A Path Made Plain Page 20

  Her phone warbled. Daniel!

  “Stay strong,” she told herself as she picked up the phone. “Slow down and relax. There is an explanation, I’m sure, and it shouldn’t matter so much to you anyway.”

  Rochelle punched the button. “Daniel, hello.”

  “Rochelle, there are no words to tell you how sorry I am for not being able to meet you the other evening for ice cream.”

  “Apology accepted. And it’s all right. Things come up sometimes.” But you could have at least called. “I understand.”

  “Wouldn’t you know, I took a slip the other morning and fell on the driveway.”

  “Oh, my. Are you all right?”

  “Smashed my knee but good on the concrete. It swelled up pretty bad, but I’ve been icing it.”

  Rochelle paused from putting silverware into the drawer. “Do you need anything? I can come over and run the vacuum, take out your trash, and do some dishes, if you need me to.”

  Ah, there she went again. But she truly did love to help people, and loved the satisfaction she received when seeing a home put right.

  “No, no. But thank you for the offer. It’s sweet of you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You’re … you’re the best thing that’s happened to me since coming to Pinecraft. I’ll … I’ll always think fondly of the time we spent together.”

  “Oh. I’m … flattered. Are … are you leaving soon, then?”

  “Uh, soon. Maybe before Christmas.” His voice held a flat tone instead of his typical animated tone.

  “Will … will I get to see you before you leave?” She had to ask. Gotte, help me. Why did I get attached so quickly?

  “I, um, I hope so.” He fell silent. “Well, I wanted to let you know why I wasn’t there the other night.”

  “Okay, thank you.” Rochelle hung up the phone without saying good-bye.

  *

  For the first Sunday morning in almost ten years—or maybe nine—Thaddeus put on a pair of trousers with suspenders. He had told Mammi on Saturday evening he would like to go to the church meeting with her on Sunday, if he could. But he had no proper clothing for an Amish service. Inside of five minutes, she appeared in his doorway with a folded stack of clothes once belonging to his daadi.

  Mammi looked sheepish as she handed him the folded clothing, the trousers, hand-sewn white cotton shirt, and ancient suspenders with still enough grip to hold up the trousers. She even had a straw hat.

  “I should have done something with these a long time ago, but, I didn’t get rid of them, for some reason. You are welcome to wear them as long as you would like. The sleeves might be a bit short, but the shirt is still good.”

  He’d nodded, accepting the clothing. No shoes, but his black sneakers would have to do. He hadn’t paid much attention if the younger men wore certain shoes on Sundays. Of course, they wouldn’t wear beach shoes.

  This was what he didn’t miss about the Plain life. He could understand the need for consistency in clothing when working for a restaurant, and there was something special about wearing his chef’s jacket that made him stand a little straighter. In fact, it hung now in his closet as a reminder of what he’d left behind in Ohio. So no, maybe wearing the Plain clothing on Sundays wasn’t such a big deal after all.

  He slipped the suspenders over both shoulders. It’s time for you to decide what you believe.

  Well, Henry Hostetler, he was about to do it. He finished his outfit by slipping on his daadi’s black vest.

  When Thad stepped into the front room, his mammi stood there, a slight smile on her face.

  “You will do nicely. You look much like your daadi did at the same age.”

  “Ah, I do?”

  “Ya, except for the haircut, and no beard. By your age, your daadi was married and had already fathered three sons.”

  Thad nodded, and they left the house for the short walk to the Old Order meeting. Humidity hung in the air.

  “Maybe it will rain today,” Mammi observed, nodding to a couple as they left their home.

  “Maybe.” Sweat trickled down Thad’s back. He squinted ahead of them. More Plain people, dressed in their Sunday clothing, walked along the empty streets toward the church.

  He didn’t ask if his parents or other family would be there today. The Old Order people had several choices of places to worship on Sunday, but most went to the main Old Order church, or to the “overflow” church, which met in the large garage in a private home not two blocks from the other congregation.

