Deceived: Lured from the Truth (Secrets) (15 page)

To my surprise my eyes are filling with tears. “Thank you. That means so much to me.” And suddenly she’s hugging me and I am telling her all about my parents’ recent divorce, spilling my guts about how my mom is losing her house and moving to this cheesy condo. “And she’s got this strange man helping her. For all I know he’s planning to live there too.”

“I’m so sorry.” She gives me a handkerchief. “The world is so full of sin and heartache. Everyone seems so hopeless out there.”

“I feel like I’ve lost my home and my family.” I blot my wet cheeks. “Like I don’t belong anywhere anymore.”

“Well, you belong here, Rachel.” She squeezes me. “We’re your family now. And don’t you forget it.”

I thank her again. Then feeling self-conscious for opening up like this, I tell her I should probably get back to work.

“First you should take those dresses back to your cabin and hang them up,” she commands. “Otherwise they will smell just like onions.”

I grimace, holding up my hands. “I’ve been chopping onions.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I noticed.” Celeste goes over to a built-in dresser and removes a couple of bottles, handing them to me. One is perfume and the other is lotion. “Here, take these. And if Miriam gives you a bad time, just tell her I gave them to you.”

“You’re like my fairy godmother.”

She laughs. “Just remember that God is the giver of every good and perfect gift.”

I nod as we exit her closet. “I’ll remember that.”

As I carry the travel bag full of dresses back to my cabin, I feel unexpectedly happy. Celeste was so warm and generous and welcomed me like family. Maybe this really is going to become my home … permanently.

[CHAPTER 13]

I
change into one of Celeste’s dresses — a relatively plain one with a pleasant plaid in varying shades of blue, but still much nicer than Miriam’s old castoff. Anyway, this dress seems suitable for kitchen work. Of course, I’d rather be wearing black-and-white checked cook’s pants and a sleek white chef’s jacket, but that wouldn’t do around here. I remember to take my old Nadine’s uniform with me, planning to give it to Josiah so he can drop it off with his delivery tomorrow.

I took time to write Nadine a short note earlier this morning. Not apologizing exactly since I did nothing wrong. But I attempted to express my sadness for how things ended. I also told her that I hope someday she’ll find out the truth about what really happened. As I tuck the note into the shirt of the skimpy uniform, I can’t believe how the Nadine era seems like another world to me now. I roll the uniform and note into a bundle and stick it under my arm. Hopefully no one will ask me about it.

“You’re just in time to make the green salad,” Eleanor tells me as I stash my rolled-up pink-and-white bundle on a shelf of dusty cookbooks. “The lettuce and carrots are in the fridge. I usually chop the lettuce and grate the carrots.”

“That’s all?”

She gives me a funny look, then shakes her head. When I go to the fridge, I’m dismayed to see only iceberg lettuce. “Do you mind if I use some other ingredients?” I call out.

“I don’t care what you do,” she says in a terse tone. “Just make sure there’s enough for a hundred people.”

“That’s how many eat here?”

“Give or take.”

I can tell she’s in no mood to talk. Besides, judging by the clock, there isn’t time. Spying a basket, I grab it and hurry out to the garden. There, with Hannah’s help, I quickly gather a nice variety of vegetables — leafy greens, peppers, tomatoes, green onions, and all sorts of things I plan to mix with some of the iceberg lettuce.

“Now that’s a salad I can get into.” Hannah helps me carry fresh produce back to the kitchen. “I just hope Eleanor doesn’t throw a fit.”

“I know.” I cringe to think of rubbing Eleanor wrong on my first day. “I’ll try to keep things low-key.”

“Good luck.”

It’s fun putting the salad together. I even get Lydia to help me wash produce and do some chopping. Next I toss all the ingredients in several big aluminum bowls. And finally I make my own dressing — a mixture of canola oil (although I’m wishing for olive) and apple cider vinegar (but I prefer balsamic), some dry mustard, garlic powder, salt, and a dollop of mayo just to bind it together. Okay, it’s not the best dressing ever, but considering my choice of ingredients, it’s not bad. Then just before lunch, I toss the salads and set them out on the buffet table, hoping for the best.

