by Amy Clipston
Atlee nodded his good-bye, then stared off into the distance at the beautiful farmland surrounding him. According to Thomas, it hadn’t always been so nice here, but Jalon Chupp and his cousin, along with help from their combined families, had turned this stretch of land into something prosperous. He had to admit it was encouraging to see. He had felt stuck in a deep rut for so long. And lately, even the community around him wasn’t just suffocating to him, but also stagnant. Seeing progress and success was invigorating.
He got up from his chair and headed down the road. He wasn’t ready for bed just yet. Maybe a walk would tire him out. A brisk walk was also a habit he’d gotten into the past couple of years. The exercise helped him clear his head while filling his soul.
Along the way, he stopped in front of Carolyn’s bakery. Nothing about the outside of the house made it look inviting, or even like a place of business. He still felt a little guilty about knocking her over. Maybe he could do some landscaping for her, or help her replace the front door. Although he was a cabinetmaker, he was pretty good at most repair jobs—much better than he was at farming.
Then again, he should probably mind his own business. She was a capable woman, something she didn’t hesitate to point out. She probably wouldn’t accept his help even if he offered it. He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed farther down the road, putting Carolyn and her bakery out of his mind.
But the next morning Atlee made the short trek to Carolyn’s bakery. He’d fought with himself during his walk last night, then while he was falling asleep, and again this morning. Finally, he made the decision to come here. He could at least offer to help her with something, if only to ease his conscience.
As he walked to the front door, he again noticed the small handwritten sign in the corner of the picture window. Yoder’s Bakery. She’d need something bigger than that to get folks’ attention. Unlike last night, the solid front door was open, though the screen door was shut. He was about to knock when he heard something that sounded like a screeching cat.
“Just a closer walk with theeeeeeee . . .”
Atlee froze. Was that singing? He recognized the English hymn, but not the tune.
“Grant it, Jesus, is my pleeeeeeeea . . .”
He didn’t think it was possible, but the singing was getting worse as it went along. He peeked through the screen and saw Carolyn back in the kitchen, her hands deep inside a metal bowl as the squalling words came out of her mouth.
“Daily walking close to theeeeeeee . . .”
He stuck his finger in his ear and gave it a twist. Hopefully she didn’t sing that loud in church services. God wasn’t deaf. He knocked on the doorframe. When she didn’t respond, he knocked louder.
“Let it be, Lord, let it—” She stilled, her hands in the bowl, then looked toward the front door. She cleared her throat. “We’re not open to the public yet,” she called in English.
Opening the screen door, he said, “Can I come in?”
Carolyn nodded. She cleared her throat again as he came into the kitchen. “Hello, Mr. Shetler. What brings you by?” she said as she resumed mixing the contents in the bowl.
He gripped the tool belt he’d borrowed from Thomas. “I came to see if you need any help.”
She looked at him, her eyebrows raised. “You’re offering to help me bake?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to chase yer customers away.”
“Nee worries about that right now.” She sighed and took her hands out of the bowl. Thick clumps of floury dough stuck to her fingers. She pulled off each one, then wiped her hands on a nearby towel. “I’m not sure how you could help me. I’m sorry you brought yer tool belt for nothing.”
“I could rehang that screen door.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s crooked. Off by half an inch, I suspect.”
Her brows raised again. “You can tell that just by looking?”
She stepped from behind the table when he nodded, and he turned and went back to the front. The doorframe, like the rest of the house, he thought, had good bones. He put on his tool belt.
“You don’t have to—”
“Won’t take me but a minute.” He started taking off the door’s hinges.
“But . . .”
He glanced over his shoulder as she went back to the kitchen. He saw the frown on her face. Not that he was surprised, but at least she was letting him fix the door for her.
When he finished, he turned around and saw that she was rolling out the dough on the table, now covered in flour. “What are you making?” he asked as he walked back into the kitchen.
“Chocolate-and-orange bread twists.” When he arched his brow, she smiled and added, “It’s one of mei specialties.”
She had a pretty smile, he had to admit, and he was glad she wasn’t frowning anymore. He was also impressed with how efficiently and quickly she worked. Clearly, she was an expert baker. The only thing that seemed to be holding her back was the state of her bakery. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of chocolate-and-orange bread.”
“Then you can be mei first taste tester. I need to give one of my ovens one more trial run before I call the repairman back out here.”
There was something wrong with her oven too? “Since I’m here with mei tool belt, is there anything else that needs repairing?”
“What doesn’t need fixing?” he thought he heard her mumble. She wiped her hand across her cheek, then shook her head. “Nee, I’m fine.”
“So everything else is in working order?”
She bit the corner of her bottom lip. “Well, the pantry shelves are crooked, but I’m going to fix those while the bread twists rise. Mei nephews, Judah and Ira, hung them for me. Bless them, they’re gut at farming, but not at hanging shelves. Mei bruder insisted they do it, though.” She lifted her chin. “Not that I needed them to.”
Wow, she was a stubborn woman. But he could be stubborn too. “I’ll take a look at them.”
“I can rehang them myself.”
But he was already walking to the back of the kitchen. “I pretty much expected you to say that. I assume the pantry is over here?”