  “Your parents will be there this morning,” Mammi announced, as if she knew his inner question. “Your siblings have already gone home. They have to work through January.”

  No wonder they hadn’t come around. He almost wanted to apologize to Mammi, for the family not visiting much, if at all, while Thad stayed at her home.

  A family passed them on tricycles, the daed of the family pulling a small trailer behind him, heading for the service as well. They wished him and Mammi a good morning. If anyone recognized him in his new garb from around the village, he couldn’t tell.

  This morning they passed the main church and continued in the direction of the overflow church. Whether it was because the building was already full or whether it was because Thad accompanied Mammi, he wasn’t quite sure.

  When they arrived, Mammi introduced him to Bishop Smucker in short order. “My grandson who’s been living with me this winter. He’s a chef.”

  “Good morning, and welcome.”

  “Thank you.” So far it felt he’d passed the test, and the Dietsch flowed easily from his lips. Of course, the clothing probably helped. Thad found a seat on the men’s side of the room. He saw his daed, two rows ahead.

  Gotte, what am I doing here? If this is how I’m to find my way, please show me. He didn’t know if God would listen to him, a wayward “sinner,” but it didn’t hurt to try.

  The songs began and the words tumbled from Thad’s mouth of their own accord, like he’d flipped some type of internal switch. But what were words, if you didn’t quite mean them, or even understand what they meant?

  No, he would find no redemption in the songs. As his mouth sang the words, he was reminded of going to the singing with Mammi, and the longing the songs had ignited inside of him. Maybe not longing for the way things were—he didn’t want that again—but maybe for the way things ought to be.

  21

  Yes, there was Thaddeus, standing at the edge of the group of men after the service. The men gathered in their typical spot, in the side yard of the house where they met. If someone had told Betsy Thaddeus had shown up to the service today, she wouldn’t have believed them. She didn’t recognize him, either—not at first.

  All the young women who’d attended the service this morning noticed him straightaway. His eyes, his posture, the way he scanned the crowd.

  “I can’t believe it’s Thaddeus Zook,” Emma said beside Betsy. “Here. At service. And he’s not dressed Englisch.”

  No, he wasn’t. And in the Plain clothing, he appeared more handsome, even with his Englisch haircut, cropped close and worn longer on the top. Lately, he’d taken to shaving more, as an unmarried man should. Betsy noticed the change.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands stuffed in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

  “Ouch, my nose hurts.” Emma touched her red nose and cheeks.

  “So you went fishing again on Steven’s boat?”

  “Yes, I did. If you’d listened to me the other night, I told you we were going yesterday.”

  “We?”

  “Oh, a few of us, and Steven, and some others from the local Mennonite church.”

  Betsy nodded. She felt a pang of envy. But she’d chosen this responsibility of operating a business on her own. She knew the hours would be long. She knew the price would be not running around with other young people.

  Emma hadn’t mentioned missing Eli. Not lately. That much she did rem
ember. Nor did she mention her offer to help Betsy in the bakery.

  “So,” Betsy asked, watching Thaddeus conversing with a few of the young married men in the group, “how’s Eli doing? Is he still coming for Christmas?”

  “He’s doing well. And yes, he’s still coming.” Emma fell silent, then frowned.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, of course, I’m fine.”

  Betsy dropped the questioning. Emma joined a group of friends. Emma would tell her, in time, or she hoped her sister would. What concerned her was, thus far, no one had brought up the upcoming visit of the television station to her bakery.

  Wednesday was still three days away, three more nights of trying to get some sleep. Part of her wondered if she’d made a foolish choice in agreeing to allow the station to come to the bakery. Part of her knew it was good business sense and no true compromise on her part. She didn’t watch television. She did want to see the segment and how it looked. Aenti Chelle could help her find it on the Internet.

  Mrs. Byler stood with some of the older women, chattering away.

  The pie contest happened to fall next Friday, only two days after the news people would visit the bakery. Likely the film crew would be there for the contest, too.

