A Path Made Plain (19 page)

“I’ll have you know, I didn’t use a single electric appliance to make this, not including
Mammi’s
oven where I baked the pie crust ahead of time.” He sliced through the pie and served up two slices. It was a tad early in the day for sweets, but he couldn’t turn her down, not with the shine in her eyes.

“So the Plain and simple ways you haven’t forgotten?”

He glanced at her as she spoke. Yes, she was teasing. He slid a plate in her direction. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

She slipped the fork through the whipped cream topping, through the filling, then into the crust and pulled off a piece large enough for a generous bite. Then she picked up the fork and closed her lips around the bite of pie.

He watched her chew as he sampled his bite. Her eyes drifted shut. “Um, delicious,” she said after she swallowed. “Sweet, but not too sweet, and the coffee flavor is something different. People will love this. Matter o’ fact, I’m going to put this pie out for free samples this morning.”

“I’m glad you like it. I’ll make another one tonight, if customers like it.”

“Better yet, give me the recipe, if you don’t mind sharing, and I’ll try making it, too.” Betsy took another bite, looking thoughtful. “Thaddeus, may I ask you a question?”

“You just did.” He couldn’t resist. He also loved the way his full name sounded when she said it.

“Why did you leave the Order? I know it was to continue your studies and go to culinary school, because your
daed
didn’t want you to be a chef. But why?”

Sure. Smile at him and use those sparkling eyes to hit a guy in his weak spot. “Have you ever seen things from an outsider’s perspective? Probably not. I know you probably couldn’t imagine it. But I’d realized that being Plain means everyone being the
same.
And I’m not. The last thing in the world I want is to be like everyone else.”

He tried to keep his voice even, but she’d asked him for a real answer, and she would get one. If anything, it would help him hold her at arm’s length and if she felt any spark between them, his words would extinguish it.

“I got to the point, I couldn’t
breathe
anymore, every action, every look, being weighed and measured. I can’t fit into their box. Because of it, and what I wanted to do, I left. I don’t like the idea of being like everyone else. All the sameness, everywhere I look.”

“Thaddeus Zook, you would never be the same as anyone else, never. You stand out in a crowd no matter where you are, and it’s not because of your clothing.” Betsy’s face flushed. “You should give your family a chance.”

“My family, except for
Mammi
, has hardly had anything to do with me since. I still don’t know how we got through Thanksgiving.” The admission tasted bitter to him.

“But people watch over each other only because they love each other. I know your family must love you and want to know your soul is safe.”

“My
soul
can be safe in the
Englisch
world, too. There are people—people out there—who love God and worship Him, too. And they’re not Plain. Sometimes it seems the Plain people think they’re better than other people
because
they’re Plain. Being proud of being humble. Doesn’t it mean it’s for nothing in the long run, the false humility?” He shook his head and stared at his slice of pie, missing a bite. The bitterness of the coffee took the edge from the sweet. He tasted the bitterness the most right now.

“I see. All the Amish, all the Plain people aren’t like that. It’s not all, or none.” Betsy shook her head. “So, your life in the
Englisch
world. Were you able to love God and worship Him out there, too, like the others?”

He didn’t say anything more. No, he hadn’t worshiped in the
Englisch
world. He didn’t buy the idea that the Plain people had the market on faith. He’d met plenty of people who weren’t Plain and yet were good people, Christian even. Instead, his stance was more in the middle. Keeping untangled from both sides had allowed him to hold on to a bit of peace. And no one was yammering at him about rules. Yet loneliness had been a bitter price to pay.

“Henry Hostetler and I were talking last night, and he said something that made me think. He told me, ‘You need to decide for yourself what you believe.’ That’s just it, Betsy. I don’t know.”

“Well.” She took another taste of pie, then set down her plate and fork. “I think you need to take some time, while you’re here in Pinecraft, and decide. It would be a shame to—to not be all God intends for you to be.”

Right now, though, the idea of deep soul-searching stung his soul. “Since I’ve met you, Elizabeth Yoder, you’ve made me want to do so. But it’s not easy.”

“I have? How?” Her eyes widened.

If he tried to explain why, he’d fumble the words. “You make me almost want to be Plain again.”

He looked down at their hands, two of them clasped together. She squeezed his hands, a gentle strength against his palm. He gave a soft tug and then she was in his arms.

“Betsy . . .”

