A Path Made Plain Read online

  The feeling of being watched came roaring back onto his shoulders. He glanced around the park. A few more had arrived, some walking and some chaining their bicycles to the split-rail fence.

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I hadn’t heard from you in months.” Her words sounded accusatory. But how could he go where he wasn’t wanted?

  “Okay.”

  “But it’s not all. He asked if we had any other family around. I told him we had family in Florida.”

  22

  Thad tried to inhale at his mamm’s words. “You told them about Florida, about Pinecraft?” But it was nothing. Didn’t she say the man had stopped at the farm earlier in the month? And December began next week. Surely, someone would have already found him by now, if they wanted to and had the right resources. Zook wasn’t a common name, not in most places outside the typical Amish communities.

  “I didn’t say where in Florida. But I couldn’t lie to him and tell him we had no family anywhere else. And, I didn’t know you were here.”

  No, he didn’t fault her for being honest. He wouldn’t have wanted her to lie for his safety. “No, Mamm, of course. You did the right thing.”

  “You had probably go soon, find somewhere else to sit. I don’t … I don’t want the others to see me talking to you. They’ll have questions. The children won’t wonder so much, they’re too busy climbing and playing tag.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Thad sighed. This was why it was better to avoid everyone, why he’d dreaded his family traveling to Florida this winter. The pain of exclusion he thought he’d overcome. The frustration at not being what they wanted, someone he couldn’t be. He rose. “Thank you for telling me.”

  She nodded and stared across at the playground. Mamm didn’t say anything more, so Thad trudged away from the bench and back over to the pavilion.

  He found a vacant picnic table in the back, far from the long, low benches making up the seating area in front of a low stage. A trio of men stood at by the stage, talking and laughing with each other. One pulled out an acoustic guitar, another a banjo. The third rummaged through a cardboard box and pulled up some small flat squares. CDs?

  The man going through the CDs looked familiar. No, it couldn’t be. His old friend, Benjamin Esh? Taller and more muscular, of course. But yes, Benjamin Esh. Thad figured Ben would be married and working on child number two or three by now. Thad had left before he knew what had become of his old friend. Judging from Ben’s Englisch denim jeans and blue plaid button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he’d left the Plain life behind him.

  Thad headed toward the men. “Ben Esh?”

  The man’s focus snapped up from the CDs to Thad. “Wait … I know who you are.” He squinted. “Thad? Thaddeus Zook? I can hardly believe it.” Ben stepped around the side of the table and extended his hand.

  Thad shook hands with his old friend. “You … you’re not … Plain.”

  He shook his head. “Not anymore. I go to a Brethren in Christ Church. One of the more, ah, ‘liberal’ ones.” As he spoke, he leaned closer and made quotation marks in the air. “I left the Ordnung not long before I was due to be baptized. Went to live with some second cousins.”

  “Ah, I see.” Thad tried to recall the last time the two had spoken face-to-face, and the memory had been lost, like much of what happened right before he left the Order.

  No, it wasn’t quite a coincidence, him seeing someone from “before” in Pinecraft, considering he was in the winter haven for most Orders of the Amish and Mennonites.

  “So you’ve been gone longer than me. What brings you to Florida? Vacation?”

  “Not exactly. I’ve been staying with my Mammi. She’s hear year-round now.”

  “Well, Jim and Ray and I are traveling, visiting different churches and singing, playing our songs.”

  “Good, good for you.” He had a vague memory of Ben having a decent singing voice. “A friend of mine invited me today, so I thought I’d hang out here for a while.”

  “Excellent. Have a CD.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  “I insist.”

  “Okay, since you insist.” He accepted the plastic case from Ben. Songs of Faith read the title, and the graphic was a photo of the three friends standing by a fence in front of a field. “Nice.”

  “Maybe you could come over one night. We’ll be here until Wednesday night, until we head for Orlando. We’re staying in the RV park, lot twenty-three.”

  “Sure, why not.”

  “I mean it, man. Come on by. I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to.”