  Mrs. Byler made it clear she considered her pies to be the best, both in her open admission of the fact as well as her undisguised disdain for others’ baking. Betsy had stopped herself several times from approaching her daed and insisting they find someone else to help in the bakery until Aenti Sarah was finished with her physical therapy.

  What would Thaddeus do, if this were his bakery? She glanced his way again. He made eye contact with her, and half a grin appeared on his face as their glances locked.

  She knew what he’d do. He’d tell Mrs. Byler to leave and her help was no longer needed at the bakery.

  If they were anywhere else, she would cross the expanse of grass between them and ask his advice about Mrs. Byler, and find out what more he knew about Daniel Troyer. Surely he’d found out more by now.

  “Betsy,” her mother was calling not a dozen paces away, “have you decided what you’re going to bake for the pie contest? Others are curious.”

  She joined her mother by a group of bicycles, where some of the ladies chatted. “No, I haven’t. I’m sure I’ll think of something. But I’ve been busy.”

  “Right, the television people are coming to the bakery this week,” one of Mrs. Byler’s talkative friends interjected.

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Have you chosen what you’re going to bake for them?” the lady asked.

  “No, I’m planning to do my everyday baking.”

  The woman made a noise that almost resembled a grunt.

  “Enough about that,” said another older woman—Thaddeus’s mammi, Mrs. Zook. “What I would like to know is what else we can do for the Haiti auction. January will be here before we realize it. Maybe some of us can gather to put in a quilt or two? I have several pieced tops only needing to be put together.”

  Betsy nearly sighed with relief. She hadn’t liked the sudden turn of conversation, and thankfully, Mrs. Zook had changed the subject. However, Betsy would rather find something else to do for the Haiti auction besides quilt. Her fingers felt more at home pinching pie crusts than feeling the prick of a needle.

  Melba Stoltzfus approached them and stood beside Mrs. Zook. “Hiram is asking the men, but I’m also asking you ladies.” She stared at Betsy.

  “What is it?” she heard herself ask.

  “When was the last time you saw Gideon?”

  “Friday afternoon.” Betsy wanted to add, “making his daily visit to the bakery,” but didn’t. Gideon hadn’t visited her yesterday, which she found odd; however, the day had been so busy, preparing pies for people to take home to serve as dessert today.

  “He left our house last night after the singing. We walked by this morning on the way to service, to see if he was going to walk with us, but he didn’t answer his door.”

  “I didn’t see him at all yesterday, and he usually stops for a cup of coffee. But we were busy at the bakery.”

  “Well, maybe the landlord can let you into his apartment, can’t they?” Mamm asked Mrs. Stoltzfus. “I pray nothing is wrong.”

  “Me, too.” Mrs. Stoltzfus frowned. “Thank you, thank you all. We are going to go straight to the Kaufmans’ house on our way home, to see if they can lend us a key. Maybe he’s sick.”

  Maybe. No, Betsy didn’t have any romantic attachment to Gideon, but she didn’t think ill of him in the least. She hoped nothing bad had happened to him.

  *

  Thad turned on his cell phone after he arrived home at Mammi’s. She was pulling dishes from the refrigerator, making plenty of clanks and clunks he could hear all the way into his bedroom.

  He had a voice mail message. The manager of Palm Trees, the restaurant in Siesta Key Village looking for a part-time employee, invited him to come first thing tomorrow morning for an interview.

  “Please bring your knives because we need to see your knife work, too,” the manager said.

  Thad phoned the office and left a message confirming he’d be there at nine to meet with the executive chef and head pastry chef.

  Unfortunately—or fortunately—if he landed this position, he’d have to give Betsy notice and leave her bakery. The place had been a quiet sanctuary for him, where he could work in the wee small hours of the morning and think.

  Ever since tasting the tiramisu pie, and sharing their kiss, Thad had run figuratively, and almost literally, in the other direction. Still, he couldn’t help a smile at her this morning after the church meeting. Getting some distance between the two of them would be better, especially for her.

