by Jo Ann Brown
“The stain on those three drawers is a deeper red than the other ones.” She pointed a slender finger at the ones in question. “I know we had another order for this set completed about the same time. Did we put three of the wrong drawers in this dresser?”
Samuel stopped wrapping plastic and looked at her, his normally charming smile absent from his face.
Ruth continued, her hands perched on her hips, “What does the other dresser look like? We haven’t shipped it already, have we?”
Malachi watched as her diminutive figure strode to where Samuel indicated with a sullen tilt of his blond head. She critically examined the fortunately unwrapped dresser. “Yes. There they are. We need to pull those three and put them in the right dresser. How did that happen? We can’t let this type of thing get out to our customers. What would they think of our commitment to quality workmanship?”
Watching his bruder assist her in switching out the drawers, Malachi covered his mouth to hide his smile. He couldn’t disagree with her. Maybe he should think about letting his bruder go and keeping Ruth. He didn’t know how the mix-up had happened, but the badger had ensured by her snarls and hisses that this would never happen again.
For sure and certain, it was not his style of management, but just as effective.
* * *
Malachi sighed as he looked at the numbers again and punched them into the manual adding machine one more time before documenting them in the ledger. He could do accounting, but it was his least favorite part of the business.
Tax work was done by an Englisch accountant, but there was still much that needed to be done at the shop. Ruth had done the majority of it the first few days after his arrival. Needing to be self-sufficient in that part of the operation, he’d taken it over. Sometimes you understood things better when you did it. Whether you did it well, that was another story.
The business was busy. He was fully cognizant of that. They were also making money—sometimes those things weren’t synonymous—Malachi knew that, as well. Their success was due to the petite figure currently ringing up a sale to an Englisch couple at the counter. Her fingers were nimble on the counter’s adding machine. Her smile and bright chatter charmed the customers.
He glanced at other ledger books under his elbow. She’d been nimble with the business, as well. Malachi knew Ruth had done most of the business management of Fisher Furniture, even before her father became ill. She’d done a good job. Malachi didn’t know the exact numbers from Solomon King’s operation in Ohio, but he knew enough to figure this business was more profitable. Because of the five-foot-nothing woman cheerfully escorting the Englisch couple to the door as she toted two child-size rocking chairs that’d just been purchased.
Malachi would’ve frowned at the Englisch husband for allowing Ruth to carry the chairs if the man’s arms hadn’t been full of two squirming kinder who’d presumably be using the chairs when they reached home. Ruth disappeared out the store door. She returned a few moments later, stomping the snow from her feet that she must’ve encountered when helping load the chairs in their car.
He watched her meander through the furniture in the shop, making slight adjustments to a piece here, sliding a chair farther under a dining table there. Malachi blinked when she stopped abruptly in front of a sideboard, wondering at her action until he realized that she would know every stick of furniture in the place and this was one he’d just put out that morning after he’d arrived. One he’d been working on when he found the time between bookwork and people management. She wouldn’t have recognized it.
The hair on his forearm prickled as she reached out a hand to sweep it gently over the surface of the oak. Malachi swallowed hard at the action, almost feeling the sensation of her dainty fingers. Quickly looking away, he punched some numbers into the adding machine and scowled when he saw the results. He punched them in again before throwing down his pencil. When the same column of numbers came up two hundred dollars apart on separate calculations, he knew he was distracted. And being that distracted was no way to run a business.
The door to the workroom whisked open and drew the attention of them both. Samuel popped his head in.
“Hey, Ruth. You want to go to lunch with us?”
Ruth eyed him suspiciously. “Why?” she asked. Malachi didn’t know if they’d interacted since the red-drawer incident.
Samuel’s charming smile was in play. “It’s lunchtime. And even though you’re a tyrant, I’m assuming you still eat. Tyrants do eat, don’t they? They’d have to keep up their strength, right?”
