A Path Made Plain Page 5

  Truly, Rochelle wasn’t sure how Betsy would cope once the happy couple returned to Florida. Although they attended a different church from Betsy, there was always the chance to see them at singings, in the park, at the stores, or while visiting mutual friends. However, once vacation season began, the flurry of visitors might be a welcome distraction.

  Rochelle knew firsthand the value of distraction. From her own walk with heartbreak, she couldn’t stay in Ohio, and had made Pinecraft her home all these years. And what a treasure, to have watched her nephew grow up into a fine young man. A more liberal Mennonite than her background, to be sure, but a young man of faith. Having her sister and family nearby had proven a balm on her own wounded heart and soul, and healing had come. She’d never had the chance to raise her own family, but she lived close enough to her sister to watch her brood grow up.

  Her phone warbled on the countertop. Her sister, Jolene. What timing.

  “Hello there, we’re home,” she said when she answered the phone.

  “Good,” Jolene said. “We’ll be home by the weekend. It was so much nicer to take our own van and drive to Ohio. You could have come with us, you know.”

  “Well, I wanted to ride with Betsy. Otherwise, she’d have been alone on the bus. Not as though she’d have needed my help.” She said nothing further about the state of Betsy’s heart. “Besides, I needed to get back here for business.”

  “I’m glad we stayed a few extra days. Because something happened. If you’re not sitting down, you should be.”

  Her pulse began to race, and she could almost hear it over the whoosh of water filling up the washing machine. “What? Did something happen?”

  “Belinda Fry is dead.”

  “No.” Belinda. Her best friend in the world, when they were both very young. A stab of sorrow struck her heart. And for the first time in well over a decade, her mind drifted to someone she’d tried to keep buried in her memories. Silas Fry.

  6

  Betsy entered the real estate office with Aenti Sarah in her wake. Her heart pounded. Her hands shook. But she stiffened her spine and squared her shoulders as she stepped up to the reception desk.

  “Good morning,” she told the receptionist, a woman with tinted blonde hair and wearing an Englisch pantsuit. “I’m here to see Mr. Miller.”

  “You must be Elizabeth Yoder. He’s expecting you.” The woman pointed to a short hallway with four doors, two on each side. “Last door on the right.”

  “This is a great deal of money you’re paying them,” Aenti Sarah whispered as she trotted behind Betsy.

  Betsy slowed her stride. She hadn’t been thinking of how much shorter Aenti Sarah was than her. Instead, she’d been thinking of the bank check written out for her lease and deposit on the bakery.

  “I know, Aenti.” Oh, but yes, she had lain awake last night for hours thinking about the amount of money she’d be spending over the next six months.

  Mr. Miller, the real estate agent, looked up from his desk. “Good to see you, Miss Yoder. Are you ready to sign the paperwork?”

  She glanced at Aenti Sarah then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  They took the pair of seats across from Mr. Miller as he pulled a file from the stack on his desk.

  “All right, here’s your lease for a period of six months, like we discussed. Read and initial each page to verify you understand what you’re signing.”

  Betsy skimmed the pages. Yes, the zoning was in order for the property, something she’d checked before inquiring about a lease. The lease included permission for her to have modifications performed on the building to transform it into a bakery and eat-in shop. She could alter the floors, install appliances and vents, paint the walls. She would be responsible for any building permits, exterminator costs, as well as any inspections to the property for health and safety codes.

  This is a great deal of money. Aenti’s words rang in her ears even as the older woman sat beside her silently. She nodded as she reread the lease.

  “Do you need a pen?”

  Betsy looked up to see Mr. Miller holding up a pen of iridescent plastic. “Yes. Please. Thank you.” They’d had the pens personalized: Miller and Stoltzfus, real estate agents. The company had come highly recommended by several in the village. The Miller and Stoltzfus families were both Mennonite, mostly, and ran a brisk business by helping conduct some of the real estate transactions in the area.

  She looked at the shiny pen and blinked. Sign.

