A Place of Peace (11 page)

“Just you wait. There will be a line, and I’ll be up front.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for several minutes, staring out across the field. Miriam contemplated Zach’s words, stunned by them. If only she cared for him the way he did for her. However, her feelings for him weren’t romantic; they were loyal friendship and deep respect. She couldn’t imagine courting him, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay in Lancaster County. She appreciated that he wasn’t pressuring her for an answer. She valued his friendship and didn’t want to lose it because she didn’t want to court him.

When the sun began to set, Zach stood. “I guess I should let you get some rest. You can’t show up to your first day of work yawning.”

Miriam followed him down the stairs to his buggy.

“You still owe me supper,” he said with a smile while yanking open the buggy door.

“I promised to call you, but I never promised supper.”

“Since you haven’t called, I now expect a call and supper,” he said. “If I don’t hear from you in a few days, I’ll show up on your doorstep and demand my supper.”

She chuckled. “I imagine you will.”

He climbed into the buggy and leaned out the window. “Think about what I said.”

She nodded. “I will.
Danki
for coming to visit.”

“Gern gschehne.”
Reaching out, he touched her nose.
“Gute nacht.”

“Gute nacht, mei freind.”
She smiled as he drove off toward the road.

M
iriam’s Honda bounced along the road leading to the Kauffman Amish Bakery. The terrain was hilly, and the roads were winding and rural. Soon she spotted a farm with a cluster of large houses set back off the road and surrounded by four barns, along with a beautiful lush, green pasture.

The property was owned by Elizabeth and Eli Kauffman, Timothy’s parents. Her stomach roiled when she spotted the home Timothy had built in anticipation of his marriage to her. Nearby was the home Sarah Rose had shared with her late husband, Peter. The bakery was the fourth house, the one closest to the road. Timothy and his five siblings grew up in the biggest house, where his parents still lived.

Miriam steered her gray Honda down the dirt road and nosed it into the large parking lot in front of the large, white clapboard farmhouse with a sweeping wraparound porch. A tall sign with “Kauffman Amish Bakery” in old-fashioned letters hung above the door.

Out behind the building was a fenced-in play area, and beyond that was an enclosed pasture. The three other large farmhouses and four barns were set back beyond the pasture. The dirt road leading to the other homes was roped off with a sign declaring “Private Property—No Trespassing.” A large paved parking lot sat adjacent to the bakery.

After pulling her small sedan into a parking space, Miriam turned off the engine and gripped the steering wheel. Glancing down, she examined her black dress, symbolizing her mourning of her mother, and black apron. How ironic she was dressed Amish and driving a car. She’d considered asking to borrow a horse and buggy from her father, but she doubted she would get any help from him or her brother. Without any help, she had no choice but to rely on her own transportation. Besides, the drive would take much longer by buggy than by car.

For now, she would have to be a driving anomaly. Since most of the Amish paid full-time
English
drivers to take them to and from work, she would consider asking for a ride from Jessica or one of their other drivers once she got to know her better.

Taking a deep breath, Miriam climbed from the car, locked it, and slipped the keys into the inside pocket of her apron. She then crossed the parking lot and climbed the back steps of the bakery.

Memories of her visits to the bakery with Timothy assaulted her mind. He had often brought her here to enjoy a delicious dessert and visit with his sisters. She’d cherished those times, sitting at a little wrought iron table on the wraparound porch, enjoying whoopie pies and conversation with the man she’d thought was the love of her life.

Pushing those thoughts away, Miriam stepped through the back door of the bakery and inhaled the sweet smell of baking bread. Elizabeth, Beth Anne, Kathryn, and their nieces rushed around the kitchen preparing desserts for the day.

“Gude mariye. Wie geht’s?
“ Beth Anne called while washing cookie sheets.

“Gut.
How are you all doing?” Miriam rung her hands and cleared her throat, standing before Timothy’s mother and sisters.

Kathryn frowned and looked down, mixing dough for her next creation.

“Miriam!” Elizabeth rushed over. “It’s so
gut
to see you. How have you been?”

Miriam blinked, studying the older woman’s genuine smile. She’d always considered Elizabeth an angel on earth, a loving, forgiving woman.

“I’m doing okay. How have you been?” Miriam stepped back and forced a nervous smile.