  He yawned. He’d agreed to meet Henry at the park in the afternoon, before the concert at two.

  “You should come,” Henry had said the other night. “A few boys from Ohio are in town, and they’re going to play guitars and sing. I think you might know one or two of them. Aw, I shouldn’t call them boys, they’re all around your age, give or take a few years.”

  So Thad agreed. He shifted himself from his bed, then joined Mammi in the kitchen.

  “You’re still welcome to come with me to Abe’s.” Mammi was headed to his cousin’s house, where the family would be. No, Abe hadn’t invited him, had told him years ago he would never be welcomed in his Ohio home if he left the Order. Thad figured the same would be true here in Pinecraft. Mammi probably didn’t know.

  “No, I’ll eat here. But thank you, anyway.”

  “There’s a concert in the park this afternoon.” Mammi looked hopeful, her hands clasped in front of her.

  “I’m going. I promised Henry I would go.” He wanted to hug her for her unconditional love, the way she always tried to include him. But he’d never hugged his mammi and wouldn’t start now.

  “Good. I’ll look for you.” She smiled at him before she left on her three-wheeled cycle.

  Thad scrounged through the contents of the refrigerator and found some leftover cheesy vegetable casserole and a few slices of meat from a roast Mammi had prepared. It should be plenty. He polished it all off with a glass of milk. Not quite one-fifteen now. Arriving forty-five minutes early wouldn’t hurt.

  It took him less than ten minutes of strolling through the sleepy streets to arrive at the park, where a few families had already arrived. A brood of children, different ages, climbed and ran and played in the children’s area. A Plain woman sat on a bench, watching them.

  The closer Thad got to the pavilion and the children’s area, the more the woman came into focus. Mamm? The little ones on the swings and slide were his nieces and nephews, known to him only as the faces of innocence.

  Mamm turned to look at him as he approached. Even from the short distance, he saw the longing in her eyes.

  “Thaddeus.”

  “Maam.”

  “I brought the children early. The others will come before the music s
tarts.”

  “I see. I’m early for the concert.” He focused on the slowly drifting waters of Phillippi Creek a stone’s throw from them, and took in the sight of the lone fisherman sitting on its bank.

  “You’re here for the concert, then? Does this mean you might be coming back to us?”

  “No. I’m not going back to Ohio.” As far as his faith was concerned, he was still trying to figure that out. Maybe today would help, seeing the mixture of Plain people and others.

  “I wish you would.”

  “I … I can’t.” The idea of having to compromise part of himself, well, he couldn’t do it. Not for anyone else.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here anyway. I wanted to tell you something, only, there has been no chance for me to do so, with others around who might wonder why.”

  Her tone made him face her. “May I sit down?”

  “Of course, Thaddeus.”

  He settled onto the bench beside her and waited for her to continue.

  “Someone came by the farm last month, looking for you.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. It was a man. Englisch. I was afraid something had happened to you. But I knew if something did happen, it would be the police who came.”

  “You’re right. When did he come?”

  “Very early in the month. He said he wanted to find you because he heard you were looking for work. Were you looking for work?”

  “Sort of. The restaurant I was at in Columbus had been closed after the owner was murdered.” The cold, hard fact reminded him of the news, photographers with their cameras, reporters asking about Mitch and any so-called enemies, if it was just a robbery gone bad, and if so, why had the robber left a bank deposit bag with eight thousand dollars on the floor?

  “Oh, how terrible. So you were out of work, then.”

  He shook his head. “I had something temporary going, but one of my bosses had asked if I’d like to go back to work there when it opened again.”

  “But you came here instead.”

  “Right.”

  They both fell silent and he mulled around his mamm’s words. Someone looking for him. About a job. Just like Pete, Mitch’s partner, had. He liked to think his culinary skills would be in demand, but for someone to track him down, all the way to his family’s farm?