  Betsy initialed each page after she read it, then put her signature on the line on the last page of the lease above her name. She pushed the lease back across the desk to Mr. Miller and exhaled.

  “You have yourself a bakery, Miss Yoder.” The man beamed.

  “It’s almost a bakery. We’re going to start working on it right away.” She wasn’t sure if she should get up now, shake hands with the man. She did want to scurry back to the kitchen and get working. But she was a business owner. There was more to her bakery than baking.

  “Well, you let me know when your grand opening is, and we’ll be sure to bring the office staff by for a round of pie.” Mr. Miller stood. “I’ll make copies of the lease agreement so you can have one for your records.”

  Betsy nodded. “Good.”

  He left the room, and Betsy glanced at Aenti Sarah. “It’s done.”

  “It is.” Her forehead wrinkled. “What will you do if money doesn’t start coming in right away?”

  “It will. It has to.” She would look at the possibilities of the future, otherwise the question would follow her everywhere. Betsy pulled out the envelope containing a bank check for her deposit and first month’s prorated rent.

  “All right, I have your copy here. And all I need from you now is a check for your deposit. You do remember we prorated your rent for the remainder of October?”

  “Yes, Mr. Miller. It’s all here.” She held out the envelope. He tore one side off and pulled out the check.

  “Very good. On the first of November, you can make your payment here or leave it in our night depository by the front door.”

  Betsy stood, with Aenti Sarah standing as well. “Thank you.” No, with amounts like this, she’d make sure someone came to the office with the money in person.

  “One more thing before you leave.” Mr. Miller took something from his pocket. “Your keys.”

  “Oh yes, I’ll need those.” She smiled, as he jingled the pair of keys on a ring in front of her.

  She tucked the keys into her pocket and slipped the copy of her lease into her tote bag before they left.

  As she entered the bright Florida morning, she felt like throwing up.

  “Now, we begin work. Otherwise all the money, thrown to the wind.” Aenti Sarah shook her head and made a soft hissing noise.

  The family likely would not let her forget it if she failed. No, she couldn’t have stayed home to see what happened with Gideon Stoltzfus. No, she had to be the adventurous one.

  Dear Gotte, please do not let me fail.

  Aloud, she said, “Henry Hostetler is meeting us at the building at nine. He’s going to go over plans once more before he gets started.”

  “Good. It never hurts to plan well. Measure twice, cut once, I believe they say.” Aenti Sarah looked toward the corner and the traffic light. “Oh, there’s Myra Beachy. I didn’t know she was here in Pinecraft already. I must stop and say hello.”

  They continued their walk to the corner. Betsy tried to brush the cobwebs from her mind. Oh, but she was tired again this morning. She yawned, welcoming the chance to stop for a moment while Aenti greeted her friend and caught up with the latest news.

  A figure in black pants and short-sleeved shirt, not Amish garb but Englisch, caught her attention. A man, a little older than her probably, walking to Yoder’s with an elderly Old Order woman. Something about his posture and his face, the thin growth of beard definitely wasn’t Amish. He was the man on the loud motorcycle. Here, in Pinecraft? And what was he doing walking with the
Old Order woman?

  “Yoo-hoo, Betsy.” A singsong voice called her attention back to the pair of women beside her.

  “Oh, yes.” She smiled at Mrs. Beachy.

  “I was asking about your pie shop. How did you choose your recipes?”

  “Most are traditional recipes from my mother and Mammi.”

  “And me!” Aenti Sarah interjected.

  Betsy had to smile at her childlike enthusiasm before continuing. “But I’m also going to try some new flavors. Like cheesecake, tiramisu, cannoli. I’ll also serve fresh doughnuts and fried pies.”

  “Ooh, cheesecake sounds delicious. I had it once, at a restaurant in Siesta Village.” Mrs. Beachy nodded. “But tiramisu?”

  “It’s Italian.”

  “But how can you be an Amish bakery with Italian desserts and such?”

