Beside Still Waters (27 page)

"No." Aaron stood and turned. "Just looking over my house plans."

Naomi nodded, but still had a look of uncertainty on her face. "All right then." She forced a smile, and for some reason she looked paler than usual.

"Sorry I'm late." She placed the lunch pails by the door. "I wasn't feeling well this morning. I think I got a touch of something from my little brother. He was sneezing all the way home from church the other day."

"Thanks for lunch . . . and for coming." Aaron tucked his hands in his pants pockets, not knowing what else to say.

Naomi stepped forward and reached a hand toward his face, but just when he thought she was going to stroke his cheek, she straightened his shirt collar. "I'm happy to come, Aaron." Her eyes fixed on his. "We are much more like, you and I. I'm not sure why we didn't spend time together before." Naomi crossed her arms over her chest as she scanned the room. "Same values. Same dreams . . ."

"I suppose we were focused on other things." Aaron looked down into her face. His heart pounded. Mostly because he remembered when he'd looked into Marianna's eyes, just like this. If he'd only been so bold to kiss her when he had the chance.

Taking his hand from his pocket, Aaron reached up and took Naomi's hand from his collar. He placed it on his face, feeling the warmth of her skin.

But Marianna wasn't here. Was she?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The scent of bread rising greeted Marianna as she hurried through the back door of the restaurant. The lights were bright inside in contrast to the still, predawn sky. Annie stood by the sink, humming as she rinsed out a cake pan.

"Good morning," Annie chirped. She turned to greet Marianna, and her long blonde ponytail swung over her shoulder as she did.

"It is a good morning." Marianna entered and hung her coat on a hook by the back door. "It was a nice walk. Quiet and still, and smelled like last night's rain." She approached Annie, who was separating bread into rolls.

"We have a busy night tonight. The restaurant will be closed to the public. A private party has rented the place."

Marianna went to the sink and washed her hands, then jumped in and helped Annie without being asked. "The whole place? What can I do?"

Annie stood back watching. "Thata girl. I knew you'd do a good job." Then she wiped her hands on the dish towel hanging around her waist. "Yes, the whole place. The owner of Kootenai Log Homes is having an anniversary party for his parents. I'm cooking a special dinner, and there will be live music too."

Live music? She'd often heard songs playing in stores, but the only music she knew well was the hymns sung in church without instruments.

"Ben Stone is going to play. Have you heard him on the guitar yet?" Annie glanced over her shoulder and shook her head, as if remembering again that Marianna was Amish. "Of course you wouldn't have, but if you ever get the chance, you should—for the sake of his being a friend and all."

"Ben?" Marianna rolled the piece of dough in her hand. "He doesn't seem that type."

"Oh yes, he was at college on a music scholarship before he moved to these parts. I met his parents last summer. They came up for a visit and didn't seem none too happy he'd give up all he had to live in the woods."

Marianna lowered her head and continued her work. She couldn't help but think of Aaron and how different he was from Ben. Aaron was someone who did all his parents asked. He worked hard to honor them. Yet, she still couldn't help but wonder if it would be possible to come tonight. To help. And maybe she'd even hear a bit of Ben's music as she worked in the kitchen.

She opened her mouth to ask, but the back door opened and an older gentlemen strode in. He waved to them and then hurried to the front, turning on the lights. Marianna had often seen him as she shopped.

"That's Edgar Miller," Annie explained. "He's worked at this store since it first opened thirty years ago. He's more friendly as the day goes on, but in the morning the only thing on his mind is getting everything ready to open." Annie chuckled. "I'm sure the folks up here would think the world had stopped on its axis if Edgar didn't have the front door open and the front step swept at least thirty minutes before the time the sign says."

"I've talked to him a few times. He seems very nice."

"Yes, he is." Annie pulled out a second large mixing bowl and moved to a small box on the counter that Marianna assumed held recipes. "Edgar's up in age so there's a few rules to working with him." Annie looked up from the recipe box to meet Marianna's eyes. She lowered her voice. "Don't ask him to carry anything heavy and don't ask him to do more than one thing at one time. He's known to put receipts in the fireplace and kindling in the filing cabinet." She chuckled and shook her head. "And don't get me started about the bread he was supposed to put in the oven and the ant traps he was suppose to put on the back porch. What a mess."

As if knowing they were talking about him, he walked into the kitchen, with a broom in hand. "I thought I saw a new face."

Marianna smiled. Edgar's forehead was wrinkled above his white, bushy eyebrows.

Annie rolled a ball of dough. "Yes, but remember she's
my
help not yours, no matter how busy things get up front," Annie joked.

"That's fine, I appreciate she's in the kitchen. We've been selling all our sweets before noon," Edgar explained to Marianna. Then he cocked his head and leaned forward on his broom, focusing on Annie. "And did you remember to ask her?"

Marianna looked from one to the other. "Ask me what?"

"Oh, when Edgar heard you were coming, he wanted to see if you had any new recipes. He says he's craving something different. Guess he's getting bored with my cinnamon rolls and scones."

"Cookies are my favorite." Edgar stroked his chin. "Customers like them too."

"Well, then you're in luck. I happened to bring a recipe today. It's in my coat pocket. They're my father's favorite—Oatmeal Butter Crisps."