She closed her eyes and he lowered his head so his lips met hers. They were as sweet as he’d imagined, probably with the help of the pie and whipped cream. She showed no resistance as her arms crept around him. He’d kissed a good number of women over the years, but this kiss held the longing of innocence.

If only he could let himself return to what he knew. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t. He didn’t think so. He wasn’t sure. And it was a wishy-washy answer at best.

They stepped back at the same moment, Betsy’s cheeks flushed. She glanced his way.

“I . . . I almost wish we could do that again,” she said.

“We shouldn’t.” He frowned. “And I wish we hadn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Thaddeus—”

“I need to go. I’ll be back early tomorrow, and I’ll have the recipe written out for you. And don’t worry, I’m still checking on Daniel Troyer.”

“All right.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Good morning.” Vera Byler’s voice trumpeted through the open back door, and she entered the kitchen. “What have we here?” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked from Thad to Betsy, then to the pie.

“A tiramisu pie sampling. Help yourself to a slice, please, and let Betsy know what you think of it,” Thad said as he turned away from Betsy. “Have a good day, ladies.”

He had checked online last evening and saw a job opening at a Sarasota restaurant in Siesta Key, advertising for a part-time pastry chef and prep cook. He lost no time in e-mailing them his credentials and contact information. If it wasn’t Providence, he didn’t know what was.

Chapter 20

20

T
haddeus had left her, gaping after him, while Mrs. Byler descended on the tiramisu pie and finished off a generous slice.

After she’d eaten it all, short of licking the plate clean, she proclaimed, “Well, I’ve had better.”

Betsy said nothing in response other than to state Thaddeus had prepared it and it was a no-bake pie. Then she straightened her spine.

“Today I’m going to give samples to customers and see how they like it.” Betsy went to the sink and washed her hands. Time to get busy, not keep remembering the kiss over and over and over. It counted as her first kiss and the idea of it made her breath catch. Thaddeus’s words following snapped her to reality along with the job at hand.

Yes, a mistake. Yes, a bad idea. They both were to blame for the kiss. But, she realized as she dried her hands on a clean towel and went back to the pie plate, she could see how it appealed to other young women, the idea of a forbidden man sweeping her away to a life of adventure.

No adventure, no matter how appealing, would be worth giving up her bakery, leaving her family. Uprooting herself alone and planting in Sarasota had been adventure enough. Straightaway at eight o’clock, during a lull in customers, she left Mrs. Byler on the sales floor. She stepped out the back door and dialed the phone number to the news station to accept their offer. Television. Her bakery would be on television.

Mrs. Byler hadn’t mentioned it so far this morning, although she’d been unusually quiet after coming in and seeing Betsy with Thaddeus, then sampling the pie. A wave of horror rolled over Betsy. Had Mrs. Byler walked in on their kiss? She didn’t think so at the time. The two of them had been talking when Mrs. Byler stepped through the back door.

If Mrs. Byler had begun talking about the television people visiting the bakery, what would she say about Betsy and Thaddeus?

“WSAS, Susan Cantrell.”

“This is Elizabeth Yoder, with Pinecraft Pies and Pastry.” Just then, Winston decided to pitch a fit from the security of his pen.

“Miss Yoder, thank you for calling. So, have you decided?”

A lump lodged itself in Betsy’s throat. “Yes, you’re welcome to come film your show at the bakery. There are certain things, and people, you cannot film. I hope you understand. Winston, be quiet. I’m sorry, my dog is noisy.”

“No problem. So you have a dog, too? Interesting.”

“Yes, he’s a dachshund. So, you’re going to come on Wednesday?”

“Right. And I understand about being respectful when recording. I’ve been reading up on the Amish.”

Betsy wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “All right. You said you would come Wednesday morning and spend the day, or part of it?”

“Right. What I’ll do is stop by Monday and leave some release forms with you to sign. Also, anyone we film, whether they’re a customer or whoever, we’ll need a release form or a waiver. What we’ll do is fade out some of the faces if there are those who don’t want to be on film.”

“I see. Well, I’ll watch for you on Monday, then.”

“Terrific.”

They spoke for a few more moments about pies, and how long Betsy had lived in Sarasota full-time. Betsy ended the call. Susan Cantrell had a kind warmth about her, although enthusiasm like hers could wear one out in short order.

She stepped back into the kitchen and heard voices in the front of the bakery. A woman’s voice filtered under the crack beneath the swinging door and the tile floor.

