Morning Star

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Behind her, Gabe remained silent for several moments.

  Had she said the wrong thing? Regina hung a couple more pictures, wishing he would find something better to do than scrutinize her.

  “Well, Fox is a lucky man, having a friend like you to display his work—and who has a real knack for arranging it, too,” Gabe remarked softly. “So . . . are you dating him, Red? If you are, I won’t tell a soul—I mean, with him being English and all.”

  When Regina spun around, Gabe was standing so close that she nearly bumped into him. Her face was blazing, and he could surely see how his remark had caught her off guard. “Of course I’m not! What kind of question is that?”

  Regina caught a flicker of emotion on Gabe’s handsome face that she couldn’t name. He backed away, as though he suddenly realized he was standing so close that he could . . . kiss her.

  The idea of kissing him made her mouth drop open. She clamped it shut again, dismissing such a ridiculous notion. Gabe Flaud was desirable enough to court any young woman he wanted, yet his social life was a complete mystery to her. The way she had him figured, he was keeping plenty of his own secrets. And he would never be interested in a plain Jane who wore faded, stained clothes and a kerchief every day, much less in kissing her.

  “You’re right, Red,” he murmured. “That was a nosy question, and I had no right to insinuate that you’d do anything forbidden. I’m sorry.”

  When Gabe left her shop, his footfalls echoed in the large, central area of the stable. Soon she heard the rhythmic clicking of table legs locking into place. When Regina glanced out her door a little while later, about a third of the stable’s entryway was set up with square tables and folding chairs that shone in the glow of the gas-powered light fixtures suspended from the high ceiling.

  Gabe had left the building, apparently. Regina relaxed, breathing deeply to settle her jittery nerves.

  She set the remaining bins of her pictures in a corner. When she came again, she would bring some simple tables to set the bins on so customers could flip through the pictures—assuming anyone would come in and look at them. Deep in the fragile recesses of her artist’s heart, she still allowed for the possibility that no one would think her paintings were special enough to pay for.

  When she heard Gabe and Martin’s voices—saw that they were hauling in furniture to display in the shop next to hers—Regina quickly headed down the short hallway by the restrooms and out the building’s back exit. Why had she ever volunteered to oversee the Flaud Furniture shop, anyway?

  No, that was a perfectly honorable thing to do. The real question is why you opened a shop for your paintings—and how long you think you can get away with selling them.

  Chapter Nine

  By seven o’clock on the morning of June first, Jo had slipped two large pans of brownies into one of her ovens and was spooning peanut butter cookie dough onto other pans. She wanted the building to smell like homemade goodies when the doors opened at nine—and she planned to have her day’s baking done by then so she could focus on her customers.

  “Hey there, Jo!” Molly called out as she and her sister entered the adjacent shop with boxes of their bagged flat noodles. “Are we ready for this?”

  “We’d better be, jah?” Marietta teased. “Everything looks really nice!”

  “When did the Wengerds get the flower boxes planted?” Molly asked. “Nothing looks prettier than colorful flowers against a red building, ain’t so?”

  “Those hanging baskets on either side of the door are gorgeous, too,” her sister put in.

  Jo spooned the last few balls of cookie dough onto the pan. “Pete and some of the other men spray painted the building on Wednesday and Thursday,” she replied. “Nelson and Michael did their planting yesterday afternoon, and they stayed the night in our dawdi haus so they could be here early today for the grand opening. It saved them from getting up in the wee hours to drive from Queen City.”

  After Molly set down her boxes, she peered between the wooden slats that separated the Helfings’ shop from Jo’s. “Really now?” she teased. “And what did Drusilla think about that?”

  Jo laughed. “Well, it was a night’s rental income,” she pointed out. “I think Mamm was happy to make their breakfast, knowing they’d head home after The Marketplace closes today. Pretty easy, having guests who eat and then leave to go about their business, you know.”

  Marietta laughed. “Jah, there’s that—and then there’s Pete, who gets home from his job when most folks are starting their day.”