"You gonna make them today? Is that what I heard? Please tell me that's what I heard." Edgar's eyes widened.

Marianna couldn't help but chuckle. "I don't think that's up to me."

Edgar looked to Annie again. He lifted an eyebrow in expectation.

Annie sighed. "I have a feeling if I don't ask you to make them, Marianna, I'm going to hear about them all day. And . . ." She paused and stroked her chin. "That might be nice to go with the homemade vanilla ice cream I'm whipping up for tonight's dessert. Do you think you could make some? Also could you come tonight? I know it's your first day, but I could use the help with serving—"

"Yes, of course." The words spouted from Marianna's lips, and she placed a hand to her cheek. "I mean if you need me."

"Get to work then," Edgar said, carrying his broom to the front door. "I need something to sample. Better for me to taste test them. Then you can give it Ole' Edgar's stamp of approval." He winked.

The room was quiet, and the heady fragrance of baking cookies filled the air. In the corner was the stool Annie had set up for Ben. He must have been by when Marianna went home for a few hours to check on Mem and to tell her parents she was working late, because when she returned his guitar rested on the stand. She walked to it, running her fingers over the strings, wondering when he first started to play. She sat on the stool and tilted her head, looking at the words painted on the front of the guitar in a fancy script. Set Free.

What would it feel like to have the freedom to pick it up and play?

She looked around again, knowing that the cookies—her fourth batch that day—still had a few minutes to bake. People shouldn't show up for thirty minutes at least.

She pinched her lips together, and then told herself it wouldn't hurt to hold the guitar. Feel it in her hands.

Marianna reached down to pick it up before she talked herself out of it. It was lighter than she expected. She held it so her left hand was around the long part and her right hand prepped to strum. She closed her eyes and imagined herself having a guitar like this and sitting in the trees behind their home. She wondered what it would be like to listen to the forest and the birds, matching their tune. It was a beautiful thought.

"So you want me to show you how to play?"

Ben's voice made her jump. Her eyes popped open, and she noticed him near the kitchen. He wasn't dressed as a lumberjack today, not even close. Ben wore pressed black slacks and a blue shirt, looking very much like the Californian musician Annie had told her he'd been.

"Oh no." She held the guitar out in front of her, handing it to him. "I was just, uh, looking at it."

He took long strides toward her, grabbing another stool and pulling it behind her. "No, really, it's okay. I can show you how to strum."

She pulled it back toward her, not knowing what else to do. He scooted even closer, pressing his chest against her back and wrapping his arms around her.

"Okay, so we're going to take your fingers and place them on these strings." His left hand moved her fingers so that each of her four fingers covered a string. Then his hand covered hers.

Marianna blew out a soft breath, then she swallowed hard. A thousand tingles sparked to life under his touch and then spread. Heat gave way to excitement. Then fear. Both battled for control.

"Now with your other hand." He took her right hand and curled her fingers, then with a gentle motion they strummed as one.

"Have you ever played before?" He tilted his head and looked at her. She was afraid to turn her head. If she did their faces would be within inches of each other, their lips close enough to touch.

"No. I—" She didn't know what to say, what to do. For the first time in her life Marianna wished she wasn't Amish. Wished she could enjoy the beat of his heart against her back. Enjoy the closeness of his touch and play a simple song without a veil of guilt dropping over her. Suffocating her.

She shook her head. "It's not allowed." His breath was on her neck, her cheek. He smelled like soap and like the forest outside. She took a deep breath—taking it in, and then chiding herself for doing so.

The front door opened and footsteps neared. Marianna turned to see her father's face.

Marianna scrambled to her feet, her cheeks burning. She held the guitar out to Ben. Her whole hand shook. "Our church doesn't believe in playing musical instruments." Her knees quivered and she'd never felt so much shame. "You need to take this."

Ben's eyes fixed on hers, and Marianna saw a loving tenderness. It was different than Aaron's gaze—deeper. It was more intimate than when her father looked into her eyes. Ben took the guitar from her, placing it in the stand.

The timer in the kitchen buzzed and relief washed over her. "The cookies." She turned and hurried to the kitchen, relieved to get away.

Marianna pulled the cookies from the oven and then leaned on the counter, her hands pressing on the cool surface. She didn't want to go back out there. Didn't want to see all the questions, the care in Ben's eyes. She was afraid of her father's accusations.
How would she ever explain to Dat? What would she say?

She thought back to the last time she'd attended church in Indiana. She remembered Viola and her confession. What had Viola thought as she'd listened to those records? For a moment did Viola feel free? As much as she didn't want to admit it, Marianna enjoyed the feel of the guitar in her hands. Even more than that, she had never enjoyed the touch of another as much as she enjoyed Ben's arms around her. She ran a hand down her neck, feeling feverish. It was as if the fires of hell were nearing, reminding her of her misdeed.

Not only had she broken the Ordnung, her father had seen it. What would he do? What would he say?

Footsteps sounded behind her, and she busied herself using a spatula to remove the cookies from the cookie sheet, placing them on a cooling rack.

"So, do you need any help in here? Getting things ready?" Her father's voice was lower than usual, tight, and she could tell he was fighting back his anger.

"Oh, no, I think I'm doing okay." She bit her lip. "Unless you want to pour the punch into the punch bowl."