“Gut. Danki.”
Elizabeth gestured around the kitchen. “You can see the bakery looks the same. I don’t mean to sound prideful, but I have to admit business is booming. We’re glad you can help us out.” She turned to her granddaughters. “Lindsay, Amanda, Lizzie, and Ruthie, please come meet Miriam.” The four girls crossed the room and smiled. “These are my
grossdochdern.
Lindsay is Rebecca and Daniel’s niece who came to live with them from Virginia last year, and Amanda, Lizzie, and Ruthie are Kathryn’s
dochdern.
I’m sure you remember them.”

Miriam nodded and smiled.
“Ya,
I do. You’ve grown up.”

Amanda tilted her head in question. “You know us?” She tapped her finger to her chin, concentrating. “You were courting
Onkel
Timothy, ya?”

Kathryn muttered something inaudible across the counter, and Beth Anne shot her older sister a warning look.

Kathryn blew out a frustrated sigh and then met Miriam’s gaze. She pursed her lips. “It’s
gut
to see you,” she said without the hint of a smile. “Welcome to the bakery.”

“Danki,
Kathryn.” Miriam smiled, and Kathryn looked away.

“As you know, we’re open from eight until five,” Elizabeth said. “The girls take turns taking care of the younger
kinner.
Right now Kathryn’s daughter Lizzie is on duty. She’ll switch off later with Ruthie.”

Elizabeth put her hand on Miriam’s shoulder and led her toward the row of ovens, refrigerators, and freezers. “Let me give you a tour of the kitchen.” She pointed out the cooking supplies and ingredients and then discussed their schedule for the baking.

“You were always a
wunderbaar
baker.” Elizabeth led her to the refrigerator. “I thought you’d like to start out with crumbly peach pie.”

Miriam paused and met Elizabeth’s eyes.

Timothy’s favorite.

Pushing the memory away, Miriam cleared her throat. “I’d be happy to.”

“Gut.”
Elizabeth opened the refrigerator. “You’ll find everything you need in here and in the stand-alone freezers.” She nodded toward a shelf full of binders, journals, and books. “We have several volumes of traditional recipes. Feel free to leaf through them or bake from memory. We trust your judgment. I know your
grossmammi
taught you well.”

“Danki,”
Miriam whispered, winding her finger around the tie of her prayer
kapp.

Elizabeth’s gaze softened. “Please feel comfortable here, Miriam. We’re
froh
to have you, despite what my stubborn Kathryn said. The past is the past, ya?”

“Ya,”
Miriam said.
“Danki,
Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth patted her shoulder as she headed back to the center of the kitchen.

Miriam hummed her favorite hymns while she worked in the corner of the kitchen alone all morning long, baking four crumbly peach pies and then four dozen sugar cookies.

She was deep in thought, comparing her life in Indiana to her life in Pennsylvania, when a tap on her shoulder surprised her. She turned to find Beth Anne smiling at her.

“You’ve been working nonstop for hours,” Beth Anne said. “Are you ready to take a lunch break?”

Miriam shrugged. “I’m ready anytime. There’s no rush.”

“I made some turkey sandwiches.” Beth Anne nodded toward the other side of the kitchen, where the office and the playroom/nap room for the children were. “The sandwiches are in the office around the corner. You can sit at the little table by the desk and eat if you’d like. There’s some ice water in the refrigerator.”

“Danki.”
Miriam wiped her hands on a towel.

“I should be thanking you,” Beth Anne said. “You’re doing a fabulous job. We’re so glad to have you.”

“Kathryn isn’t,” Miriam said, staring at the pretty blonde across the kitchen talking to Lindsay. “She’s done nothing but glare at me all day. I wonder if this was a mistake.”

“No.” Beth Anne shook her head with emphasis. “Kathryn means well. She’s just defending Timothy because you broke his heart. But she’ll come around and realize that the past is the past, and it was God’s will that you and Timothy didn’t marry.”

Miriam’s eyebrows careened upward while her mouth fell open.
I broke Timothy’s heart? I think you have it backward.

“I’ll talk to Kathryn,” Beth Anne said. “Don’t worry about her. Her bark is worse than her bite.” She waved toward the office. “Go on and enjoy your lunch. I’ll finish these cookies.”