  “And how’s that working out by now?” Jo glanced between the slats to watch the twins stock one of their shelves. She wondered if the Helfings were having second thoughts about a renter with a noisy pickup—and a boisterous dog—intruding upon their peaceful daily routine. Although Bishop Jeremiah had asked the twins about moving his nephew to their place, he hadn’t left them much chance to say no.

  Molly and Marietta shrugged at the same time. “He’s been busy working here at the stable during his off hours these past few weeks,” Marietta pointed out.

  “We’ll see how it goes now that he’s finished with The Marketplace,” Molly continued. “At least he fulfilled his commitment here, so folks know he can be reliable when he puts his mind to it.”

  Jo nodded as she slid the filled cookie sheets into her second oven. “Could be Bishop Jeremiah will get him started on the new schoolhouse—”

  “Did someone say my name?” a loud voice called out from the stable’s central area.

  Jo laughed as the bishop peered first into the noodle shop and then into her bakery. “Gut thing we have only complimentary things to say about you, jah, Bishop?” she teased. “Are you here to be our very first customer?”

  Jeremiah stepped up to the glass display cases and scrutinized Jo’s pies and cupcakes. “I came to congratulate you all,” he replied, “and to wish you a gut grand opening. I stand amazed at what you gals and our construction crews have accomplished here in a very short time. We’ve got a sunny Saturday, and I predict we’ll have more shoppers today than any of us have anticipated.”

  “Denki for all you’ve done to help make this place possible,” Jo said.

  From the adjacent shop, the twins agreed. “You convinced our church members to go along with our original idea,” Molly put in. “You could’ve told us we were getting too big for our britches—”

  “Or you could’ve shut down the whole idea of The Marketplace before we even got started,” Marietta finished. “Help yourself to a bag of egg noodles or lasagna or flat dumplings before you leave today!”

  “And your first pastry or cookie or slice of pie is on me, too,” Jo put in eagerly.

  Bishop Jeremiah chuckled. “I’ll collect on your offers at the end of the day—if you have anything left,” he added. “I’ll go say hello to Glenn and our quilters, and see you ladies later. If I can help you somehow—get more change at the bank, or whatever you need—I’ll be around.”

  As her oven timer dinged, Jo called out her thanks again. “I’ll be coaching your nieces soon, and I think they’ll be excellent help.”

  Laughter rang in the back hallway, which shop owners would be using as their entrance before hours. Alice and Adeline Shetler—Jude and Leah’s daughters—entered the bakery with bright smiles that immediately confirmed Jo’s decision to hire them.

  “Are you ready to welcome folks today?” she asked as the seventeen-year-old twins studied the baked goods in the glass case. “In those apple green dresses and white aprons, you look as fresh and pretty as our new flower boxes! Our English customers will be delighted that you’re greeting them—and you’ll be allowing me to handle the sales and the restocking.”

  “What exactly would you like us to do, Jo?”

  As she gazed at the identical expressions on their flawless, slightly freckled faces, Jo wasn’t sure if it had been Alice or Adeline who’d spoken. With their reddish-brown hair tucked under fresh kapps and their trim, feminine figures mode
stly covered in new cape dresses, the Shetler twins were everything Jo had never been: attractive and outgoing. Before they’d joined the church a few months earlier, they’d caused their dat and their beleaguered new stepmamm all manner of heartache, running around with troublesome English boys during their rumspringa.

  Their experiences in the outside world had given Alice and Adeline a confidence that would make them the perfect hostesses, however. And by hiring them to work in a Plain environment, Jo was giving them some worthwhile responsibilities—and a chance to earn spending money.

  “If you girls will serve our shoppers coffee and goodies out in the central commons area, and collect the money—and keep the tables clean,” Jo replied, “you’ll be doing every one of our shopkeepers a favor. Where else in Morning Star can folks chat over treats, shop for specialty items, and support our new schoolhouse, all at the same time?”

  The sisters smiled, nodding. “So you’d like us be waitresses, mostly?”

  “And bus girls?”