She hurried to him. “I don’t need yer help, Mr. Shetler.”
“Atlee. And I heard you the first time.” He turned and faced her, noticing another spot of flour on her cheek. “But since I don’t make knocking over women a habit, fixing yer door and shelves is the least I can do.”
Her face twisted into a scowl. “I’m capable of doing it myself.”
“Did you hang the screen door yerself?”
Her cheeks reddened as her scowl deepened. “Ya.”
“You did a pretty gut job.” The door hadn’t been that crooked. He lowered his voice. “To be honest, I could use something to do while I’m in Birch Creek.”
“Why? You came here to visit Thomas.”
“Ya, but he’s busy with the farm during the day, and he’s got plenty of help there. He doesn’t need me.”
“Neither do I.”
Ouch. Fine. She didn’t need him, so he wouldn’t bother her anymore. “Got it,” he said, brushing past her so fast he was surprised he hadn’t knocked her down again. Even if he had, he would have helped her up—or tried—and nothing more. She’d made her point loud and clear.
“Atlee, wait.”
He paused at the front door. He should walk out and leave her to her own devices. She and the bakery weren’t his problem. But he couldn’t do that. Not without hearing her out first. He turned. “What?”
She rushed to him and hung her head. “I’m sorry.” She looked up at him. “You’re right. I’m just not . . .” She blew out a breath. “I’m just not used to letting people help me.”
He found that odd, considering one of the most important commandments in the Bible was to love and care for your neighbor, and the Amish took that seriously. Then again, he understood pushing people away. He’d done enough of that over the years.
“I shouldn�
�t have been so rude to you,” she added. “If you still want to fix the shelves, I would appreciate it.”
He relaxed and smiled. “I’ll be happy to do it.”
“But only if I pay you.”
He held up his hand. “Now, wait a minute, I didn’t say anything about paying me—”
“You could be mei employee. Mei first one. Although come to think of it, I should be interviewing potential clerks by now.” She took out her small pad of paper and wrote something on it with the pencil stub.
“Carolyn, I . . .” She was smiling, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. He had the urge to brush the flour dust off her cheek.
His face heated. Was he blushing? He hadn’t blushed since he was a youth. Nah, it had to be the heat from the oven and the hot summer morning.
“The pantry is where you were headed.” She flashed him another smile as she pointed. “The two battery-powered sensor lights on the ceiling should come on when you walk in.”
His mind was whirling a bit, and not only because, somehow, he’d managed to become a hired hand for Carolyn Yoder. He was still taken by her smile, and the warm feeling stirring inside him couldn’t be blamed on the kitchen or the season. He hadn’t felt anything like this since he first met May.
May. This was the first time he’d thought of her since waking up this morning. That jolted him back to his senses. “I, uh, better get to work, then.”
“Me too. Those bread twists aren’t going to bake themselves.” She headed for the kitchen, and he caught himself watching her walk away. He shook his head. She had thrown him for a loop, that was all. He’d fix the shelves, accept whatever payment she offered, and be on his way.
Yet he couldn’t help but notice that one of the planks in the center of the floor was loose. When he happened to glance at the ceiling, he saw a stain on the drywall. Why hadn’t the community helped her fix everything? She seemed to be alone in trying to get her business off the ground. But from what she said, and how she reacted to him earlier, it had to be her own fault.
CHAPTER 4
Carolyn leaned against the table, tempted to break out in song again. But she decided against it. She knew Atlee had heard her singing—or caterwauling, as Freemont called it when they were growing up. She also could tell he was trying to hide his stunned expression. He was a polite man, after all. But even though she couldn’t carry a tune if someone handed her a bucket, she loved to sing church hymns, and she often did when she was alone. They comforted her, much like baking did. They also made her happy.
She paused, guilt washing over her because of the way she’d treated Atlee, remembering the shocked look on his face when she said she didn’t need him. And she didn’t. But she also didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and she knew she had. The only way to make it right was to let him fix the shelves. And when she came up with the idea to pay him, she felt much better about him working on the repairs.
She went back to making the bread twists. She shouldn’t be baking right now. The Lord knew she had plenty of other things to do. But she needed to make sure the oven wasn’t functioning properly before she forked out money for another repair visit.
Quickly, she twisted the soft dough that held flecks of dried orange zest. Once they were baked, she would drizzle chocolate on top of them. At Christmas she made them extra special by adding small pieces of candied orange peel on top, but she didn’t have time for that level of detail right now.
By the time she was ready to check the oven temperature, Atlee had reappeared. “That was a quick job,” he said. “The shelves weren’t in bad shape. Yer nephews did gut work.”
“They’ll be happy to hear that. Mei bruder will too.” She felt the heat from the oven. This time it was close enough to 350 degrees. She relaxed her tensed shoulders. Maybe it wouldn’t need to be repaired after all. She reached for the twists, her arm brushing Atlee’s. “Sorry,” she said, grabbing the tray. She looked up at him and was surprised to find him gazing at her.
“Nee problem.”
