A Path Made Plain Read online

  Phillip Bontrager, the man in the Cardinals cap, greeted him like a relative, telling him Mammi had only good things to say about her grandson. Thad didn’t quip back a response saying not all his family would have such glowing words about him.

  “I hear you’re a pastry chef,” Phil said as they shook hands while standing on the carport. His wife Myra smiled and waved as she bustled in and out the side door of their home.

  “Yes, I am. Or was.” Thad tugged on the makeshift sleeve he’d fashioned less than an hour before.

  “So, you’re here on vacation, then.”

  “Sort of. I’m, uh, going to look for work around here. I like the climate much better.” The admission startled him. The longer he’d been in Florida, the more he saw the benefit of not being faced with digging out after winter storms, dealing with ice and slush, and everything else about a Midwestern winter.

  “It is nice. Sarasota has a number of excellent restaurants. Unless you’re thinking of heading somewhere like Miami?”

  “No, I hadn’t thought of it.” Thad glanced at the table filling the length of the carport. As more friends and neighbors arrived, more dishes covered the table. One thing always made him homesick for the old days—the food—delectably simple, made with love, unpretentious. Generous.

  “It looks like we’re all set.” Myra surveyed the table as she set a basket of plastic of forks, knives, and spoons at the end. “Phil?”

  “Let us bow our heads and pray over the meal.” Phil removed his baseball cap, and the men followed suit, some like Thad who wore no hat, a few with traditional straw hats, and others with caps like Phil’s.

  Thad closed his eyes.

  “Heavenly Father, we thank You for Your rich blessings upon us. Bless the hands of those who prepared this food, bless our lives to Your service, and let us have good fellowship to honor You tonight. Amen.” Phil’s voice echoed off the nearby wall, and off a shed a few footsteps from the carport.

  “Amen,” chorused some voices.

  “Let’s eat!” Phil motioned to the table.

  Just as with the haystack supper, Thad found himself in a food line, but this one shorter. Friends chatted, their conversations punctuated with chuckles. A few spoke in lower tones, their glances darting around the open yard and courtyard area where the musicians rested their instruments.

  A few voices caught his attention.

  “Tattoo …”

  “One of those people, come to stir up trouble among us.”

  Thad glanced around the assembled group, where people dined on their meals while sitting on folding chairs, lawn chairs, and such. Nobody else looked as though they’d have a tattoo. While his was covered tonight, he knew word had already gotten around the village.

  Stirring up trouble? Him? Not at all. Far from it. His mission the entire time in Florida had been to lie low.

  “Don’t pay them any mind,” Mammi murmured beside him. “They don’t know you, and I do. Come, Phillip has a spot for us at the picnic table in the backyard.”

  “What are they talking about, besides my tattoo?” He tried to keep his voice low as he followed Mammi around the side of the house.

  “Englisch, filming in the village a while back for a television show, with some young people who used to be Amish, pretending they just left their Orders, or something like that.” Mammi shook her head. “People want to be left alone. Anyone can visit Pinecraft. But trying to start trouble and get people angry at each other, and them, too? It is wrong.”

  Now it was Thad’s turn to shake his head. He settled onto the bench, placing his plate on the table. “I didn’t know. I didn’t watch much TV back … back in Columbus. Other than the news.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if it’s a good thing to live here.” Mammi sighed.

  “I like it here.” Another admission, this time after swallowing a bite of someone’s broccoli casserole, with rice and cheese. Part of him did truly like Pinecraft.

  “Well, as I said, don’t pay them any mind.”

  “Don’t pay who any mind?” Phil took a seat directly across from Thad.

  “Oh, never mind, Phillip. Some people, muttering about Thaddeus.”

  “Why would they?”

  “I never joined my Order. I left … the Amish to go to culinary school.” He didn’t regret his choice, not completely. He glanced at Mammi to see if she reacted at all to his words. He knew it pained many members of his family. Some, it goaded into anger. Some, like Mammi and his own mamm, it caused sorrow.