  “And friendly faces,” Jo said. “We’ll attract some folks who’ve never dealt directly with the Amish, and we want them to feel welcome—and to come back!”

  Alice and Adeline grinned at each other. “It’s the same sort of thing we do at Dat’s auctions—” one of them began.

  “—except we’re getting paid for it!” her sister finished.

  Jo laughed along with them, noting that this set of twins shared an effortless, unspoken communication system like the Helfings did. “Let me show you how the big coffee makers work so you can start the second one if we need it,” she said as she led them out of the shop. “The cups, plates, and dish bins are out here in the cabinet. And you’ll be responsible for replenishing the supply of cookies and pastries in this area.”

  “Wow, it already smells like coffee and brownies out here,” one of the girls said, sniffing the air.

  “We’ll be starting that second coffee maker sooner rather than later,” her sister put in. “Folks all over town have been talking about The Marketplace and how they plan to come out here today!”

  Jo sighed happily. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

  * * *

  Around eleven, Gabe glanced between the slats that separated Flaud Furniture’s shop from NatureScapes. His dat was chatting up a couple who were shopping for a new dining room set, and Red was slipping a trio of paintings into a paper sack for a happy customer—so neither of them noticed that he was once again spying on the young woman who’d piqued his curiosity.

  He wasn’t a bit surprised that Red had been too busy in Hartley Fox’s shop to help in his as she’d originally intended.

  Gabe was amazed, however, at how the quiet young woman who stained furniture in his factory every weekday had come out of her shell once folks began exclaiming over the watercolors on her walls. He’d never seen Red smile so much, although he wondered how she’d become so knowledgeable about the paintings she was selling. Her customers listened, caught up in her explanations of the animals and countryside scenes Hartley Fox had rendered so perfectly. More often than not, they bought the piece Red had told them about.

  A few moments later, Lydianne returned from her short break. She’d been helping him and his dat, and she’d occasionally slipped over to handle Red’s cash box when customers were lined up to buy artwork.

  “This place is swarming with shoppers!” she exclaimed as she came to stand beside him. “The Wengerds’ hanging baskets are selling like crazy, and Glenn’s wood shop is crowded—and I just saw a lady leaving the Hartzlers’ shop with two quilts.”

  Gabe nodded. “It didn’t take Dat but half an hour to declare that renting space here was the best thing he’s done for the business in a long while,” he remarked. “We’ve already sold both bedroom sets in our display, and we’ve taken some orders for tables, chairs, and hutches.”

  “And who knew that there was an artist nearby painting such beautiful nature scenes?” Lydianne asked as she, too, peered between the slats into the NatureScapes shop. “Of course, I don’t know many English folks around here well enough to—”

  “This Hartley guy’s making money hand over fist today,” Gabe remarked softly. He wondered if he should quiz Lydianne about her best friend’s connection to Fox, but he didn’t want her to think he was interested in Red. Ultimately, however, his curiosity won out.

  “So, do you know anything about Red’s artist friend?” he asked nonchalantly. “She’s told me he’s in a wheelchair and his other health issues keep him at home.”

  Lydianne shrugged. “Before we opened these shops, I hadn’t heard a word about him. I’ve been as surprised as everyone else that she knows an artist.”

  At the sound of voices entering the shop, Gabe turned. “Ah—better get back to work. Looks like Dat’s writing up another order.”

  For the next hour, he greeted the people who came into the shop and gave them the details about what species of wood they were seeing, or about how the furniture from the family-owned Flaud factory was all meticulously finished by hand. When he mentioned that Lydianne was one of their finishers, folks seemed even more impressed with the display pieces and with what they saw in the Flaud Furniture catalog.

  Around twelve thirty, there was a lull in the traffic. Gabe had planned to get coffee and goodies from the Shetler twins—until Bishop Jeremiah showed up with sandwiches and soft drinks for all the shopkeepers.

  “You folks haven’t even had time to eat your lunch!” he said as he entered the shop with his wheeled cooler and his insulated bag of sandwiches. “Feeding you is the least I can do, considering how much money you’ve raised for the schoolhouse already.”

