by Amy Clipston
KATHLEEN FULLER
To James. I love you.
CHAPTER 1
I said I would never leave you.
Atlee Shetler knelt in front of his wife’s grave and touched the small, plain stone that marked her resting place. May had lain here for twelve years, and he’d mourned her death every single day—something he would do for the rest of his life. He’d also intended never to leave Fredericktown, not even to visit somewhere else.
Funny how intentions could change.
No, it wasn’t funny at all. But with the prodding of his English friend Derek, along with an invitation from Jesse Bontrager—or rather Thomas, as he preferred to be called now—Atlee found himself leaving his beloved wife to visit Birch Creek.
Resisting the urge to stay with her longer, he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed back to his house to wait for Derek, who was going to pick him up and take him to the bus station. He would be gone for only a few days. And if he was completely honest, he’d have to admit a small part of him wanted to go. Leaving May was hard, of course, but taking a break from the suffocating community his small district had become wasn’t a bad idea.
When he reached the driveway of his small house, Derek’s truck was just pulling in. Atlee opened the passenger-side door, the air-conditioned cab cooling his face from the effects of the hot morning sun.
“Atlee.” Derek nodded from beneath a frayed Cleveland Browns baseball cap. “Looks like a nice day for a trip.”
Atlee tossed his duffel bag on the floorboard, then shut the door and clicked his seat belt in place. “I guess.”
With a smirk, Derek backed out of the driveway. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No.” A lie, but he wasn’t in the mood for another pep talk from Derek. He’d known the man for about five years, since he first called him for a ride to Mansfield. Although he was fifteen years younger than Atlee, Derek was wise—which was why Atlee had given his suggestion of a change of scenery some serious thought.
“How long have you known Thomas?” Derek turned off Atlee’s road and onto Main Street.
“A long time. Since when May and I were courting.”
“It’s good timing he invited you to come see him now.”
“I suppose.”
Derek paused. “Atlee, I don’t mean to pry into your business.”
“You’re always prying into my business,” he said with a mild chuckle as he turned to look at his friend. But he didn’t mind too much. It was nice to know someone cared. Yes, his community made sure he wasn’t left out. A few of the married ladies occasionally gave him a casserole or a dessert, and he was never without a place to go on Christmas Day. Derek’s family invited him over regularly too. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t lonely at times. Lately, he’d been lonely a lot.
“That’s true,” Derek said. “And I’m glad you took my advice and decided to get away. You’ve seemed restless over the last year.”
“You know work has been slow.”
“That it has. But I don’t think that’s the whole reason.”
Atlee suspected his friend wanted further explanation from him, but he remained silent. Restless was a good word for how he was feeling, but he wasn’t sure why. Besides, he didn’t have to explain himself to Derek, friend or not.
“How long are you planning to stay?” Derek asked.
“A week, maybe.”
Derek clicked on his turn signal. “Only a week?”
“That’s long enough.”
Derek didn’t press him, and they made small talk the rest of the way to the bus station. Atlee was glad for the reprieve. When he received Thomas’s letter, he hesitated to answer it, much less accept the invitation. Now that he was on his way, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he got there. Help Thomas with the farm, he guessed, even though he didn’t know much about farming. He was a cabinetmaker by trade, and he mostly worked freelance. But he didn’t have any jobs lined up for a while, which freed him to go to Birch Creek. Another fortuitous happenstance, he supposed. Or God’s plan.
Derek stopped the truck in front of the bus terminal. “Atlee, enjoy yourself, and don’t think about things here.”
Atlee knew he meant May. Not thinking about her would be impossible, but he nodded anyway. “Will do.”
As Derek drove away, Atlee paused and looked in the direction of his Amish community. “I’ll be back, May,” he whispered. “I won’t be gone for long.”
For the first time since she returned to Birch Creek, Carolyn Yoder wondered if she’d made a mistake.
She glanced around the bakery—or what was supposed to be a bakery. Her bakery. The dream that had kept her going while she spent years doing upholstery work in an RV factory in Nappanee, Indiana. The dream she’d held on to while she built up her bank account, being miserly with her spending while still fulfilling God’s will for her to be generous with others. The dream that was inexplicably turning into a nightmare.
Why had she listened to Freemont in the first place? She’d fully planned to stay in Nappanee and open her new business there. She’d even had the building picked out for purchase. So when she received her brother’s letter four months ago, not so subtly telling her she should return home, she had initially balked at the idea. But Freemont could be convincing, and she knew if he had to he’d write to her every day until she agreed.
So she prayed about it. The reason she left Birch Creek in the first place had disappeared, and she had missed her brother and sister-in-law, as well as her nieces and nephews.
The clincher had been another dream, this time a real one, two nights before she packed and left Nappanee. The details were fuzzy, but she’d awakened with a start in the middle of the night, feeling an urgency to return to her former hometown. That had propelled her here, to buy a property that in hindsight might not have been a good deal, and to make the foolish announcement to her family that she would have the bakery up and running in less than two months. She now realized that would take a miracle.