“I’m here, doing a favor for the family,” Mrs. Byler was saying. “Truthfully,” and here her voice lowered, “since it’s just you and me in the room, her pie is nothing to write home about, as they say. But she’s the one with family who can afford to fund this idea. I wish I had people like that. Young people just don’t know how to work like some of us older ones. You know I’m not one to complain or be envious, but it doesn’t seem fair my pies aren’t more in the forefront.”

Another female voice, one Betsy couldn’t quite place, responded. “It’s all right, Vera. God will reward your generosity. Speaking of pie, are you entering the Pinecraft Pie Contest?”

“Yes, of course, I am. If I have a chance for my pie to beat Elizabeth’s pie, all the better in a public setting.”

Now Betsy’s face flamed for a different reason than Thaddeus’s kiss two hours ago. Should she push through the door and end the woman’s spiel of words? However, there was plenty for her to do back here, inventorying supplies so she could place an order for more flour and such.

Mrs. Byler, a friend of her family since childhood. In her mother’s circle of friends? Why, she’d made Betsy sound like a privileged and spoiled young girl.

“Oh, I meant to ask: what do you know about this young man, Thaddeus Zook? He works here early in the morning, but I’m not keen on the way he looks at young Elizabeth. He’s trouble, I tell you. From one of those fancy
Englisch
restaurants back home. I imagine he must want this place for himself.”

“I don’t know much about him. His family doesn’t say much, him being shunned and all.”

Shunned? Betsy had assumed so, judging by the way he’d left his family and how they treated him. Shunning, she knew, was in the eye of the beholder—or in the case of the Plain people, in the eye of the
Ordnung
or the family.

Her heart sank. Unless something changed drastically, it would be better for her and Thaddeus not to see each other at all. Truth be told, the more she saw him, the more she wanted to be with him, to hear stories of working as a chef, to cook and bake together. She found him absolutely fascinating. And it scared her. She could never pay the price he paid by leaving everyone and everything he’d known behind him.

* * *

Rochelle glanced at her phone as she opened her client’s stainless dishwasher. Nothing. Daniel had never shown up the other night to walk with her to Big Olaf’s for ice cream sundaes. She didn’t call him to see why. It wasn’t the way she did things. If he was interested enough in her, he would call. Anyway, she didn’t know him well.

But a man ought to call, ought to keep his promise, even if it was simple as taking a walk for ice cream. However, she knew from past painful experience certain men were no good at keeping promises. Rochelle pulled out the silverware basket and set it on the counter.

She worried, too, about Betsy and the questioning she’d had to face the other night about going on television. Rightfully so. Rochelle understood the village’s need to stay true to its beliefs. What was compromise, and what was merely doing business?

This morning Imogene had called Rochelle before she left for work, concerned.

“Someone is saying Betsy contacted the television station and asked to be put on TV,” Imogene had said.

Betsy had blossomed during her time in Sarasota and become more confident, but Rochelle knew the young woman would never do something like arranging a television interview without consulting her family, especially since they’d put up the money so she could open her store. What a blessing to have family supporting her.

When Rochelle had opened her cleaning business, all she had was the proverbial shoestring. But now, the Lord had shown over time how He’d taken care of her through the ups and downs of running a business. The same was happening for Betsy now, yet Rochelle knew some in the village were likely jealous of the attention.

Her phone warbled.
Daniel!

“Stay strong,” she told herself as she picked up the phone. “Slow down and relax. There is an explanation, I’m sure, and it shouldn’t matter so much to you anyway.”

Rochelle punched the button. “Daniel, hello.”

“Rochelle, there are no words to tell you how sorry I am for not being able to meet you the other evening for ice cream.”

“Apology accepted. And it’s all right. Things come up sometimes.”
But you could have at least called.
“I understand.”

“Wouldn’t you know, I took a slip the other morning and fell on the driveway.”

“Oh, my. Are you all right?”

“Smashed my knee but good on the concrete. It swelled up pretty bad, but I’ve been icing it.”

Rochelle paused from putting silverware into the drawer. “Do you need anything? I can come over and run the vacuum, take out your trash, and do some dishes, if you need me to.”

Ah, there she went again. But she truly did love to help people, and loved the satisfaction she received when seeing a home put right.

“No, no. But thank you for the offer. It’s sweet of you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re . . . you’re the best thing that’s happened to me since coming to Pinecraft. I’ll . . . I’ll always think fondly of the time we spent together.”