Sometimes Malachi wasn’t sure if he liked his brother. This was one of those times. When Samuel looked at Ruth with a crooked grin and Ruth responded with a lopsided one of her own, Malachi decided he might be interested in some lunch, as well. He pushed his chair back from the desk and the onerous accounting.
“I’ve a feeling that in order to handle you, Samuel Schrock, a person, tyrant or not, would need all the strength they could get.”
“Well, come on, then.” Samuel pushed the door open wider.
“I believe I’ll join you.” Malachi strode to the door of the office, just in case they forgot he was there.
Ruth’s eyes flew in his direction and widened slightly. A moment later, she asked, “Does someone need to stay and watch the store?”
Two sets of eyes looked expectantly at Malachi. Malachi frowned. He was the boss. And he was going along, whether they liked it or not. He didn’t fully trust Samuel not to put something in Ruth’s food, or to try to charm her and put something in her head. Either way, they weren’t going without him. “Put the closed sign up with a note saying we’ll be back after lunch.”
Ruth nodded and headed to the counter to grab the sign stating they were temporarily out that they used occasionally. Samuel looked in Malachi’s direction and winked before disappearing back into the workshop. After some shuffling, Ruth found the note and scurried over to the door to put it up.
“You want to go out this way?” She nodded at the door beside her.
“Don’t you want your cape?”
“The café’s not that far. As long as you don’t plod along, I won’t get too cold.”
Malachi fought against the urge to smile. He didn’t want any comparisons to his brother’s charismatic grin. Yes, plodding was his style, a pace with which Ruth wasn’t acquainted. Just to prove he had other speeds as well, Malachi hastened to the door, opened it and gestured for her to precede him.
Although scraped free of snow, splotches of the sidewalk glistened in the noon sun. Ruth slipped on her first step beyond the door and shot out an arm to catch herself. Malachi quickly grasped under her elbow and steadied her. She cast a grateful look in his direction but didn’t shake off the hand. It remained during their short walk down the street to the restaurant. Upon reaching the door to the café, she lifted her arm slightly. Not much, but just enough that Malachi let his hand drop to his side. He immediately missed the feel of crisp cotton and warm elbow under his fingertips.
A flood of sounds and smells engulfed them when Malachi opened the door to the café. After reheated casseroles and some not-so-successful experiences with his brothers’ cooking, Malachi couldn’t keep from enjoying the smell of roasted meat and baked goods.
Amish and Englisch alike filled the Dew Drop Inn, the din of their conversations a constant background noise. While the establishment had a few rooms to rent, the majority of their business came from its position as the only restaurant in Miller’s Creek. The employees were primarily Amish but, owned by an Englisch couple, the café was open more hours than those of Amish businesses. The Dew Drop served Plain, family-style meals for the Amish and Englisch work crews that frequented the place. Englisch tourists seemed to think family-style and Amish were synonymous when it came to restaurants, but the eatery served burgers and fries, as well. Malachi’s stomach growled as he eyed an overflowing platter of
food.
Spying his brothers in the crowd, he motioned Ruth in that direction. Two seats remained at the table that included Samuel, Gideon, Jacob and Benjamin. Samuel looked up at their approach and indicated to Malachi to take the seat with its back to the wall, knowing that was where his older brother normally liked to sit. Malachi returned his nod. As he passed the other vacant chair, he noticed a small pile of melting snow on the seat. Shooting a disgusted look at his smirking brother, Malachi swiped it off the seat. Ruth paused beside the chair. Her eyes moved from the drops of water remaining on it to Samuel, seated across the table.
“Are we even?” she inquired mildly as she pulled napkins from the nearby dispenser and wiped up the remaining moisture before sitting down.
“Ja. But I want it known that I didn’t mix up the dressers.”
Ruth kept a steady gaze on him. “I understand, but regardless of who did it, we can’t let something like that get out to the customer. It would’ve affected two different ones, and that’s not something I’ll allow out to represent Fisher—” she caught herself “—I mean Schrock Furniture.” She darted a hasty glance at Malachi.