  “It’s been incredible,” Gabe agreed as he chose a thick roast beef sandwich and a can of cola.

  “You can say that again!” his dat chimed in as he approached them. “I had my doubts about whether all our work on this dilapidated stable would be worthwhile, but today’s sales have made me a believer.”

  “I’ve heard the same thing from every shopkeeper here,” Bishop Jeremiah said as he sat down at a dining room table with them. “Nelson and Michael don’t have a lot left to sell this afternoon, so they’ll be taking orders for what they’ll bring next Saturday. The Helfing twins are planning to double their noodle production this week, too.”

  “Sales during the warmer months will be a lot better than in the winter,” Gabe’s dat pointed out as he unwrapped a fat pastrami sandwich. “After all, how much can the Wengerds sell after they’ve harvested their vegetables and closed down their greenhouses for the season?”

  “Michael’s on it!” the bishop replied with a chuckle. “He’s already talking about expanding into hothouse tomatoes and maybe even hydroponic crops. Seems our shopkeepers are considering ideas they would never have dreamed of before today’s success—and to God be the glory for that! Tomorrow’s church service will be a real celebration.”

  As they ate their sandwiches, Gabe and his father took turns greeting customers. Around four thirty the crowd thinned out and the noise level in the commons area died down. Gabe decided to chat with Red about how her day had gone.

  She wasn’t in her shop, however—and Gabe couldn’t help but notice several blank spaces on her walls. He caught sight of her at one of the empty tables out front, resting her head on her folded arms while the Shetler twins tidied up around her.

  “Hey there, Red—you okay?” he asked as he slid into the chair across from her.

  Her low groan worried him, until she raised her head. “I have never been so tired in my entire life,” she murmured, although she was smiling. “Who knew I’d sell so many of—of Hartley’s paintings today? I haven’t even had time to tally up the sales.”

  “Maybe you should hire help, like Jo did,” he suggested. “Or I could pay a fellow from the shop to come in each Saturday, and Lydianne can be your full-time assistant. Would that work for you?”

  Red’s grateful expression made his insides tingle, a reaction h
e wasn’t expecting. “I appreciate your understanding, and your offer, Gabe. I really did intend to help in your shop today.”

  He shrugged, unable to look away from her hazel-eyed gaze. “I didn’t want to miss the grand opening—and Dat was having so much fun, I didn’t tell him to sit down,” he remarked. “Won’t surprise me if he dozes off during the sermons tomorrow.”

  Her soft laughter teased his senses. “I might do that myself. I’m heading straight home to put my feet up—and I’ll probably fall asleep in my recliner.”

  Gabe had the sudden urge to drive her home—to pick up some carryout on the way and be sure she ate something while she relaxed. He pictured himself staying with her for most of the evening, even if he’d be across her front room, at a safe distance.

  Safe distance? Since when have you kept your distance from a woman who attracted you?

  Gabe blinked. He had no idea where such thoughts were coming from. And dating an employee would be a bad idea.

  Since when have you wanted to date Red? If the guys at the shop find out, they’ll give you no end of grief about it. And her closest male relative is a preacher. Do you really want to go down that road?

  Gabe stood up before he could do something dangerously impractical, such as asking Red if she’d join him for dinner in town sometime soon. “Well—see you tomorrow for church,” he said, noting how thin and adolescent his voice sounded. “Rest well tonight, Red.”

  Chapter Ten

  Rest was the furthest thing from Regina’s mind when she got home. She was achingly, desperately exhausted, but she was too excited to kick back in her recliner. While she ate a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich at her cluttered kitchen table, she totaled her day’s sales.

  Her sandwich lay forgotten on her plate as she gaped at the final figures. She’d charged what she considered exorbitant prices—perhaps secretly hoping no one would buy her work, so she could close her shop before she got caught at her painting and the lies that covered it. Even so, Regina’s customers had insisted that other artists charged far more. They’d snapped up entire groupings of her ducks, flowers, and other natural subjects.