  “I guess we’ll just have to see how people like it,” was all Betsy could say. She covered her yawn.

  “You need vitamins,” Aenti Sarah said. “I’ll order a bottle of Vita-Life right away.”

  No need to object aloud, because that wouldn’t deter Aenti, so Betsy nodded instead. She wanted to pull her cell phone out of her tote bag in order to check the time, but discreetly, away from Mrs. Beachy.

  The light changed and the two older women finished their conversation. They hurried across busy Bahia Vista. From here, Betsy could barely see the edge of the lawn on her rental property.

  Her rental. Her business. Her dream. All with her family and God’s help.

  “Aenti.” She said as they paused on the other side of the street. “Thank you.”

  “Ah, it’s nothing.” But a grin tugged at the corners of the older woman’s mouth.

  *

  Thad still hadn’t made a return call to the Columbus police. But he worried about Stacie. Something had happened to her, something bad if the police knew she’d called him. Of course, all the way down here in Florida, he couldn’t check on Ohio news, not counting The Budget newspaper.

  He needed to find an Internet connection somewhere and borrow a computer. Mammi might know someone with a computer and Internet connection, but then again, maybe not. Computers were the gateway to evil, especially with the Internet. He didn’t want to turn his phone on again. What if someone were tracking him?

  Now he and Mammi stood in Yoder’s market, with her selecting an item here and an item there for her basket. He was along to carry bags home, just one way he could make himself useful for her.

  “You look nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” Mammi observed.

  “Sorry.” He stepped aside for an older couple to shuffle past, the woman holding onto her husband’s arm, and him looking tenderly at her. Her white hair matched his long beard that reached almost midway down his chest.

  “If you have something you need to do, don’t let me stop you. I can always wait for you to come back and get my bag.”

  “I, uh, I need to find a computer around here. For a few minutes.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll have to think. There are a few.” She pushed the cart toward the service counter. “I know Rochelle Keim has one. She has a cleaning business and advertises on the Internet.”

  “On the Internet. Is she Amish?” He dared himself to ask the question aloud.

  “No, but her family used to be. She’s Mennonite.”

  As if that should explain everything. Pinecraft had turned his entire experience with his people upside down. Cell phones, Internet, electricity.

  When he was a child, he’d accepted the electricity and a few modern conveniences as part of “vacation,” and not to be discussed upon arrival home to Ohio. But here, in the open?

  “I’ll give you her address and you can go by.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  At last, his nerves settled down for a few minutes. He tried not to fidget or start rushing on the way home. But after getting Mammi safely home with her groceries and getting Rochelle Keim’s address, he revved up his motorcycle and headed through the neighborhoods.

  The sound of the motorcycle’s engine bounced off walls and made a few residents look up from their yard work, then turn their attention back to their lawns or gardens.

  He found Rochelle’s house on Schrock Street easily enough. A blue-gray van was parked in the driveway. It had a magnetic sign “Keim Cleaning” and a phone number.

  He ambled up to the front door and knocked.

  A woman with brown hair pulled back and topped by a white kapp met him at the door. Her cape dress matched the blue of the sky. She looked younger than his mother. Her gaze took in his clothing and his lack of shaving for three days. He’d left his helmet on the seat of his motorcycle.

  “Yes?”

  “Miss Keim? I’m Thaddeus Zook. My mammi is Esther Zook and I’m staying with her in the village. She said you have a computer and Internet?”

  “Ah, I see. I know Esther. And yes, I do have Internet access.”

  “I, um, I was wondering if I could use it for a few moments? I need to look something up. And it’s nothing bad, either, I promise.” He realized he should have called ahead. But Mammi didn’t have a phone and probably didn’t think about such things.

  “If you don’t mind waiting here a moment, I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  She nodded, then left. Through the screen door he saw into a tidy house with a ceramic tile floor. He heard her voice, murmuring something. Of course. She was calling someone who’d vouch for him. But no one knew he was here, besides Mammi, and maybe her quilting friends from yesterday.

