Missing Your Smile (16 page)

“I'm glad to be of help. Now, back to work!”

“Thanks so much for your help with this,” Susan repeated.

As Susan and the waitress approached the table again, Duane jumped up and glanced down at Susan's knees.

Anticipating his question, Susan said, “I'm fine now.”

“May I take your order?” the waitress asked. “I'll try to hurry the food—put it in as a rush.”

Susan picked up the menu and glanced through it. “How about a hamburger and fries? And a small Coke.”

The waitress turned toward Duane. “And you?”

“I'll have the steak sandwich—and coffee.”

“Coming right up,” the young woman said. She disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

“I'm so sorry about making you late,” Susan said. “Really, you didn't have to wait.”

“Don't worry. It gives me an excuse to be away from the office. I'm just glad you didn't get hurt worse than you did. You know you shouldn't be falling down in the middle of the street. Asbury Park isn't like the farm. Here the cattle will run over you.”

“They do that at home too,” Susan said with a laugh.

He laughed too and then turned serious. “Speaking of danger, I sure hope you're being careful at night. You shouldn't be walking around outside alone in the evenings.”

“Are the two women still missing?”

“No.” He shook his head and stared out the window. “I'll spare you the details, but they were killed. It's a crazy city sometimes. Not at all like what you're used to.”

Susan shivered. He wasn't telling her everything, which was fine. She really didn't want to know more.

Within a few minutes the waitress returned, balancing plates with their sandwiches on one hand. “Now wasn't that fast?” she asked.

“Yes, very fast!” Duane said. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy the meal,” the waitress said. She sped on to the next table.

Duane paused and Susan wondered if he might offer to pray before they ate. And what should she do if he didn't? Meals needed to be prayed over, especially in Asbury Park.

“Do you pray?” he asked, sensing her hesitation.

“
Yah
,” Susan said, closing her eyes and bowing her head. Would he pray out loud? It would sound
gut
to hear a man pray over food again. It seemed like years since she'd heard her
daett's
voice rumble prayers in the old farmhouse.

Quiet moments followed. She glanced up. He still had his head bowed and his eyes closed. He must be praying silently. Well, she couldn't expect too much. This was, after all, Asbury Park.

“Done?” he asked as he lifted his head. He smiled.

She nodded, meeting his eyes. They looked kind, as they had since she'd arrived at the diner. He must be a
gut
man indeed, just like Laura said.

They ate in silence. It was pleasant enough, with no tension between them, which was also
gut
. Time with Thomas used to be that way. But why was she thinking of Thomas?

“Do you have any plans for your next few evenings?” he asked.

“Not really. I usually stay in the apartment,” she said.
Is that what he wanted to know? He looks pensive
.

“There's a really nice restaurant uptown. I could take you there sometime. When you're feeling up to it.”

“I think I'll feel fine really soon,” she responded.

“So,” he said, smiling, “you want to go sooner rather than later?”

“Oh, no!” She gasped. “That's not what I meant. I mean…”

He smiled again. “Then it's a yes?”

“A yes? For what?”

“For a meal at a restaurant uptown.”

Susan listened to the sound of her own breathing, not able to look at him. Did she want to go out with him to a restaurant? For dinner? What did such an invitation mean to the
Englisha
? She'd struggled with this lunch date. Making up her mind, the words slid out. “Sure, I can go. Sometime, that is.”

“Good!” he said, finishing his last bite. “Then it's a date.” He stood up. “And now, I really do need to get back to the office. Will you be okay getting back to the bakery?”

“I'll be fine,” Susan said. “And thank you for lunch. I enjoyed it.”

“I enjoyed it too” he said. “See you later, then. And remember, your meal is paid for.” He picked up the check and headed for the cash register.

Susan quickly finished her meal, wondering how Laura was doing with the bakery crowd. As she stepped out onto the street, she wondered
What just happened in there? Did I really accept an invitation to a fancy uptown restaurant with an
Englisha
man? Yes, I did! Surely there is nothing wrong with that
.

M
enno Hostetler lifted his face toward the Indiana sky, the dark barn behind him as he watched the first rays of the sun breaking the horizon. “Dear
Hah im Himmel
,” he prayed. “Protect Susan, wherever she is. We've never had a child who's strayed so far from home.”
Where is Susan?
It was so hard to imagine her anywhere but upstairs in her bedroom or even beside him right now, walking out to help with the chores. How had she become so interested in the
Englisha
world? So sudden it had seemed. But such things didn't happen that fast. A person didn't plant a seed and harvest it the next day. He had not always lived a perfect life himself, so he knew the temptations of the world. Had a seed dropped into Susan's heart years ago and then sprouted in due time? When had this happened? Had he been asleep and not noticed? Had he been too busy with the work on the farm? Only
Da Hah
knew the answer to those questions. And He often kept His secrets hidden from the hearts of men.

He pushed his straw hat back on his head. Already the air was brisk for this time of the year, moving lightly across the open fields. Winter was not far away, and it could well be a hard one. His bones ached—if that was any sign of what was coming. But they might be aching no matter the coming weather. Old people's bones often ached, did they not?