  “Ah, so you were never baptized?”

  “No.” Thad wanted to change the conversation to something else. Food, music, alligator hunting in Florida, the ever-escalating price of gasoline. He knew what the others would expect of him, in order to return to the Order—go before everyone, confess his sin and wrongdoing, forsake everything, and ask for forgiveness. He couldn’t do it, especially if he wasn’t sorry for any of it.

  15

  The shadows grew longer and the temperature dropped, reminding Thad of winter’s approach, even here in Florida. After the meal had been cleared away (he’d stuffed himself with homemade chocolate chip cookies and a slice of pie), they all tugged chairs and benches to form a semicircle in the courtyard that made up part of the Bontragers’ side yard.

  Thad positioned himself against a pole supporting the carport, leaving his open seat for someone else. As the darkness fell, more neighbors showed up on tricycles. The low light provided an ample cover for Thad’s presence.

  Of course, he was out of place. He didn’t look much different than some of the Englisch youths who would sometimes commandeer the basketball court in the park.

  “Good evening, everyone,” Phil said from where he stood at the edge of the group. “Thanks for coming. We’re going to enjoy some good music together. Myra’s started the coffee pot perking and some hot water for hot chocolate or tea, so if anyone gets a might chilly, we’ll have beverages to warm you up.”

  Then the music started. The atmosphere lifted as much as it could with an assembled group that included a few Old Order folks. Thad grinned at the sight of some of the more “liberal” ones keeping the beat by tapping their knees, nodding their heads.

  The first of several rousing Southern Gospel tunes rang out. One of the men, a guy he’d seen around the village a few times, was really getting down playing his acoustic guitar. Thad had forgotten how much fun people watching could be. Around here, you never knew who or what you’d see. Tonight was no different.

  And thankfully, no more personal questions came from anyone while the music was playing. The muscles in his shoulders unknotted themselves. Coming tonight hadn’t been so bad. Mammi smiled up at him from the folding chair someone had lent her.

  After four songs the pace slowed, and the fervent guitar player now plucked a soft melody. The banjo player’s technique mirrored his friends’.

  “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see …”

  The harmonies struck an inner chord with Thad as the guitars and banjo music ceased, and there was nothing left but the chorusing voices.

  “ ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved; how precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed.”

  Fears relieved? He didn’t have fears, not anymore. He’d resigned himself to the fact he was likely bound for hell, whatever it was. He’d thought long and hard as any young adult could before leaving his family. They thought it had been easy for him to leave, he was sure. In the end, it had been the only way for him to keep breathing. Grace was for other people, not him.

  Thad reached up. He brushed away two wet patches, one on each cheek.

  No matter what he did here, no matter how many sleeves he put on his arm, he was an outsider. No matter how much he helped Mammi, or Betsy. Maybe it was safe to return to Columbus again, get his old job back. Or else head someplace else like Miami, as Phil mentioned earlier.


  “You okay?” a voice said at his elbow.

  Imogene, with her bandana-covered hair and peasant skirt. Her expression was filled with concern.

  He shrugged. “Yeah. The song just gets to me. Been a long time since I heard it.”

  “Ah, so I see.”

  He faced forward again as the voices continued through the verses. It was just a song. It couldn’t change reality.

  “Well, I’ll come by the shop in the morning before it opens.”

  “I’ve got the key, remember? I’ll be fine.”

  “I thought you might want to talk.”

  “No.” He liked the older woman with her quirky demeanor.

  “I’ll come anyway.”

  “Suit yourself.” He hoped he didn’t sound brusque, but a guy could only take so much verbal poking.

  “I always do.”

  Imogene’s remark made him chuckle.

  *

  This morning Betsy felt all of fourteen again, too old for school and yet not truly accepted as one of the adults. She took a sip of orange juice and kept listening for a knock at the front door. They were set to go to the bakery first, then to the hospital to wait while Aenti had her hip pinned.