  Thad nodded. “So, you keep in touch with your family?”

  “As regularly as I can. They still hope I’m going to come back, but they understand I still have faith in God, and I walk the same walk they do, only a little … different. If that makes sense.”

  “They … they didn’t shun you?”

  “No.” Ben stepped over to a guitar case. “I’ve never been baptized into the church, so they didn’t shun me. I guess they think I’m running around, so to speak. But I’m not. A few of the older ones don’t see it so kindly.”

  Not shunned? Benjamin Esh had never been shunned?

  “Ah, I see.” Thad watched as Ben took out an acoustic guitar. “I’ll, ah, try to come by on Wednesday sometime.”

  “Awesome. Remember, lot twenty-three. Hey, it’s good to see you.” His smile glowed. The man radiated contentment, peace, joy. He hadn’t been shunned. The thought ricocheted through Thad’s mind.

  *

  Betsy smoothed the apron over her favorite blue cape dress, then ran her fingers over her head covering. Not a hair out of place. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to be on camera, not her face, anyway. As much as she appeared to be Plain, she didn’t feel Plain sometimes.

  She studied Susan Cantrell’s large leather tote, trimmed with a brightly colored fabric. It was a beautiful bag, and definitely large enough for carrying plenty of things.

  “It’s a Dooney & Burke,” Susan Cantrell said.

  “A what?”

  “My bag. It’s a Dooney & Burke. I love it. It’s beautiful and it carries everything I have to haul around with me every day.” Susan scribbled something on her notepad. “The photographer is almost here. He’s recording some shots of the neighborhood.”

  “The neighborhood?” Betsy’s spine stiffened. “You need to be careful with how they’re filming. There are people here in the village who aren’t happy about recording. Pinecraft has had a lot more news attention in the past few years, and not all of it positive.” The television producer had arrived around eight-thirty, without a cameraman.

  “Our editing department can take care of that, especially if we don’t have signed releases from our subjects. We typically blur out faces, including those who don’t wish to be on the air. Speaking of which, I have a release for you to sign, and any of your workers. And any customers we film.”

  Betsy nodded. “Where do you want to start?”

  “We’ll begin by filming your display case, then have you slice some pie and serve it to a customer. We’ll also record someone, likely you, rolling out pie crust in the kitchen. Also, we’d like to get some shots of the outside of the building and your sign.”

  “All right. If you could, keep my face out of the filming. Please. Otherwise, I can’t do it. I appreciate you choosing my bakery to feature on the show, but I’m trying not to offend anyone here. I live here. This is my home.”

  “Of course, I understand.” Susan nodded. But it didn’t mean she understood.

  Part of Betsy wanted to cancel the whole thing. Part of her knew this opportunity would help her business immensely. Part of her imagined what some might be saying about her, and the bakery. Vera Byler hadn’t shown up this morning. Instead, she sent a note carried by one of her fresh-faced little granddaughters.

  I’m sorry. I can’t come today. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.

  Sincerely,

  Vera Byler<
br />
  Betsy would manage, somehow. She should have asked Emma to help her, if Emma wasn’t running off to the beach yet again or out fishing with friends on Aenti Chelle’s nephew’s boat.

  The front door opened, the bell clanged, and in stepped Emma, her face flushed, her nose peeling. “I’m here, I’m here. I meant to tell you to wake me this morning, but I knew I’d never get up in time.” She skidded to a stop when she saw Susan.

  “Miss Cantrell, this is my youngest sister, Emma.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emma.”

  “Nice to meet you, too. How can I help?” She glanced from Betsy to Susan, then back again. “I can take cash if you need me to mind the register.” Emma usually worked a day or two every week in a gift shop back in Ohio.

  Betsy nodded. “Yes, if you could help customers, I can concentrate on the kitchen and talking to Miss Cantrell.”

  Emma stepped behind the counter. “So if you run low on pies, I can just get another one from the kitchen?”