Today’s menu consists of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, rolls, and my salad. And if I do say so, my salad is the best part of the meal. And it looks like others agree, because I hear positive comments being made to Eleanor about it. Clearly it’s not a typical salad for them. And naturally they assume she made it. When it’s time to clean up, I see that there’s no leftover salad.

“Seems that your salad was appreciated,” she tells me. “I guess you should be the official salad chef.” She chuckles like this is a good joke.

“That’s fine with me. I love making salads.”

“Good, because I don’t.” She frowns. “But I expect more than just salads from you, Rachel. And I expect you to put more time into the kitchen than you did this morning.”

“I realize that.” I set some of the serving dishes near the sink where Bethany and Lydia are rinsing. “And that’s not a problem for me.”

After we get things cleaned up and a fair amount of prep work done for the evening meal, Eleanor announces that we get an hour break. “But I expect you back here at four o’clock sharp.”

“No problem.” I retrieve my rolled-up bundle of pink and white and thankfully no one seems to notice.

It feels good to be outside. And it’s a beautiful day. To my delight I spy the delivery truck parked in its usual place outside of the dairy barn. But I don’t see Josiah around. Even so, I open the passenger door and set my uniform on the seat. He’ll know what to do with it. Then I think I’ll wander around the dairy a bit, hoping to bump into Josiah. Instead I run into Miriam, just emerging from the dairy. Now I remember this is about the time she finishes her shift. I wave, acting like I’m not the least bit surprised to see her.

“Well, look at you,” she says as she joins me. “Did you already sew yourself a dress?”

I smirk at her. “I’ll admit I’m a good seamstress, but even I couldn’t sew a dress this fast.” Realizing my chances of catching Josiah have just been wiped out, I tell her I’m on my way home, pretending that I came this way to walk back to the cabin with her.

“So where did you get the dress?”

Searching the grounds for Josiah as we walk, I tell her a little about my visit with Celeste this morning. However, I’m careful not to say too much. I got what Celeste was hinting at — that visits to the reverend’s home were special and something to be treated with respect. For all I know, Miriam has never even been inside. In fact, that’s my assumption. Because I cannot imagine her approving of the elegant and expensive furnishings I saw today. It just doesn’t mesh with her frugal values. In fact, I’m anxious to speak to Josiah about this. I’m curious as to what he thinks.

My eyes light up as we pass by the bench. But I look away quickly. I don’t want Miriam to spy me looking at the pebble on top of a big stone next to the bench. We both go into the cabin, and while she lies down for a rest, I open my “real testament,” which I now understand is what people call this book. I wait until I hear the even sound of her breathing, then tiptoe out, barely closing the door.

I go over to the bench where I sit down and lean over in a prayer position, just like I’ve seen others doing. It’s actually the perfect way to reach down and slip my fingers beneath the rock, feeling around until I touch paper, which I pull out and slip into my sleeve. My heart is pounding with anticipation, but I continue my prayer stance and actually attempt to pray, but I’m too distracted by the paper in my sleeve.

Before I stand and leave, I remember to brush the pebble off the big stone — the sign that I’ve retrieved my message. I hurry back to the cabin, quietly go inside, and once I’m safely in the bathroom, I remove the note and read the simple message.

Meet me at the footbridge over the creek at 7:45.

I feel slightly dismayed that it’s not more interesting than that. But I understand his need to be careful. Of course he’s cautious. What if someone found the note? He doesn’t want anyone to suspect he’s setting up a secret meeting with me. Even so, I cannot wait. And I’m tempted to change into a prettier dress, but this might raise Miriam’s suspicions. As it is, I’ll have to come up with some kind of excuse. Perhaps I can say that I’m working late in the kitchen. I’m sure that will happen sometimes.

I’m so excited about my “date” with Josiah that my fingers work quickly as I grate a small mountain of cheese. Tonight Eleanor has macaroni and cheese, peas, salad, rolls, and berry cobbler on the menu. I already know that I’m on salad patrol but hope I can do something else too. “What are your favorite things to cook?” I ask Eleanor as I set the cheese by where she’s working.

“Favorite things?” She looks at me like I just asked if she wears briefs or boxers.

“You know, some chefs prefer desserts. Some like baking bread. Some only want to do entrées.”

Her brows draw together. “I suppose I like baking best of all.”

I smile at her. “Your baking is always delicious.” And that’s mostly true. Her breads and rolls, while predictable, are usually pretty good.