“I won’t allow it, either.” Malachi’s tone was mild but decisive.
It was quiet at the table while Rebecca, the young Amish waitress, poured their water. She slipped away quietly when she finished without taking their orders.
“Ach, I think I may have done it.” The admission came from a red-faced Jacob. “I worked on it the day of the storm and was thinking more about the weather than the work. It won’t happen again, I promise.” His glance at Malachi was earnest and concerned.
Malachi thought of the drive home in the snow that day and the interlude at Ruth’s house. He nodded at the beardless man and Jacob relaxed. “Ja, that was an interesting day for many of us.”
A subtly hovering Rebecca reappeared at the table to take their orders. Malachi wasn’t surprised when she positioned herself at Samuel’s elbow. They placed their orders one by one, and she whisked away, but not before sending a smile in his brother’s direction. A smile that Samuel returned. Yes, his bruder was a flirt, but Malachi didn’t mind, as long as he limited it to women who didn’t work in the business.
* * *
“You are a marvel.” Ruth shook her head after watching the exchange between Samuel and the waitress. “Have you met all the women of Miller’s Creek yet?”
“Only the single ones,” Samuel quipped. “Have I missed any, Benjamin?”
“If you have, I’m not going to tell you.” Benjamin grinned. “I’m hoping you’ll leave some for me.”
“And me!” Gideon and Jacob both interjected simultaneously. Laughter rippled around the table.
“Do you need all of them?” Ruth furrowed her brow at Samuel when it died down.
“Not all. Just one...or two at a time. I like women. Why not shop when there’s a marketful?”
“I like knitting, but I can only work on one project at a time without confusing the instructions. And if I bought all the yarn that intrigued me, my house would be overrun.”
“I didn’t say I was buying, only shopping.” Samuel winked.
“If there’s an instruction booklet that comes with women, I hope someone lets me know where to find one.” Gideon’s smile was a hesitant replica of Samuel’s charming one. Ruth rolled her eyes. Samuel’s next question had her blinking in confusion.
“How do you like cows?”
Ruth quipped, “Grilled medium well?”
“Don’t we all,” Samuel said, grinning his magical grin. “But my bruder here thinks they ought to remain on the hoof. And he must think we don’t have enough to do already. He’s bought a couple of dairy cows and a steer. We’re going to bring them home this Saturday. You want to join us in the cattle drive?”
Ruth blamed her sudden light-headedness on hunger and the delicious smell wafting from the food just set on the table rather than the thought of being included in a family adventure. Particularly this family. Her eyes darted to a stoic-faced Malachi.
She liked livestock. Before the shop got so busy, she and her father had kept a few cattle on their farm. Ruth had fond memories of Daed teaching her to milk Bossie, the black-and-white Holstein they’d had. In fact, Ruth was beginning to miss having animals around now that she had a little more time. Get used to it. You won’t be able to keep any in a backyard in town. Better enjoy it while you can. Casting another glance at Malachi, Ruth refused to identify what “it” might be.
“Ja. I’ll join you.” Suddenly, Ruth, who’d begun to dread nonchurch weekends, couldn’t wait until Saturday. She enjoyed the banter of her coworkers during the rest of the meal. The easy conversation, Samuel’s teasing of Jacob and Benjamin when they declined the invitation due to farmwork commitments of their own. It was gut to be part of a group. She’d missed it. She’d allowed herself to drift away from the closeness of the Amish community.
As she scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes, the thought again popped into her head. Better enjoy it now, because you won’t have this kind of fellowship once you leave the Amish community. Ruth put down her silverware. She was finding the last bite a little hard to swallow.
Chapter Nine
After getting a humpbacked Bess to hurry down the road in order to arrive at the Schrock farm on time, Ruth attributed her cold nose to the crisp Wisconsin winter morning. But her heated cheeks were due to the casserole dish she’d handed to Malachi when he greeted her after she set the brake on the buggy.
