idea warmed her heart to help collect for a good cause. It was worth forgoing whatever funds a ninety-nine-cent cup of coffee might earn her.

After one week of trying the idea, the money in the donation jar amounted to nearly fifty dollars, and no one complained when they saw the jar. Or, if they couldn’t pay, it was all right, too.

An unfamiliar man entered the shop and stepped up to the counter. He yawned, the expression almost comical as his face stretched. He removed his straw hat and rubbed his forehead, then stroked his beard.

“New shop, I hear.”

“Yes, Mr. . . .?”

“Troyer. Daniel Troyer.” He scanned the menu, then glanced her way. “I’ll have a slice of apple pie, please.”

“Certainly. The coffee’s free, so help yourself.”

He nodded, then headed over to the pot. He inhaled the brew as it streamed into his cup. “Smells good. I always welcome a strong cup of coffee. After all, it’s the best part of waking up.”

Daniel Troyer returned to the counter. “How much do I owe you?”

“Three-seventy-five.”

He pulled out his wallet and gave her a five-dollar bill. “There you are. You can keep the change.”

“Why . . . why thank you. If you’d like, you can go ahead and put it in the donation jar by the coffee pot.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Would you like your pie warmed up?”

“Yes, it would be nice.”

She slipped into the kitchen, grateful for the Dutch door she’d had Henry install. A few seconds in the microwave, the pie warmed up, then she pulled out the plate of pie. The bell over the door made its bright jingle. Another customer. This made her smile as she pushed through the door.

Gideon Stoltzfus. She kept her smile in place and nodded to him. He grinned and helped himself to a cup of coffee.

“Here you are, Mr. Troyer.”

Gideon swung around. “Ah, my new next-door neighbor. I didn’t get to greet you when I saw you arrive last evening.”

Daniel Troyer nodded. “It’s all right.”

“How long you here for?”

“The winter. I find the weather is much better here. Truth be told, I resisted coming to Pinecraft. But here I am. I fell ill and couldn’t work for a time. I’m getting to the age now where I’m not quite as fond of the Indiana winters.”

“Ah, so you’re from Indiana.”

The two men kept chatting, Gideon and Daniel comparing places they knew, and finding mutual friends and a possible distant cousin relating them both. Such was the case in Pinecraft. If you spent a little time with a presumed stranger, you might find a connection you never imagined.

Good. Betsy smiled as she placed the serving pie back into the case. Daniel Troyer kept Gideon from peppering her with questions and bestowing too much attention on her. Part of her wished, though, that Thaddeus would pay her a little mind. Part of her, too, wished to learn more about Thaddeus and his journey outside the
Ordnung
. She banished those thoughts from her head and instead planned some possible adjustments to her pie and pastry menu.

A crash and shriek from the kitchen made them all look toward the kitchen door.

Aenti Sarah!
Betsy pushed through the Dutch door with such force it smashed open against the stainless steel worktable.

* * *

Thaddeus whistled a long-forgotten tune as he strolled the street from Yoder’s fresh market. He held a bag of vegetables for
Mammi—
fresh beans, some snap peas, and sweet corn. On her last trip to the store, she’d forgotten them, and she planned to bring marinated vegetables as a side dish to the potluck and singing tonight at Birky Square.

She’d invited him to come with her, and, of course, he’d turned her down. Although she’d extended an invitation to similar activities, this was the first time a disappointed expression had crossed her face. He tried not to let it niggle at him. Maybe him fetching the vegetables for her would ease some of her disappointment.

He approached Pinecraft Pies and Pastry and saw a small group clustered in front of the building. An ambulance, lights flashing and engine running, blocked part of his view. What on earth? Had something happened to Betsy? Or her
aenti
?

Thad stepped to the rear side of the ambulance just in time to see the small group part.
Aenti
Sarah, her face ashen and wearing an oxygen mask, was the one strapped to a gurney and covered with a blanket.

Betsy followed the EMTs, her own face pale. “I can’t ride with her?”

“No, but you can meet us at the ER,” said one EMT, a bulky fellow who looked like he could carry
Aenti
Sarah under one arm without much difficulty, if he had to.

Rochelle Keim’s van rolled up a safe distance from the ambulance. She shot out from behind the driver’s seat. “What happened?” She glanced Thatddeus’s way as she reached the others.

Betsy met her
aenti
at the edge of the grass. “She fell, somehow, in the kitchen. And she couldn’t get up. I didn’t know what to do, so I called the ambulance. She got a little angry at me, said I was making a fuss over nothing.”

“Ach, you did the right thing.” Rochelle hugged her great-niece. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

“I’ll close the shop. It’ll only take a moment.”

“Betsy,” Thad spoke up. “I can take care of the shop for you. Show me what you have, and I’ll run it until closing, or until you get back, whichever comes first.”

“I can help, too,” said another voice beside him. A woman, not quite Plain yet not quite
Englisch
, stood by his right elbow. She wore a kerchief on her head, not a bandana, and looked almost old enough to be a
mammi
herself. A Nikon digital camera hung from a strap around her neck.