He didn’t move, and neither did she. She couldn’t stop looking at him. Deep-set blue eyes that resembled slate. Average height, but several inches taller than her. His hair was a little on the long side, and she could see the salt-and-pepper strands threaded through the dark brown waves coming from under his hat.
Suddenly he grabbed the other end of the tray. “Looked like you might drop it.”
She glanced down and saw she was losing her grip. Not to mention mei senses. Carolyn nodded her thanks and hurried to put the twists in the oven. Heat blasted her already hot cheeks.
“I noticed a few more things that need some attention,” he said.
She shut the oven door, set the timer, and took a calming breath. She didn’t need to pay any mind to Atlee’s nice hair or blue eyes. She needed to get her focus back on track. She turned around, squaring her shoulders and giving him what she hoped was her most businesslike expression. “Such as?”
“There’s a stain on the ceiling for starters.”
“Oh.”
“Then there’s the uneven floorboard and the exterior trim to be painted. Also, you need some decent landscaping in the front. A bigger sign too. You have to make this place inviting to yer customers both inside and out.”
All those things were on her list, except for the landscaping. And the sign. She resisted the urge to dig her pad out of her pocket. “I suppose you can fix all that too?”
“It will take a couple of days, but ya. I can take care of it.”
“You seem to know about running a business.”
“Used to have mei own cabinetry shop. I also did retail for a couple of years. But that was a long time ago. Before . . . before May, mei wife, and I got married.”
She saw a shadow of grief pass in front of his eyes. She took a step toward him. “She must have been a wonderful woman.”
“She was.” He glanced away, his mouth tugging into a sad frown. Then he looked at her again. “When are you planning to open up shop?”
“In two weeks.” She steeled herself for his questioning look.
He remained impassive. “All right. What do you want me to start on first?”
Carolyn was relieved he didn’t interrogate her further about her deadline. But his next question gave her pause. It was bad enough that he was discovering all the problems she was dealing with. Now she had to admit her financial situation. “I can’t afford to pay you for all that work.” Maybe for one or two jobs, but definitely not the landscaping. That would take extra money she didn’t have to spare. She was learning the hard way how difficult it was to open a bakery, and she felt foolish for not planning better.
“Then don’t pay me,” he said. “Problem solved.”
“But you’re mei employee.”
“Okay, I quit.”
That made her laugh, and it felt good. “I still can’t let you do all that work without compensation.”
“Hmm.” He sniffed the air. “The bread twists smell gut.”
“You want me to pay you in baked goods?”
“That would be great for mei taste buds, but not mei waistline.” He patted his flat abdomen.
Carolyn snapped her fingers. “I know. I could teach you how to bake.”
His brow went up. “A baking lesson?”
“Ya,” she said, warming up to the idea. “You don’t know how to bake, do you?”
“I can barely cook.”
“Everyone needs to learn how to make cookies, at least. Or fry pies.”
He scratched his chin through his beard. “I do like a gut fry pie.”
She smiled. “I’ll teach you how to make them in exchange for repairing the ceiling and floorboard.”
“Don’t forget the landscaping and painting.”
She shook her head. “One baking lesson isn’t going to cover all that.”
He looked thoughtful. “All right, how about this? I’ll do it all”—he held up his hand when she started to protest—“and after yer bakery is open
and you’ve made a little money, you can pay me.”
“But you won’t be here.”
“I’ll give you mei address and you can send me a check.”
She leaned against the table. “You trust me to do that?”
He tilted his head and looked at her. “Of course.”
Carolyn put out her hand. “Then we have a deal.”
He shook her hand. “I’ll get started on the floorboard.”
She watched as he went to the broken floorboard and pulled a claw hammer from his tool belt. She blew out a long breath. He was right. A building free of problems, spruced up, and with nice landscaping would entice customers—who would then, hopefully, enjoy her baked goods enough to spread the word around the area. As far as the community—well, their coming would be hit or miss, especially the long-term residents. She was certain Emmanuel Troyer had poisoned some of them against her.
Emmanuel. She didn’t want to think about him. He’d disappeared from Birch Creek, and from all accounts no one knew where he was. She did feel sorry for his wife, Rhoda, a nice woman who didn’t deserve such a cruel husband. Mary mentioned that Rhoda still held hope for Emmanuel’s return. It might not be Christian of her, but Carolyn hoped she’d never see the man again.
She’d tried to forget the harsh words he’d flung at her before she left the community, but even in Nappanee they were never far from her mind. Rebellious. Useless. Stupid. Homely. She was none of those, and she knew that. Although she wasn’t exactly a looker. But those words had wounded her so deeply that although some had become merely scars, others had never fully healed.
Opening the bakery and making it a success would give her the confidence and respectability she was missing. She wasn’t that odd, misfit young woman anymore. The time had come for everyone to see that.
After Atlee finished fixing the floorboard, he found a few others in the bakery that needed nailing down. Several times while he worked, he glanced at Carolyn as she finished making the bread twists. She seemed to be in a better mood now—humming, even, as she drizzled melted chocolate over the twists, which smelled amazing. At least she wasn’t singing. But remembering her enthusiasm as she sang that hymn made him smile. God didn’t care about pitch accuracy. It was the heart behind the singing that mattered.