  “Yes, let me know ahead of time, though, especially if it’s pie, since it takes a little longer to restock. Unless it’s a refrigerated pie.” Betsy didn’t have time to explain how she kept her inventory as fresh as possible, because she was still figuring out a system that worked. She hadn’t quite noticed a pattern yet with customers, other than the coffee crowd who would come for their free cup in the morning.

  They’d already gone on their way.

  “Oh, good.” Susan looked out the front window. A gray-haired Englisch man, camera on his shoulder, headed for the door. “Here’s Barry now. We can get started on the indoor work.”

  She met the cameraman at the door, and Betsy joined Emma behind the display case.

  “I’m so glad you came.” Betsy almost sighed with relief. “Mrs. Byler sent word she couldn’t help today.”

  “She’s probably staying away because of the television people.” Emma shook her head. “You know some people aren’t happy about this, so Mrs. Byler probably doesn’t want her name attached to the bakery while they’re here.”

  “I know.” Betsy studied Emma’s face. Yes, she appeared to have been hurrying to get here, but something about her eyes, a hint of pink. “Emma, have you been crying?”

  Her sister shrugged. “I … I … Eli and I aren’t getting married anymore.”

  “What? When did you decide this? And why?”

  Emma switched to Dietsch, her voice low. “This morning. We talked on the telephone. He’s … he’s not coming to Florida for Christmas after all.”

  “So you called it off because he’s not coming for Christmas?” Betsy glanced at the television people. They were still talking, the cameraman nodding as Susan Cantrell read something aloud from her notepad.

  “No, I’ve realized, since I’ve been here in Florida, I don’t want to marry Eli. It’s not fair to him. I don’t want to always wonder …” Emma paused, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Wonder what?”

  “If there’s more than him for me. I always wanted to get married, keep house, have a family, but now, I wonder.”

  Betsy had no words for Emma at the moment. She’d always thought Eli a quiet and kind young man, a bit bowled over by Emma at times, but he clearly adored her. They seemed happy enough and both sets of parents had given the couple their blessing in October. Of course, she’d missed a lot in the last year being gone from Ohio and had only heard updates from Emma or secondhand from their mother.

  “Have you prayed?”

  “Ya, I have. I have no answer.”

  Betsy still didn’t know what to say, but here came Susan and the cameraman back to the counter. “Let’s talk later,” she whispered. “It’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”

  “Thank you, Betsy. You’re so strong. I feel better just being here with you.”

  Sometimes Betsy didn’t feel strong. “Well, I’m glad it helps.”

  “Oh, I meant to tell you. You’ll never guess who showed up back home. Gideon Stoltzfus. He got a ticket and took the bus straight back to Ohio.”

  “What?” Relief washed over her, and thankfulness. “How did you know this?”

  “Eli. It’s another reason I called the wedding off. He kept saying it was your fault, that there was something wrong with you for not accepting Gideon’s offer. I told him what he could do with his idea.”

  “Emma.”

  “Well, I did.” She gave a sharp nod.

  “All right,” said Susan Cantrell, returning to the counter area. “Our guy here will take some shots of the interior. And then we’ll wait for a customer to come in. I can talk to Betsy in the kitchen and record audio while Emma, you watch the front of the store. And relax. We want to film you as natural as possible, so try to forget the camera is here. Pretend it’s your grandmother watching the bakery while you work.”

  This made Betsy want to laugh, so she did. “All right, Susan. Let’s go to the kitchen while Barry and Mammi watch the store while Emma works.”

  Betsy smiled at her sister before leading Susan into the kitchen.

  Dear Gotte, please let Emma do well on film.

  23

  Thad arrived fifteen minutes early for his interview at Palm Trees and found a convenient spot to park his motorcycle. An ocean breeze drifted down the main drag of Siesta Key Village, footsteps from the edge of the white sands of Siesta Key Beach. A guy could get used this, fast.

  He’d missed the trips out on the cycle. Why hadn’t he made more time for this lately? He shook his head. He’d allowed the village atmosphere to suck him in with the power of a vacuum. For a time, he’d been content to lose himself in the fantasy he could be not-Plain among them. There were some who still spoke to him and associated with him. Those outnumbered the ones who didn’t.