She drew in a deep breath and then marched to the long stainless-steel table behind one of two display counters in the store. If she couldn’t open the bakery on time, it wouldn’t be from lack of trying. Just because a thunderstorm two weeks ago had blown shingles off the roof, and one of her large gas ovens had broken after one use, and the yeast she’d purchased from a supposedly reputable company had failed, didn’t mean she was going to have to give up her dream or her deadline. These were only a few minor setbacks. At least that’s what she was telling herself.
The front door opened, and her nieces Ivy and Karen walked in. She pushed her thoughts away and smiled at the sisters. She still couldn’t believe how fast the years had flown, and that her little nieces were married and living on their own. Carolyn had met their husbands, Noah and Adam, and she was impressed with both men. Then again, her nieces were special. They deserved to be happy.
Don’t I deserve to be happy too?
“We stopped by to see if you need any help,” Ivy said.
“But we have a feeling you’ll say nee,” Karen added.
Ivy was a tiny woman, less than five feet tall and several inches shorter than her ginger-haired sister. They had grown into lovely, strong women, and Carolyn had to keep reminding herself not to regret how much time she’d missed with them and their three brothers over the past eighteen years. Letters and the few rare visits her brother’s family made to Nappanee hadn’t been enough.
But she also wasn’t going to impose on them. Her bakery, her problem, and she was used to handling everything in her life alone. “I’m fine,” she said, tightening the ties on her apron and turning back toward the kitchen. “I’m just going to bake a few rolls and try out the oven I had repaired.” It had taken nearly a week to get the oven repaired because the technician had to special-order a part.
“Then we’ll help you,” Ivy said as she and Karen followed her.
“Nee. It won’t take any time to whip up
these rolls.” Carolyn opened the oven door and waved her hand, testing the heat. She still didn’t trust the oven or its indicators. The only way to truly know if it was hot enough was to feel the heat for herself. “It’s 365,” she mumbled, closing the door.
“It’s set to 350,” Karen said, peering over her shoulder.
“But it’s running at 365.” Carolyn sighed and turned down the temperature. She’d have to call the repairman back out here tomorrow. She turned around and said, “Now, I appreciate the offer, but you two have yer own familyes to take care of. It’s almost suppertime.”
“They’ll be fine,” Ivy said.
Karen nodded. “It won’t hurt our husbands to eat leftovers for one night.”
Carolyn shook her head. That wouldn’t do. “Every mann deserves a hot meal after a long day’s work.”
“Aenti,” Ivy said, looking up at her. “Noah and Adam know we’re here. We want to help you.”
“We all do,” Karen added.
Carolyn knew they were referring to the rest of the Yoder family and possibly even the community. But she couldn’t expect everyone to put aside their lives because of her tight timetable.
“I know,” she said, shooing them toward the front door. “But as you can see, everything is going according to plan.”
Karen and Ivy exchanged a confused look, and Carolyn pretended not to notice. She grabbed two packages of donuts she’d made the night before off the counter. At least her deep fryer worked.
“Here,” she said, thrusting one package at each of them. “Take these home to yer mann.”
They took the bags and looked at them. Six donuts sat at the bottom of each huge, clear-plastic bag.
“Sorry,” she said, feeling sheepish. “The company sent the wrong size bags.”
“It’s fine,” Ivy said. “Oh, and Mamm said anytime you want her to make donuts for yer customers after you open, she’s ready and willing.”
Oh dear. Mary was an excellent cook and a decent baker, but she was notorious for making bad donuts. “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”
Karen and Ivy chuckled. “You do that,” they said in unison.
The three women laughed again, and Carolyn took the opportunity to send them on their way. When they reached the screen door in the front area, she opened it and smiled. “Don’t eat all those donuts at once.”
“Aenti,” Ivy said with another chuckle, “we’re grown women, not kinner.”
“I know that,” Carolyn said quickly. “Just as I know neither of you can resist mei lemon cookies. And plenty of those will be available when I open.”
Karen frowned as Ivy looked away. “Are you still planning to open so soon?”
“In two weeks.” She lifted her chin. “Just like I promised.”
“I don’t think anyone would mind if you opened later,” Ivy said.
Carolyn would mind. Word about her bakery had already spread, and the news had been met with enthusiasm. Birch Creek had gone from the small, insular community of her childhood to a growing and thriving district, with new Amish families moving in every month. She couldn’t let them down. She had made a promise, and she intended to keep it.
“You’ll have those fresh lemon cookies in two weeks,” she repeated. “Not a day later.”
“All right.” Karen nodded. “But at least let us—”
“Bye!” Carolyn put her hands on her nieces’ shoulders, gently pushed them outside, and shut both doors behind them. Then she pulled out a small pad of paper and a pencil stub and added the words call repairman to her ever-growing list.
After wiping down a worktable in the kitchen, she removed the damp towel over a bowl of rising dough. Satisfied, she formed the rolls and put them in the oven. Sweat pooled on her brow. The two screened windows and inside door in the kitchen were open, but she should have left the solid front door open after Ivy and Karen left so she could get a cross breeze through both screen doors.
Then again, it was the middle of June and not much cooler outside. Why hadn’t she waited until winter to do this? Or at least fall? Baking was hot business, especially with an oven that ran at a higher temperature than it was supposed to.