  No one had scolded Betsy for the phone in her bag ringing during prayer, but her daed’s expression had told her plenty. Not a good impression, especially not with her shop just opening and her wanting to prove to him, and all of them, that investing in her venture had been wise. And, the thing had to ring while the bishop was there, of all people.

  The phone call had come from Imogene, letting Betsy know she and Thaddeus had the store in hand, they would lock up around three or so if it was okay, and they were praying for Aenti Sarah.

  Last night Betsy had thanked God in prayer for friends like Imogene and Thaddeus, who willingly stepped in after Aenti’s fall. She had no idea of what to do, especially now Aenti Sarah would be unable to help in the bakery. It didn’t matter just now, of course.

  Seven a.m. and a knock sounded at the door. Aenti Chelle had already departed for her first housecleaning clients of the day. Winston skittered ahead of Betsy. His bark echoed off the tiles in canine outrage.

  Daed stood at the door. “You are ready to go, Elizabetts?” He stared down at Winston from the other side of the screen.

  “Yes, Daed. I’m going to put Winston on the lanai and make sure he has some water and food.” She paused. She hadn’t told them about the dog. She hadn’t hidden him, and it wouldn’t truly matter.

  She left Winston pouting on the lanai but already sniffing at the air drifting in through the screens. She didn’t think he would make any puddles in the house, but she still didn’t want to chance it.

  Within a few minutes, she’d climbed into the back seat of the car, driven by a distant cousin of her mother’s. Ironic. This cousin had been shunned, yet her family depended on the cousin for a ride to the hospital.

  “We will stop at the bakery for a moment,” Daed announced. “Your aenti doesn’t go in for surgery until nine, so we have plenty of time.”

  Plenty of time for what? Betsy nibbled her lower lip. Not good, not good.

  A few early birds were up and about, some toting laundry to the Pinecraft Laundromat, others strolling to the market. The cousin pulled up in front of the bakery, where a light glowed from the rear of the store. The sign still read “closed,” but Betsy led them around to the rear of the shop.

  Thaddeus stood at the work table. He held a rolling pin above a lump of dough and paused with his hands in midair above the pie crust. “Oh. Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” She noticed his arm, the one with the tattoo, had some kind of a dark gray sleeve over it, his other arm bare. “Is Imogene coming?”

  “I believe she is. I gather she’s not a morning person?”

  Betsy shook her head. “She’s not one to rise early.” Daed stood beside her, glancing from her to Thaddeus, then back to her again.

  “How’s your aenti?” Thaddeus asked.

  She liked the sound of the Dietsch coming from him. She opened her mouth to reply.

  “She is having surgery this morning to repair her broken hip,” Daed announced. “I’ve been thinking, Elizabeth, you will still require help in the bakery, but you need an expert. I’ve spoken with Vera Byler.”

  “Vera?” Betsy was going to be sick, and it wouldn’t do to heave all the orange juice she’d just drank onto the work table.

  “Vera is a good baker and respected member of the community. In fact, Vera will be arriving in about thirty minutes.”

  Betsy glanced at Thaddeus. “Daed, Thaddeus is an excellent baker.”

  “I’ll work for free,” Thaddeus said. “I know you’re just getting the business off the ground.”

  “It simply won’t do.” Daed shook his head. “We can’t have you on the sales floor in the front.”

  Thaddeus’s jaw twitched. The expression in his dark eyes crackled, but the pies lined up on the table received the heat of his glare. Betsy stared at the pies, too. Their edges, neatly crimped. Designs carved in the crust tops with the tip of a knife. One pie with the cut-out shape of an apple on the top, complete with a pair of dough leaves. Elegant. Beautiful.

  “Daed—”

  “I can do prep work overnight, Mr. Yoder. If Betsy and Vera leave me a list of what they need done, I can get the prep done so they can bake first thing with fresh ingredients.”