Menno turned to walk to the barn, finding his way across the yard in the ebbing darkness with practiced ease. The lantern in the washroom could have been lit and brought along, but he wanted to see the sky this morning. He could light the lantern in the barn once he arrived there.

Pushing open the barn door with its creaky hinges, Menno stepped inside. This was his barn, his place where he performed his work on the farm. It was a place of comfort and peace. Since his marriage to Anna so many long years ago, he had lived here. And he would die here. Not likely anytime soon, but all men died in due course. Since Adam ate the apple offered to him by his helpmeet, Eve, it had been
Da Hah's
just punishment on mankind.

One of the horses neighed from the stall, and soon another added its high-pitched whinny.
Gut
horses they all were, worthy of trust and capable of hard work. They likely expected to work in the fields today, finishing the fall plowing, but that wouldn't happen. Tomorrow perhaps, with an early start.

Today would be a long and exhausting day of butchering at John and Betsy's place. Four of his girls would be there, pooling their skills and energies. They would all return home tonight with meat to stock their freezers for winter. He really needed to hurry instead of thinking sad thoughts about Susan. Anna had already started breakfast when he'd left the house.

Menno found the lantern on the dark shelf, blew off the dust, and forced the air pressure higher. The matches should be on the same shelf, and he searched for them. He found one, striking it on the rough wood. It lit, flickering as he brought the flame up to the mantle. Menno twisted the gas knob with his fingers at the same time. With a satisfying
pop
, light flooded his face. He turned his eyes away, shaking the match once before tossing it aside.

Hanging the light on a nail, he glanced over at the double row of milking stalls. Only a few months ago the cows were still being milked. Now dust was gathering. He needed to clean again, but each cleaning wouldn't last long. And it could wear a man out, this upkeep without purpose.

Would anyone ever milk cows in the barn again? He had everything here—the equipment, the stalls, the fields outside to keep the cows. The only thing lacking were the cows and the people who milked and cared for the stock.

Menno sighed. Thomas and Susan were to have been those people. But he mustn't think of that now. The horses needed to be fed whether they worked today or not. And the driving horse needed to be harnessed for the trip to John and Betsy's place. He approached the horse stalls, picking up the hay fork on the way. The hay was in the loft, and throwing it down was becoming harder, seemingly by the day—but perhaps he was only imagining it so. Chores always looked worse when a great sorrow was on a person's heart.

One of the draft horses, his neck bulging with muscles, tossed his head and whinnied loudly.

“What's up, old boy?” Menno stepped up to run his hand over the massive face.

The horse jerked his head away, his nostrils flared, rearing up in his stall, then landing and slamming his back hooves against the boards.

Menno laughed. “Are you that anxious to work? Well, I'd be glad to take you out and whip the last of the fall plowing. But I've got other things to take care of today. We've got to butcher and get ready for the winter.”

The horse reared again, his eyes wide, striking his front feet hard against the stall.

“You don't understand now, do you? Calm down. We can work out all your wild oats tomorrow.”

The horse stood still, his head fixed in one direction. Menno could suddenly see the faint flicker of moving light playing in the horse's staring eyes.

“Oh,
Gott in Himmel!
” Menno whirled about, his hay fork flying across the barn floor. Small flames were rising from the loose hay just inside the door, reaching for the wooden boards and crackling with heat.

“Oh no!” Menno shouted. “What have I done!”

He tried to run toward the flames, but slipped, sliding down on both knees.
Was it the match? But I shook it out! I must not have succeeded
. He'd acted old and careless by tossing it onto the floor with only a quick shake of the hand.
How could I have done something so foolish?
The fire must be put out. He needed water and a bucket. The horse trough was outside, but it would take too long running back and forth. The old milking buckets were in the milk house, and there was water at the spigot. Menno ran, banging open stall doors as he went, not bothering to slow down as they whacked against the wall.

He found the buckets, grabbing one off the wall. He lifted the handle on the spigot, his heart pounding as the first bucket filled. He filled the second one. On the run back, he moved slower. Every drop of water was worth its weight in gold.

Menno stood back from the small flames and tossed his buckets of water. The water sizzled on contact, the flames sputtering in anger as they died. Menno stood, breathing in the heavy smoke. He had put out the fire. He was an old man perhaps, but an old man still capable of saving his barn.

Turning a bucket upside down, Menno sat down to catch his breath.
Da Hah
had been
gut
to him this morning. He had been helped. Taking off his hat, Menno ran his hand over his forehead. Little drops of sweat moistened his fingers. He smiled. It was
gut
to sweat again, even on a cold morning.

Menno saw a small turn of flame, followed by a crackle of fire again. Jumping to his feet, he ran over to the straw and beat it with his hat. The wind from the blows drove the sparks in deeper. Menno stamped with his feet, but it was too late. The straw was deeper here, and behind that lay more bales ready for bedding the horses this evening.

Water! He needed more water—and he needed help. He could run into the fields and call down to Ada's place, but help would never arrive in time.

Menno jerked the barn door open, his blackened straw hat flying into the yard.