  He swung his leg over the bike and popped the kickstand, before unstrapping his knife case from the back of the cycle. His chef’s jacket was neatly folded in a bag. Before he went to the kitchen, he’d ask the way to the men’s room and prepare himself for the interview to follow.

  Gotte’s will be done. The thought came, unbidden. Did he want Gotte’s wille? He’d long ago tried to free himself from thoughts like that. However, this thought came because it was what he wanted, not what someone else was trying to force on him. Divine guidance would be most welcome.

  Daed had thought he should have studied a more traditional trade, yes. So had the others. They had begged and pleaded with him for hours to reconsider, to bend to their will, to at last join the church and participate in its baptism.

  He couldn’t. It wasn’t truthful.

  But back to Gotte’s wille again. If Gotte gave him a talent, oughtn’t he to use it? In Plain terms, what he did might not be traditional, but it in no way contributed to dividing people or drawing people away from the Order.

  No, it was that he wasn’t like everyone else. It’s what Daed, and the others, had wanted him to be—like everyone else. He remembered his nearly eighteen-year-old self realizing the fact and it being the last thing to send him packing, literally.

  A passing car honked at someone, jolting Thad back to the very-present priority of moving on with his life. As the days had passed, the heebie-jeebies had left him.

  He held the knife case in one hand, his helmet in the other, and pulled open the door to Palm Trees.

  The restaurant atmosphere, one he’d called home for years, surrounded him again. The host desk, the menus tucked into the holder, an expanse of bar to the left with an accompanying patio. He glimpsed a simple raised stage in the courtyard outside. The place was probably hopping at night.

  “You must be Thaddeus Zook,” a young woman in a dark blue chef jacket said. “I’m Beth Waller, head pastry chef.” Beth. Betsy. Two female pastry chefs, two completely different women.

  “Nice to meet you.” He shifted the helmet to his hip, the knife case to his left hand, and shook her offered hand.

  “You bike, huh?” She glanced at his helmet appreciatively, her nut-brown ha
ir scraped back into an efficient bun.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What do you ride?”

  “A Harley Sportster, 2008.”

  “Sweet. I own a hog myself.” She grinned, assessing his arms. “Well, when you’re ready, head straight back to the kitchen and I’ll let the manager and executive chef know you’re here.”

  Thad glimpsed a men’s room sign past her shoulder. “All right. I’ll be a moment.”

  She smiled at him, a dimple appearing in her left cheek. “I can’t wait to see what you can do.”

  Did she just hit on him?

  Thad shook his head and headed for the men’s room. The attention didn’t make him exactly uncomfortable. Hey, she was a pretty lady. But now, the attention didn’t seem as welcome to him. Which was okay. He wasn’t looking to meet anyone. Not with Betsy claiming his thoughts and the aggravation of what to do about it.

  He entered the men’s room and set his things inside an empty sink. He pulled his chef’s jacket from the small bag and shook it free of a few wrinkles. The few minutes in the bag as he traveled from Pinecraft hadn’t done much damage.

  There. He settled the jacket over his black T-shirt and buttoned it up. The sturdy weave felt good, like he’d put on a part of himself he’d laid aside for a while.

  Stop thinking so much. If he wanted to get this job, he needed to be focused. Lack of focus meant mistakes, bad food, poor-tasting desserts, all of which led to unhappy diners.

  Thad stared at himself in the mirror and tugged the hem of his jacket, then his cuffs. Thaddeus Zook was embroidered on the left upper chest, along with the insignia of a plate covered with a spoon.

  “Here goes.” He left the restroom, then headed through the dining room and straight to the back and the kitchen. The fluorescent lights glowed in the gleaming room.

  Thad set his helmet on the nearest edge of stainless prep table and approached the trio waiting for him.

  Beth grinned. “And this is Thaddeus Zook. This is Brad, our manager, and Antoine, our executive chef.”