“Oh. I’m . . . flattered. Are . . . are you leaving soon, then?”

“Uh, soon. Maybe before Christmas.” His voice held a flat tone instead of his typical animated tone.

“Will . . . will I get to see you before you leave?” She had to ask.
Gotte, help me. Why did I get attached so quickly?

“I, um, I hope so.” He fell silent. “Well, I wanted to let you know why I wasn’t there the other night.”

“Okay, thank you.” Rochelle hung up the phone without saying good-bye.

* * *

For the first Sunday morning in almost ten years—or maybe nine—Thaddeus put on a pair of trousers with suspenders. He had told
Mammi
on Saturday evening he would like to go to the church meeting with her on Sunday, if he could. But he had no proper clothing for an Amish service. Inside of five minutes, she appeared in his doorway with a folded stack of clothes once belonging to his
daadi
.

Mammi
looked sheepish as she handed him the folded clothing, the trousers, hand-sewn white cotton shirt, and ancient suspenders with still enough grip to hold up the trousers. She even had a straw hat.

“I should have done something with these a long time ago, but, I didn’t get rid of them, for some reason. You are welcome to wear them as long as you would like. The sleeves might be a bit short, but the shirt is still good.”

He’d nodded, accepting the clothing. No shoes, but his black sneakers would have to do. He hadn’t paid much attention if the younger men wore certain shoes on Sundays. Of course, they wouldn’t wear beach shoes.

This
was what he didn’t miss about the Plain life. He could understand the need for consistency in clothing when working for a restaurant, and there was something special about wearing his chef’s jacket that made him stand a little straighter. In fact, it hung now in his closet as a reminder of what he’d left behind in Ohio. So no, maybe wearing the Plain clothing on Sundays wasn’t such a big deal after all.

He slipped the suspenders over both shoulders.
It’s time for you to decide what you believe.

Well, Henry Hostetler, he was about to do it. He finished his outfit by slipping on his
daadi’s
black vest.

When Thad stepped into the front room, his
mammi
stood there, a slight smile on her face.

“You will do nicely. You look much like your
daadi
did at the same age.”

“Ah, I do?”

“Ya, except for the haircut, and no beard. By your age, your
daadi
was married and had already fathered three sons.”

Thad nodded, and they left the house for the short walk to the Old Order meeting. Humidity hung in the air.

“Maybe it will rain today,”
Mammi
observed, nodding to a couple as they left their home.

“Maybe.” Sweat trickled down Thad’s back. He squinted ahead of them. More Plain people, dressed in their Sunday clothing, walked along the empty streets toward the church.

He didn’t ask if his parents or other family would be there today. The Old Order people had several choices of places to worship on Sunday, but most went to the main Old Order church, or to the “overflow” church, which met in the large garage in a private home not two blocks from the other congregation.

“Your parents will be there this morning,”
Mammi
announced, as if she knew his inner question. “Your siblings have already gone home. They have to work through January.”

No wonder they hadn’t come around. He almost wanted to apologize to
Mammi
, for the family not visiting much, if at all, while Thad stayed at her home.

A family passed them on tricycles, the
daed
of the family pulling a small trailer behind him, heading for the service as well. They wished him and
Mammi
a good morning. If anyone recognized him in his new garb from around the village, he couldn’t tell.

This morning they passed the main church and continued in the direction of the overflow church. Whether it was because the building was already full or whether it was because Thad accompanied
Mammi
, he wasn’t quite sure.

When they arrived,
Mammi
introduced him to Bishop Smucker in short order. “My grandson who’s been living with me this winter. He’s a chef.”

“Good morning, and welcome.”

“Thank you.” So far it felt he’d passed the test, and the
Dietsch
flowed easily from his lips. Of course, the clothing probably helped. Thad found a seat on the men’s side of the room. He saw his
daed
, two rows ahead.

Gotte, what am I doing here? If this is how I’m to find my way, please show me.
He didn’t know if God would listen to him, a wayward “sinner,” but it didn’t hurt to try.

The songs began and the words tumbled from Thad’s mouth of their own accord, like he’d flipped some type of internal switch. But what were words, if you didn’t quite mean them, or even understand what they meant?

No, he would find no redemption in the songs. As his mouth sang the words, he was reminded of going to the singing with
Mammi
, and the longing the songs had ignited inside of him. Maybe not longing for the way things were—he didn’t want that again—but maybe for the way things ought to be.