She felt sheepish about bringing food, but Ruth figured most of the district had already delivered basketfuls to the bachelor brothers. It was just being neighborly. Malachi handed the dish off to Gideon to take to the house as he returned his attention to harnessing the Belgians waiting patiently nearby in their fuzzy winter coats. The geldings looked like enormous stuffed animals that some of the stores catering to the Englisch carried.
“Thanks!” Gideon’s smile was as bright as the sun just topping the eastern horizon. “Food deliveries have tapered off and none of us can cook. Fortunately, it picked up a bit after Sunday.”
“I’ll just bet it did,” Ruth muttered as he disappeared into the big white farmhouse. Remembering all the eager single women who’d eyed the Schrock brothers on Sunday, Ruth cringed that she’d joined the rush. She reminded herself the only reason she’d brought something over was because she’d told Malachi she would on the snowy night he’d followed her home. It wasn’t like it was a cooking contest. So what if it was her favorite recipe? One her daed had often raved about after patting his stomach appreciatively. Didn’t mean all men would.
Moving three head of cattle a few miles down the road from the Zook farm shouldn’t take too long. Ruth secured Bess to the rail designed for that purpose and climbed aboard the back of the hay wagon, ignoring Malachi’s outstretched hand offering assistance. The wagon shifted as he hopped on the end opposite from where she sat. It lurched forward when Samuel clicked the geldings into motion. Condensed breath drifted from the Belgians’ nostrils and wafted over their blond manes. The wagon wheels crunched on the snow that had refrozen overnight as they rolled out of the farmyard.
Ruth’s fingers tightened on the edge of the wagon as it bumped down the lane. She turned her face to the east, absorbing the magic of the rising sun on a wintry landscape. It was going to be a beautiful day. They’d had a few days where temperatures hovered slightly above freezing, always a treasure in a Wisconsin winter. This looked to be another one. It helped keep the roads clear, but the ditches and glistening white fields beyond would be soggy beneath the surface.
The beauty of the morning didn’t have anything to do with the solid presence of the man whose feet dangled from the back of the wagon a few feet from hers. Or so Ruth told herself. Her hearing was tuned to that direction, but Malachi remained quiet.
Ruth forced her attention to the steadily diminishing
view of the farmstead. Given the short time they’d been there and as busy as they’d been at the shop, the Schrock brothers had made significant improvements on the place. During his declining years Atlee Yoder had been stubborn and always refused community help. The place had fallen into disrepair. Evidence of the work Malachi and his brothers had done on the house, barn and pens adjacent to the barn was obvious. Come spring, when the ground softened enough to put in posts, they’d repair the dilapidated fences along the road. It’d be a beautiful place when they finished. Ruth sucked in some of the brisk morning air. Perhaps she’d drive by in a car later this summer. Just to see what they’d accomplished.
The wagon hit a bump, almost jolting Ruth from her perch. One of her boots nearly slipped off her dangling legs. She curled her toes in the black Wellington at the last moment, halting its downward slide. The boots were a half size too large, but they’d been the only size available at the store last spring. As she didn’t have many outdoor chores anymore beyond taking care of Bess, Ruth figured she could make them work. The Wellingtons made sense for the morning’s adventure, as she’d be walking through snow, mud and other things associated with cattle that she didn’t want to step in with her good shoes. Ruth wished, though, that she’d put on two pairs of socks this morning, both to keep the boots on and for warmth. The frostiness of the morning was seeping through the rubber and her black knee-high stockings.
Ruth twisted her body to look ahead over the bobbing ears of the geldings. The dairy farm was in sight. A few miles’ walk behind some cows would warm up her feet.
The Schrock brothers were quiet on the way over, seemingly as content as she was with their thoughts and the lovely morning. As they approached the lane, they outlined the plan for getting the cattle home. There were good fences, for the most part, on both sides of the road between the dairy farm and the Schrock place. One of the cows purchased was an older one, used to a halter. Samuel would drive the Belgians back, with that cow tied to the back of the wagon. The younger dairy cow and the steer purchased to fatten for meat should follow.