  Betsy studied her daed’s face. She could scarcely breathe. The idea of giving Thaddeus a chance meant something to her. To him, too. Although she couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to be paid.

  “All right.” Her daed let out a breath. “We’ll try it for a week.”

  “Thank you, Daed.” Betsy felt the grin on her face as she looked at Thaddeus.

  “We must get to the hospital.”

  “Yes,” Betsy said as they turned to leave. “Thank you, Thaddeus.”

  “Of course.” Then he winked at her while her father’s back was turned. Her cheeks flush, she hurried after her father.

  *

  Rochelle wanted to kick the flat tire. Her van had limped to the side of the street moments before, the right front tire making a pathetic wubb-wubb-wubb as the vehicle ground to a halt. Just what she didn’t need. She had not quite two hours before she had to see to her afternoon client, a particularly fussy and picky socialite with a beachfront home. If she didn’t have any clients, she could have walked the mile back to Pinecraft.

  No, kicking the flat tire wouldn’t solve her problem.

  She touched the button on her phone. Henry Hostetler wasn’t answering, and she wasn’t sure who else to call about changing a flat tire. Calling a tow truck would be expensive, and pointless, for just a flat tire. She had a perfectly good spare in the rear compartment of the van.

  She strode to the back of the van and popped open the door. She could do this. Surely she could get the old tire pulled off, and put the spare on.

  Rochelle pulled out her plastic bin of cleaning supplies and set it on the ground beside her, then pulled the flat cover off the wheel well where the spare tire rested.

  “Need a hand?”

  Rochelle started, knocking the top of her head on the open van door above her. “Ow!”

  Daniel Troyer stood a few paces behind her, a sheepish grin on his face. He darted forward. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Tears in her eyes, Rochelle rubbed the top of her head. Her covering managed to stay in place, and she moved it more securely into position.

  “It’s okay. I’m not scared of you.”

  “Good.” Daniel stepped closer. The man’s eyes were gray, not blue.

  She swallowed hard. “Do you happen to know how to change a tire?”

  “Of course.” He motioned toward the curb. “Step aside, Miss Rochelle.”

  Daniel pulled the tire from the storage spot without any effort. Such strong, capable hands and muscular arms. So much like Silas. “You have tools, a jack
and iron?”

  “Oh, uh, yes. They should be right under the tire.” She glanced into the compartment and picked up the canvas bag containing the jack and iron. “Here.”

  “All righty, we’ll get you back on the road in no time.” He squatted beside the van and removed the hubcap. The lug nuts wouldn’t cooperate with the tire iron. He grunted and fought, trying to loosen the nuts. The expression on his face made a laugh bubble up inside Rochelle, tired as she was.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “The look on your face while you wrestle with the flat.”

  He smiled up at her, and the smile made her heart leap inside her. What was it about this man? She felt her phone buzz. She didn’t recognize the number. She’d call them back.

  At last, the nuts loosened and Daniel removed the flat tire, then settled the spare in its place. “See? Nothing to it. Now I just need to get these tightened up so you can get on the road.”

  Five more minutes, and Daniel was standing, stretching, then carrying the flat tire to the rear of the van. “There.” He set it inside the back of the van.

  She’d finished her clients for the morning and her stomach grumbled for lunch. The noise made her clamp her hand over her waist.

  “Hungry, huh?” Daniel said as he stepped around her to remove the jack from under the van.

  “It’s been a while since breakfast and I had a busy morning.”

  “Let me take you to Yoder’s for lunch.”

  Rochelle considered the offer. This man caught her attention and she hadn’t been prepared for this. Not in the least. “Um…”

  “When was the last time you went out for lunch with a friend?”

  She pondered his question. “With my niece, when I got back to Sarasota about a month or so ago.”

  Daniel cranked the jack’s handle and the van’s right front end lowered to the ground. “Too long.” He pulled the jack from under the van, then stood.

  “I have an afternoon client at two.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s a little after twelve now. We can get a table if we hurry.”