  Rochelle returned about thirty seconds later, her slippers making a soft scuff on the floor. “Come on in. I called a friend, who said she’d seen you at Esther’s yesterday and said your mammi took you right in. I hope you understand. I don’t usually have strangers at my door asking to use the computer.”

  “Yes, I don’t blame you. Can’t be too careful nowadays.”

  Rochelle unlatched the screen door and opened it for him. He stepped into the living room. A cool breeze swirled through, giving the home natural ventilation.

  “My laptop’s right here at the kitchen table.” She motioned to a chair. “Here. Help yourself. The browser’s already open.” She picked up a stack of files.

  “Thanks, Ms. Keim.”

  “You’re welcome. Use it as long as you need to. Will you need to print anything out?”

  “No, no. I’m just checking on news back in Ohio.” This was truthful enough. He sat down at the wooden bowback chair.

  “So you’re just visiting Pinecraft, then?”

  “I am, for a while.” He typed in a search engine name. “I used to come here in the winter when I was a kid. But it’s been many years.”

  After the website loaded, he typed in Columbus Ohio Stacie Brenner, and clicked enter. A list of sites popped up on the screen, mostly the ones people used to track people down. But a news page four links down from the top caught his eye.

  Columbus woman attacked in home invasion.

  He clicked on the link and the whole story filled the screen.

  Twenty-five year old Stacie Brenner was the victim of a home invasion Monday evening in her Columbus suburb. Sometime around eight p.m., she opened the door of her apartment to a visitor, unaware of what would unfold. The intruder struck her about the face and upper body, punching and possibly kicking her stomach. There is evidence Brenner may have fought back as well.

  A neighbor heard screaming and called 911. The attacker fled and left before EMS arrived, who found Brenner unconscious at the scene.

  Brenner remains in a Columbus Hospital with internal injuries, a head injury, broken ribs, and a fractured jaw. Her valuables, including a television and computer system, remained untouched, although the apartment revealed signs of being searched. Her apartment complex is cooperating fully with the investigation. Anyone with information about the attack is urged to call Columbus PD.

  He frowned. What was it she’d
said the other night, someone was at the door?

  She’d mentioned it right before they’d both gotten off the phone.

  “Are you all right?” Mrs. Keim stood by the table. “You look as though you’re about to be ill.”

  “I’m—I’m fine. I just found out some bad news about a friend back home. She’s hurt, and in the hospital.” He didn’t want to say more.

  “I’m sorry to hear it. What’s her name? I can put her on my prayer list.” The woman’s tone was soft, caring, as though it were her own friend who lay in the hospital.

  “Stacie. Thanks. It’s all I wanted to find out, if she was okay.” He closed the browser window. He’d been tempted to look up information about Mitch’s case, and Dish and Spoon, but thought better of it. Enough digging around for today. He couldn’t do anything for Stacie now, except what he’d been putting off—calling the police. He rose from the chair.

  “I’m glad I was able to help.”

  He headed for the front door, and she followed. “Tell your mammi I said hello.”

  “I’ll do that. Thank you again.” He gave her a quick wave and went to his motorcycle.

  His helmet was missing.

  He glanced around the neighborhood, but no cars drove past. A few vehicles stood in driveways. The street appeared stretched out to take a nap in the pre-noon sun.

  The helmet had cost him plenty, with its state-of-the-art safety technology and ventilation. No doubt the thief, whoever it was, had made off with the helmet, chuckling all the way to a pawn shop or home to put it on Craigslist and sell it anonymously.

  He revved the engine, the sound reflecting his anger. Normally, he didn’t ride without a helmet after losing a friend several years ago to a motorcycle accident, but he wasn’t about to walk his motorcycle all the way back to Mammi’s house.

  As soon as he got home, he’d call the Columbus PD and do what he could for Stacie. They needn’t know he was in Florida and he wouldn’t tell them unless they asked. He didn’t like the feeling of looking over his shoulder.