Miriam contemplated Beth Anne’s comment while eating her turkey sandwich and glancing through
The Budget,
the Amish newspaper. Beth Anne’s remarks didn’t make any sense. Why would she say Miriam broke Timothy’s heart when it was Timothy who had cheated on her?

The questions were still twirling through her head when she cleaned the table and then headed back toward the kitchen. She stopped near the doorway when she heard a familiar masculine voice.

Her heart thumped in her chest when she entered the kitchen and found Timothy standing with Elizabeth, Beth Anne, and the young woman from the funeral. With his back to Miriam, he forked a piece of one of her crumbly peach pies into his mouth.

“Wunderbaar!”
he exclaimed. “Beth Anne, you outdid yourself this time. This is the best crumbly peach pie I’ve had in a very long time.” He chewed more. “I mean no offense, but this is better than the one you brought me the other night. I’m not sure what you did differently, but it’s sweeter.”

Miriam’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t make it.” A sly smile grew on Beth Anne’s lips as she met Miriam’s horrified gaze. “I can’t take credit for it,
Bruder.”

“No?” He glanced at Elizabeth. “Then you must’ve made it. We all know you’re the best baker.”

Elizabeth snickered. “There’s no need to flatter me, Timothy. You know I’ll give you one dozen whoopie pies to take back to your
dat.
And besides, I didn’t make the crumbly peach pies.”

“Kathryn?” His voice nearly squeaked with disbelief. “She hates peaches. I can’t see her making these.”

“It wasn’t Kathryn, nor was it your nieces. And you’re not going to guess.” Beth Anne’s grin widened, and Miriam fought the urge to run and hide in the office.

Looking confused, Timothy set the plate on the counter. “You bought it at the supermarket?”

Miriam held her breath and then glanced at the door. If she ran now, she could make it to her car and speed from the parking lot before she had to face him.

“No.” Beth Anne gestured toward Miriam, standing behind him. “She made them.”

Timothy turned toward the direction of Beth Anne’s nod. He faced Miriam, and his eyes widened to the size of saucers.

Miriam’s cheeks heated and her pulse raced. She wanted to run and avoid another gut-wrenching staring contest like they’d shared at the funeral.

“Miriam’s working for us now,” Elizabeth said. “We’re shorthanded at the bakery, and as you can see with peach pies, she’s a
wunderbaar
baker.”

Timothy’s stunned gaze never left Miriam. She tried to smile, but her lips formed a pained grimace instead.

“Miriam Lapp?” the young woman asked, stepping over to Miriam and sticking out her hand. “I’m Naomi King. I’m
gut
friends with your sister Lilly.”

Miriam shook her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she managed to whisper while feeling Timothy’s eyes burrowing into her. She then glanced toward Elizabeth. “I best get back to work. I have to make more cookies.”

With Timothy’s gaze boring into her back, she crossed the kitchen.

Timothy watched Miriam cross the kitchen. Had he heard his mother correctly? Miriam was working in the bakery? She was employed by his mother?

He glanced at Elizabeth. “She’s working here?”

“
Ya.
” Elizabeth beamed. “She’s an excellent baker, and we need her help.”

“Naomi,” Kathryn called, stepping into the kitchen from the front. “Wie
geht’s?
How’s your
mamm?”

Naomi stepped over to speak to Kathryn, and Beth Anne moved closer to Timothy.

“You should go talk to her,” Beth Anne said. “She’s very self-conscious about being here.”

“As well she should be,” he seethed, glaring at his sister. Anger coursed through him. “I know this was your idea, and I’m not happy about it.”

“I agreed to it, too,” Elizabeth cut in. “And Beth Anne is right—you should go speak to her. Start a conversation, so you two can work this out.”

“There’s nothing to work out.” He cut his gaze across the kitchen to where Miriam was leaning on the counter reading a cookbook. She was so beautiful in her black frock.

But she broke my heart into a million pieces. She has no right to be in Mamm’s bakery.

“Go speak to her,” Elizabeth said. “Remember what Jesus teaches us about forgiveness.”

Timothy frowned at Elizabeth. “I’ll go speak to her.” He then turned to Beth Anne. “This isn’t over. We’ll talk about this later.”

“That’s fine.” She shrugged, her disregard of his feelings causing his anger to spark.

“Go, Timothy. Speak to her. Reach out to her. You’ll be glad you did.” Elizabeth gave him a gentle push in Miriam’s direction.