“Please let this oven work, Lord.” She shut the door, turned on the timer, and then faced the unfinished bakery again. Her hand went to her pocket, overwhelmed by the list inside. Where to start? This wasn’t how she anticipated spending the rest of her life, back in the community she left for good reason. Yet she sensed a different atmosphere here. The people seemed happier, more at peace. Even her brother—who, she knew, never wanted to be a bishop—was content. And she had to admit, when she wasn’t fretting about the bakery, she had sensed a calm in her soul.
But she had also been settled in her adopted hometown of Nappanee. It had taken time and adjustment, but she’d been happy living there. Well, maybe not happy, but life in Indiana was acceptable. So why had God brought her back here?
Carolyn sighed. She might not know why, but she did have faith that God would reveal all in his time. If there was anything she’d learned in her forty-five years, it was that God did things on his own schedule. Definitely not on hers.
She was organizing some supplies in the pantry when the timer dinged. She pulled the rolls out of the oven. They were golden brown on top, and she quickly ran a brush dipped in melted butter on top of them.
After they cooled she would take them back to her brother’s house and let his family try them. She lived with Freemont, at least temporarily. He was almost finished with the small dawdi haus he was adding to his property. Once that was completed, she would move in. She loved him and his family, but she was used to having a home of her own.
She put the hot, buttery rolls on a large plate to finish cooling so she could wrap aluminum foil over them. She washed the dishes and gave the floor another quick sweep. Her shop might not be finished, but at least it was tidy.
After locking the back door and closing the windows, she was about to leave when she saw an open bag of flour pushed to the back corner of the kitchen counter. Not wanting to dip into her large bags of flour too soon, she’d bought it yesterday to make the rolls, and it was still three-quarters full. She went to put it away in the pantry, but then thought a better use for it would be to make fresh bread at home for her nieces. Although she had rejected their help, she was touched by their offer. She crimped the very top edge of the flour bag, grabbed her purse, and walked to the front of the shop.
She opened the screen door, then yanked on the inside door. She was shocked when it opened freely, and with such force that she tumbled backward, tripping over the edge of the large welcome mat on the floor.
“Oh nee!” a deep voice rang out.
Did something—or someone—brush against her? She lost her balance and hit the wood plank floor . . . and the bag of flour landed on her head.
CHAPTER 2
Atlee knelt next to the woman covered in flour. “Are you okay?” He didn’t think she’d hit the floor that hard, but he liked to err on the side of caution. “Did you break anything?”
Flour sputtered out of her mouth. “Only mei dignity.” She started to get to her feet. He held out his hand to help her up, but she ignored it. “I’m fine,” she mumbled as she stood. She shook her head, and flour floated to the floor like powdery snow.
He grimaced. Not exactly the best way to make a first impression in Birch Creek. He’d called a taxi to take him from the bus station in Barton to Thomas’s address. The driver, who looked to be barely old enough to drive, said he knew how to find where Thomas lived. After getting lost for nearly half an hour, Atlee asked the kid to drop him off in front of this house. When he saw a small business sign in the window, he decided to break down and ask for directions or he’d end up roaming around the county all night.
What he hadn’t counted on was knocking over the very first person he met.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were on the other side of the door.”
She br
ushed her hands over her face, pale with white flour. Some of it had settled into the wrinkles at the corners of her blue eyes, which, along with the streaks of gray running through the brown hair peeking out from underneath the top of her kapp, hinted that her age might be close to his. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed off one of her shoulders, then jerked his hand back. “Sorry,” he said again.
The woman sighed as she shook more flour off her dress. Then she looked up with a half-smile. “It’s all right.” Her tone was softer now. “Can’t help that it was an accident. That seems to be the way of things around here lately.”
Atlee found himself smiling back. He was glad she wasn’t that upset. “I’ll replace the flour.”
She waved him off. “I’ve got plenty more in the pantry. You probably saved me from spilling it on the way home.” A shadow passed over her eyes, but only for a second. With a bright smile she said, “Welcome to Yoder’s Bakery.”
He looked around, noticing the gas ovens in the back of the house, which appeared to be stripped down to two large rooms. The one in the back was obviously the kitchen. It housed appliances and two large stainless-steel worktables. The room they were standing in was expansive, as if walls had been removed to create the space. Near the front door was another counter and what he assumed were two display cases, with plenty of room for lots of baked goods. Yet there wasn’t a pie or cake to be seen.
“As you can see, we’re not open for business yet. But we will be soon. Sorry I don’t have anything to sell you.”
“I’m not looking to buy anything. I’m a little . . . lost.” Not something he could easily admit, but since he’d already embarrassed himself, there was no turning back now. “I’m looking for Thomas Bontrager’s haus.”
“Oh, then you’re not that lost.” She licked her floury lips, then made a disgusted face before wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. “He’s three houses down.”
Figures. “I should have kept walking. Then I wouldn’t have—”
“Turned me into a lump of flour?” She looked at her hands, which were spotted white. After she brushed her palms together, she held out one slightly cleaner hand. “I’m Carolyn Yoder.”