“Thank you.” She pours the cheese into the sauce she’s making, slowly stirring. “Although I’m not terribly fond of making desserts.”

“I love making desserts.”

“Really?” She tilts her head to one side. “Do you think you can handle making the berry cobbler?”

I nod eagerly. “Sure. I’ve made cobbler before.”

“For a hundred people?”

I laugh. “No, of course not. But how hard can it be?”

She shrugs. “I guess you’ll find out. My recipe is over there by the oven. Have at it.”

I’m not surprised to see her recipe lacks creativity. But not wanting to rock the boat, I stick to it for the most part. However, I add a few additional ingredients like cinnamon and an assortment of berries. And I substitute real butter instead of shortening. Who wants to eat shortening? Also, I decide to brown some oatmeal and add it to the crust to make it crunchier. As I cook, I imagine Josiah eating what I’m making, and it fills me with so much joy that I could almost burst.

“You sure seem happy,” Bethany says as she rinses a mixing bowl.

I smile and sigh. “It just feels like I’m where I belong.”

She gives me a blank and slightly confused look. But then she smiles too. However, it’s a forced smile.

Dinner gets even more compliments than lunch. Again they are directed to Eleanor and, like before, she brushes them off. And this time she doesn’t make any comments to me. This gets me a little worried.

“I hope that I’m lightening your load,” I tell her as we’re all cleaning up. “I know how hard you’ve worked.”

“Oh, well, hard work never hurt anyone.”

After that we work quietly. And I’m hugely relieved when we’re finished and it’s 7:40 — just enough time to make it to the footbridge. However, I need to be careful about this.

“It’s such a lovely evening,” I say as I hang up my apron. “I think I’ll get some fresh air.” Fortunately no one comments on this or offers to accompany me. And just like that, I’m out the door and on my way, just strolling along.

My heart is racing when I finally make it to the footbridge. But to my dismay I don’t see Josiah. Even so I go onto the bridge, and when I’m halfway across I hear a whistle coming from the other side. I peer over and spot him waving from the shadows of the trees. Then acting nonchalant, I stroll on over and join him in the shadows.

“Come on,” he whispers and, holding my hand, leads me through the woods down an overgrown trail until we finally emerge in a clearing. “Care to sit?” He waves his hand toward a fallen log.

“Don’t mind if I do.” I giggle as we sit down.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he says as he slips his arms around me.

“Me too,” I murmur. And now we are kissing and I feel like I’m floating … like I never want this moment to end. I never want him to be more than a few inches from me.

But then he stops kissing me and, placing both of his hands on my cheeks, looks deeply into my eyes. “We need to talk.”

I try not to feel alarmed — but those are the four dreaded words. “About what?” I ask nervously.

“About us.”

“Us?”

He smiles in a reassuring way. “It’s going to be tricky to keep meeting, Rachel. Even today when I slipped that message beneath the rock, I got the feeling I was being watched.”

“I know what you mean.”

“We just have to be really careful.”

I nod. “I know.” Now I frown. “But I’m not totally sure why. I mean, I get that your uncle doesn’t want — well, you know.” I can’t bring myself to say that word —
fornication
. It just sounds so dirty. “But I don’t see why we can’t spend time together.”

“Not like this,” he tells me.

“Yes … I know.”

“And after I left your note, I realize we need a code. I purposely didn’t put our names on it, but I shouldn’t have said meet me at the footbridge. If someone else found it, well, they’d have figured me out.”

“That’s true.”

So he pulls out a small pad of paper, and we devise a code for meeting places as well as times. We both write down the code, then kiss again.

“As much as I’d like to sit here all night, we better get back. Otherwise, we’ll both have some explaining to do.”

Now I remember putting my uniform in his truck and quickly explain. “Do you mind leaving it at Nadine’s for me?”

“Not at all.” He stands, pulling me to my feet and giving me one last hug. “You go first. After crossing the bridge, you take the trail directly back to the cabins. I’ll wind my way up the creek a bit before I cross back.”

“When will we do this again?” I ask hopefully.

“Tomorrow night is study groups. But maybe we can meet for a few minutes before.”

“Yes,” I say eagerly.

“How about the garden at two thirty?” He gives me a sly look.